#seals will make a cameo

[cuppachar]

Update

So, I just wanted to give my readers who enjoyed A Hole In The Heart , a little heads up - I will be doing a companion piece to this, likely after I have updated my other Jamie fics and some of my ST fics (or sooner if the vibe feels right).

It wont be a sequel, but different exploration of Jamie and his relationship with his mum (and by that, I mean there will be angst, tragedy and a lot of Roy and Ted comfort) and a comparison with Jamie's relationship with his dad.

All I will say for now, is that this is heavily influenced by my two recent trips to Norfolk, Jamie gets sad, Roy, Ted and and the lads get worried, and there will be seals.

[agatharkn3ss]

Nicky's Rio son too.

I feel there were so many lines that imply this and the finale is starting to make more sense - especially because the dandelion in the trial!

Jen explains that Green Craft™ is about the cycle of all living things - growth and decay in constant flow. So it's not just about dying but being born too.

So it would track that Rio's love for Agatha was so strong that it actually created life - Nicky. However, there would be consequences to this because proper balance had to be maintained somehow. Rio probably even warned Agatha about it, but Agatha always believes she is above the rules so in her head she probably thought she had every right to Nicky (maybe even her "prize" that she alludes to in their final confrontation). This would really add to Rio's hurt - Nicky was her son too. She thought she was giving Agatha a gift of life, but instead Agatha sees her as this cruel "evil" that "gave her nothing". To her Rio is the one who just "took."

It feels like it is also implied by Rio at the start of the episode when she says "This walk with another woman's son on a road that doesn't...". She could be referring to Nicky being her son.

But I think Agatha finally accepts her truth during the final trial when she sees the dandelion seed in her cameo. She even says "Out of Death - life" as she grows it because she finally understands the literal implications of that phrase.

That Dandelion is representation of Nicky. And sure enough, as soon as the flower grows and blossoms, it quickly enters the final stage - when it turns into the seeds that can be scattered by the wind again and continue the cycle of life. Because guess what, "dandelions produce seeds asexually by apomixis, where the seeds are produced without pollination, resulting in offspring that are genetically identical to the parent plant".

When Nicky is born, we could probably assume it was indeed asexual reproduction - Agatha says she didn't use a spell or incantation, but instead he was made from scratch (obviously a clever nod to his name). On one hand it could be read like Agatha is astonished how something this magical could happen without actually using any witchcraft. However, this also feels like a suggestion that maybe she is just amazed at how he could possibly exist. Kathryn Hahn in her recent interview alluded to how the witches didn't need men, babies were just born. So it was Rio's "dandelion seed" that made it happen.

It is the second characteristic of dandelion species is what seals the deal for me - "the offspring being genetically identical to the parent plant". Nicky as the offspring of Death needs bodies to survive in this realm. During his birth Rio says she can offer only time, because she can maintain the balance, as long as Nicky gets his bodies.

That's why she hates Rio and calls her evil - not because of Rio herself, but because of what her "genetics" did to Nicky. Agatha would rather have people believe that she is this evil witch killer that traded her child for the Darkhold, than anyone to know the awful truth that it was Nicky who was the cause of the killings.

In the flashbacks, there are those remarks about how they haven't "eaten for days" and that whenever Nicky was poorly he said he was hungry. Agatha said she couldn't create the food for him (and protect him from what's coming). She could've cooked that goat they had with them if they were really that hungry (btw, I still believe that goat is Senor Scratchy), but that wasn't the "food" that Nicky meant.

And just like Billy, Rio couldn't just take Nicky. He had to "turn himself in". It was his choice not to kill any more witches. On the day Nicky dies, he says "My mother needs me home". I think he is talking about Rio here, since he usually calls Agatha "Mama". This is the moment the decides for himself and goes home to Death.

I feel like this opens the possibility that we will indeed see Nicholas Scratch in the future (and have a role similar to the one in the comics). That maybe even he might not have "died" because he is an offspring of death, so he just exists in some Underworld realm, where he no longer needs bodies to survive. Maybe Agatha might have hoped that by killing more and more witches, she will bring Nicky back to life/this realm?

And the Ballad really was a protection spell she made for him too?

This would also be a more plausible explanation why Agatha went to kiss Rio when Billy asked "Is this how Nicky died?". I feel this was more of an apology to Rio for hating her for Nicky's treatment, because she finally understood why she had to do it?

[ham1lton]

WET DREAMZ.

pairings: sebastian vettel x reader. lewis hamilton x reader. jenson button x reader. nico rosberg x reader. fernando alonso x reader.

summary: when you move next door to a hot single dad, you take it upon yourself to seduce him. too bad for you that he uncovers your plan. you’re not exactly subtle.

warnings: sexual content. like most of this is straight up smut. mdni. explicit mentions of f!reader’s body parts. charles cameo in nico’s! implied cheating in fernando’s.

author’s note: i woke up in a fugue and wrote this as i ignored all of my adult responsibilities. show it some love <3 also no beta. we die like men.

— taglist | tip jar | feedback and requests | masterlist | ♡

SEBASTIAN VETTEL ✿

when your company allowed you to work remotely, you moved into a smaller village on the outskirts of germany. your family and friends weren’t too happy with your decision to move but with the current economic state of your country at the moment, it was great for your bank account.

your house was a modest affair, with three bedrooms but a gorgeous kitchen that gave you direct visual access into your neighbour’s backyard. the same neighbour who knocked on your door when you first moved in, with a jar of honey and some eggs as a housewarming gift. he was covered with a light sheen of sweat that would have seemed disgusting on anyone else. he introduced himself in german and switched to lightly accented english when he saw your confusion.

he’d sometimes pass you when he was walking his dog, or cycling to the farmer’s market. he’d make his kids wave hello as he’d pick them up and drop them off at their mother’s. he’d take your cakes when you’d exhausted your baking hobbies and would burst if you’d have another slice. he’d grin and smile bashfully when you told him you’d made one just the way he’d liked it.

as you watch him, he turns around and waves at you. a big grin splitting his face as you wave back. you’re so fucked. you spent an hour on facetime last night with your best friends as you went through the pros and cons of fucking your hot neighbour.

the cons outweighed the pros mostly, if it went badly you could lose access to the free gifts he’d bring by occasionally or his help when he would have a look at your car when it started spluttering when you needed to buy groceries. it would be weird too. aren’t adults supposed to be on good terms with their neighbours?

it didn’t stop you from you asking him if you could wait out the storm in his house instead of yours as all the lights had gone out and when he kissed you, you were shocked. you hadn’t needed to come up with a plan to seduce him into wanting you, because he already did.

he had you spread over his lap, his ring finger and his middle finger already in your centre. the sounds of your arousal filling the room as you fucked yourself against his digits. he smiled into the crook of your neck before kissing it.

“i knew you were this desperate for it,” he hums, his german accent thicker as he pressed his thumb lightly against your clit. he’s teasing you, and normally you’d be okay with it. playing this mutual game of cat and mouse but not when you’re this desperate to get off. “it’s okay. because i was desperate for it too.”

your eyes roll back as you reach your peak.

LEWIS HAMILTON ᯽

after your promotion, you decide to treat yourself to a summer home in monaco. it’s a flat in an expensive complex, with a pool, a gym and even a spa. you’d spend many days relaxing and enjoying the amenities or shopping with the bonus money that your boss had bestowed upon you for sealing a contract with one of the biggest businesses in your country. this was your time to relax.

yet, you couldn’t relax. as you finished your daily workout - yes you now had the time - you saw the hottest man in your entire life walk past you in a loose gym set. embarrassingly, you were filling up your water bottle which overflowed and covered you with the excess. thank god he didn’t see.

you hadn’t been much of a femme fatale, you were more of a business woman in your head. your sister told you that there wasn’t much difference between the two, just that the femme fatale chose a different line of business. it was that comment that encouraged you to start your plan of seduction.

it wasn’t working, even when you wore your best gym outfit, the one that made your ass look incredible, or when you attempted to bump into him at the complex’s coffee shop in the cute two piece that exposed your best assets. it seemed like he disappeared.

until he knocked at your door at the middle of the day, you opened it to see him dressed in a suit. for a selfish second, your thoughts drifted to him wearing this for you.

“do you mind watching my dog? roscoe is in a mood today and my usual dogsitter is busy. i have a meeting that is impossible for me to get out of. you’ll be doing me a big favour.” oh. he was british.

you smile at him, as graciously as you can. thanking god that you had just come back from brunch with the girls, so your hair and makeup were still done. you told him all about how much you love dogs and you wouldn’t mind at all watching his fur baby! you were a lovely neighbour after all.

he repaid the favour later anyways, on his knees and in between your legs. he pulls down your underwear, you had shaved in anxious preparation for this moment, your arousal leaving a stain against the fabric. he pressed his thumb against your folds before licking a stripe between them. his tongue flicking against you, as you pressed down harder on his face.

your moans were loud and unapologetic. you had a gorgeous man between your thighs, eating you out like this was his calling. he grinned at you, his face drenched in your juices. you groaned and put your hands on his braids.

now this was a holiday.

JENSON BUTTON ☆

moving to the big city was supposed to be a shock, but you took to it gracefully like a duck to water. london wasn’t the nicest to everyone but it took a liking to you. you bought a house with your best friend in a family neighbourhood with low crime rates and a high chance of getting more money when you’d both inevitably sell it in the future.

it was walkable which you loved. you could walk less then ten minutes to go shopping. you had come back with a few shopping bags when you accidentally bumped into your neighbour who was coming back from picking up his daughters. he laughs at the action as he apologises and gives a hand out for you to shake.

“i’m jenson. sorry about that, these two usually have me run off my feet!” he points at his two daughters who have already ran insider the house. “it’s like they’re my parents.”

after shaking your hand, he takes his cap off and runs a hand through his slightly greying hair. he’s wearing a pair of shorts with a loose t-shirt. it is almost summertime but the weather in london had a mind of its own. sunny one day, rainy the next and freezing for both. but jenson didn’t seem to mind the cold.

you introduce yourself and he listens intently until you realise that you have to go. there is frozen food in the bags and jenson’s daughters are calling for their post-school snack. but after that meeting, you always time your post shopping trip for when jenson comes back with the girls. your roommate/best friend doesn’t protest when you insist on the shopping being your chore but she does give you a sideways glance when she sees you chatting with jenson again on the step.

one night, you’ve come back from a date. it went awfully as per usual, although london seemed to love you and want you, the men didn’t seem to. you’re home late, when you rummage in your purse and swear loudly. you brought the wrong purse! you could call your roommate but she sleeps like the dead and probably wouldn’t answer. you’re thinking of breaking through the window when a voice calls at you.

“y/n?” jenson grins at you. “are you alright?”

after a moment, and a few minutes of arguing that you’re fine to sleep in the bushes, you’re inside jenson’s home. dressed in a pair of his old clothes. he hands you a cup of tea and puts down a packet of biscuits next to it.

“so, are you going to tell me why i caught you dressed to the nines and attempting to break through a window?” he’s trying to sound stern but he’s smiling as he says it.

“bad date,” you start and smile ruefully, taking a sip of tea. “forgot my keys and well, at least you caught me before i did any damage.”

he laughs. you laugh too but not before realising that there are probably kids sleeping in the house. you bring this up to jenson who waves off your concern.

“the girls are at their mum’s. it’s just us. don’t worry. you can be as loud as you’d like.”

you end up being very loud as you lay on his very comfortable bed. he’s tapping himself again the hood of your clit as you squirm breathless from the earlier orgasm he gave you. he smiles at you, leaning up to kiss you as he slides in, swallowing your gasps as he kisses you firmer.

“you know how long i’ve dreamt of having you like this?” he asks. you shake your head, moaning again as he fucks you harder. “since the first day you bumped into me, in that little fucking skirt. dreamt of bending you over and having you like this. anyway you’d let me. would you?”

you nod, voice locked in your throat as he mouths at your tits. he smiles at your willingness.

“good. we have the entire weekend to ourselves. let’s see how many times i can get you to cum. hmm?” you squeeze yourself around him as you have your first orgasm. your cunt spasming as he gently pulls out. he lets you rest against him for a moment, taking a deep breath as he runs a hand down your back.

“now that’s number one. keep count for me darling, okay?”

NICO ROSBERG 𑁍

you weren’t a yacht person. when your university friend had begged you to come home with her for the holidays, you hadn’t expected the family party to be held on a yacht. this was out of your tax bracket.

it seemed like everyone in monaco was right. the casual displays of wealth and decadence made you sick at times. thinking about how the money that went to buying that birkin bag could have made a change in someone’s life. then you think about how you’re wearing a custom gown on a friend’s yacht and realise that you’re now part of the problem.

a bonus about being in monaco, was that the men were gorgeous. your friend’s older brother charles was handsome with dimples and a gorgeous accent. if he hadn’t been in a relationship with a supermodel, you would have been all over that. thankfully, there was more eye candy in the city. your friend’s father had a business partner that was in their house more often then not.

he was blond, blunt and pretty in all the ways an older man could be. when he looked at you, you felt like the world could burn at your feet. he had also been on the yacht at the same time as you. drinking champagne, mingling with family and investors as you ate canapés and watched the sky.

“is it boring you?” he asks, as you turn around. he was dressed in a loose linen shirt, light coloured trousers with his shirt open just enough to see the smooth skin underneath. “can’t believe she brought you to a work event.”

“it’s fine. there are worse places to be.” you respond. you take a sip of champagne and you both ignore the fact he watches the sip go down. he takes note of the way that you’re still looking in the direction of charles and his girlfriend, the two still wrapped around each other.

“you’ve fallen for the charles charm?” he says, smiling as he sits across from you. he puts his ankles up on the table like he owns it, which he probably does. you can tell a lot from a person’s body language, and his is telling you that he’s used to getting what he wants. “it’s a shame. another pretty girl lost in his eyes. want another drink?”

“pretty girl?”

he nods, blue eyes darkening as he looks at you over the rim of his drink.

“would you want me to show you how pretty i think you are?”

so that’s how you find yourself bent over the sink in the bathroom at a yacht party, your pretty dress bunched up at the waist as he presses his fingers inside you. scissoring them to stretch you wider.

“is this what you imagined he’d do to you?” he asks, voice curious. “that he’d go down on you in one of the bedrooms? he’d let you go down on him? that he’d split you open with his cock as we all walked around upstairs?”

you sob as he talks you through it, mascara running down your cheeks. how are you going to explain to your best friend that you fucked her dear precious uncle nico while talking about her brother. he grinds his palm against your clit as he stands up and gags your mouth with his fingers.

“can’t be too loud honey, don’t want them to hear you.”

FERNANDO ALONSO ꩜

spain was a big adventure for you and your boyfriend. the two of you made the decision to move for a few months to his grandfather’s home to help redesign the place. it was slightly run down but nothing that you couldn’t fix. the goal was to rebuild it in order to sell it off.

however, you hadn’t foreseen that this would effectively destroy what relationship you had with your boyfriend. he insisted on not signing the place under your name despite you also funnelling funds into the rebuilding of the house. after another argument, you decide to take a break. wearing a bikini, and armed with nothing besides water, sunscreen and a good book, you make your way into the backyard. sunning yourself to at least gain something from all the money you’ve put in, even if its just a tan and a relaxing afternoon.

“you’re the new neighbour?” a voice calls out, as he leans against the fence that separates your property. you knew the next door neighbour had kids, you could hear them playing occasionally in the summer sun as you painted. you didn’t know they had a hot dad. that’s new information. he smiles at you. “it’s been a while since there has been a young person. the old man who lived here has been here since before i was even born. you’re his kid?”

“no,” you laugh. “he’s my boyfriend’s grandfather. i’m just here as a cash cow apparently.”

your voice turns a little bitter but why wouldn’t you be? you have put in the same amount of time and effort as he has onto this place and now you’re not getting anything back. court is an option but it’ll drain even more of your bank account.

“why is that?” he asks, head tilted as he looks at you.

you end up spilling everything to him. about the house, the money, the contract that has your name redacted. in return, he tells you that his name is fernando and the kids you always hear playing in his back garden aren’t his but rather his nieces and nephews. it’s nice listening to him speak, with the heavy spanish lilt to his accent. he is the first person in a while who has just listened to your grievances so when he asks you inside for a drink, you don’t hesitate. grabbing your wraparound skirt, you follow him inside.

less then ten minutes later, you’re on his lap, as he presses his mouth against your tits. enveloping one nipple in his mouth while his fingers move to play with your other one. you grind down harder against him, feeling your clit brush against the hard muscle of his thigh. your bottoms are soaked with your arousal as you lean closer and bite his shoulder to stay quiet. he leans away from you for a moment, as your eyes widen worried that you’ve done something wrong.

“don’t be quiet hermosa, let him hear it,” he grins up at you then leans in for a kiss. “isn’t that most of the fun?”

author’s note: sorry y’all idk what came over me.

[egcdeath]

sealing the deal

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick make a few unique business proposals to each other.

word count: 7k

warnings: succession au – tomshiv dynamic (pre-failmarriage), proposals (business and romantic), fluff, a little angst, mentions of a dad being very sick/almost dying, lots of exposition/background on the relationship, art cameo, a little domesticity, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t have to know anything about succession to enjoy this fic! i’ll explain everything that you need to know. if you’re a diehard succession fan i can’t promise that everything will be completely faithful to the source material but it definitely takes a lot of inspiration from tom and shiv’s dynamic.

i wanted to give a HUGE thank you to my succession anon who gave me so much help and guidance for this fic and basically ended up being my co-author for this fic! i hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn’t always easy loving the youngest son of the owner of a multi-billion dollar media conglomerate. 

In fact, most of the time, it was quite the opposite. 

Even without Patrick working in his family’s business, it always felt a little bit like you were in a competition for brain space and time with his family and career, and you were losing. Badly. 

You weren’t exactly sure that you knew what you signed up for when you first met Patrick—connected to each other by a mutual friend you went to business school with, whom you’d begged to try to set you two up for career advancement purposes more than anything else. 

“You know that guy you keep asking me about?” your friend asked you after taking a hefty sip from the drink the bartender just passed her. 

“Patrick Zweig?” you asked, not bothering to pretend like you didn’t know who she was talking about. 

“Yeah!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t sure where she was going with this subject, but you were intrigued by her mention of the man and her apparent entertainment at the situation. 

“What about him?” you asked, perversely curious as to why she was bringing him up now. 

“I invited him to come out with us tonight!” she laughed once more as she divulged this information, as if it wasn’t shocking news to you.  

“What? What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me before!” you practically yelled at her over the sound of loud music and other bar patrons. You suddenly felt very self conscious. If you’d known you were going to meet Patrick Zweig tonight, you would’ve put yourself together, rather than coming straight from work to the bar. 

“I wanted to surprise you!” she continued with her giggling at a situation that you did not find nearly as humorous. “Oh my god. I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I hate you!” you laughed, thinking that maybe this was some sort of prank. “You’re joking, then?”

“No, he’s really coming. He just got back from D.C. and wanted to meet with me. I asked if my hot friend could come along and he was like, ‘Obviously!’”

You groaned aloud. This wasn’t how you intended to make your first impression on him.

“Okay, well, what’s his type?” you asked her, hoping to get a bit of insight before you were launched right into what might end up being your first date. You were sure that you would make a good impression if you showed up as you were, but you wanted to be better than good. You didn’t want to be just another forgettable notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, taking a sip from her drink. “Hot? A nice ass? A little mean? Isn’t that every guy’s type?”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough for me,” you replied. You wanted to have a strategy going into this. You would’ve appreciated at least a small briefing before meeting someone so intimidating. 

“I am, you just check all the boxes already. Just be yourself and I’m sure things will work out fine,” she assured you. 

Her assurance was well warranted, considering that things worked out far better than fine. In fact, your friend was overdue for a fruit basket—one that you would be paying for with Patrick’s credit card as you sat in the dining room of your shared penthouse apartment, after you wrapped up a day of work in the skyscraper that was his father’s corporate headquarters. 

At the time, you had a slight idea of who he was, but you had an even better idea of who his family was. Anyone who owned a television would be familiar with his family’s corporation—from the causal channel surfers who passed one of their many news channels during their search for the newest episode of The Bachelor, to the thousands of people with their logo burned into their device screen from the hours they spent with their eyes locked on the 24-hour stream of borderline propaganda. 

Beyond his impressive family, you’d heard whispers and rumors about Patrick for a long time. Between headlines in gossip magazines and stories from your mutual friend, you learned that he’d entered the political world as an attempt to make a name for himself outside of his family name, but struggled to be taken seriously for many years due to the less than stellar reputation that came with being a Zweig.

Although, rumors about his career were just the tip of the iceberg. Gossip about his tumultuous relationships—if they could even be called that—and history of partying far too hard often ran wild, making you believe that your initial meetings with Patrick would be nothing more than a few hookups and sweet talking yourself into a new job. After all, there was no better pillow talk than an elevator pitch. 

At first, your plan seemed like it was right on track. You ended your first night together in the early morning, finding yourself in Patrick’s apartment for hours. Your night hadn’t really ever ended, with the two of you leaving the bar together, having some of the best sex of your life in a bed that felt a little bit like laying on a cloud, then proceeding to talk for hours until it was time for you to go back to work. You smiled to yourself as you sat in the backseat of Patrick’s car, exhausted from the long night and a little uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, but mostly enthusiastic after your surprisingly eventful night with the man. 

It was a strange turn of events from what you initially expected. While you couldn’t be too sure what you were getting yourself into when you learned you were being set up on a date, you assumed that Patrick would be like any other rich asshole you’d gone out on dates with, who got what they wanted from you, sent you off on your merry way, then never spoke to you again. You quickly discovered that he was unlike anyone you’d ever been with before. 

Patrick seemed to be full of surprises, and the fact that you were going on multiple dates with him in the first place was one of those very surprises. You hadn’t expected to go on any more than three dates before you asked about working for his family, securing yourself a job, then leaving him alone. 

What took you by even greater surprise were the dates themselves. What started as an intimate dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city ended with you at a terrible 24-hour diner, treating Patrick to his first slice of cherry pie as you talked into the wee hours of the morning. 

Your subsequent dates went similarly, with the two of you talking endlessly about anything and everything. Patrick was someone full of surprises—he was far from the rich asshole you expected him to be, and more like a knowledgeable politics nerd with a lot of money. 

You talked for hours about big things, like why Patrick decided to pursue a career as a political strategist and what brought you to New York City, but you also found it easy to discuss small random things with him, spending an extended period of time discussing how you named your cat, and debating on the best restaurant in the city. 

You always thought of yourself as being somewhat agreeable and friendly when it came to conversation, but your discussions with Patrick took you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’d ever clicked with someone the way you clicked with him, and it made you as excited as it made you nervous. 

By the time you worked up the nerve to ask Patrick about working for his family, you were already beat to the punch. The two of you were tucked into the booth that you’d recently declared as yours in the same diner that you seemed to be spending all of your all-nighters in, reclining comfortably in the particularly uncomfortable seats. 

“Do you like the business side of things?” Patrick asked you, stirring a flattening Diet Coke with a straw. 

“It’s fun,” you dismissed. “It’s less fun going to work on a half-hour of sleep.”

“Shut up. You love it,” the man across from you laughed, an admittedly very handsome half-smile on his face. “I mean it though. Do you like what you’re doing?”

“It pays the bills, I guess. I like the work, but I’m not huge on the company. All the politics and the instability with layoffs lately… It isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Would you ever work for my family?” he asked. “I mean, you’re just wasting potential elsewhere. I really think they could use someone like you on their team.”

“Seriously?” you asked, partially surprised at the proposition, but mostly surprised that you weren’t the one to ask in the first place. Across the table, Patrick listened to you intently. “I mean, If they’d have me, I’d love to work for them.”

“My dad mentioned something about them looking for some new blood. I can put in a good word for you, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Is this because I showed you the joys of a slice of diner cherry pie?” you joked, trying not to let on just how overjoyed you were about this opportunity. 

“You got me. And now that you mention it, we should probably order another slice,” he suggested, going along with your joke. “You’re smart and you clearly know your shit. Besides, I’m mostly doing it for myself. It’ll be nice to have someone around at company Christmas parties who can actually keep up with me.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied calmly, though you were doing somersaults in your mind. “I look forward to drinking eggnog and singing Mariah Carey songs with you.”

In retrospect, you recognized this action as the first of his many wordless declarations of love. You later learned that Patrick did everything he could to avoid talking business with his family, as it was clearly a sore spot for everyone involved. Realizing that he’d gone out of his way to get you a job had been an even more kind gesture than you knew at the time. 

While you initially expected your fling to taper off after Patrick fulfilled his end of the business deal he didn’t even know he was facilitating, your relationship did nothing of the sort. In fact, his favor seemed to have the opposite effect on your bond. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were courting each other like lovesick Jane Austen protagonists. In another shocking turn of events, Patrick ordered flowers to your doorstep each morning and took you on lavish dates, while you began to take four-hour long train rides to and from D.C. each weekend to visit him, and frequently sent him rambling love letters. 

While you hadn’t expected for your relationship to unfold the way that it did, you genuinely loved Patrick. You loved the way his eyes crinkled when you told him something stupid that he’d laugh at, or how he leaned in to whisper something judgmental in your ear about someone you mutually disliked during family events. You loved the way his hand felt in yours and the way his mind worked, which he frequently displayed to you while discussing his latest political strategy. You even loved when he minced words to describe how he felt about you, knowing that though the word ‘love’ might never leave his lips, his actions spoke far louder than his voice ever could. 

It just so happened that you loved his proximity to power, too. 

While his money and power might have piqued your interest initially, it didn’t change the fact that the two of you quickly clicked. You had a natural chemistry, with you matching Patrick’s flirty words and actions with ease. It also just so happened that you entered each other's lives at the perfect time, with you in dire need of a career upgrade, and Patrick in need of someone unafraid to show him more affection and care than he was willing to give. 

Though he wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, you quickly became a tenured professor in Patrick-ology. You were certain that this played a role in why Patrick liked you so much in the first place—being somewhat emotionally stunted, he needed someone who could understand his thoughts without him having to explicitly say every detail, and you did exactly that. 

This skill worked out surprisingly well for you. You gave him the love and understanding that he’d been looking for and missing for all of his adult life, and you got to reap the benefits that came with being in a relationship with someone in one of the most powerful families in the world. 

Despite your more humble beginnings, you quickly became familiar with luxurious items and activities. You also quickly learned that no matter how prepared you thought you were for that level of wealth—you weren’t. You couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times your unfamiliarity with certain norms left you as the laughing stock of the family. 

But it wasn’t all corner offices in skyscrapers and helicopter rides. During the honeymoon phase of your relationship, it certainly felt like it, but the cracks in your foundation became more and more evident every day. 

The thing was, as much as you two cared about each other, there was a family shaped shadow that loomed over everything that you did. It was clear that you were an outsider in Patrick’s family. Coming from an upper-middle class Midwestern background, you were often made to feel like you were a stupid gold-digger, only staying around your boyfriend for power, rather than love. At times, you wondered if his family knew what love was at all. 

The love, or lack thereof in Patrick’s family was what shocked you most of all. It was no secret that his father was unnecessarily cruel to all of his children, but particularly to his siblings trying to work their way into more serious positions in the company. Patrick somehow managed to dodge that particular flavor of cruelty, with him very obviously being his father’s favorite and working outside of the family business, but the emotional scars his father left still lingered. 

But his father’s presence didn’t just loom over him, it was beginning to loom over you, too. Not only in the extreme intimidation you felt when having to interact with him, but in the small acts of callousness Patrick showed you throughout the course of your relationship. 

It began as small things, things that bothered you less the more you got used to them. Like how he always seemed to unconsciously belittle your work, not even bothering to seem interested in the recaps you gave of your day before he launched into a story of his own about the candidate he was working with. Though you tried your hardest to fight through your smaller pet peeves with him, Patrick’s inability to be straightforward about his emotions felt like the cherry on top of an already painful sundae.

Regardless of all of the flaws, bumps, and roadblocks in your relationship, you promised to yourself that you would be in Patrick’s corner, no matter how ugly things got or how poorly he treated you. Not only out of your own self-interest, but out of your love for the man, and the knowledge of how difficult his upbringing made certain things for him. 

Which was why when you got the call from Patrick that something had gone terribly wrong with his father while coming back from his birthday celebration, you didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital, encouraging your driver to speed all the way to the building. 

When you arrived, he and his siblings were in disarray in a way you’d never seen before. His father, who was typically a presence that towered over everyone in the room, was reduced to an old man hooked up to a number of machines. His older sisters, who were always either waiting for the moment to swoop in and make a crude joke or waiting in the wings to discuss the next business strategy, paced back and forth endlessly, clearly feeling the pressure of their sick father.

Patrick sat alone on an uncomfortable chair, peering helplessly into the observation room. It was rare for you to see him with his feelings written so openly across his face, even after years of being in a relationship with him. That concerned you.

You made quick work of walking over to Patrick, whose tensed-up shoulders slightly dropped as you took a seat next to him. Though he wouldn’t ever tell you this, you knew that your presence made him feel more supported and a little more safe, though you being or not being in the hospital clearly wouldn’t have an impact on if his father lived or died. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, immediately squeezing your hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said weakly, as if he was fighting off a new round of tears. In that moment, you so desperately wanted to take some of his emotions for yourself, knowing that Patrick hated feeling any feeling, let alone such negative feelings to such a serious degree. 

“Of course, honey,” you reassured him, running what you hoped would be a grounding hand up and down his arm. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water? A snack? I saw that burger place you like on my way over.”

“No, nothing right now,” he sighed. You inspected him cautiously, knowing that he wasn’t exactly one to always say what he meant. “Really,” he assured you, though you didn’t completely buy it. 

Since he wasn’t in the mood for more material items, you decided that the best course of action was a little affection. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of receiving affection in front of his family, but you figured that in a time where he was uncertain if his father would live or die, he would appreciate a little outward support. 

You laid your head on his shoulder and angled your body closer to his. Not expecting any response, you were surprised when Patrick kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d be in trouble if someone overheard him. 

You held his hand as the two of you sat for hours, only getting up to stretch your legs or take phone calls from friends with insight on other high-end medical facilities that might be able to better accommodate Patrick’s father. 

You did your best to give Patrick his space when he needed it, as he floated between two of his siblings—one of which was focused mainly on the future of the company, and the other in a state of denial about the state of her father—then back to you when he could no longer stand the chaos of his sisters. 

It was a stressful scene, and one that was clearly too much for your boyfriend, who went back and forth between wanting to be glued at your hip, and wanting to be left completely alone. You’d seen Patrick stressed in the past, with him chatting your ear off as he waited for his candidate’s election results, or as he prepared to give a speech at an event, but you’d never seen him like this. 

He almost seemed fragile, like one wrong word or action might break him. It frightened you to see him in such a state. Again, you lamented not being able to take some of his pain for yourself. 

In the time that you waited without any word from any doctors, a few gears began to turn in your mind. Life was so fleeting, which was proven by Patrick’s mighty father falling so seemingly easily. Really, it could’ve been any of you sitting on that table with tubes and monitors attached to you. If it were Patrick who was sitting on that gurney, you would be an absolute wreck. If he somehow died, you also wouldn’t technically be a widow, despite your long-term relationship with the man. 

All of it made you wonder if you should just bite the bullet and propose to Patrick.

Sure, it wasn’t the best timing ever. Sure, you’d always imagined yourself being on the receiving end of a grand proposal, especially from someone like Patrick. But maybe he would appreciate the gesture—giving him a distraction to take away some of his pain, and giving him one final grand milestone with you while his dad was still alive. 

To a lesser extent, being married would provide you with certain protections you didn’t have while you were only his long-term girlfriend. Obviously, you didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to your boyfriend, but accidents and tragedies could happen at any point, and it was better to be prepared than to be sorry. 

It felt right that you might be able to join his family during a time where he was losing a family member. Not only for his sake, but because losing their patriarch meant unprecedented instability in his family. You wanted to be sure of your spot amongst them, after you’d grown used to the privileges that came with being Patrick’s girlfriend. 

You fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, a family heirloom passed from generation to generation onto you. It was no expensive piece of jewelry, and it certainly wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was incredibly meaningful to you—a symbol of your family, which was extremely important to you. Patrick knew just how much you valued the ring and exactly what it represented to you, so in turn, you hoped that if you gave it to him, he would understand how much he meant to you. 

Getting up from where you’d been sitting for far too long, you began to pace the hallways of the hospital, wondering about the timing of your now imminent proposal. As you shuffled through the sterile building, you surprised yourself as you came across your partner. 

“Patrick!” you said with a start after unexpectedly catching a glimpse of him. 

“Hey,” he greeted unenthusiastically before beginning to walk right past you. 

“Wait,” you grabbed onto his arm before he could fully walk away, encouraging him to look right at you. It was now or never, and the words were on the tip of your tongue. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now,” he dismissed, his voice monotone and listless. 

“You do, though. Patrick, listen,” he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk, but was prepared to listen to you anyway. You knew you only had a few seconds to pitch your proposition before you lost him, so you spat out your words rather than beating around the bush. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” he looked at you with brows drawn in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the ideal reaction to your proposal, but then again it wasn’t much of a proposal. “Right now?”

“Obviously not now, but… soon?” as you spoke, you began the process of slipping the ring off your middle finger and attempting to present it to him in the palm of your hand. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic or put together proposal, but it felt right to be offering him such a grand and personal gesture while everything else was going sideways in his life. 

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I thought that maybe I could make things a little better with your dad and… I don’t know. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to wonder about what we could’ve been and-” you rambled on before you were interrupted with a sigh. 

“Honey, you can’t just make my dad dying better,” he rubbed his temple exasperatedly, then looked between you and the ring you were presenting him with. “If you wanted to make me feel better, you should’ve just brought me coffee.”

You frowned at him, knowing that you’d offered him that very thing earlier and he turned you down. You wondered if your communication would ever improve—or if it even needed to improve, since this proposal was going so poorly that you’d probably leave the hospital single. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you closed your palm and put your hand in the pocket of your jacket, fully prepared for Patrick to tell you to fuck all the way off. It had been stupid for you to think that Patrick would appreciate such a grand gesture during such a terrible time. 

“Wait,” Patrick stopped you, now reaching for your arm. “My answer isn’t a no, it’s just… I don’t want this to be the memory. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Doing all the work of getting your hand out of your pocket, he grabbed the ring you presented him with to further prove his words and slipped it on his ringer. It only fit halfway down his finger, but he kept it on regardless. 

“Really?” you said, suddenly perking up.

“Duh,” he replied, looking a little shy as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he briefly looked away from you, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye. 

You couldn’t contain your excitement at his answer, jumping and squealing a little bit as you pulled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. You heard the familiar sound of Patrick laughing quietly in your ear as you squeezed him. Though he always seemed to hold back his emotions, you knew that he was just as excited as you were to be promised to one another.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, draping your arms around his neck, holding him as close as you could until he inevitably pushed you away. 

Patrick surprised you with how long he was willing to embrace you, clearly in need of a little bit of comfort after such an emotionally exhausting night. You surprised yourself when you ended up being the person to pull away. 

“Should we go check on our family?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement around finally being in. 

“I just need a second,” he told you, glancing down the hallway before pulling you into yet another embrace. He pressed his face into your hair, soothing himself with your scent and presence. You rubbed circles into his back and muttered something about him taking all the time he needed.

You were interrupted by one of Patrick’s sisters, whose voice called out your names down the hallway. “When you two are finished with your snuggle-fest, the doctor has news for us.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick pushed you away quickly, his tune changing in an instant.

“Good news, I think. But move your asses. C’mon,” she directed, already turning away and Patrick quickly following her. 

If you were experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, you couldn’t even begin to understand how Patrick was feeling. Finding out his dad was sick, being proposed to, and immediately hearing more news about his father in the span of just a few hours must’ve felt unreal. 

You sat quietly and observed from the sidelines as a doctor took them into their father’s room and filled in the siblings on the state of him. They all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief, and though you couldn’t hear the exact news from where you were sitting, you knew that it must’ve been good. 

When Patrick came back to you, he had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked you. 

He didn’t need you to ask twice. You were more than prepared to escape the too-bright lights, sickeningly sterile scent, and the feeling of sadness that seemed to be hanging in the air of the hospital. 

Your driver was a welcome sight, with him giving you a quiet greeting as the two of you got in the backseat of the car. As he drove, Patrick reached for your hand, which you gladly gave up to him. 

In the following minutes, Patrick crept over further into your space until he sat directly beside you, leaning his head on you with his eyes closed. The long day was surely taking its toll, with the anxiety of his dad being in such dire straits, and the excitement and confusion of you proposing to him. 

His sleep was well earned. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then closed your own eyes, letting the soft sound of the early morning city traffic lull you to sleep. 

In the following days, you could tell that something wasn’t quite right with Patrick. At first, you chalked it up to nerves around his father’s health, but that didn’t seem to be it. Typically, when Patrick was really anxious about something, his silence on the elephant-sized topic gave him away. While you’d heard quite a bit about the state of his father from him—whether it was an update sent to him by his step-mother or an actual visit to the man—you hadn’t heard a peep about your engagement since the day after you got engaged. 

On the other hand, you were struggling to keep the news to yourself, despite the request of Patrick. You wanted to scream the announcement from the rooftops, but in the early morning after you returned from the hospital, Patrick made his position very clear: Wait a little while for things to blow over before you started telling people– your friends and family included. 

Despite the fact that he wore your ring every day since the day that you’d given it to him, something about his behavior told you that it was that very ring that was giving him so much internal conflict. 

In the past few years of knowing Patrick, you learned that he was a bit of a control freak. You wondered how out of control it made him feel for you to be the person to propose to him. Part of you wondered if you should’ve even proposed in the first place if it was going to be an issue. Maybe you should’ve let him do things on his own timeline, rather than making him feel nervous or insecure in your relationship.

But at the same time, Patrick initially seemed rather entertained by the idea of you getting married. In the morning after your engagement, he couldn’t stop referring to you as Mrs. Zweig. At the desk of your brand new office, given to you after a serious promotion, you found a box of expensive chocolates with a note fondly referring to you as his fiancé. As you laid next to him in bed that night, he pulled up the profiles of three separate wedding planners and asked you about your preference in people. 

It almost felt like his feelings on your engagement were constantly fluctuating between being excited to be with you forever, and being terrified of that very commitment. Things weren’t made any better by Patrick’s professional-level ability to dodge questions, especially questions related to how he genuinely felt. 

“C’mon, you know how I feel,” he replied to you after you directly asked him over breakfast. He lifted his mug casually, subconsciously putting space between the two of you. 

“Pat, I don’t. That’s why I asked,” you forced out a laugh, though the situation wasn’t exactly funny to you. If Patrick didn’t want to marry you, you didn’t want to force him to do so. 

“But you always know how I feel,” he said with a bit of a pout and a whine—what you called his ‘let me get away with it’ demeanor that he often used with his family—before setting down his coffee and standing up. 

“Not this time,” you explained, standing up as well and abandoning the plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you. 

“You’ll figure it out,” he dismissed your concerns and stepped close enough to you to hold your face in both of his hands. 

“Love you?” you asked, hoping that if he could confirm that at the very least, you might have a better understanding of what was going through his head. 

“Of course,” he said genuinely, though he didn’t offer you any parroting of those words. Instead, he dropped his hands from your cheeks and kissed one of them. “Have a good day at work, okay?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you tried not to look as annoyed as you actually felt as you made quick work of grabbing your work bag and leaving. You needed some time to make sense of it all. 

The situation only became more complicated as you sat down in a conference room, mentally preparing yourself to make your first big presentation as the newly vetted Head of Parks and Cruises division. You cared greatly about what your peers thought about you, so you couldn’t deny the nerves running through your veins. 

These nerves only increased when you caught a glimpse of Patrick from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the conference room, shaking hands with people on your floor and clearly making cordial small talk. 

You desperately hoped that he was there to wish you luck on your presentation, and not to pick your conversation from the morning back up. You bitterly thought about how he couldn’t have picked a worse time as he waved at you from the window. You stiffly waved back, not exactly in the mood to be interrupted right before a big presentation. 

“Hey, if I don’t make it back for whatever reason, you can do this presentation, right?” you asked quietly, leaning into your newly-hired assistant’s ear. 

“Wait, what?” he asked you, brows furrowing. “I don’t know, I haven’t practiced or anything, and-“

“Perfect,” you replied, not listening to a single word he was rambling out. “Just read off the slides. You’ll be okay.”

You didn’t bother staying to listen to Art ramble in your ear about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one presenting, and if he absolutely had to, he’d probably be fine. 

You shut the door behind you, politely waving at one of your co-workers as they entered the conference room. You made your way to Patrick and stood with your arms crossed against your chest, trying to strike a good balance between showing him how agitated you were, and not trying to further agitate your fiancé, who seemed to be in a particularly fragile mental state lately. 

“Hi honey, is anything important going on?” Patrick asked once you stood across from him. 

“Actually, yeah. Is there any way we could chat a little later? Like maybe an hour or two?” you suggested. “I can block some time off on my calendar for you and everything.”

“I’m sure whatever it is isn’t more important than this,” he glanced over at the conference room as he spoke to demonstrate his point. You wished you could explain to him how far that was from the truth.

“What is it?” you asked, your patience beginning to grow thin.

“You’ll have to see. Come with me?” he offered. 

“Patrick, I’m in the middle of a meeting!” you whisper-shouted, trying to keep your voice down and your body language mostly neutral, so your colleagues couldn’t observe how much you were freaking out as you talked to your partner. 

“It hasn’t started yet,” he dismissed casually. “They’ll be fine without you. I won’t be fine without you.”

You eyed him suspiciously. 

“Please,” he added, as if you’d ever be able to say no to him—though you were pretty tempted to do so. 

“Fine,” you gave in with a small, soft sigh. That didn’t deter Patrick at all, who seemed uncharacteristically excited as the two of you sat in the backseat of his car. 

“So where are we going? Or, what are we doing?” you asked, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in your gut that you felt about leaving your meeting. 

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick said coyly. “It’ll be more fun than that meeting, though.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking out the window. You hoped that whatever romantic gesture Patrick planned would be worth losing the respect of all of your peers. You wondered what you could tell them that would make your absence seem acceptable. Family emergency? It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t quite the truth either. 

When your ride stopped and you stepped out of the vehicle, you were surprised to find yourself at the diner that you spent the majority of your first few dates at, splitting pieces of pie and talking each other’s ears off for hours. 

“Craving some cherry pie?” you asked him curiously. Obviously, this seemed like a task he could’ve handled on his own, coming to the diner himself or having his driver buy and deliver him a whole pie, but you figured that maybe he was simply in the mood for some nostalgic comfort. In the midst of such chaos, you would be happy to give that to him. 

“It’s been too long,” he shrugged before grabbing your hand.

Patrick led you to the booth that you declared as yours all those years ago, and began to chat your ear off like normal. While you wanted to think about work, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the real world when you were in such a nostalgic place with him. 

The two of you ordered your old usual order, only enhancing the feeling of nostalgia as you shared a plate of painfully average pancakes and a slice of cherry pie.

“Ew, what is that?” you laughed after you bit into something hard and gross. “This fucking place,” you muttered, looking for a napkin that you could spit out whatever it was that you almost just consumed. 

When you glanced down at the napkin, you were shocked to find what looked like a metal ring covered in cherry syrup. “Oh shit. Do you think this belonged to someone?” 

Once you looked up, you were shocked to find Patrick holding a black velvet box, one that you’d seen before nearly a year ago as you deep-cleaned your shared bedroom, one that you chalked up as a gift for his mother or a friend. 

“Patrick?” you asked, clearly confused. He parroted your name right back to you and opened up the box, showing you one of the most beautiful rings you ever laid your eyes on. 

Suddenly, it made sense why he asked you to come out with him, interrupting you in the middle of the day to take you to a diner where you shared so many memories. Sure, he could’ve waited until you got off work, but you figured he was thinking about your conversation from the morning and wanted to do something that would show you how much he truly cared about you. He’d always been better at bigger gestures than verbally sharing his feelings, so part of you remained unsurprised. 

“I first fell in love with you here, so it only felt right to bring you back here to ask you to marry me?” he explained, not breaking eye contact with you. He was never one for a soapbox when it came to sharing his feelings, so his proposal was short and straight to the point. Though, you wondered if he had more words prepared that he simply couldn’t get out. Based on the speed of his leg bouncing under the table, you knew that Patrick was nervous out of his mind—despite him already knowing what your answer was. 

You recalled what Patrick told you in the hospital about not wanting your proposal to be the memory—the memory you told others about when you shared the news, or fondly recalled to your kids in ten years when you reminisced on your love story. 

If accepting his proposal now, and acting like his proposal was the only proposal made him feel better, you didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t fully lean into it.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, genuinely being surprised at the offer, but playing up your excitement for the sake of your nervous fiancé. “Of course I’ll marry you, Pat.”

Patrick broke into a toothy grin, his excitement contagious to you. “Give me your hand,” he directed, taking the ring out of the box. 

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and it somehow looked even better on your finger than it did in the box. You looked at it in amazement curling and uncurling your hand to look at the ring from all of its angles. 

“It’s gorgeous, Patrick. Thank you,” you told him earnestly as you looked from your hand to him. You weren’t surprised by the quality of the ring or even that he found something that you liked so much. Growing up with lavish gifts constantly being given as an expression of ‘love’ made Patrick pretty damn good at giving you gifts. As for the other expressions of love… he wasn’t the best. But he was very obviously trying his best for you, and you loved that about him. 

In some ways, your proposals felt like the perfect encapsulation of your roles in your relationship. While you offered Patrick a ring with little monetary, but high emotional value, he gave you a ring that was probably more expensive than you could ever fathom, that didn’t have the same emotional ties that your family heirloom of a ring did. 

Beyond the appearance or symbolism behind your rings, and despite your very different proposals, you were ecstatic to be engaged to Patrick. It only felt right that after years of loving the man, you two were finally making things official in the legal sense. 

As you peered at your shyly smiling fiancé, you couldn’t help but break out into a grin yourself. You underestimated just how exciting it would be for you to be starting a new chapter of your relationship. 

[chvoswxtch]

an adjustment

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: adjusting to a new normal with frank presents a few challenges, including one you thought you had put to rest.

warnings: swearing, lil angst, frank's voice (yes that needs a warning)

word count: 2.6k

a/n: a certain someone is making a cameo that will have a bigger role in the next chapter, but y'all know I love to tease. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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As much as the two of you wanted to stay in the cozy little bubble that existed in his cabin, reality had come knocking. Madani informed you that your place was no longer an active crime scene decorated in bodies, bullets, and blood, and Billy needed Frank for a new assignment. Some guy running for Senator had a lot of controversial opinions that pissed a bunch of people off and apparently warranted 24/7 security, and Anvil was at the top of his list for protection. Since Frank was the best at what he did, unfortunately he was at the top of that list too. Adjusting to a new normal had been…well…just that; an adjustment.

A difficult, confusing, thought consuming adjustment.

For over half of the past year, Frank had been by your side. You started and ended every single day with him. The sudden absence of his presence was jarring, and you still found yourself immediately confused when you glanced up from your computer screen to tell him something only to realize he wasn’t there. Frank didn’t always talk a whole lot, but your office suddenly felt so much more quiet and empty without him. And despite a full blown security system installed by him on your behalf, it was hard for you to feel safe in your own home with the lingering scars of what had happened etched into the walls beneath a layer of new paint. 

Frank called you at least once every day, just to hear your voice, but between both of your complicated schedules, time was not in your favor. You had spent the past three weeks adapting to Frank’s vacancy, but found yourself spiraling anytime you were left alone with your own thoughts. What if this was over before it had even really started? What if it wasn't anything anyway? There hadn’t been a moment for you and Frank to sit down and actually talk about what your relationship was since the cabin. You know what it meant to you, and you knew what you wanted it to mean to him, but you wanted to hear what it meant to him from his own mouth. 

A part of you felt childish for wanting to bring it up. What were you supposed to do? Send him a text saying “are you my boyfriend, check yes or no”? Another part of you felt valid in needing reassurance. It was reasonable to want to establish a relationship with someone you were dating. But were you and Frank dating? He hadn’t technically asked you out on an actual date, but he had risked his life to save yours on several occasions. That had to count for something. You hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Steven, and Frank was not only a widower, but also your former bodyguard, so the normal rules of dating felt like they had been completely thrown out the window.

A knock at the door abruptly pulled you out of your chaotically indecisive inner monologue, and you saw a guy that appeared to be fresh out of high school standing in the doorway of your office.

“You Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. How can I help you?”

The kid took a few steps forward into your office and practically shoved a sealed brown envelope in your face. He looked bored and annoyed, as if you were somehow inconveniencing him because he had to deliver something to you. It made you want to make a snide comment about how your name was clearly listed outside your office door and ask how the hell he managed to graduate without the ability to read. 

“This is for you.”

Reaching for the envelope, your brows pinched together as you turned it over. There was nothing written on the front of it, no address, no name, not even a stamp.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, lady. I’m just the messenger. Open it and find out.”

Before you could reply with a smartass comment, the kid had already walked out of your office, leaving you alone with the mysterious brown envelope. Clenching your jaw, you refrained from chasing him down the hall and asking who the hell raised him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you had to remind yourself that you were a grown woman that would face charges for decking a teenager, even if he was legal and a complete dick.

“Asshole.”

Muttering under your breath, you pinched the aluminum prongs together on the seal, flipping the top of the envelope open to reach inside and pull out a stack of documents. When you turned them over, five big bold letters instantly caught your attention.

LETTER OF INTENT TO SUE.

During your time as a journalist, people had threatened to sue you over stories several times. It came with the territory. The first time you had gotten a letter like this, you nearly had a complete meltdown. Ben had found it far more amusing than you did, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin on his face while sipping at his coffee and chuckling.

“Ah, I remember my first lawsuit letter. You get used to ‘em. You can either frame that one or forward that to the uh legal department. It’s in the blue recycling bin outside.”

And he had been right. People had tried to sue the paper, and you specifically, several times over the course of your career, but nothing ever actually went anywhere. You normally wouldn’t have thought twice about it, and you were about to toss it into the trash bin on the floor next to your desk when your eyes skimmed over who sent the letter, and your blood instantly began to sizzle.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Steven fucking Price.

Gritting your teeth harshly, you narrowed your eyes as you read over the first paragraph on the page.

This letter of intent to sue shall hereby be considered formal notice that STEVEN PRICE intends to file a lawsuit against you if you do not comply with the settlement demands set out in this letter.

The storm of anger brewing inside you had your hands shaking violently, and you were clutching onto the paper in your hands so tightly that your fingernails had left indents in the crinkled sides that were held captive in your vice grip. When Homeland took him away in custody, you thought that was the last you would ever have to deal with him or see him until the trial. But here he was, still making demands of you, from federal prison. 

Frank’s gruff voice sounded on the other end of the line after one ring before you even realized you had called him.

“He’s fucking suing me.”

“What? Who?”

“Steven.”

There was a brief shuffling noise on the other end of the line, and you faintly heard Frank mutter an “excuse me” before his deep baritone sounded once again in your ear.

“The hell you mean he’s suin’ you?”

“Some kid came and dropped off an envelope, who was a real dick by the way, and then I opened it and saw it’s a letter of intent to sue. I didn’t think anything of it at first because I get these all the time, but then I saw his fucking name.”

“Suin’ you for what though?”

Tossing the documents onto your desk, you began to pace back and forth in your office as you ran your hand through the roots of your hair in pure frustration.

“I don’t fucking know, a load of bullshit? I didn’t even read what his ‘demands’ were. He can’t…he can’t do that, right? I didn’t do anything.”

Pausing for a second, your hysterical rant subsided momentarily as one possible reason for a lawsuit popped into your head.

“I mean…I did punch him in the face. But he’s going to sue me for that? There’s no fucking way. Putting it on public record that a girl half his size punched him? His ego couldn’t handle it.”

“You did break his nose.”

“He fucking deserved it, I should’ve broken more.”

Frank’s deep chuckle of amusement sounded from the other end of the line, and it instantly made you forget what you were so pissed about for a brief moment.

“I ain’t disagreein’ with you there. Look, take a deep breath, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you closed your eyes for a moment and enjoyed the soft tone of Frank’s rough voice as you followed his gentle instruction. With your eyes closed, it was almost like he was there with you. Once Frank could hear your breathing even out a bit on the other end of the line, he spoke in a delicately low tone that had your toes curling in your shoes.

“Attagirl. Send me the letter and I’ll talk to Madani ‘bout it, yeah?”

“I don’t even have a lawyer-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now, alright? Just take another deep breath, relax, and let me handle it.”

“You’re always handling things.”

“That’s kinda my job, baby.”

One little pet name and you were blushing like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Thankfully Frank wasn’t in your office at that moment to see the intense heat in your cheeks and the goofy smile splitting your lips. He would’ve definitely had a field day teasing you about it.

“You’re pretty good at your job. Maybe a little too good. If you were kinda sucky at it, everyone wouldn’t want you so bad.”

“The only one I want bad is you.”

A fluttering feeling erupted in your lower belly at those words, coupled with the way his voice had dropped an impossible octave lower, and you found yourself clutching at the edge of your desk to keep your knees from giving out right from under you. If Frank was here, you would’ve gladly let him bend you over it.

Clearing your throat, you attempted to change the subject before you got too worked up. 

“How’s the new guy?”

Grabbing the iced coffee sitting on your desk, you held it against the heated skin of your neck. Droplets of the cool condensation slowly cascaded down your flesh, causing you to shiver while trying to balance your internal temperature.

“Not as pretty as you.”

Letting out a soft snort, you rolled your eyes and leaned back against the edge of your desk.

“Well I would hope not.”

Frank chuckled deeply again, and you could clearly picture the look on his face in your mind; an expression of playful exasperation with a faint smirk on the edge of his soft lips.

“He’s more of a pain in the ass than you. Didn’t think that was possible.”

“You’re really great at this whole flirting thing, you know that?”

The dry sarcasm in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by Frank, and it tore a deeper laugh from low within his chest that made you grin.

“Hey, I been outta practice for a while. Gimme a break.”

“Speaking of flirting, how’s Billy?”

“He’s uh…he’s good.”

Something about Frank’s tone suddenly seemed off, and you wanted to ask him about it, but there was a faint rustling on the other end of the line, like Frank was pressing the speaker against his chest, and you could barely make out his muffled voice speaking to someone. When he lifted his phone back to his ear, you caught the end of a deep sigh.

“Listen I uh…I gotta go, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That was a lie. You didn’t have anything pressing deadlines at the moment. You would’ve stayed on the phone for the rest of the day with Frank if you could’ve, maybe convinced him to sneak away and come see you. He was still in New York, luckily, but anywhere that wasn’t right next to you was still too far. 

“Send me the letter. I’ll talk to Madani and take care of it, alright?”

“Okay. I…thank you.”

“You ain’t gotta thank me.”

“You keep saying that, but then you keep giving me reasons to. So, we can have this argument until eventually you give up I guess.”

Frank chuckled deeply once more, and you could picture him in your mind shaking his head with a light grin. He sounded normal again, but you made a mental note to ask him about what was really going on when you spoke to him next.

“Same time tomorrow then, yeah?”

»»———　　———««

According to Madani, Steven didn’t have a case, and you technically had nothing to worry about. However, you were admittedly curious about what the hell he wanted, and Frank had said that if you did want to go talk to Steven, he would go with you. Actually, he respectfully insisted that you not see Steven without him present, and while you didn’t want to see Steven at all, you did want to see Frank.

You suffered through almost three years with Steven. You could suffer another five minutes if it meant you got to spend time with Frank.

It wasn’t your first time visiting a prison. A few years ago when you were still working with Ben, he had been interviewing a death row inmate that had been declaring innocence for fifteen years, and Ben had managed to prove that the evidence for his case had been tampered with and that the man had been telling the truth the entire time. Despite how daunting it felt to be in a place that kept violent people caged like animals, you felt safe with Ben then, much like you did with Frank now.

Currently, you were pacing back and forth down the hallway in pure irritation.

“What is taking so long?”

Frank had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall outside of the meeting room that was typically reserved for inmates and their lawyers. The guard had said he would bring Steven in shortly, but that was twenty minutes ago. Since Frank had met you at the prison, and due to all the prying eyes, you hadn’t had a private moment to do more than smile at him when he arrived. It was the first time you were able to see him in person in three and a half weeks, and he somehow looked even more attractive than he ever had, and you were being forced to endure an interaction with your ex, who tried to have you killed, just to get Frank alone.

It was torture.

“Told ‘em we’re waitin’ on your lawyer.”

Pausing mid-step, you glanced over at Frank with a look of complete puzzlement.

“I don’t have a lawyer, I told you that.”

As Frank turned his head to look at you, he suddenly lifted his gaze to stare directly above your head as someone behind you caught his eye. He stood up straight and uncrossed his arms as he gestured with his chin in the direction behind you.

“You do now.”

With your brows knit in threads of confusion towards the center of your forehead, a light tapping sound behind you caused your ears to perk up, and you turned your head to find the source of the noise and Frank’s attention.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Matthew Murdock. I’m your attorney.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[philistiniphagottini]

Kinich 💋

Thank you Anon~

cw. fluff, making out, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, ((ajaw makes a cameo))

You are taken by surprise when Kinich reached out and pulled you into his lap. A loud squeak blew past your parted lips as you end up sprawled across Kinich's lap on the couch, giving your boyfriend ample opportunity to lean down and seal his lips over yours. A sharp gasp turned into a pleased hum of content at the soft touch of his lips against yours, long lashes fluttering over your cheeks as you melted into the kiss. The tense muscles in your body slowly relaxed as Kinich cradled the nape of your neck in the palm of his hand, fingers tangled in your silky hair as the soft tresses curled around his fingertips. Your eyes slipped closed, stars wavering behind the lids as Kinich slowly tastes the shape of your mouth, a warm hum tickling the back of his throat as he kissed you senseless.

Your pulse buzzed in your ears as you kissed Kinich back with as much fervor as you could muster in your position, leaning further up only to be gently coaxed back down by the hand splayed across your soft belly, Kinich's silent plea for you to stay exactly where you were and let him indulge a little. His boldness made your heart flutter wildly in your chest as you felt his tongue swipe across the plushness of your kiss swollen lips. Your heart was ready to leap out of your throat as his warm breath puffed against your burning cheeks, the tips of your ears flushing red hot as he drew your bottom lip in his mouth and caught it between his sharp teeth. You jolted, almost springing out of his lap but settling as he squeezed your plump waist in reassurance, gazing down at you with lidded eyes as your own eyes slipped open and caught his heated stare. He let go of your lips for a brief moment, only to seek the heat of your mouth once more as his tongue slipped past the seam of your lips. You moaned softly as your tongues touched, the tips of your fingers tingling with numbness as a pleasant shiver raced along the curve of your spine. You could taste him in the back of your mouth when you swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as Kinich’s teeth softly clacked into yours and he lapped at the beads of saliva clinging to the edges of your lips.

You pushed on Kinich’s chest as you reluctantly pulled away, taking in a deep breath and greedily filling your lungs with air. Kinich was eager to chase after your lips as he planted another soft kiss on the bruised skin, causing a soft giggle to bubble up your throat as you squirmed from the ticklish brush of his lips.

“What's gotten into you?” you laughed, tipping your head as Kinich managed to land another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Nothing” Kinich denied. “I'm perfectly fine.”

You sensed there was more to it but you did not press the matter. Why should you complain? You enjoyed being pampered, simply indulging in more of Kinich’s affection as he nuzzled his nose into your soft cheek with a small huff. You cupped his warm face in the palm of your hand, fingers pressed into the soft skin of his cheek as you drew his lips back to yours, mouth so tantalisingly close you could already feel him tingling on the tip of your tongue again. Until…

“Slave! I demand that you give attention to me, the Great-Ewwwwwww!”

A pinch formed between Kinich’s brow, head hanging low as he bit back the disdainful groan that stirred in his chest. You patted his cheek in sympathy as Ajaw had chosen one of the worst moments to appear, the pixel dragon visibly gagging and pulling faces at the display of affection that he unintentionally invited himself in on.

“Ew! Gross! Can't you do better?” The “Great” Ajaw raged, flying in circles around Kinich’s head in a tantrum as he kicked up a fuss.

“Don't insult them” Kinich warned as he threw Ajaw a filthy look. “I'll put you in time out again.”

Ajaw stopped in his tracks with a loud huff, the pixels around his face flashing red as he bared his teeth at Kinich.

“I wasn't talking to you! Seriously, you can do better than Kinich! In fact, I, the Great Ajaw will soon have an opening for-”

And he was back in time out, flung back into the abyss from whence he came; disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared. You continued to pat Kinich’s cheek, offering your greatest sympathy as the crease in his brow had yet to ease.

“Sorry about him” Kinich apologised.

“It's okay” you replied with a soft smile. “Just pay me back in kisses and we'll call it even.”

[bossuary]

remember when Anders was a Warden? ha ha. good times. yeah, but seriously why would Inquisition show us an epilogue of an exiled, post DA2 Anders living destitute in some cave...when they could have put him back with the Wardens?

You're telling me he wouldn't reconsider going back to them after the events at Adamant? After Justice learns what Corypheus did to the Wardens? Not Vengeance but JUSTICE. What a juicy piece of heartbreak, a necessary closure, for Anders to seek out the remaining Wardens...ugh, back in the ANDERFELS of all places. A bitter homecoming for a man who barely had a place to call home his whole life, unwelcome among mages who should show him the most kindness, brought with somber acceptance back into the fraternity of duty that he abandoned. A broken and limping faction itself.

Anders was lucky to have survived the Architect and Amaranthine. He was lucky to have survived his own righteousness in Kirkwall. Lucky to have survived the bloody conflict he sparked, that ate southern Thedas. Lucky, to have survived Corypheus' false calling and the whispering misery of the Nightmare.

Luck or Fate?

If he's still kicking around after the Breach is sealed and the Dread Wolf has risen, Anders has to wonder if there ought to be a purpose to his continued existence. If there's no such thing as destiny, then all that matters is choice. Every choice Anders has made has cost him dearly. He's nothing if not consistent! But rebels grow old, if they're lucky. They grow up, they grow into greater and more profound perspectives. The Anders who once said he'd basically rather die than go back to the Wardens, the same man who lived through the brutal widespread consequences of blowing up the Chantry, could absolutely make a different choice.

I have to believe some part of him still remembers what it was like to defend Amaranthine, to be willing to stand between the innocent and the darkness. To choose to serve, and not to run.

idk. . .of all the cameos and faction agents we could see in Veilguard, to find Anders and Justice among the Wardens would be a phenomenal and welcome plot twist.

[grandisknight]

to wish upon a star

summary: Xavier gifts you a token of his affection, paired with promises to fulfill whatever you wish upon him.

tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, afab!reader, fluff (at first), kissing, feelings, crying, banter, teasing, body worship, eventual smut, pwp, breast play, improper use of light evol, consent checks, ring play, v fingering, mirror sex, dirty talk, finger sucking, handjob, p in v, creampie, ‘i love you,’ implied/referenced sex

+ wc: 7.6k | ao3 version

notes: inspired by the affinity 100 rings! i started this when i got said rings with xavier like… last month… oops. let’s pretend their promise rings are actually On their ring fingers 🤫 (in-game they’re on the middle ones…) this is like honestly 90% smut and 10% feelings so take that as you will! also song cameo is ‘must be love’ by laufey c:

dividers from cafekitsune

“I can’t believe you pulled this off,” you spoke in awe to Xavier.

When he had mentioned needing your hand measurements before, you were sure it was for your worn-out combat gloves that had seen better days. It seemed natural, largely due in part to a passing conversation from just days ago. He heard out your concerns then, and agreed it’d be best to invest in a new pair.

But now, there was a silver metal wrapped perfectly around your finger in its place. Surreal, it shined with every angle of your admiring hand. Delicate jewels inlaid all around to meet at the central place, a dazzling shooting star. Everything about it was a perfect capsule of him. It was now a piece of you too, a promise to the twinkling cosmos that sealed your affection.

Xavier’s hand clasped over yours, his own band glinting just the same and lightly clinking at the contact. His star pressed to the engraving of the smaller equal, a completed puzzle that only the two of you held the pieces to. “Now whenever you wish upon a star, you can look here.”

His fingers quietly thread into your counterpart, bringing them to his lips and a gentle kiss graced your knuckles. Peering through his lashes, the kind pools of blue searched yours, reflecting a sea of stars that found their home in you.

“Are you saying I can’t ask this star of mine for a wish anymore?” A lighthearted remark was all that it was, but you still caught the surprise in his eyes at the sound of it.

They soon settled into crescents, a small smile pulling at his lips. “No. This star will always, always be the first to hear your wishes.”

Such an earnestness in his honest confession pulled at your heartstrings, eliciting yet another awe from you and a chuckle in his place. Xavier angled your hands, lips brushing over the band to prove his words. “Make a wish now, and I’m sure it’ll be granted.”

“Really?” You pull your hand away, only to cup his jaw in beckoning. “I wish upon my star for him to kiss me right now.”

He lets out a lofty sigh then, the tip of his nose meeting yours in proximity. “Your wish is my command.”

Xavier’s lips tenderly pressed into yours, the plush pillows melting almost immediately upon contact. A hint of warm vanilla and honey tinted his kiss, lingering traces of the milk tea from earlier fragrant all throughout. It was slow, practiced and careful—to admire the love he had waited eons for, sealing the reality he had once thought would be a far away dream.

No sooner did he quietly ask for permission for something more, tongue ardently pushing against yours. It was granted with a simple parting of your lips and a tilt of the head, more than happy to oblige. Xavier took greater care to memorize you then, tracing the contours of your canines and sucking in the warmth you returned to him. A low moan passed from his throat and into yours, his hands searching for your waist in an effort to draw you closer.

Parting for a moment of breath, you gently thumb at his cheek and realize how flushed his skin had become. Rosy from the shell of his ear, spreading across the skin just below his fluttering lashes and sinking into the lines of his neck—if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he just came home from an intensive workout, the poor thing.

You could only snicker at the way he blindly chased for your missing lips, causing him to finally peel open what was a lidded gaze of disappointment and pause.

“Someone’s impatient,” you muse. Your forehead meets his and a whisper of his breath tickles your face as he huffs lightly.

“And someone is the reason behind it,” Xavier points out.

The moment was calm, only the soft puffs of breath and thudding hearts echoed through the space you shared. His fingers dimple into the plush of your sides in an off-beat pattern, a quiet hum of notes resonating from his throat. Arms wrapped around his neck, the two of you began to slowly sway to a gentle melody. Occasionally, Xavier would swap out the notes for a mumbling of the lyrics��

I’m all in, I’m fallin’… Can’t get back up… Can’t think right, too tongue-tied… It must be love…

Padded footsteps attempted to follow such a tune, your bodies soon naturally flowing with time and dancing amidst the comforts of his living room. Your muscle memory led to a simple one-two step of a waltz once put to use from a mission of the past. And while practice did not make perfect, it aged in the progress you’ve made since then, now well attuned to his footsteps and his to yours. You found yourself resting your cheek against the square of his chest, humbly feeling each vibrato of his song.

“By the way.” Xavier suddenly speaks up, the soft notes coming to a halt.

He watches as you look to meet his gaze, and oh, you were truly beautiful. The light of his life—undeniably he was enamored, a lost cause and irrevocably yours. Not like he would have it any other way, and a skip in his heart’s beat proves to him just as much. He nearly forgets the words he wanted to relay to you, stunning him into silence the longer he  looked at you. A hand brushes a strand of your hand to rest neatly behind your ear, moving to your chin and tilting to meet his lips in a quick kiss.

Reminding himself, reminding you.

“Mm?” You mumbled against him, though made no effort to protest and returned the peck in affection. A series of blinks met your gaze when you pulled back, fluttering glimpses of a curious blue drinking you whole. 

“Using your Xavier cipher again? What could it be…” Your lips pursed in thought, and he could only press yet another quick kiss at the endearing sight.

His voice lowers in a request that holds your breath in anticipation. “You’re also my shooting star. Won’t you grant me a wish?”

———

Time blurred itself into a dizzying sequence that landed yourselves in the dip of his comforters, hands unabashedly making quick work of your clothes and his. Somewhere, someplace were the mixed fabrics—in a pile saved for a later time to deal with. Here, the thin layers of your undergarments were the only barriers to complete entry of enveloping each other in bare warmth. 

A light sheen of sweat speckled your skin, fingers gripping his shoulders and a huff pushing past your lips. You squirmed beneath him, his larger frame bracketing yours as he added yet another flower of red to decorate your neck. A kiss of consolation fluttered over the newfound mark, and Xavier dragged his lips to the centerpiece of your collarbone.

“Xavier.”

“Mm?”

He looked up at you then, azure stared lost in the cloudiness of his desires. His calming beauty had shifted into something sharper, keenly observing the ways he could devour you whole. A stark contrast to the bright, cheerful twinkle from just moments ago. It hammered your heart into a thundering pace, and Xavier could tell. 

His lips curled then, slowly kissing his way down your sternum, stopping just above the place that exposed your flustered state. Hands smoothed themselves from your sides down to the high of your thighs, parting them deftly to slot himself between the newfound space. Soft massages of his fingers melted into your skin, patiently waiting for you to continue.

“Do you want to stop? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Xavier reminds you. A tentative peck places itself between your breasts, before his chin lightly rests upon it. 

“No, we can keep going.” You reach to rake fingers through his silver locks, brushing the soft parting away in revealing his furrowed brow. A thumb traces the thin hairs to smooth the tension, working instantly as they settled and you hummed. “You never said what your wish was. How am I supposed to grant it if you don’t tell me?”

“It’s you,” he simply responds. Speaking as if it was a universal truth and the most obvious thing in the world, not a hint of doubt behind his conviction.

“Me?” Now you were confused by a mere two words. Pulling your hand back, your arms slid to prop themselves as you gave him an incredulous look. “Yeah, I’ll grant your wish if that’s what you’re saying. So spill the beans already.”

Xavier shakes his head, a faint laugh passing through his breath. “You’re my wish. Everything about you,” he starts, a gentle kiss pressing to your sternum once more.

“From the way you laugh at the videos you show me, and to the smile on your face after we complete a trial.” Another press of his lips moves down, a peppered trail soon making its way to your navel. “Even your sassy remarks during cards, passionate energy when we play the claw machine and sad moments alike when we leave empty-handed.”

One of his hands sneak up to squeeze your side, gingerly massaging the plush skin. His mouth lingers longer here, inhaling your warmth and nose nudging into your abdomen. “My wish is you, always has been. All you have to do is be yourself, and allow me the honor to stay by your side.”

You’re not sure what good deed you must have accomplished in your previous life, but you were more than grateful that it led you to this very moment. And the overwhelm of such an awareness had your eyes burning and sight blurred to sudden tears—great, you were crying. The atmosphere had quickly sobered into something more raw, subsiding the heat of the moment.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Xavier coos, eyes of love searching yours in realization.

That alone had your bottom lip trembling, furthering the waterworks at his kindness. Swiftly but gently did he lean forward to capture your tears between his puckered lips, kissing them away. A hand cradled your jaw with every little weep that paired your breaths. 

You reached for his face then, taking hold of his surprised cheeks before pressing those very lips to your own. It was a measly attempt of a kiss, one to quell your emotional heart and to reign in all your focus on your lover—but he returned it all the same, tender and careful pecks falling into the smile that melted into you entirely.

“You’re an idiot.” You sniffled, pulling away with a slight pout to defend your disposition. He could only chuckle at the poor name-calling.

“I thought I was your sulking, jealous dummy,” Xavier teases, lightly rubbing his nose against yours. “And you said that was your favorite kind. Now you take me as an idiot?”

“You can be both,” you reason, stroking the apples of his cheek in turn. Your eyes flick towards the metal resting on your finger, and you tap it against his face in thought. “Lucky for me, those versions of you are mine.”

“All versions of me belong to you. Every part of me is yours.” He raises his own ringed hand, cupping it against yours. “You’re the only star I could ever need in this vast universe.”

“That really makes us a pair of shooting stars then.”

A flash of astonishment spreads across his features before it’s soon blinked away, replaced with sentimental adoration and a relaxed expression. “You’re right,” he hums. 

He takes your hand and presses the ring to his lips—a new habit that he’ll have a hard time breaking, it seems—before trailing down your forearm and making his way to your shoulder. It left you feeling ticklish, and you squirmed as much by the time he made his way to your ear.

“Is something funny?” Xavier’s warm breath blew past the shell of your ear then, earning him a delightful squeal from you in turn. 

“Ack! Don’t do that, it tickles!” You attempted to widen the distance between your now closely pressed bodies, feeling embarrassed at the proximity. It was to no avail when you had one of the greatest Deepspace Hunters leaning over you, encapsulating your body beneath his with such practiced and natural ease. 

“Hm? What did I do?” He asked innocently, before knowingly blowing another puff of air and chuckling at the sight. “You’re so sensitive, and I’ve barely done a thing.”

The words were lodged in your throat when you felt something hotter welcome itself over your ear. Xavier’s tongue traced the curves of your helix down to your lobe in a circular pattern, leaving a lasting impression of his warmth behind. His teeth catch the end of your ear, a gentle yet foreboding nibble sinking in and pulled away with a tug.

It took all of your fighting spirit to put some air back into your lungs, and the look you gave him matched it. “Xavier, you know what you’re doing.” Though you didn’t particularly have it in you to disagree, a warm tingle sparks throughout your spine in enjoyment.

“Maybe?” He feigns an innocuous air, though the edge of his lips quirk briefly. “So about my wish,” he starts, calmly staking his claim with a brush of his hand over the curve of your rising chest. 

Not only was the sound of it prevalent, but the ardent thumping of your anticipating heart sparked an unexpected feeling within him. Relief, for one. You were alive, warm to the touch and resounding so beautifully. But also, a sense of unbridled attraction arose from the touch, his blood pumping in more places than one. A deep inhale followed the movement of his fingers, which danced themselves to the sweet spot just beneath your navel. 

“You remember what it is, don’t you?”

It felt like a trick question. Especially so, when you could feel the pads of his fingers smooth over the waistband of your underwear. Those very fingers that were centimeters larger than your own, a ghosting touch just barely skimming over the clothed mound of heaven’s gates—temptation in the palm of his hand.

“Me.” 

You managed the singular word with a faint breath, a sense of mind quickly blurring with the heat that overwhelmed you from the presence of his fingers. A tentative press, though gentle as ever, presented itself between your heat and elicited a shaky sigh from you. If he had just moved them a little closer, you could relieve yourself of this building tension. Yet, he made no motion to do so, fingers soon coming to a halt. The delicious thought ran away from you, and you had half the mind to curse him out right there.

“Correct.” Xavier’s voice lowered, a rasp you weren’t quite used to and even so, scratched all the right parts of your brain. A purr that settled into the crevices of your memory for days to come. “And what I want in this very moment is you. To touch, see and hear all that you have to offer.”

Contrary to his list of wants, he removes his hands from you entirely, leaving you to feign disappointment at the sudden loss. Moving to the edge of the bed, his thighs spread apart as he patted the space between them in invitation. You rose from your spot, a frown on your face earning you a chuckle in turn. The comforter padded your crawl towards the newfound seat. Xavier tugged you into his embrace, caged between firm leg muscles and biceps that circled around your waist.

Doubt was written across your face at his unspoken motives. “What’s this all about?” You huffed, less than pleased to be left strung on from just seconds ago.

Yet, Xavier only rested his chin on your shoulder, snuggling in comfortably and choosing not to meet your eye. The sweet gesture contrasted the heated words that brushed your ears in beckoning. “Look up, and tell me what you see.”

“I see…” You lift your gaze then, realizing exactly where you were. 

It led you to the mirror of your reflection just paces away, tidily pressed against the wall and encompassing your image in its entirety. Xavier’s frame had neatly shadowed yours, where his ringlets of blue were awaiting you expectantly in the glass. The melting sunset made your combined bodies glow, and your eyes instinctively trailed over the grasp that kept you in place. 

“Us,” you deduced. “You and me.”

“That’s right,” he nods, tufts of silver bouncing. His hands sneak themselves upwards, one each cupping your breast and giving a light squeeze. “Keep talking. What do you see now?”

“Now?” You echoed, a tinge of embarrassment to your voice and skimming the tips of your ears. “I can’t—Ah, ah.”

Xavier rolled your nipples in between his fingers swiftly, teasing and pulling the skin as your breasts spilled out of their brassiere. He kisses your shoulder as his massaging and tugging cycle themselves, gaze coolly pinned on you through the reflection. “You can. Use your words and tell me.”

“You’re teasing me,” you breathed, shrinking in on yourself with every press of his fingers. A fingertip pressed into your areola and you inhaled sharply, “Touching me… y’know, over there.”

“Where?” He questions, fingers splaying out to cup your breasts wholly and giving a firmer squeeze. 

“Is it here?” His chin rubs into your shoulder blade with the affection of a kitten seeking warmth. 

“Or maybe here?” Following were his knees kneading against the sides of your thighs, his chest pressing into your back to capture you entirely. A hunter who had his prey in the fine confines of his muscles. 

Xavier murmured. “This all counts as touching too. So, where exactly am I touching you then?”

“My… my…” You squirmed against him, back arching away when his thumb and forefinger returned to pinching a firm bud. 

Even as you moved, Xavier would follow, hands over your skin and attached without remorse. His eyes glimmered in merriment, shining clearly amidst the reflection of your tangled bodies. “Hm? Did you say something?”

“Chest, my chest, damn you.” You managed as much through gritted teeth, biting down a mewl to his indecent touches. Xavier smiles against your shoulder, rewarding you with a smooch of commiseration—ironic, when it was all part of his plan. 

You felt like you were finally catching a break as soon as his hands slid away from your sorely swollen breasts, a sigh of relief passing under your nose. Though, it was shortly lived with the dive of those very hands finding their way to the plush of your abdomen.

“And what about now?” He asks, dimpling his fingers into the flesh in the adjacency of a kitten pawing a blanket. It was a comforting touch, hands flattening across your stomach in a gentle massage.

“My stomach,” you answered, having quickly picked up on his tactful play. “Though, you seem to be nicer this time around.”

“I’m always nice.” Xavier shrugs his shoulders, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your skin. “And you’re beautiful. I can’t help but appreciate the gentle soul between my arms.”

He attempts to make various shapes with his fingers just above your navel before settling on a slightly crooked heart. Well, it was the thought that counted.

The hook of his cramped forefingers and equally contorted middles had you giggling at the sight, as sweet as the sentiment was. “We do this all the time at the photo studio, but look at your poor posture,” you teased, attempting to relax the tensed appendages.

He eases at your touch, allowing you to reshape his fingers in a more comfortable position. “Yeah. There’s only so much the photography poses book for beginners could do,” Xavier spoke earnestly, his chin finding rest atop the crown of your head. “But since you’re my partner, it’s been easier to handle the studio light at the very least.”

“Good, because we’re heading there later this week anyway. We’ll need new photos to commemorate today.” Your gaze trails over your hands atop of his, a downward peek over your skin and finding it reflected in the mirror’s orientation. It was a natural illustration of what it meant to feel at home, especially when he held you in an embrace that promised a shared tomorrow. Your heart felt warm in the blanket of his care.

You shift your head away to peer up at him, and he looks downwards to curiously see why his resting place had moved. You pressed a light kiss to the edge of his jaw then, a token of gratitude in reminder of what led you here in the first place.

Xavier lets out a pleased hum, though takes the opportunity to cup your chin. His thumb brushes against the brim of your lower lip, looking intently. Bringing your faces closer, mouth dipping to meet yours, he mumbles a remark. “You missed the most important spot.”

Another smack of his lips against you lingers longer than the one before it, your eyes fluttering to a close. Like clockwork, the prodding of his tongue against yours seeking allowance melted into a warm welcoming as you tilted into his embrace. It distracted you momentarily, perception dulled in the efforts of capturing your breaths—Xavier smoothed his hands over your thighs, and only then did their parting cause you to blink into realization.

Drawing back, you saw his gaze was no longer set on yours but straight ahead once more. “Xav…ier?” His name left your lips in a sense of familiar foreboding, a bubbling cauldron of heat settling into your senses. “That’s…!”

“I haven’t fully touched you here in a while and yet,” said the man in question, dipping a finger to push against your clothed folds. The fabric darkened over where you were practically weeping with need, and even as he drew back the appendage, a light string followed in suit. “You’re soaked, angel.”

“You can’t just say that,�� you bemoaned, embarrassed at the honest nature. In an attempt to save yourself some face, your thighs instinctively pressed together to hide such an exposed state.

Though it was rendered useless when Xavier stopped you halfway, purposefully keeping your legs spread with a click of his tongue. One hand squeezed the plush of your inner thigh in tune, the other returning to skim over your underwear. The slightest drag of his fingernails and digging of cloth created a friction that had you squirming, a line between the need to flee for your pride and need to be satiated for the sake of achieving pleasure promptly blurring.

“Just observing,” he softly brings up in countenance. “Admiring, even. Is that a problem?”

“Well, I just—Ugh, please.” Your heart spoke before your mind could, practically mewling when the tips of his fingers curled just above your entrance—where you needed him the most. “You know why it’s like this…” You’re to blame, you thought, with the unspoken words hanging off your tongue.

Xavier sighs into the curve of your neck. “Maybe I do, or don’t. What do you want me to do about it?”

Your thighs twitch when he prods further, lightly pushing back and forth in reminder of what you could have. The orbiting sensation of his fingers had you fluttering around nothing, and your patience was wearing thin. Fine, fine. It was time to throw in all your dice and hope your numbers scored high. Throwing away your shield of pride for now, you ultimately settle to be honest with your desires.

Boldly, you press your hand over his and firmly slotted his fingers between your neatly soiled cunt. He lets out a soft gasp, stunned by your affirmation. Though Xavier doesn’t pull away, decidedly enveloping your heat wholly against the expanse of his palm.

“Make me feel good here.” Your eyes never left the reflection, enjoying the sight of his brow twitching at your demand. Concentrated entirely on your words, they deepened as you continued to lay out your thoughts. “Use these nice, skilled hands of yours and make me think of nothing but you.” 

The lowered gleam of his eyes twinkled when they found yours in the reflection. “Are you asking for a second wish?”

You nodded, coyly exaggerating your request. “You’re the only star I’m wishing on. Can’t you do this one thing for me?” Testing his resolve, it was as if you were questioning his steadfast promise.

With a sharp inhale, the thread of his patience snipped soon thereafter.

“I can do that, surely. But these are in the way,” he mumbles calmly. A familiar glow emits from his fingers, gentle specks floating around them. There was an even fainter woosh accompanied by the slightest gust of air. It fell past your ears before both disappeared with a blink of an eye.

You gasped in disbelief. “My underwear, Xavier!”

It was no more, a ruined scrap of fabric that had been neatly sliced into two. The sides of the waistband fell forward, leaving you exposed to the cooled bedroom air. “I liked that pair,” you sighed.

You didn’t really care for it truthfully, but an exaggerated pout to cover your surprise of his evol was your best front in the moment. No wonder why he never lets you touch his light blade, when the luminance emitted from his fingertips alone could already do so much—effortlessly, at that.

“I’ll get you a replacement later.” With a quick tug, the measly piece of cloth is pulled from beneath you and discarded to the floor. “As many as you want,” said Xavier, though distracted in thought. His fingers moving with a mind of their own to quell those thoughts. 

“It’s not like you’ll need them right now.”

His forefinger and middle parted your labia with ease, offering him a devious view of the very image he had longed to see. The glistening state of a cunt that had withstood his relentless and teasing touches, puffed and awaiting for something, anything to relieve your tension. The longer fingertip dips into your entrance first, light in effect though it echoes a slick noise in return. A second follows in suit, before Xavier slowly sunk the joints of both fingers into your heat. 

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, a soft moan of relief tickling his ears. He carefully retracts before pumping back in, setting a slow yet meaningful pace. 

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he croons, and a curl of his fingers emphasizes his words. His lips quirk into a small smile when he finds your hips rutting forward to chase his strokes. “So warm, so perfect and sucking me in so nicely.”

A mewl of his name parted your lips in response, ringing in a sweet melody that has him twitching against your backside. This would do for now, he tells himself as much—and remains firm when he stares at your blissed expression in the reflection. All because of him, riding his hand and giving you pleasure with every knowing press against your ridges. He could come alone at the sight and thought, but another passing of your whimpers has him leaning forward, bright idea in mind.

Xavier kisses the shell of your ear, voice dripping with a raw sense of need, desperation even. “Do you think you can take a third? For me?”

Pure bliss is all that runs through your mind, and you have half of it to manage a gaze towards the reflection. And what a mess you found yourself taking in—both your skin and his had begun to drink in the settling sunset, sparkling from a sheen of sweat beading his forearms and your thighs alike. The greatest shine of all could be found pooling between his fingers and your cunt, which mindfully played you along. 

You swallowed. “A…another one?”

Xavier hums, moving to pepper a kiss just beneath your earlobe. “If you can’t, just say so. Your comfort comes first.” 

You shake your head in immediate effect, stubbornly so. Who were you to back down from a challenge? 

“No, I… I can try. Give it to me.” You lift your hips by a centimeter or two, further parting your legs in offering. “I can take it. Please, Xavier.”

With the final words of permission, he gently pulls his two fingers back, before welcoming your entrance with the sensation of three tips. “Alright. Tell me when it’s too much.” 

His ring finger, just like the ones before it, slowly sank into your heat and gave into a newfound stretch that had the two of you gasping. It proved to be a tighter fit despite earlier coaxing. The stretch had you reeling, and he patiently held his excitement in place for your sake. 

Xavier paused once he was knuckle deep, and that’s when you felt it.

“Xavier—“

“Safe word?”

“N-no, but,” you gulp, feeling a different kind of flush sink into your skin. “Your… ring.” 

The cooled band found itself melting against your inner heat, just barely pressed against your walls but was nevertheless a welcoming presence. You could feel his breath freeze above you, the dominoes quickly falling in succession. “It’ll get dirty if you—!”

“Ah, that’s what you’re worried about?” Xavier snickers, before angling his wrist to slide out and push back in, reaching his fingers as far as they could go. “It should be the least of your concerns right now.” 

“Give me some time,” you draw out, experimentally pushing your hips forward and hissing at the shift. “Your hands are big, y’know…”

At your own pace, you gently grind into his palm to grow accustomed to the sensation. Hands on his knees to balance, Xavier’s eyes raked over the arch of your back, mesmerized. His free hand rested into the dip of your love handles, following your movements in quiet encouragement.

You called for his name when you felt a familiar brink creep towards the edge of your consciousness, slowing your hips then. Xavier followed, chin shifting to rest on your shoulder. “No more?”

“I’m ready now.” You spoke in a sense of confidence, supporting your words with a slight raise of your hips. Leaning back into him, you fall back down and respire a sound of pleasure, more comfortable compared to before.

The peaks of his knuckles fully brush against your clit when you touch base, a cherry on top of the indecent sundae. A switch had flickered inside his mind, thoughts pouring out through the parting of his fingers from within. He groans, burning the feeling of your warm walls that welcomed his ministrations to memory.

“I want you to remember that this very ring,” he emphasizes with a particularly firm smack of his palm. “Makes you mine. As much as I am yours.”

A small cry rips from your throat, pushing yourself against him from the sudden change in pace and newfound sensitivity. His fingers begin to pump with improved ease, aided by the dripping arousal coating his busied hand. His palm became wet with every crude contact to your overwhelmed heat, a faint string of arousal attaching itself to his skin.

“Look at yourself, how much you want this. Do you feel it? The way this band presses into your pretty cunt, drenched in your honey.” Obscenely loud squelches echoed his words, proving his point in rapid effect. A knowing chuckle rings amongst the noises. “Hear that sound? You’re so wet. Amazing how concerned you were, but I bet you’re actually enjoying this. Dirtying my ring, our ring like this.”

“Please don’t—ah—say it like that, it’s embarrassing,” you whined, though not outwardly denying his claims. “Not true, I promise—mmh!”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Xavier circles inwards, applying a particular pleasure that had you bucking in weakness—he cooed at the sight. “You say that as if I’m wrong. Denying the truth before us.”

A string of incoherence swirled into the sounds you created, overwhelmed by the vivid heat coursing through your body. Your eyes were fluttering to a close, but soon snapped open at the feeling of his sneaking hand grasping your jaw.

A sharp whisper of his tone nicks at your ear, redirecting your face to focus on the glass ahead. “Don’t look away. I want you to watch just how you come undone for me. On my fingers, with the very ring that binds me to you.”

It was a fight to keep your gaze steady, to witness how he held the entirety of the world in his hand with every knowing, calculated stroke. There were  faint glints of the silver band winking back at you during the few off-seconds his fingers weren’t buried deep into your weeping cunt.

“That’s my girl, you can do it.” He offers encouragement, skimming his teeth in a downwards trail, hotly breathing against your neck. The hold on your jaw loosens, sliding over the valley of your breast and dipping towards your clit. Pressed together, he begins to circle patterns of infinity, matching the pace of his remaining digits dutifully plugging you whole. 

He exhales in admiration, feeling his heart swell with a sense of pride when you tighten around him. “You want to come, don’t you?” 

Xavier searches for your pulse point, lips drawn in an effort to leave behind a stubborn mark. A quiet command echoes the ardent stimulation, tilting you to the edge. “Go on, let it all out. Make my wish come true, come, come, come.”

No sooner did a searing flash of heat strike you, seamlessly and pleasurably tearing you into two. Waves of long-awaited release ebbed through your walls and out into the maestro of his fingers that orchestrated them. Your hands found the closest thing to cling onto for purchase, fingernails digging into the tensed muscles of his thighs. 

Everything was hot, intensely warm from your body  and a testament to his efforts. His name became nothing but a broken chant, spilling from your lips relentlessly just as your arousal leaked into the sheets below. 

An act of kindness came with the eventual slowing of his fingers, soon leaving your trembling cunt. The parting broke with a slicked pop, and the successive emptiness drew a disappointed whine from you. 

Xavier finds it amusing, softly nudging your temple with his nose to pair his sympathy. “Are you doing okay? That was a lot, but you did well.”

You nodded for reassurance, lulling your head to meet his shoulder and limbs relaxing in recovery. 

He held out his hands for the two of you to see just how well you did, a fine layer of your fluids coating him from tip to knuckle, spread across the palm alike. Thoroughly drenched and sticky by design, they web between his fingers as he stretches them out.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” you spoke up in sheepish admission, then glanced at the outcome. You reach for the soiled hand, curling a hold around his wrist as you bring it closer to your lips. “But it was hot. I enjoyed it.”

Confusion colors his expression. “What are you doing?”

Slyly, your tongue peaked out and traced a path along the crevices of his palm. Stray droplets of your arousal were caught on your tastebuds, and it was exhilarating. Making your way to the tips of his fingers, your mouth welcomed their slicked length in whole. Lips pursed and carefully taking them as far as you could, you began to greedily tongue him clean. You bobbed forward to capture the base of his knuckles, then upwards to the edge of his nails in a repeated motion.

Xavier tensed above you, eyes sharp and narrowed to the deliberate suckling of your warm mouth. He made no sudden effort to pull away, entranced by your devious performance. A hum of approval would echo your throaty sounds on occasion, before he decidedly removed his saliva-ridden fingers and parted with a fine string.

“Generously cleaning the mess you made,” he observes. Sincerity softens his tone and the smile he graces you with shortly after. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You return the gratitude in mild jest. You watch as he dries his hand off to the side, eyes soon trailing to the evidently darkened ripples of fabric just underneath your bottom. With a scrunched nose in apology, you could only hide part of your grimace. “Speaking of messes, sorry for your sheets. I’ll run the washer later to make up for it.”

He barely spares it a glance, finding the soiled padding to be of lesser interest. A kiss reaches your shoulder instead. “We can do laundry together later, there’s no rush.” 

His mindset furthers when his hands massage careful circles into your thighs, taking his time in soothing your skin. Falling into place, serenity begins to filter through the air. The bands of stars sparkled under the newly unsheathed moonlight, welcoming the cosmos your hands held together.

“Say, Xavier?”

“Hm.”

Delicately, you push his hands away and slowly come to a rise, power replenishing itself after a moment’s rest. Xavier could only hold his breath, eyes raking over a tantalizing backside view as you stood. You were bathed in a faint sea of starlight, a glowing visage he adored greatly. 

He released an exhale when you turned to face him, lips upturned in a knowing display. A blink later he found himself against the bed, back in full contact with the comforters.

“What’s the matter—Mmh.” He stifles his surprise with the back of his hand, blush creeping over the tips of his ears in succession. 

You take the opportunity to swing your body over his, and he swallows. Your knees sink into the bedding, paired at his sides and hips hovering over his. A stray hand quietly runs a line from the heart of his chest down to his navel, pausing just above his waistband. 

“I have another wish, if you’ll indulge me.”

He lowers his cover, on the cusp of intrigue and anticipation. “And that is?”

Xavier’s head dips back into the bedding further with an airy moan at your answer. Gingerly, your hand felt for his aching and abandoned cock, hot to the touch even through the cottons of his boxers. You leaned back to enjoy the view of pulling out his hardened state, his hips raised to discard the very fabric. Exposed to the cooler air, you could clearly make out the beads of arousal pulsing past his slit.

Finally freed from their confines and heavy between your fingers, Xavier twitched in unadulterated relief. A small laugh, one of recognition and affinity, escaped you. “I knew it. You were hard this entire time.”

He breathes out in defense. “Could you—mmh—blame me?” 

“I can’t,” you replied in truth. 

You honestly couldn’t, when you saw for yourself just how much of a mess he made of you only an instant ago. The flashing image of your reflection and his masterful play sprint past your mind, relayed through a squeeze of his length. You dragged your hold to the tip of his burning affection, then back down to the base. His brows knitted at your leisurely strokes, fingers curling into the sheets. 

“But what does that mean then?” You teased, pressing questions you knew the answers to with another flick of your wrist. “Did watching me get off having you that riled up, hm?”

“Course it did.” Xavier answers immediately, tossing aside his front and presenting himself in honesty. “I meant it when I said you were beautif—uck, fuck.” His train of thought falls short into a curse, huffing out pleasantries at your touch. “Yeah, just like that. You’re so good, so good to me.”

His hips buck with your other hand palming his sensitive head, especially so when the curves of your ring skim the skin with every downward press. He squeezed his eyes shut, labored pants combatting the meek groans of your name. It was a sight for sore eyes and a euphony for your ears—to see his hair messily fall apart with every toss, rising chest that pushed out such sweet mumbles and abdomen constricting the closer he was brought to the edge.

“I’m—“

“Close,” you finish his sentence, and he only nods in affirmation. 

Perfect.

A part of you felt guilty for releasing your hold on him then, and the way his eyes snapped open at the denial. But it wouldn’t be for naught—far from it. 

He opens his mouth to protest before it quickly falls to a close, biting down on his lip as your hips rise. The curve of his stickied head kissed the warm entrance of your cunt, soon buried deep within the instance you sank down. Even as you coaxed yourself into taking him in stride, it didn’t beget the stretch of his girth filling you whole.

“What a sly vixen you are,” he lowly murmurs, though not in protest but rather of astute respect. 

Xavier relocates his grip from the sheets to the curve of your sides, steadying your place over him with every purposeful grind you pushed forward. “Riding me like this, I’m really close this time. I can’t hold back when you feel so good around me.”

“Then don’t hold back for me.” You knew that well enough from the beginning, hands sliding past his abdomen and giving his shoulders an affirming squeeze. Leaning down to press your chest against him, your lips hover above his pillowy ones and smile. 

“Give me everything you have, that’s my second wish.”

Pools of a lustful blue widened at your greenlit request. The speed of light was slow in comparison to the realization that quickly dawned onto Xavier—the glide of his hands dipping to firmly hold your ass were more than enough of a signal. Virtues of patience thrown out the window, his hips snap upwards in fervent need, setting an unruly pace and reaching depths you hadn’t thought possible. Desperate, wet smacks of his skin into yours loudly filled the room and accompanied your equally crude moans.

He captured those very sounds into his mouth, sharing his own before his hips stuttered and bliss overwhelmed his senses. Streams of hot release clung to your walls, readily accepting every thick drop of his undoing. He takes your face into his hands then, taking the care to properly kiss you through the cock that continues to spill his spend.  

By the time he pulled away, your lips were swollen with the affection of his love, breathless all the same. Even if he had just come like his life depended on it, the gaze of pure adoration that bored into you showed no sign of such a thing.

With what little strength you mustered, you lean back and allow his softening length to escape you. A fine trail of viscous white followed in suit, pearling along your folds and dripping onto him. 

“Another wish comes true,” you remark. Pleased nonetheless, your body reacts in agreement as another string of combined release slowly pushes past your entrance. “Combined with your luck, you could make a killer living off of this.”

It earns you a light chuckle in return, amusement wrinkling his eyes. “As long as you’re my only and willing client, then I’m open for business. Just you, though.”

You wiggle your brows in an unserious manner at the prospect. “Do I get a discount?”

“Yeah. The exclusive lover one,” he retorts, though it's a committed promise despite the friendly sarcasm. “Anyway, our desires are well aligned. It makes fulfilling them light work.” 

He takes you back into his hold, chest to chest and heart beating to one another. Xavier tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before placing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I love you. My north star, I’ll always do my best to have your wishes granted.”

Whatever playful comment you had prepared melts quickly at his admission, honeying into fondness for your lover. “And I love you,” you sweetly sing back to him. “My shining trace of light.”

You stretch a hand to cup his face, to which he was quick to nudge against in reciprocation. The glimmer in his eyes faintly resembled the focal jewel inlaid within your ring, bright and wholeheartedly yours. Whispers of the stars blinked at you, relaying their oath as you admired Xavier in his entirety, and he to you.

“Let me guess. This time, your cipher is…” You paused, pondering at the possibilities and flipping through your mental notes. The conclusion came to a stalemate the longer you dwelled on it, and a sigh resulted in its place. “Actually, maybe I don’t know. Mind telling me what it means?”

“Sure.” A brisk warmth touches your lower lip, leaving behind a kiss too short for time to hold. “The message was… ‘Would you like to see the stars with me?’ The night is still young.”

You raised a brow at the proposal. “I’m already looking at one, though. And he’s really pretty, looks a whole lot better than the ones in the night sky.”

Xavier shakes his head, though a bashful flush at the compliment digs into his skin. “A simple yes or no would do.”

“Then, yes. The patio would be a nice view.” You make an effort to get up, but his arms around you give no room for freedom. You glance at him, wondering what was the literal hold up. “What is it? I thought you wanted to see the stars, so we should clean up and—Ah. You!“

Gravity was lost to you and the next moment, a familiar view of his shadowing frame shields you once more. The pads of his hands slide down your sides in greeting, torso making its slow descent down your body. He tilts his head, mirth coloring an expression that homed itself in front of your parted thighs.

“I do,” Xavier confirms. “But right now, I’ll have you seeing stars. Starting from right here.”

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Hi, just got sucked into the rabbit hole of your not who he seems au. Any tidbits? Tidbits for a poor soul?

On a more focused note: how does Ford feel about the state of his body when he gets back? Between thirty years of Bill and thirty years of aging, I imagine it’s not anything like how he left it.

I shine a light upon you and provide you with tidbits, my favourite thing to give:

— Bill occasionally cameos in the Mystery Shack as ‘Dr. Mystery’ and does specialised tours where he talks more about the unusual biology of the fake Mystery Shack attractions (naturally, he’s bullshitting all of this). He also helps Stan brainstorm new attractions. Stan has to get a use out of his twisted mind somehow!

— Into the Bunker happens much later after Ford is returned to his body. He wants to check on the Bunker and finally get rid of the Shapeshifter permanently, and Dipper and Mabel convince him to let them tag along (Bill had promised Dipper he’d show him the bunker a while back anyway, but he doesn’t say that to Ford). Stan also ends up tagging along, despite Ford’s protests, because as far as he’s aware, he has two kids and a thirty years younger brother to look out for, and he doesn’t exactly trust Ford’s mental and physical state right now to be looking out for Dipper and Mabel.

It ends up being more of a test in Ford’s current paranoia and makes him truly question how well he knows his brother anymore. Dipper, Mabel and Stan are all able to pick each other out easily, but Ford, an outcast, struggles. Like how the original Into the Bunker was used to tackle Wendy and Dipper’s dynamic, I imagine it focusing especially on Stan and Ford’s dynamic here, the growing tension, and how different they are to Dipper and Mabel, as well as the elephant in the room of Bill.

— Scary-oke I’ve previously talked about how Stan was down in the basement summoning Bill before he comes up to protect Dipper and Mabel, and I think I forgot to mention Bill also re-enters Ford’s body and comes up to help too, so he and Stan and up fighting back to back. The major reveal here isn’t that Stan always knew or the black light, as both of those have already been addressed, rather the kids witness their Grunkle Ford using what can best be described as magic to fight the zombies off.

Also Bill is maybe starting to realise how protective he’s become of the kids and is even more desperate to he his body back. This can’t be happening!

Stan thanking him for it — sincerely as well — only makes that feeling worse.

— I’ve given in. Bill has a pet Plaidypus named Perry. Perry is his Henchmaniac and Lab assistant. He’s trained Perry to attack Gideon. This is important information.

— Bill does have the ‘I’m a little different, get used to it’ shirt and uses it as a pyjama shirt, alongside his Illuminaughty one.

— Mabel introduces Bill to sweater town after an incident where they were watching TV together and it turned to static. He freaked out badly. Stan was out with Dipper and Soos at the time so she tried to handle it the best she could and sat with him in sweater town, which he soon copied. He asked her not to speak of it afterwards, not that he remembered most of what happened — he just blanked out! Her lips are sealed anyway.

— He and Wendy have a habit of making bets about customers/tourists with each other. Wendy loses most of the bets because Bill cheats and taps into his ciphervoyance. It leaves him weak and exhausted but it’s fucking worth the money. Wendy ends up cheating herself and asks Stan to push the favour in her direction. He’s all for it. This game has been going on all Summer.

— Now for the specific question: A lot of people have pointed out the tattoos and how uncomfortable Ford may feel with that, as well as generally looking older, but physical problems are a whole other issue. There’s aches in places he knows there weren’t before and new scars from injuries he doesn’t remember, and he hates every second of it. Fortunately, Stan stopped Bill from pushing his body too far and kept it in decent enough condition, add that to the fact Bill was fairly active, he isn’t in the worst state, but that’s barely a comfort.

I think the thing to put it in perspective is it’s like if you went to bed one night and woke up thirty years older the next day. That’s how it felt for him. He can’t stand mirrors. And he tries to ignore the new aches. The way his skin feels. The fact he can barely see out of one of his eyes (courtesy of long exposure to bill possession), and there’s other minor visible changes too I’ve considered: triangular finger prints, the tips of his fingers stained black permanently, some parts of his hair growing in blonde amidst the grey etc.

He’s… not too happy about any of it.

[biteofcherry]

Darkness between the stars

Darth!Steve Rogers x female reader

Author's Note: On my recent wave of feels after Anakin's cameo in Ahsoka, I couldn't stop thinking about powerful Jedi Steve Rogers, who was once galaxy's hope, turning dark. This is very loosely inspired by Anakin's storyline, without going full on Vader-look (because Steve's face is too pretty to cover it with that ugly helmet; sorry, I make the rules here).

summary: You followed your Master when he gave in to the dark side, not believing the twisted values the Emperor spew, but because you couldn't imagine being anywhere other than by Steve's side. Even if you accepted the fact Steve's heart may forever belong to the woman he once loved.

warnings: angst; hurt/comfort; soft dark!Steve Rogers; some power imbalance; choking kink; implied age gap (since Steve was the Reader's Master), but Reader is of age

The threat of thudding footsteps caused a spike of fear among the Imperial officers passing in the corridor outside - you sensed the stench of it. You could easily imagine them scattering away as quickly as possible, or trying to blend with the walls.

As cowardly as it was, it was also wise. Finding yourself in the path of an angry Sith Lord would end badly.

Thankfully, the medical droid stitching up your leg had no real human feelings, so it continued its work without a hitch even as the seal to the med bay opened and Steve stormed in.

All in his towering, dark glory.

Black robe swiping the floor, deadly lightsaber strapped to the utility belt, shiny buckles on the reinforced leather gloves on his hands. 

Darth Nomad. Sith Lord.

Once upon a time a great, idealistic Jedi Master, Steve Rogers.

Though the Jedi Order no longer existed and his path had turned dark and bloody, he still remained Steve to you.

Only in privacy. Always in your heart, even as you addressed him as Master or Nomad when other's ears and eyes were on you. He owned you; his claws ran far deeper and clutched stronger than Palpatine’s influence on him.

You harbored a crush on your Master for years, hiding your thoughts and longing every day. As well every night, when you rested in your chamber at the Jedi temple and he returned into the arms of his beloved wife in her lush suite.

When you followed Steve to kneel at the Emperor's feet and pledge loyalty to the dark side, you perfectly sold the lie of the ambitious, proud apprentice who was bitter the Jedi were too weak. You claimed to want to continue your training and be on the winning side, the side of true power.

What you truly wanted was to be with Steve, even if it was only to suffer unrequited love as you helped him drown the world in blood.

The Emperor somehow bought it, or maybe simply thought it useful to have you serve the Empire, no matter your actual motivation. 

However, Steve saw right through you.

He didn't confront you right away. Not for months. Until the two of you were on a solo quest, treading through the lush flora of an outer-rim planet, searching for an ancient artifact - much like you used to do as Jedi.

Did he catch you looking at his profile too long? Did he sense the change in your heartbeat whenever he was close? Was your Force bond so strong that he glimpsed into your desperate dreams?

Or maybe Steve simply knew you so well, after all the years. 

When he reached for you, when he touched you, you knew it could deepen your later suffering. But you still gave in, if only for one night. If only you could taste him and fall apart under his command this one time. 

But it wasn’t just one night. Nor a few chance encounters over the years. 

Whatever it was between the two of you, has become a regularity. A wicked norm that sated, as well enhanced the craving that’s been burning inside of you. It seemed there was never enough; the desire for him simmered beneath your skin every day and your desperate love pushed you further into howling darkness. 

Eerie, that love was what pushed Steve to the dark side as well. 

There were other factors, layers upon layers, but it was the heart that sealed the deal. For the both of you. 

Your tragedy was that Steve’s heart would never be yours. 

So you fed off on everything else you were given - Steve’s attention, his lust, his protectiveness. 

Which was why he stomped through the Executor like a deadly storm cloud - in his case, literally deadly - led by rage.

You knew it was mostly directed at the scum who dared to wound you, but some of it was also at you. For being careless in your small mission, which you attempted to keep secret from him. 

His black cloak floated ominously around Steve as he stepped inside; his fingers clenched into fists, stretching the leather of his gloves.

“How serious is the injury?” Even in anger, Steve’s voice remained calm. 

You opened your mouth to say it’s not that bad, but he gave you a pointed look that meant he wasn’t talking to you and that you were in serious trouble. The kind that may end with your ass bruised. 

“A level two blaster wound to the thigh,” the medical droid reported. “It missed the artery and the muscle will rebuild with the protein enhancer we’ve injected. Patient’s skin has been sutured.”

Steve’s gaze flicked to your bare leg, eyes narrowing as he assessed the dressing over your wound. The droid wasn’t bothered by it, but if a living person was here instead, they’d sweat in fear of his disapproval. 

“The patient may experience impaired mobility for the next day. No other complications are expected.”

Steve nodded, his eyes still on your leg. Though his trimmed beard gentled the sharp line of his jaw, you still saw the nervous tick of muscle. Then his gaze shifted along your half-dressed body and settled on your face. 

He stepped closer to the bed and cupped your chin. Scent of familiar leather pleasantly dispersed the annoying smell of medical antiseptics. 

“I’m gone for two days and you get yourself in trouble, Stardust.” Steve squeezed your chin a tad harder. “Should I keep you at my side at all times, like an irresponsible apprentice freshly in training?”

“Or-” he leaned in; the blue of his eyes searing like his old lightsaber- “maybe I’ll confiscate your weapon and keep you as a bedwarmer only?”

Before you managed to utter I’m sorry for failing, Master, Steve was lifting you in his arms. Stealing your breath with the gesture.

One arm beneath your knees, the other under your back. Your heart stopped for a moment, then rushed in a rapid pattern as he carried you out of the med bay.   

It had to be a bizarre sight - the Dark Lord of the Sith, most feared in the whole galaxy Darth Nomad, who snapped necks with a flick of a wrist; was carrying a woman through the Star Dreadnought.

However, no one dared to stare, or even flick a curious glance your way. 

Steve showed softness when you both laid spent after fucking, or simply wrapping an arm around your middle when you were sleeping, but he never carried you like that. 

Even when he wanted you in a certain position when he fucked you, he either told you to do it the right way, or used the Force to bend your body how he wished. 

Being cradled in his arms, out in the open, soothed that deep longing for true care on his part. Taunted you with deep feeling that you knew would never be real.

“Something’s troubling you.” Steve stated when the double-sealed entrance to his (and yours) chambers closed behind you. “And it’s not your injury, I sense.”

He crossed the space to the bedroom, where cold blue light changed into unsettling red that you learned to associate with safety. Black and red used to mean the enemy, the danger, even death, but Steve made you love it. Conditioned you to see it as the setting you belonged in. 

“Well, my failure in successfully finishing my deal on Serenno,” you shrugged, but instantly cringed as you felt that lie failed miserably.

You weren’t a bad liar. When it came to Steve, however, it was as if the ability was malfunctioning. 

At least ever since he slipped his gloved finger between your lips for the first time and softly commanded you to admit how much you craved him.  

You yelped as Steve suddenly dropped you onto the bed. The muscle in your thigh spasmed, sending a painful jolt. Fingers gripping the dark sheets, you breathed through the wave of ache as you lifted your gaze to look at Steve.

His black robe dropped to the floor. He set his lightsaber down on the black, lacquered table, then unbuckled his utility belt. It fell to the floor with a dull thud. 

“You do not lie to me, Stardust,” Steve’s glare was a warning as he braced his hands on his hips and waited for your honesty.

The reason hidden deep in your heart could bring you more trouble than withholding the truth from Steve. You feared speaking it aloud may cut you out of Steve’s life completely, if he learned that you were desperate for so much more than his cock. 

But there was no way of hiding it from him for long. Not when he was on a hunt to rip that truth out of you.

Steve would get to it one way, or another. One could perhaps be a sexually torturous way, but there was also a chance of him reaping it from your mind with the Force. 

You took a deep breath, forcing a cold sheet to form around your fluttering heart and make you seem indifferent to your own emotions, like you did at the beginning of your life on the dark side. Your fingers tightened their grip on the smooth, dark sheets.

“Your gesture startled me,” you admitted. “I know I’m of certain value to you, as a lover and as a former Padawan. Being carried like that, like you cared, incited foolish thoughts in my head.” 

Steve’s eyes narrowed as a frown marred his forehead. His head tilted slightly to the side, his gaze never allowing yours to drop. 

“Elaborate,” he requested, but you knew that despite the calm tone it was a command. 

“It almost ignited a stupid hope to have your heart,” you spat out bitterly, “which would never happen, I’m aware, Master. I know there was only one woman who had your heart and it lies buried with your wife.” 

With the woman who wasn’t strong enough to pull him off that edge of destruction, nor had the guts to fall with him and rule by his side. 

Steve’s hand shot forward, fingers curled in an open grip. The yank of incredibly powerful Force pulled your body upwards, as if you were a featherlight ragdoll. He made your body flow in the air, inches above the floor. 

The pressure around your neck cinched. He wasn’t touching you, yet it felt as if Steve’s gloved fingers were wrapped around the front of your neck, squeezing your throat. 

It spiked fear and adrenaline, but also roused your body in ways no other lover ever could. 

Your body froze in place right in front of Steve, the Force still keeping you hanging in the air. 

“You are right to say my heart was buried with my wife.” Steve growled through clenched teeth. “It’s left in the past that we burned to the ground.” 

A gasp escaped your lips as Steve’s hand firmly wrapped around your neck. Though he still used the Force to move your body, it was also his sheer strength behind his movement as he walked you backwards until your back met the wall.

“You’re not in my heart, Stardust, because I no longer have one,” his hot breath tickled your cheek as Steve’s face inched even closer. 

“You’re not my love. You’re more. You’re  m i n e.”

What filled your heart felt similar to the overwhelming lightness you used to be connected with, once upon a time.

The Force eased back and your body sagged, but Steve’s hand was still firm on your throat. Holding you up as your toes tried to reach the floor and give you some support. 

No, he wouldn’t let you down easily. He would drive in the point that he was your support. He was your sustenance. He would hold you up, as well destroy you. 

“You’re my fucking everything!” 

Steve bit your bottom lip, making you cry out at the sudden sting. Then the flick of his tongue soothed it before he swiped between your parted lips. The way Steve kissed you was more consuming than the darkness you dwelled in; more burning than the lightsaber’s blade. 

When he pulled away, your lips were swollen and tingling, and your cunt was pulsing with need. 

“You’ll repent for endangering what’s mine-” Steve’s chuckle was a brush of tempting darkness as his free hand slid up your wounded thigh- “tomorrow, when it’s fully healed.” 

“Yes, Master,” you moaned as his fingers changed their course and teased your folds beneath the short, medical robe. 

[opultea]

Eons Ago

You and your husband listen to a tale of the mythology from your homeland, and from your lives.

A.N. - Zhongli and Cloud god reader origin story! This pair originated from my Where's My Kiss? drabbles and then had a cameo in my Babe, Look At Me! headcanons. Maybe I'll make a masterlist for Zhongli and Cloud god reader?

Zhongli x Cloud God GN Reader (No Pronouns) - Romantic - SFW - Fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

When the sky and earth were first created by Celestia's light, they were intended never to meet. If the sky and ground ever touched, the world would be crushed between them, all life lost to the weight of the heavens. But it seemed that even despite this fundamental law of Teyvat, when influenced by the force of love, not even the gods could help but disobey.

The world was young when the God of Contracts and the God of Cloud were born. The great dragon and shimmering white tiger roamed the lands alone, observing and discovering the world. The land was not as plenteous and grand as it is now, for the gods were young and had not created the wonders we marvel at today. The two gods wandered, familiarising themselves with their land and growing their power. And then they met.

Rex Lapis was the first to notice that he was no longer alone, and he was the first to fall. The dragon stared above as the white tiger lay in the clouds, the gentle shimmer of its fur the only way to tell its form apart from its bed. The god of contracts observed the calm and loving gaze held within the creature's glowing eyes, admiring the world below. Feeling himself pulled toward the god in the sky, Rex Lapis spoke;

"Oh great creature above, pray tell your name so that I might worship it as I do your beauty,"

The illuminated beast peered to the earth below, where the dragon perched on a mountain peak. Leaping down from the highermost clouds where it lay, the god observed Rex Lapis curiously, before speaking its name.

"I am the one they call Oculi Caeli, the one who dances in cloud.” The formality behind the introduction was dropped at the soft smile the cloud god formed, head tilting. “Although, neither this name nor this form needs such dutiful reverence. After all, it seems we are of equal power and beauty,”

Rex Lapis, intrigued by the god’s disposition, proposed a contract.

“Then, let us forever consider ourselves equal so that we may always treat each other as we deserve."

The contract was sealed, and a love was born between the sky and the earth.

Your hand flew to stop any tea from bursting from your mouth. Your hidden giggling caught the amused gaze of your husband, who took the teacup from your shaky hold.

"Are you finding the story amusing, my love?" Zhongli teased, though he lovingly stroked your back to calm your spluttering.

"I just wasn't expecting such an abrupt statement," You cleared your throat. "I'd like to think there was a bit more to it than simply 'and then they fell in love', wouldn't you agree?"

A deep chuckle resonated in Zhongli's throat.

"Yes, perhaps you are right. Though let us honour our dear storyteller and allow him to finish his rendition of this tale,"

When the first humans were born, their fragility was coddled by the god of clouds, who shrouded them from the burning sun of old. Their intelligence and fairness were nurtured by the god of contracts. Together, the two gods raised the people of old to lead them to the greatness of our nation today. The people adored their gods, touched by their kind-heartedness and inspired by their great love. Temples were erected to celebrate them, and not one was ever complete without a statue of the holy tiger and dragon mid-flight, locking eyes, tails intertwined.

"I've always thought it'd be quite difficult to fly with our tails intertwined," you whispered to Zhongli, brought out of the tale by imagining the silly action.

Zhongli chuckled, patting your thigh before nodding toward the storyteller, refocusing you.

However, two familiar voices make your head swivel. "Aether, Paimon, come join us," You call, waving your hand over toward the duo.

Paimon waves excitedly as the pair approaches your table at Third Round Knockout. Aether smiles apologetically.

"Are you sure we aren't interrupting your date?" He asks, concern mixed with some level of teasing in his tone.

Zhongli chuckles, his eyes glowing with a pleased sense of pride. "Nonsense. You are most welcome to join us. We indulge in your company, after all."

The pair take a seat, Paimon quickly helping herself to the red bean bun you offer her. She looks curiously toward Iron Tongue Tian, swallowing her food swiftly before she asks; "What's the story about today? You two seemed pretty interested in it,"

You and Zhongli share a look, knowing smiles exchanged. Zhongli takes your hand in his, affectionately placing the joined hands on his thigh.

"It is a story very close to our hearts," He says mysteriously. "I'm sure you will gather exactly what makes it so as you listen,"

Aether and Paimon tilt their heads, interest piqued as they listen carefully to the storyteller, who continues the tale.

But such prosperity could never last, for Celestia felt great unrest brewing, and the Archon War broke the world.

The world turned red, the land splattered with blood and the sky angry with the hatred that seeped from below. The cloud god walked through the war-torn plains of Teyvat with heavy sadness. Tempest and blackness had been forced from the sky, causing great tiredness and discontent in the god who had always adored the pure white clouds.

"My love," Rex Lapis' voice rang deep through the open plain. "It is not safe here; Osial plans an attack. We must make haste."

"This place used to be a bamboo forest, teeming with life." The soft tone took the god of contracts from his battle-framed mind. He kept his silence and waited for his love to continue. "Now it is torn apart. Not even the weeds grow here anymore."

"Caeli, there is nothing we can do for this place, but we can save our haven from the wrath of Osial if we go now."

"Osial and his wife are not much different from us Morax; they are two gods that will do anything to protect their love for each other,"

"That may be so," The god approached, bringing his hand to his love's waist. "But they are lovers on the other side of a war. Bloodshed may not be ideal, but it is the only path we have left."

The cloud god was despondent. The deity pushed Morax's hand away.

"I will not come to watch you tear them apart."

Rex Lapis did not understand. So he left and did exactly as they both knew he would. As he knew he had to.

When he next returned, Oculi Caeli was still on the ground, staring down at the earth.

"Why are you not amongst your clouds, my love?"

"It is too painful. To be up so high, and to have such an encompassing view of all the destruction and pain in the world below." The god gripped the dirt. "I wish you would bury me. So I did not have to see anything at all,"

Rex Lapis rushed to Caeli's side, on his knees to hold his love close.

"Do not speak this way," He pleaded, bringing his lover's head to his chest. "I will cover and covet you. I will shield you from all that troubles you. But I will never be the reason you are lost to me. This, I vow forever,"

In the years following, no one saw the cloud god. Some believed the deity to have died in the Archon War. Others theorised that Rex Lapis had sheltered his love away in the mountains, so he could protect and love Oculi as he had promised. Even today, no one truly knows what occurred, why the god left this earth, and whether the great Archon Rex Lapis has since had to mourn his love.

Today, our temples still carry statues of the two gods, tails intertwined and eyes locked with an eternal love that echoes through the sky and earth even after their death.

The audience applauds as Iron Tongue Tian takes a bow, some dabbing their eyes at the sentiment in the ancient tale. Paimon rubs her eyes of tears, shooting up from her seat and flying toward you and Zhongli, fists curled.

"What actually happened? You guys can't make us listen to that story without telling us the real ending!" She demands.

You giggle behind a crooked finger, settling a hand over her shoulder to calm her. A pensive look of remembrance passes over your eye.

"The theories are not so far off. I- Oculi Caeli could not take the pressure and tragedy of war. So Rex Lapis hid the god away in Jayeun Karst, where he placed Caeli into a deep sleep. The adepti watched over the mountain heart where the god slumbered, and for centuries, Caeli lived in a dream."

"They say Rex Lapis grieved as if his love had fallen, in the years they were apart," Zhongli continues for you, his smooth voice edged with an old pain. "But he also took heart, knowing that Caeli would not have to see him committing the atrocities he knew made the god's heart break,"

You squeeze your hands around your husband's, moving your knee so it sits against his.

"When Caeli was awoken, after the war, there was a bond to repair between the sky and the earth, as our storyteller put it," You smiled softly, your eyes meeting Zhongli's, a gentle understanding present in the silent exchange. "The time they had spent apart had changed them both. Living in the dream world for so long had placed a haze over Caeli's mind, and the war and bloodshed had hardened Rex. But they fell in love once, and they were more than sure they could fall in love again,"

The two of you share a small smile, and you lean to place your head on Zhongli's shoulder, a gesture he meets by placing a hand on your opposite shoulder to squeeze you discreetly closer.

"Aww, you guys," Paimon places her hands on her heart, evidently touched. Aether smiles at the scene, his heart warming at the prevailing love you shared.

Notes: Oculi Caeli - Latin for 'the eye of heaven' (When Morax calls you 'Caeli' it means he's calling you 'heaven' 😚)

Literally never thought this would get out of my wips, but somehow it's here. Hope you enjoyed!

[americas-ass-writing]

Written in the stars

Steve Rogers x reader

Words: 2.7k

Summary: The internet was a wonderful, helpful thing until it wasn't. Until one misstep, one accident gets spread around and ruins your life. Or does it lead you where you're meant to be?

Warnings: none? Stan Lee cameo maybe, me sucking at writing dialogue

A/N: This was written for @lunarbuck Soulmate Au Writing Challenge! I had the prompt "You and your soulmate share matching tattoos." I hope you enjoy it!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Gif by me

The sound of rain against your window is the first thing you register as you wake up. The sounds of your street in New York slowly adding themselves in. You let out a yawn and stretch. These were the best days. Waking up to the rain serenading you on your day off. You have nowhere to be, no plans, just a day for yourself. So you lay in bed a bit longer, just listening to the sounds.

Once you get up, you start your day. A nice warm shower, comfy clothes and breakfast with your favourite tea. Your phone dings with the daily reminder of your best friend to leave your apartment today so you'd have a chance finding your soulmate. You roll your eyes. She found hers in high school - lucky bitch. The matching tattoo of a weird shaped heart, that to you looked more like a bean, on her ankle sealed her fait to the high school jock. You were scared for her at first but he turned out to be the best partner she could ever have wished for. You on the other hand weren't so lucky. The little star constellation on your shoulder blade hasn't met it's match yet and you weren't sure if it ever would. With a sigh you put down your mug and text her back, promising you'd leave the house if the rain stopped.

The internet was a wonderful, helpful thing until it wasn't. Until one misstep, one accident gets spread around and ruins your life.

Steve was always good at hiding his soulmate mark. Back in the 40s when he was sickly he partially did it because dressing warm enough prevented him from getting sick and to protect whatever dame had the matching mark on her shoulder from having him as soulmate. As soon as he became Captain America he solely did it so no one would lead him on by pretending to be his soulmate. He was glad his soulmark was on his shoulder blade, easy to hide under the shirts he wore. Even though he was hiding it he couldn't help the disappointment that in all his years on this planet he hasn't even had a slightest tickle of the feeling of his soulmate being close to him.

But then his years of hiding were ruined by a very public mission. He was doing his best to lead his team and make sure they were all safe. He was in his element until a Hydra agent attacked him with a knife. This happened way too often these days and every time Howard Stark's voice mocks him in his mind. "Hydra won't attack you with pocket knives." Yeah right.

Steve was quick to react and instead of stabbing him in his shoulder all the attacker did was rip open his suit. This shouldn't happen this easily, maybe it wasn't a common pocket knife and Howard was right after all. Steve knocked him to the floor and made sure the man was unconscious. He didn't even think twice about the rip in his suit before he went back to the mission. He should have... He should have took a damn second to check then he wouldn't be stuck in the Tower.

The rip exposed his soulmark. And of course some onlooker took a picture that spread like wildfire on the internet. Promptly the Tower was overrun by people claiming they're his soulmate. His morning runs through central park were turning into him being hunted down by them too.

When the first woman came he had hope. He really thought that maybe, just maybe the stupid mistake would bring him his soulmate but the feeling never came... Nothing ever snapped into place. He didn't have the feeling.

His soulmark soon graced the shoulder blades of thousands of people like some stupid fashion accessory which caused him to swear off his soulmate and accepted a life of being alone. He just hoped that this hype around his mark would soon die down.

His fists hit the punching bag in front of him hard. The bag swinging back and forth wildly as he tried to let his pent up anger out. His usual sparring partners tapped out a few days ago since he got too cruel during it, not pulling his punches anymore. He understood, he didn't want to hurt them but he couldn't help himself but be disappointed. Those social interactions flew out the window too which didn't help him with feeling so alone.

"We gotta get him out of the tower... He's been cooped up for two weeks now." Natasha mumured to the fellow assassin next to her as they both watched their friend. "Sam and me tried... Either we get overrun immediately or he refuses to leave the tower." Bucky answered, his arms crossed. He felt for his friend, he deserves to find his soulmate and live happily ever after with them. "Maybe we can fly him out to Clint's farm?" He added only to be met with a snort of the redhead next to him. "Yeah he'd love that. Clint would make him take care of the chickens. Imagine all the pictures of him and Cap Jr." She smirked at the image of Steve holding up his chicken counterpart in several pictures.

Just as Bucky was about to answer their little conversation got interrupted by the bag hitting the floor and Steve marching or rather stomping off to get a new one.

"I have a plan to buy you guys some time" the redhead said after a moment of silence and beckoned her friend to follow her.

Picking at his cap and the borrowed clothes, Steve sends Nat a sceptical look. "This isn't going to work..." He sighs and sits down. His face falls into the palms of his hands. Soon enough there are soft strokes on his back. "Yes it will work. You just gotta be positive for once, Rogers" she says with an encouraging smile. "Sam and Bucky are currently distracting the masses, making them fill out forms so you can find your soulmate. All you gotta do is take the back exit and vanish into the crowds. It's a simple mission." Nat ever the optimist. There was so many things that could go wrong with this plan. Steve lifts a sceptical eyebrow at her.

"Look it's either this or Bucky's plan that involves a horrible granny dress and a wig. So choose your poison, Cap" she smirks at his furrowed eyebrows and claps on his shoulder. "That's what I thought. Let's get you out of here." With a smile she beckons him to follow her. They walk through the hallways and take the stairs down to the lobby. Instead of taking the usual door Natasha leads him around the corner and through some storage rooms before they stop in front of a door.

"Alright, sunglasses on. I texted you the code to get back into this door but I expect you to not use it before lunchtime." Like a mother scolding her child she points a finger at him. "The door leads to the back alley. The security guard has been informed that you'd take this way so no need to worry. Just make a swift exit from the alley into the crowds. Keep your head down, cap and sunglasses on, ok?" Steve nods at that and hugs her. "Thank you" he whispers and before she can answer he slips out of the door.

He nods to Stan the security guard, a nice old man that he often talked about art with, and slips out of the alley into the masses. To his surprise everyone's minding their own business and soon he's a block away from the tower. His shoulders relax and he lets out a breath. The rain probably helped him stay unrecognised.

Much to your dismay the rain stops after a few hours and you have to keep your promise. You sigh and get dressed to leave your apartment. Maybe a coffee in the park wouldn't be so bad. The park near your apartment always was empty on rainy days, except for a few people walking their dogs. So you could still enjoy your day without too many people around you. Once you're all dressed you grab your bag and an umbrella, just to be safe, before you leave. Your feet carry you to the little cafe at the end of your street. You weren't surprised with how busy it was. People would come here to escape the cloudy skies, to study, to meet others or to simply just get coffee. You weren't bothered by the masses though since it was your plan all along to get your order to go and sit in the park.

With your drink and snack in hand you enter the park a little while later. It wasn't big but still beautiful. You make your way to your favorite spot, a little bridge over the lake that housed two benches. It was a quiet and beautiful spot and you're were sure no one would hog the benches today. Well you were wrong. As you approach you see one of the benches taken by a tall stranger with a sketchpad. He seemed relaxed as his hand moved the pencil over the paper. His cap and hunched over form hid his face from your view but you didn't mind. Something inside you told you he was safe and even pulled you a bit closer to him. It's a weird feeling but you chalk it off to the two of you just doing the same thing - trying to enjoy the silence in the park.

You sit down on the bench across from him and take in the nature. You don't even notice his surprised face when he looks up and sees someone across from him. Or when he absent mindly scratches his shoulder. Or when his lips pull into a small smile at the added person in his sketch. You sit in silence for a while, trying to ignore your itchy shoulder, occasionally stealing a glance of the handsome stranger until he stands up and approaches you. Your heart beats faster as you look up at him. Why was he approaching you? Was he not the nice strange...

"Here..." He holds out a piece of paper to you with a soft smile on his face. Fuck even his voice was handsome. You hesitate for a second before you softly take it from him, which just makes his smile grow wider. Your eyes land on his sketch of the park... the lake, the trees, the flowers and you... You on the bench with your drink in hand, smiling as you take in the nature. It's breathtakingly beautiful. Your surprised eyes find his and you're met by a bashful smile. "I uh... It's a thank you..." He scratches his neck, his face blushing as he tries to avoid your eyes. "A thank you?" You ask confused, the small itch in your shoulder growing. You look up at him. Why would he thank you for sitting across from him?

"Yeah... The last week's... Have been crazy and you're the first person who treats me... normal?" He fumbles with his hands as your confusion just grows, brows knitted together. "My soulmark was released to the public after a mission and so many people got it as a tattoo and they hunted me down on my jogs and they waited for me everywhere and I was stuck in the tower and my friends wouldn't even spar with me and I felt so alone and when I was finally able to sneak out and spend some time outside you didn't even lift an eyebrow at Captain America sitting across from you so thank you" he rambles and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You didn't even recognize him. Not in casual clothes that seem a bit too big for him. He nervously fumbles with his hands again at your silence. "I..." "See I even signed it. If you don't want to keep it you can sell it" as he tries to point out his signature he grazes your hand with his fingers and both of you wince. The blinding pain in your shoulder was gone within a second but it was replaced with warmth. As your eyes meet his you realize it wasn't just you who feels it. His hand is still on his shoulder as he looks at you with wide eyes and his beautiful lips apart.

"Please tell me you felt that too..." He whispers, his voice almost breaking. You nod as answer and continue to stare at him. He lets his hand fall and gets on his knees in front of you, his eyes stare in yours so desperate you want to wrap him up in a hug and blanket and protect him from the world.

"I didn't even recognize you" is all you bring out and he laughs. A beautiful melodic laugh as his hands softly grab your free one. Thousands of little butterflies spread in your body, the tingly sensation wandering through you until it reaches your soulmark. "I'm pretty sure you have a little constellation of stars on your shoulder" the blonde still kneeling in front of you says with a smile that's brighter than the sun. You chuckle and bite your lower lip. "What makes you think so?" You tease. He licks his lips and squeezes your hand softly. "Because I have the same" he whispers as if it's a secret for just the two of you and maybe just maybe it would be if he would have used his brain a few weeks back.

You stare at each other for a while longer till the rain starts again. "Shoot! I have a cap you can wear uh..." The Adonis in front of you gets up and hurries over to his bench to get his things. You chuckle as he comes back and pull out your umbrella. "We can just share this and sit for a while longer" you suggest as you open it. He stops for a second but then smiles easily as he plops down next to you and offers to hold it.

You spend the afternoon talking, smiling and laughing. The conversation flowed easy and Steve even gave you a peek at his mark which was to no one's surprise the one you have too. Thus followed a lot of star related jokes from Steve. You laughed at every adorable pun and that seemed to spur him on even more. His eyes shining brighter with every laugh or giggle you gifted him, almost like the star littered night sky was trapped in them.

When the sun started to set Steve walked you home. He insisted that he did so because he wanted to make sure you're safe. You agreed, that was obviously the reason. Not the two of you wanting to spend more time together. And him holding your hand obviously was for keeping you safe too. And the kiss that you pressed on his lips when you arrived was definitely just a thank you. And the promise to see each other again after exchanging numbers was just part of your extensive security plan.

Steve slips into the tower through the door in the alleyway. He smiles at Stan before he takes the stairs, two steps at a time. He has never felt this happy and carefree before. He found his soulmate and you were the most beautiful and kind and amazing human being he knows. As he enters the common area he finds Bucky and Sam in front of a stack of paper and Natasha enjoying their aggregation.

"What's going on here?" Steve asks, his left eyebrow lifted. He grabs some water from the fridge and walks over to his friends. "It's all the soulmate applications that were filled out. We're going through them to see if maybe one of them is actually your soulmate." Sam explains and holds up one of the filled out forms. Steve smile widens. "But most of them are so obnoxious. Like this one" Bucky holds up another form. "I'm meant to be yours even if I had to get the soulmark tattooed." He reads, his frown deepening. Steve just laughs and takes the stack in front of his friends. He throws the stack in the recycling bin, much to the outrage of Bucky and Sam. He takes a sip from his water before the smile finds his lips again. "Well... Thank you for doing all this work but it was unnecessary. I found her and she's pretty amazing." His smile widens at the shocked faces of his friends.

"Excuse me, what?! You walk in here like nothing happened and then out of nowhere drop that bomb on us?!" Sam cries out. Steve chuckles which just seems to anger his friends even more. "Oh I'll hand your ass to you in tomorrow's sparring session!" Bucky promises as Steve skillfully avoids him. Finally Natasha just gets up and hugs him. "I'm happy for you. You deserve it, Cap." She says sincerely. "I hope you know that I'm doing a background check on her." Steve chuckles but hugs her back. "And that you're gonna break poor Clint's heart by not visiting him on his farm." Steve's laugh turns into a snort. "You mean I'm making him really happy because he now has an excuse to buy a new chicken? Can't have Cap Jr. without his soulmate. And I'm pretty sure she'll love the chicken once I take her for a visit." Natasha smiles fondly before she punches his shoulder slightly and leaves him to Sam and Bucky's complaining and investigations.

[luvrodite]

TONIGHT YOU ARE MINE JASON TODD (7.8K)

synopsis you hadn’t meant to screw it all up. only a few months ago, you’d been spending your nights in a bed that wasn’t yours, sure that it would last. it was always going to be him, and then suddenly it wasn’t. OR: an au where jason is your band's guitarist and one single review makes your world come crashing down.

cw: gn!reader, afab! reader, band!au, breakup, angst, self loathing reader, exes to lovers, stephanie brown is a meddler, roy harper cameo, porn with plot, car sex, exhibitionism, piv sex, minor spanking (like once), emotional/angry sex. minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked

Everyone in the crowd can sense the underlying tension. Only a year ago, you’d spent the majority of tour unable to go five minutes without reaching for or looking Jason. 

You’d feel sorry for tonight’s crowd, the last night of tour is always supposed to go out with a bang, but you haven’t been able to so much as approach the pretty guitarist this evening without feeling heat rise in your chest, wicked curls of anger licking at your wounds everytime you near him. November skies descend on the crowd with a chill rivalling your own and you stay a good range away from the taller man at all times, repelled like opposite poles.

Jason, similarly, keeps his eyes on the strings, a hard edge to his jaw. 

On the drums, Steph flicks her eyes between the both of you, sharing a thinly veiled look of discomfort with one of the sound technicians backstage. 

It’s been like this all month, and though the both of you had managed to keep it somewhat professional it’s clear everyone has begun to feel the weight of the awkward silences suffocating the dressing room. The blonde fears if you open your mouth at all, no one will leave the room alive, lips often pursed so tightly as though you’re keeping a barrage of words locked away. 

You refuse to look at Jason at any given moment, and though your voice remains level when you address him, it isn’t so much an address as it is talking at him, instructions doled out like a military seargent, stiff and impersonal.

There’s no shadow of the playfulness that had just about driven her insane in the spring, no lingering touches and the stolen kisses in the summer when you’d still thought no one had caught on. (They’d all been very aware, given the poorly hidden love bites on the guitarist’s neck and the added secrecy in your shared grins) No whispers in the dressing room, no ganging up on Roy–she felt as though she’d fallen into the worst timeline.

They’re coming up on one of their most popular songs, and Steph’s feeling the heat of the stage lights despite the bite of late Fall, beads of sweat crowding at her temples when you fiddle with your mic on stage and there seems to be no intent of committing to your usual tradition. If the crowd hasn’t already picked up on your obvious tension, they’re sure to when you’re singing almost in the wings instead of wrapping yourself around Jason like you’d made sure to every single concert since your first big gig. 

It’s fine, she tries to assure herself, but her eyes track your movement and you’ve planted yourself firmly away from him and she knows the media is going to have a field day with this. She can already see the headlines, every quack with expertise in body language is going to be crawling out of the woodwork to analyse this–and the worst part is, they wouldn’t be wrong. Her own despair is painted on her face in a frown that she isn’t so sure she can explain as concentration. 

Roy, nearby, looks over his shoulder and she can tell by the slant of his mouth that he’s displeased. He mouths a single word at her.

She looks back to you, to Jason, to the crowd. You close your eyes, arms outstretched as you spin in slow circles, and Jason picks at the strings of his guitar, lifting his eyes only for a moment to gaze at you. It’s the confusion painted on one of the front row attendees that seals her decision. 

Blue eyes narrow at Roy and she tips her chin in agreement.

“No.”

“Are you serious?” Steph explodes in front of you, hands flying up. You look at her evenly, sat on the couch in your dressing room, nursing the bottle of water you’d snagged from the fridge. You’ve changed out of your outfit into something looser, feeling the itch to get out of the get up the moment you’d stepped off stage and into the wings. 

“Does it sound like I’m joking?” you snap. “I get you guys are concerned, but you need to stay out of it.”

“How are we supposed to stay out of it when the both of you can’t even be normal around each other?” she retorts, flicking a heavily hairsprayed lock of blonde hair over her shoulder. Her face gleams in the aftermath of the concert, eyeliner smudged and lipstick all but faded on bitten lips. Even out of her get up, she still looks formidable. 

“Listen,” you say, feeling your chest twist uncomfortably under her piercing gaze. Your hands feel slippery around the cold plastic, and you fiddle with the label, picking at the corner with your fingernail. “I’m sorry we went and made things all weird, but I didn’t mean to. Pretty sure he’ll tell you the same thing. But what do you want from me, Brown? It’s just gonna take a bit of time, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

And it’s the truth.

You hadn’t meant to screw it all up. Only a few months ago, you’d been spending your nights in a bed that wasn’t yours, sure that it would last. You’d never been so careless with anyone, ever, but it was Jason. 

The sound of his name, the very thought of him, empties your lungs of air. He had always been there, constant, steadying, Jason. It had always been the both of you in this together. His had been the hand you sought for when the flashes got to be too much. When the homesickness hit hard and you spent days in bed skipping out on rehearsals and meetings it had been Jason who’d showed up and shoved you into the shower and sat outside talking to you the entire time, who’d stripped your bed and replaced the sheets. 

It was always going to be him, and then suddenly it wasn’t.

How were you supposed to come back from that unscathed? How the fuck were you supposed to go back to teasing touches on stage and near kisses over your microphone like it didn’t mean a thing?

You hadn’t lost your boyfriend, in that fight, but your partner, too. Steph and Roy were your best friends, too, but Jason was your heart. And you’d gone and broken it all on your own. 

Steph must see it in your face, as you slump back into the couch, because she sighs, dropping down into the seat next to you. She kicks her shoes off, sneakers hitting the floor a few feet away with a thud and she curls into your side, pressing her cheek to your shoulder. 

The TV in the corner switches on and some late night talk show provides a soundtrack for you to sit in your despair. 

What a way to finish the tour.

You throw yourself into Jason’s arms with a drunken giggle and he catches you, arms coming up to steady you, an easy grin on his handsome face. In the dim light of the dive bar, the shadows sharpen his already strong features, teal eyes boring down into yours affectionately. You reach up with a careful hand, running your thumb under his brow where a speck of glitter lingers on his skin. 

“Hello,” he rumbles and you can’t help yourself, pushing yourself up in his lap to slant your lips against his. 

“Hi,” you breathe out, starry-eyed. 

“You were amazing tonight,” he tells you, stealing another kiss before tucking you into his side and taking a swig from his bottle. His arm lies heavy around your middle, anchoring you to your seat on his thigh. Across the booth, at the bar, you can see your bandmates arguing as they wait for their drinks.

“Me!” you exclaim, reaching for the slice of pizza on the table. “You were amazing. And distracting. D’you have any idea how many times I almost forgot what I was singing ‘cause you looked at me?”

He laughs and the sound reverberates through your back, drawing a smile from you. You think you’ve barely spent a moment tonight not grinning, feeling the rush of satisfaction from playing the crowd. It’s been a good night–but then again, every night seems to be a good night, you think to yourself. 

How could you not be happy, when it feels as though everything is finally going right?

Jason takes you home that night and kisses you silly in the back of the cab, fingers trailing dangerously under the hem of your shirt and swallowing your whispered protests in his mouth. And when you get home, he draws them from you tenfold, the noise spilling into the air of his bedroom where he can savour them uninhibited.

Having the boy in your bed, the stars within reach, soaring towards the sun, higher, higher with no end in sight. You are foolish to believe it’s everlasting. Being on top of the world blinds you, so focused on the clouds brushing your face that you forget the danger of misstep. 

The end comes on a Wednesday afternoon, when a missive of 2000 words and an unrelenting pen strike you down where you stand, shoot you midair like an arrow. Falling feels like flying but you’ve never felt fear in the air til now.

Freefalling, you are stripped down to your barest parts and sewn back together with a few clumsy words–you can’t help but feel as though you’re missing an organ.

Only the combined efforts of your manager and Jason pull you from bed, four days of missed rehearsals are all they give you to mope before he storms the fortress. 

“Up,” he demands, moving throughout your room and throwing the curtains open. Afternoon sunlight streams in, bright and merciless against your internal plight. Jason tugs the covers off, eyes blazing with forceful determination when you make to pull it back. “No. You need to get up. We gave you space, now you gotta get it together.”

An unintelligible noise is your only response, rolling over onto your stomach and groaning into your pillow. You’ve spent your tears, but you can feel your face burning once more and you refuse to let him see just how much this has affected you. 

Your name leaves his lips, stern and stripped of its usual affection. “Cut the shit. You got a bad review. ‘S not the end of the world, kid. You can’t spend the rest of your life letting it get to you.”

You want to scream at him. You want to take him by the shoulders and yell, did you read the same article? How can you be so unfeeling? 

A nasty, bitter part of you whispers that of course he wouldn’t understand. Why would he? They had nothing but praise for him, the pretty boy wordsmith of your band whose pen had produced the best of the band’s discography. And you know it isn’t unfounded, you know you’re being unfair–Jason is talented. You’d known it at seventeen, when the both of you had been messing around on his dad’s piano and you know it now. You’ve always loved him for it. He’d always celebrated your successes, you knew he deserved every bit of recognition he got.

You only wish it hadn’t come at your expense.

Green curls around your senses as he wrangles you out of bed and into the bathroom, leaking through your veins and only thickening as you wash yourself of the last few days. 

When you emerge from the steam, it is with vengeance and a vow. Reborn, you gather what you can of your wings.

You’ll fly once more.

There are 15 unread messages on your phone and the light of the recording studio is the only thing keeping you company. The clock on the wall points to it being well into the night. 

Your eyes burn as you stare at the pages of your notebook, ivory filled with scribbling you can make little sense of. It’s a brand new one, blue skinned and thick, pages pressed flat with disuse. All around the small coffee table you kneel in front of lie your old books, sheaves of loose paper fluttering under the expulsion of air from the nearby fan. Lines on lines of old writing, crossed out and highlighted and annotated with blood red ink, surround you.

Your muscles lie stiff in your back and hips, fingers curling around your pen. Empty bags of takeout lie abandoned and emptied behind you–you’ll surely be told off in the following morning when your manager returns, either for staying to work so late into the night or for bringing food into the studio. 

“Do you plan to go home at all?”

You don’t flinch at the sound of Jason’s voice behind you. His reflection stands in the glass of the studio window, filling out the doorway in a manner that anybody else might find threatening. You ought to, too. There’s displeasure in his voice, disappointment in your habits. 

Jason lets you get away with most things. His temper is sweet, at least where you’re concerned. You’ve never felt the need to test it, and rarely have you been the subject of his ire, so softened by time that it takes a great deal to be drawn. You’re used to his indulgence, his saved smiles and the gentleness of his hand and tone. This is a stark contrast to the honeyed words he reserves for you. 

But it’s also your new normal. And isn’t that an awful thought, that you’ve grown used to it now, having heard it enough times in the last few weeks for it to lose its weight. Disappointing him, once upon a time, might’ve destroyed you. At seventeen, you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down. But you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve caught his doleful look cast at you, mouth drawn in a hard line so uncannily like his father–another person you’ve let down, you’re sure, from the messages in your phone from him sitting untouched. 

“I’ll go home when I finish,” you say tersely. Or you try to. It comes out mumbled, eyes tracking across your notes. 

“Yeah?” Jason asks, stepping further into the room, shadow moving in your periphery. His voice is unimpressed, and you can sense the lecture coming. “When, exactly, is that gonna be?”

“Jason,” you hiss out, raising a hand as if to say, please just don’t. 

“What.” he bites out and you squeeze your eyes irritatedly. 

“Look, just–I’m busy. I’ve got to work on this. Go home.”

He ignores your dismissal and moves into your line of sight, and you stare stubbornly at your notes. Even when he drops to his knees across from you, you stare as though through sheer will, the lyrics will write themselves, letters spelling out onto the pages what will bring you back to grace. 

“Work on what?” he presses, and you can feel your own temper beginning to burn. “You’re dead on your feet, you’re not gonna get anything done if you can barely keep your eyes open.”

“I’m–” you try, but he grabs your pen. You grab another, clenching your jaw so hard it hurts and his temper bursts.

“Will you look at me?”

He grabs your chin, and when you look at him finally, he is wide eyed and pleading but you are too far gone, poisoned by your own words and fears. Not even he could bring you back now, you have ventured out of Elysium, where he cannot reach. You find yourself apathetic, jagged, unflinching in the face of his tears. Cruel, and someone neither you nor he know. 

“What is with you?” he demands and in the yellow light he looks a little crazed, hair messed and chest heaving, eyes electric green, almost luminescent. “You don’t talk to anyone, we barely see you, you don’t answer your phone. I’ve been trying to reach you all week, I–”

His face twists and you watch angry tears splash against his cheeks. “I thought something happened to you, you fucking idiot,” he seethes. “What is it, huh? You go totally ghost on us–on me and I find you here working on–what even is this? You never keep stuff from me.”

You watch the moment you break his heart when you shrug out of his hold, crystalline eyes fracturing when you scowl. His shoulders slump and you find just another thing about yourself to loathe.

“I’m fine,” you insist, your breathing growing shallow. Red and green cloud your vision, anger and envy spilling into your every word. “You know, I have my own shit. I don’t have to tell you everything.”

He looks helpless, confusion swimming in his expression. “I…I know that.”

“Do you?” you demand and he blinks rapidly. “You wouldn’t be barging in here like you have the right to know everything I do, if you did.”

“What?” Jason questions, but you’re determined to cut him now, your own angry tears blurring your vision.

“Listen, we can’t all be great like you, okay-”

“-That’s not fair-”

“Some of us,” you say loudly, “have to put in a little work because it doesn’t come to us naturally. We can’t all be goddamn prodigies, so excuse me if I’m just trying to catch up. I thought you’d be happy that I was finally putting effort into this band.”

“Hey,” he snaps. “I’ve never said you didn’t put any effort into this band. You know that I know you work hard.”

“Then what the fuck is your problem?” you exclaim, scrambling to your feet and he follows. The both of you stand toe to toe in the studio, heat in your faces as you descend into what is the first proper argument you’ve had in years. Part of you is screaming not to let it get this far, to quit while you’re ahead, while it’s still salvageable, but it’s drowned out by the roaring in your ears.

“My problem!” Jason echoes, scoffing. “You’re the one who’s lost it.”

“I’m doing this for the band!” you roar and you swear you see lightning in his eyes, teal blazing as he bears down on you.

“That is such bullshit,” he snarls and your heart quivers in its cage. “Do what you want but don’t stand here and lie to my fucking face like all of this is about the band. This is about you!”

You stand, silent as his voice breaks, anger filling the cracks like lava. “This is about you and this…complex you have, like you can’t ever be happy because you care too much about what people have to say–people who mean nothing. And I’m here, telling you otherwise but it’s like you’re so fucking determined to not hear me–like you wanna do it alone. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

It’s a plea and a reminder. Even in his anger he begs, beseeching you to remember, like it’ll somehow get through the wall you’ve constructed between the both of you to remind you–It’s you and me, kid and clasped hands in the back of the bus and the first demo and–please remember. 

All you can hear is the whir of the fan in the wake of his words. Jason stands in front of you, grief lining the features of his beautiful face and you feel as though he will never be this close ever again. You can say nothing, your own tears spilling silent, dripping onto your collar. He closes his eyes, and nods, once. The very air between you shifts and you can feel the moment your heart cleaves in two. 

“You wanna do it alone,” Jason says again and he sounds very, very tired, echoing your unsaid decision. He runs a hand over his face, and you hear him take a shuddering breath. “That’s fine…I won’t stop you. I hope it makes you happy.”

He turns and walks out of the room. 

At your feet, the empty pages flutter.

Steph and Roy are, as far as they’re concerned, the best friends in the world. You aren’t so convinced. 

In the week that follows the end of tour, you all return home. You hear little from Jason, who only speaks in the band group chat, but you aren’t expecting anything anyway. When you recall your words that night, you flinch. His expression is burned into your mind, and you don’t think you’re likely to forget it any time soon. Steph invites you out regularly, both directly and in the group chat. 

You decline. And decline. And decline. 

The pages of your notes remain ever unfinished, and the walls of your writing studio grow increasingly familiar. You think you would know it blindfolded. Pale winter sunlight does not fall here except in thin, ribboned streams, and when you return upstairs, it’s long after sundown. You’re lucky to see a few hours each day before you’re descending into the studio, determined or desperate you aren’t sure. 

Jason has always been quiet on social media, but all of a sudden his face is plastered everywhere. Neither of you have removed the other–you think your manager would actually cuss you out for the stir that would cause. She hadn’t been pleased at your dating, and even less pleased at your separation, brown eyes narrowing at you in a way that left you wondering why you’d hired her at all. 

His brother posts a photo on their family ski trip, and your heart twinges at the unknown girl in the background tucked next to him on the couch, pretty and beaming in a way that is effortless. Jason sits beside her with a half smile playing at his lips. Her account is private, and you switch your phone off when the feeling in your chest at finding he doesn’t follow her feels a little too much like relief that you have no right to feel.

January rolls around. You ring in the New Year alone, over a spread of sheet music and Thai food. 

The world is blanketed in thick, powdery ice. You leave the house when even ordering in loses its charm, craving the warmth of a meal not delivered to your door, and the wind nips at your nose. The scarf around your neck belongs to someone else, but you had reached for it instinctively, hanging around the post by your front door, on your way out. Its weight is familiar in your hands, and your jaw aches as you loop it around yourself.

Lovers huddle close together in the streets, giggling when their shoes slip against the iced over pavement, and you avert your eyes. Holiday music filters through the speakers indoors, familiar jingles you might’ve found amusement in on any other occasion. In the produce section, you stare blankly at the array of greens, and end up exiting laden with a bag of groceries you don’t remember putting into your basket. 

Back outside, you linger outside the store, listless and distracted. It’s then that you hear the call of your name, and a flash of blonde hair appears in your periphery.

“Hey!” Steph chirps, smacking a kiss on your cheek affectionately, arms winding around you tightly. “I haven’t seen you in ages! I didn’t expect to see you today.”

You squirm in her embrace, feeling your face flush. “Hi, Steph,” you murmur. 

She pulls away, blue eyes bright and assessing as she takes you in. She’s lovely, pink cheeked and wind bitten. You know what you must look like, pallid and a little sickly from the lack of sunlight and you fidget, self conscious.

“You look like shit,” she says baldly, and it startles a laugh out of you. She grins at the sound of it.

“Thanks, Brown,” you say dryly, feeling a little easier. “You know exactly what I wanna hear.”

“What can I say,” she shoots back just as quickly, with a wink. “It’s a gift.”

“Definitely something, that’s for sure,” you mutter, cracking a grin and the both of you settle into silence. You eye your car in the distance, parked in the lot next to a red sedan, and then your groceries.

“I should–” you start, lifting the bag, but she cuts you off.

“Come out with us tonight,” she says, an oddly intent expression on her face, and you grimace. “We’re going to the place on Broad.”

“I don’t know…I’m making dinner. Maybe another time.”

You have little interest in dressing up to go out. You have even less interest in figuring out who the ‘us’ in question encompasses. But Steph’s got an unnervingly steely look in her eyes, like she’ll refuse any no’s you give her. Her lips flatten into a line, and she takes your hand.

“I haven’t seen you in months,” she says unhappily.

“You could’ve come by,” you remind her and she levels you with a deadpan look. Would you have let me in? Goes unsaid. 

“That’s not the same and you know it. I miss you,” she stresses, and you have to give it to her–she’s good. Guilt curdles in your stomach and you avert your eyes. “We miss you. I’m the one who has to deal with Roy’s complaining now you’ve decided to hide at home.”

“I’m not hiding,” you mutter lamely, and she raises her brows pointedly, as if to say, really?

“Come out with us,” she says again, squeezing your fingers.

You sigh. 

The snow has begun to fall in soft, light clusters when you get out of your car, streets twinkling in soft white and yellow. A snowflake lands in your lashes and you shiver when it dissolves, a minute stream of ice water running down your cheek.

Through the window of the restaurant, you can see your band mates tucked into a booth. Steph and Roy sit on opposite sides, already squabbling over something, and your heart slows when the latter leans across the table to point out something on his phone and Jason comes into view. Tucked into the corner, he watches the exchange with bored eyes, shaking his head when Steph turns to him. Don’t bring me into this, you can already read his lips, and that old familiar ache you’ve been nursing for the last few couple of months blooms behind your ribs once more.

You’re an idiot and a coward, standing on the side of the street debating on whether or not you should just go home. 

In the end, your decision is made for you when Steph spots you through the window and bounds outside, making a face at you as she loops her arm around yours.

“Were you planning to stand outside all night like a freak?” she laughs, pulling you out of the cold and into the building. The rush of heat overwhelms you, rolling over you in waves as you enter. 

“No, I was just…”

“Hm?” she raises an eyebrow, waiting for your answer. When she knows you can’t come up with one, her face relaxes. “I thought so. You’re here now, so come on.”

Whatever you think is going to happen when you approach the table is severely let down when you’re simply greeted with some semblance of normalcy. It feels like a farce, when Roy stands up to wrap you up into a hug that’s near bone-crushing, and over his shoulder, Jason greets you with a nod. Your throat is dry, and you think it feels worse than being ignored outright, dipping your head back at him as best you can from the grip your red haired bandmate has you in. 

It’s a far cry from the outburst you had agonised over all the way here, imagining Jason fuming at the sight of you, refusing to even look your way. You’d thought maybe he might even leave, picturing his beautiful face colouring red and storming out–he’d more than have the right to. But that isn’t him, and he makes no move to leave his seat, slouching into the booth comfortably and taking a sip of the water in front of him. 

You take a seat next to Steph and the movement feels like you’re cutting through water, limbs thick and heavy with unease. 

The next hour moves agonisingly slowly. You feel every second of every minute, hyperaware of your movements and avoiding Jason’s eye as you eat. The muscles in your face have never felt more rigid, plastic smile holding you together as Steph and Roy weave conversation around the both of you. 

The drinks come and go, various fruity drinks and margaritas littering the tabletop alongside your food. At some point, Steph wiggles out of the booth and pats your arm drunkenly, murmuring something about having to go to the bathroom.

“Do you want me to come with?” you ask, and she grins, giggling. 

“No, no, no. You stay here,” she says. Strangely excited, she squeals and smacks a kiss on your jaw. You can’t help but grin uncertainly. 

“Okay…”

The moment she disappears out of sight, Roy slides out of his seat too and mutters, “Be right back. Have to ask the waiter something.”

You frown. There’s something about the way he looks at you furtively, almost defiant, that makes your stomach twist. Your suspicions are allayed and then confirmed in a matter of seconds.

Several things happen. Roy walks to the register, pulling out his card and you scowl when he points at your table. But then, instead of returning, he bee-lines for the door. When you hear a drunken cackle and see a flash of blonde hair outside, you realise you’ve been set up–Roy and Steph booking it in the direction of his car. 

A text comes through on your phone almost immediately, and you can feel your temper rise when you read Steph’s message.

jason need s a ruide and u gusy need to make up you can thank is layer xoxoxo  i wanne be godmothed  godmother csll me tomororw

“I’m going to fucking kill her.”

“You can’t tell me you came here and expected her not to meddle.”

The sound of Jason’s voice, directed at you for the first time all night, startles you. You turn to where he’s lazily picking at the label on his beer. He looks untroubled, if a little resigned to his fate for the night.

“You knew she’d do this?” you ask, confused. He lifts his eyes and you’re pinned to the spot.

“You didn’t?” he asks, like you ought to have.

“I–of course I didn’t,” you defend yourself. He raises a brow disbelievingly and you frown at him, a noise caught in your throat. “I didn’t.”

“Okay,” he says softly. He stares back at you, and you can feel your palms beginning to sweat. For the first time since you were children, you can’t read the expression on his face. 

You worry your bottom lip with your teeth as you look at him. “Guess I’m driving you home, huh?”

“I can take a cab.”

You shake your head, grabbing your bag. “Save your money. C’mon. At least they had the grace to pay the bill.”

“‘S ‘cause they know we know where they live,” he rumbles behind you as you move through the restaurant. The waitstaff throw you a smile as you exit, but you’re too frazzled to offer a plain upturn of your mouth, a weak imitation of a grin as you open the door. 

“Yeah,” you say absently. “I’m just down here.”

It occurs to you, just how small the space between the both of you is, when he opens the passenger door to your car and slides in.

“Where am I dropping you off?” you ask carefully. You look over and he lets out a scoff of laughter, shaking his head, as if your question amuses him. But he answers, a wry grin playing at his lips. 

“My place, thanks.”

You nod. 

The radio is off, and the silence prickles across your skin uncomfortably as the car drives down the icy road. If Jason’s bothered, he says nothing. You tap your fingers across the steering wheel.

God, what a sad sight you must make. 

“I, um,” you lick your lips nervously. “I saw you guys went skiing.”

“Yeah. Old man wanted to do something with the family.”

You’ve spent Thanksgiving with ‘the family’ more than once. You know Jason’s various family members–the mystery girl was decidedly not among that company.

“Right,” you say. And you suppose something in your tone must tip him off, but then again Jason had always been very good at reading you. In your periphery, he turns his head and you hear him exhale softly, a bitter chuckle.

“You don’t get to be mad,” he says. His voice is devoid of anything, light as air, as though you’re discussing the weather. But still, you’ve been caught out and it makes your face warm.

“I know,” you say, hoarsely. You clear your throat. “I know.”

“You dumped me, you know,” he reminds you and you think that “I know.” is all you know how to say, echoing it once more pathetically. Grief fills the cracks in your heart when you hear the hitch in his breath, cool facade fracturing.

He says quietly, after a few moments, “I didn’t.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. The image in your mind had plagued you for weeks, of bodies wrapped up and kisses shared over firelight. His words are a reassurance you don’t deserve. The car turns off the highway, and you bite your lip.

Quiet blankets the car for the remainder of the drive, your engine purring as you steer the car back down familiar roads. 

“Jason, I…” your voice fails you when he turns to look at you, only a few minutes away from his place. “I’m sorry. For how it all went down, how I treated you in the end. I’m sorry.”

He exhales, a ragged breath like you’ve gut him, and you swallow. Misery leaks into your voice as you continue, the words coming out far steadier than you feel.

“You didn’t deserve that from me,” you tell him, gripping the steering wheel and looking over. The car comes to a stop outside his building, and you turn the key, the engine shutting off as you swivel in your seat to face him fully. “I should never have lashed out like at you, not when you were just trying to help.”

He sniffs, and even in the dark you can see the sheen in his eyes. His lips part, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Just…” he rasps out, frowning at you. “Why’d you push me away? Wasn’t I good enough? We’re supposed to be partners. You promised me–you remember?”

“I remember,” you say gloomily.

“Then why?” he demands. “You said it was you and me and then all of a sudden you’re closing yourself off. I wouldn’t have cared, y’know, if you were writing your own shit without me. Even if you didn’t wanna tell me. But you pushed me out.” He stresses the last three words, and you can only stare back wretchedly.

“Why?” he whispers.

Your mouth opens and falls, searching for the words and the courage to say them.

“I was jealous.”

The silence in the car is deafening, Jason staring back at you, shell-shocked. Whatever answer he was expecting, this clearly was not it. 

“What?” he murmurs. 

“I was jealous,” you admit woefully, picking at your nails. You tell him then, about the review, about the words and the sense of failure. “I mean, that’s what it was, at first. Jealousy. That at the same time they had all these things to say about me, they were loving you. It felt unfair. And then–and then I realised I was being selfish, ‘cause of course they were going to love you. Everything they said about you was true, it’s what I’ve been saying for years and you deserved that.”

His brows are furrowed still, as he listens to you, eyes growing stormier with every word. Your hands tremble as you continue carefully.

“And then, after that…” you trail off, staring at the console between you both. Shame colours your words, voice dropping steadily as you speak. “I thought, if I could just improve, I’d be doing something right. If I could just catch up to you guys, instead of dragging you down. I’d be someone worth doing it with.”

Jason’s eyes are tearful once more, winter fires raging on in teal seas. He shoots you a frown so fierce as he speaks, voice cracking.

“That’s bullshit.”

“What?–”

He leans back in his seat, hands coming up to his face, scrubbing at the skin. He groans and the sound is muffled by his palms. You watch him, humiliation burning your skin from the inside.

“You are so fucking stupid, do you know that?” he tells you, sounding anguished, and you break, tears crowding your lashline slipping forth and down your face.

“You’ve never, not for one moment, been not good enough,” he tells you angrily. “The fact that you thought you had to earn–to catch up. ‘Be someone worth doing it with’ what the fuck does that even mean? You’ve always been the one we all look to.”

You bring your hands up to cover your face, now openly weeping silently but he catches your wrists in his, the movement drawing you closer to him. You gaze at him through your tears, waterlogged and beautiful. His eyes search yours and he shakes his head, exasperated.

“The fuck ‘m I supposed to do with you, huh?” he asks, tilting forward to press his forehead to yours. “What’ve I gotta do to get it into your head that you don’t have to go it alone?”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, eyes slipping closed and his breath skitters across your cheek, nose pressing into the skin. You can smell the beer on him, and the cologne you’d gotten him last holidays, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. 

“It’s not enough, for me to tell you, is it?” he says, and then he’s tugging at your arms. “Get over here.”

Your eyes fly open to stare at him, startled, confused, but there’s no softness in his gaze. He looks at you, eyes steely and firm, head tilting as if to say, well? What are you waiting for?

“What?” you garble, confused. 

“Get over here,” he repeats, and only then do you notice the dangerously low tone his voice has taken on, the darkness of his pupils as they swallow his irises. “Gonna teach you somehow.”

A shiver skates down your spine, and your hands tremble with anticipation as you reach for the console to balance yourself, rising onto your knees shakily and clumsily climbing across the space until you’re in his lap. He nods, leaning below him to move his seat backwards, and you clutch onto his shoulders as the both of you move.

“Someone might see,” you whisper, and he stares up at you, faintly amused.

“Baby,” he says, laughter in his voice, and you soften at the sound, fingers scratching at the nape of his neck. His fingers rub at your hip where your top has lifted. “Take a look around. ‘S the middle of the night, nobody’s awake to see us.”

True enough, the complex Jason lives in is canopied in thick onyx, the quiet street so still you’d be hard pressed to believe anyone lived there at all. You look back to him, shadows turning him sharper, tear tracks smudged below his eyes and marble cut features.

“You gonna listen to me?” he rumbles, chin tilted to look at you. 

You wait, heart beating in your chest, and then you nod. You see a flash of his grin, and then he’s surging upwards to capture your mouth in his, all teeth and tongue as he devours.

Your blood turns molten at the first touch, his thick hands tugging your hips down into his and pressing you closer as he licks into your mouth. The heating has turned off but you’re far from cold, the air thickening as you whimper into his mouth.

“Fuckin…” he groans, and you cry out when his mouth slides across to latch onto your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Missed this s’much.”

“Jason,” you sob out, and he rasps out a laugh, rolling his hips upwards. “Jason, I–”

“What, baby?” he hums, lips detaching from your neck with a wet pop. You’re delirious, drunk on the touch you hadn’t felt in months, spending lonely nights reaching out for only to be met with the crushing emptiness of unoccupied space. “Y’miss me? Huh? ‘S that it?”

You whine in response, nodding. He laughs, but it’s a mean sound and it shoots straight to your core, muscles tightening at the sound. 

“No going back after this, hope you know that,” he tells you lowly, tugging at the waistband of your pants. “Off. Need to be inside you.”

You scramble for your button, rising again to tug them off in awkward jerky movements that lack any sort of grace. But Jason doesn’t seem to care, more concerned with the zip of his own jeans, shoving his jeans down roughly and stroking his already hard cock.

He sinks into you in one fluid movement, a groan filling the car as he fills you, stretching you out deliciously. You choke on a gasp, and he stills for a moment, before he’s setting his feet flat on the floor of your car and using that to fuck up into you, rapid, sloppy movements that are desperate and rough. Each thrust has you seeing stars, and you’re scrabbling for his shoulders for some sort of balance, but your arms weaken as he drags along every sensitive part of you.

“Never…fuck…never letting y’go again,” he grits through his teeth, “Had me losing my damn mind. You’re always gonna be mine, you know that. Always. Been. Mine.”

Your breath stutters in your chest when his hands come to your hips, gripping your flesh as he bounces you over his cock, a slew of curses spilling from his lips. “Who do you belong to?” 

“You–you! I’m yours,” you cry out.

“You need me to fuck some sense into you, hm?” he snarls. “Is that what I’ve gotta do? To get it through your fuckin’ head? Tell me.”

“Yes, yes!” you sob out, his name leaving your mouth in a broken cry. 

“Yeah?” his voice drops, condescending and utterly mean. “You’re gonna let me take care of you now? Not gonna argue w’me?”

“Jason I–I’m close,” you squeal, fingers biting into his shoulders and he huffs.

“Not until you answer me,” he says, slapping your ass. “You’re not gonna fucking cum until I tell you.”

He doesn’t slow down, despite this, thrusts growing deeper. The car windows have fogged up, and you’ve not taken any care to quiet down–although nobody is around to see you, they most certainly are around to hear you. But it’s difficult to focus when Jason reaches down between your bodies to rub your clit. You keen, a high pitched sound expelling from your throat and when he sinks his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, your eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the sensations all around and within you.

“What did I say?”

“Please! Oh fuck, Jason, yes right there,” you mewl, tears burning your eyes once more. Your hips roll downwards, meeting his thrusts. 

A large hand comes to grab your chin, firm as the other settles on your hip. You look at him through bleary eyes, sweat matting his hair to his forehead and a flush painting him red that even in the pale moonlight you can make sense of, eyes blazing as he stares at you.

“Say it,” he commands, and you pant into his mouth. “Tell me you’re gonna let me take care of you. ‘s all you gotta say, baby, be good for me, I know you can.”

“‘M gonna let you–” you cry. “Gonna let you take care of me! I’m sorry, please.”

“Yeah?” he grunts, and you nod your head rapidly, feeling your stomach beginning to tighten up. “Y’gonna stop doubting yourself so fucking much? Gonna stop pushing me away?”

“Y-yes!”

“Swear,” he says, and you sob, feeling the tears beginning to stream down your face. It’s stifling in the car, and you’re desperate, but Jason has you ensnared–you won’t come before he lets you. “Swear it t’me.”

“I swear. I swear, Jason,” you gasp. Sweat rolls down your back, your top clinging to you. Jason’s shirt is soaked through, and when you tip your head down, you grow lightheaded at the sight of the mess you’ve both made, white smeared across the inside of your thighs and his stomach. Lewd sounds echo in the small space of your car as you bounce on his cock, and Jason–

“Come for me,” he breathes out harshly, hand slipping from your chin once more to swipe at your clit in broad, firm strokes. In a matter of seconds, you fall apart on him, and he follows soon after, hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you with a loud moan. 

You fall forward limply and he catches you easily in his arms, the both of you breathing heavily. You’re boneless against him, sticky and covered in sweat, and when you go to move off him, his arms around you tighten.

“I meant what I said,” you whisper into the silence of the car, cheek pressed against his shoulder. “About you deserving that recognition. ‘M sorry I was such a dick.”

“I wish you’d just talked to me,” he tells you softly, and now you’re the one clutching him a little tighter, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt like he’ll disappear from under you if you look away. “‘S you and me, remember?”

“I forgot for a moment there,” you admit and he breathes out through his nose, a sardonic laugh as if to say yeah, I know, “but I remember.”

“I’m still mad at you,” he says, quietly and you twist your lips in an effort not to cry. “I love you, baby, but that was the worst few months of my life.”

“I’m sorry,” you can only say again. He kisses your temple, and it feels like a step towards forgiveness. “I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“Good,” he says firmly. “I’m never letting you go, you hear me?” 

When you look up, there’s a grin on his face and you lean up to press your mouth to his. It’s chaste, and sweet, softer than your reunion and holding every promise you intend to keep to him, old and new. 

“It’s you and me.”

this took me 2 weeks to write and i didn't think it would be this long. like i thought maybe it might reach 4K? but somehow this managed to become my longest fic!! crazy. i do currently have a longer wip in my drafts that i'm working on but this is one of the longest oneshot fics i've ever written which is mad and i'm kind of thrilled about.

i hope you enjoyed this fic and guitarist!jason and reader's breakup -> reunion. i tweaked the reunion a bit from the initial post i made about it, because i think it just fit better in the moment, but i hope you enjoyed that too! and i hope you don't hate the reader too much for the whole breakup because they genuinely have my entire heart. i think sometimes you get caught up in wanting to be the best that you don't realise you already are good enough to the people that matter – to jason, reader is everything and it's baffling that they don't see that. but i hope i did their reunion justice.

[freak-accident419]

playing cards

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | More parts coming soon

Summary: Jessica proposes an idea to you and Derek, offering a luxurious business retreat. While your fake boyfriend started to get used to his mother’s praise, 100% up for the idea, you have a bad feeling about it.

Word Count: 3.3k

Content: gender-neutral reader, swearing/profanity, drug use via weed pen, reader is extremely done with Derek

(A/n: little itty bitty cameo to my buddies <33 i love you guys so much, thank you for being amazing to me. And for everyone, thank you for supporting me and being patient, i appreciate you all very much.)

-

You and Derek sat down on a round table, drinking more of the complimentary champagne, your sips almost comically in sync. The two of you were slumped groggily on your chairs as if you were completely wasted, except you weren’t quite there yet. It was your ultimate goal for the remainder of the night, however.

“My feet hurt,” Derek mumbled childishly, referring to the toe-stepping incident during your dance.

“Shut up,” you retort.

Both of you were extremely worn out. Mentally and physically.

“You’ve got two left feet, you know that?”

“Shut the fuck u—” You instantly stopped yourself as you suddenly saw Jessica walk up to your table with a warm, kind smile. You could’ve sworn you’ve never seen this type of genuinely pleasant expression on her face, especially since you were always accustomed to a disappointed frown aimed towards her son.

“Derek. Y/n.” She grinned and it was so sweet that you felt your teeth rotting by the second. Shit, you’ve never seen her this happy around Derek before. “I have something I’d like to talk to you about.” You and Derek shared a curious look until you turned your heads back at her.

“Oh, uh, yes, mother?” Derek raises an eyebrow. He would always use the term in a more satirical manner, but you could tell he was trying to give the impression that it was genuine. It was to accentuate his newly acquired formality nevertheless, but you were just worried he was trying too hard with this gracious façade. Essentially, he looked foolish.

“Well, I recently got in touch with several businesspeople and they have been really interested in investing in Danforth Enterprises. I was notified of a huge networking event that I think would be good for the company, Derek. And I also believe that you would be very interested in it,” she began promptly, a look of anticipation shining through her bright eyes.

You could tell that Derek was unhappy with where this was going, just by the mere scrunch of his nose. He’s never liked business events, hell, he wasn’t even happy with this one.

“It’s a luxurious three-day cruise to the Bahamas. Most of the fees are covered, but either way it wouldn’t be a problem,” she explained, invoking you with utter dread. It was so tragically and curiously ironic; anybody else would kill to go on a magnificent three-day cruise. “It’s next week and I thought it would be good to socialize and get closer with other CEO’s and corporate leaders. Seal some kind of deal, you know? Plus, it’s a beautiful getaway and I think the two of you would enjoy a nice vacation as a couple.”

If Derek agrees to this, you were sure to castrate him.

“That sounds, uh, lovely,” you began politely. “Unfortuna—ow!” You cut yourself off after feeling a harsh stomp on your foot under the table, realizing it was Derek’s short heel of his shoe. You scowled at him subtly, not wanting to make some kind of scene in front of his mother or replenish her with suspicion.

“What my dear partner meant to say was,” noted Derek with a shitty smirk on his lips, “that it’s a great idea, Mom. Connecting with companies and the business community, or whatever, uh, as well as being surrounded by luxury at sea.”

Jessica smiled at his remark before you shoved Derek’s shoe away from yours, butting in: “Yes, yes. I agree, very great. However—”

“What Y/n is solely concerned about is simply the cost, you know. We’d rather use our plethora of money for charity and philanthropy, but,” Derek looks at you mischievously, “Don’t worry, darling, this trip will be great for us and the company.”

You swore you were going to kick his ass. What the hell was he doing? You were supposed to ‘break up’ tomorrow. “Well, no, I mean, yes, but I don’t think I—”

“I am one hundred percent sure that we can make it, Mother. We—”

Say bye-bye to your balls, Danforth. “Seasick. I get seasick. It’s horrible, I barf everywhere, on the floorboards, in front of the kids, on people, it’s a whole thing, it’s just—just a terrible sight, a-a really terrible feeling,” you falsely claimed in a stammer, which somehow convinced Jessica even though she’s seen you thriving recklessly on a party yacht before.

“It’s okay, honey, you can take your… uh, medication, right? That always works.” He smiles, using yet another corny term of endearment as he adds on to your lie. Jessica smiled unsurely as she constantly switched between looking at you and Derek.

“Busy,” you state firmly. “I’m sorry, but I think we will be very busy on that da—” You attempted to interject before Derek butts in once again, evoking murderous intent in you.

“Well, we can always cancel whatever is—”

“No,” you whispered harshly.

There was a short, awkward pause in the very thick atmosphere that you swore you could cut it with a knife. Until Derek spoke up once again, of course. “Hold on, Mom, can you give us a moment to think about it?” He finally says, in such an infuriatingly innocent way, making your eye twitch.

“Yes, of course,” she replies sweetly, nodding as she watched Derek pull your arm towards a corner of the room.

“What the fuck, Derek?!” You hissed, glaring at him with frustration as you jerked away his grip on you. “No! We are ‘breaking up’ tomorrow, remember? Your—Your mom’s not even going on the cruise, so what’s the point?!”

“Y/n. Y/n, please, don’t you understand? More investments in us, more money! You see her motive behind this, Y/n, she wants us to publicize our relationship to fix my reputation. The video is still out there, you know. We already convinced her and now she wants us to convince the world.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms. “That’s—This is stupid. This is stupid! Derek, this is stupid.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that, like, three times alrea—”

“Derek! Are you fucking kidding me? This was not part of the goddamn deal, okay? I played my part, I was your fake date for the night, for the one night you promised, and now I’m done,” you declared firmly, refusing to listen to any of his needless reasoning. “I’m done!”

“Y/n, Y/n, please. You’re my best friend, just do this for me. And look, it’s basically a free vacation for you if you just—”

“Nuh-uh. No! I’m not some kind of fuckin’ actor! Posing with you as my boyfriend is already mortifying enough!”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean—”

“Not important!” You hissed. “You can’t just—Look, she’s already convinced about the fake relationship and this whole illusion we’re putting up! Isn’t that enough? I’m sure of it, Derek, she won’t cut you off!”

Derek sighed, yet he was still confident that he could convince you. “Y/n, c’mon,” he urged, “I’ve—I’ve already pleased her so much tonight, I—”

And somehow, the rest of his sentence was muffled in your mind because you could only think of what he had just said. Pleasing his mother? That’s what all this bullshit was for?

“Oh,” you nearly chuckle, interrupting his long ramble. “I know exactly what this is about.”

“Wh—? What are you talking about—”

“I know you, Derek, it’s not about the money or the cutting-off shit anymore. You like making your mother proud. You like seeing her smile because of you and your fucking fake accomplishments and lies. Admit it, man, I can see right through you!”

“I—No, hell no! I—I’m not some fucking ‘mama’s boy’!” You raised an eyebrow in disbelief at his statement. “I—I just need to—to solidify everything and make sure I’m not on her radar anymore.”

You chuckled darkly, scoffing at him. “Oh my god, you are a complete load of bullshit.” You paused. “Are—Are you fucking pouting? No! …No! Don’t—Don’t give me that stupid fucking look!”

“I’m not—I wasn’t pouting!” He huffed, glaring at you.

“Derek, this is all on you! I’d hate to admit it, but this is your wake up call, dude, you haven’t done any real shit to make her proud of you like this! And you still haven’t done any real shit! Hell, I could even sense the blood draining from your body when you participated in that auction!” Deep down, however, you knew he would never admit to you his true incompetence; he was too overly conceited.

“What? No, that—that doesn’t matter, look—” he groaned, knowing to himself that you were right, but completely dismissing it. “Just do this for me, three days. Three fucking days!”

“Nope. No! I’m not—I’m not doing that shit!” You retort stubbornly.

Derek runs his hand through his hair, now knowing that you were too insistant. “I—I’ll throw you on a fuckin’ G6 to Hawaii for—for a whole week! And I’ll—I’ll give you even more money than what you asked for, I just… I just need this. Please.”

Derek never begged. Not like this, at least, so it surprised you to the fullest. You knew his rocky relationship with his mother, but you didn’t know pleasing her, at the very least, was this important to him. And after all, you’ve always wanted a week long of pure tranquility at a vacation spot.

Finally, to Derek’s relief, you sighed, wiping your face down with your palm and looked at him tiredly. “Fiji,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Fiji. Take me to Fiji instead.”

“Uh, sure, yes, of course, I… Does—Does this mean you’re gonna do it?” He asked immediately, gasping softly.

“Yes,” you groan, “Yeah. Fine, fine, whatever.”

“Wait. Wait, really?” He nearly beams, the unfamiliar expression on your face almost disturbing you.

“Yes. But you better stick to your word, okay?” You hissed, shoving his chest with your finger. “If I don’t end up in a beautiful suite in Fiji, surrounded by the thousands of cash you promised, I’m shooting you in the face.” Derek’s nod opted you to walk back towards the table where Jessica waited, him following you from behind.

“Hi, Mom,” he greets his mother, displaying that same annoying, cheeky smile. “The two of us have discussed it, and we decided to take up on that offer.”

Immediately, Jessica Danforth grins warmly, and you could feel it in your own cheeks as to how sore her mouth would’ve felt from how much she smiled tonight.

“That’s great news,” she replies pleasantly. “All the info will be sent via email. I’m happy for the two of you. And I’m so happy for you, Derek.”

His mother leans in to embrace Derek, hugging him briefly before pulling away to face him.

“Oh, and can I invite my tech buddies too?” He raises an eyebrow, resulting in another smile on Jessica’s face as she rubbed his shoulder affectionately.

“Sure thing,” she answers, kissing the top of his head once more before walking away to mingle with the other partygoers.

“This is going to be a long fucking week,” you huffed.

“Yup,” Derek agreed with mutual burnout, swiftly making his way toward the bar and completely disappearing from your sight. He clearly wasn’t thrilled to continue this huge act of deception either, even if it benefited him greatly and was his own proposal he begged you to agree to. You had always been so confused by his behavior, even knowing him for several years.

Sighing, you checked in your pockets for your phone but instead, you suddenly found… your fuckin’ cart… Holy shit. You didn’t even remember bringing it in the first place. Smiling to yourself, you looked around the room for Derek. But apparently he was too fucking short for you to see, because where in the hell did he go? He was just here a second ago, how did he run off so quick?

“Hey, you look like a… a Moscow Mule kind of gal,” Derek smirks cunningly as he checks out a young, beautiful woman at the bar.

“Uh, no, actually—”

“Right. It’s a Hurricane Cocktail, sorry. I totally read you wrong—”

“Actually—”

“Fuck... Espresso Martini?”

“No, uh—”

“Dirty Shirley?”

“Uh—”

“Amaretto Sour.”

Derek observed the hesitant expression on her face, conveying his awkward inaccuracy in reading her. He had tried to reference some of his old hookups in his mind, remembering most of their favorite beverages that he would guess correctly, but his charm and speculation skills had clearly failed him tonight. “Fine, I give up, what is it?”

“I, uh… I mean, I really like Spicy Margaritas,” she answers with a small smile.

He let out a defeated sigh, her response slightly bruising his ego. “Dammit... Wow. You know, I never would’ve guessed that—”

“Derek,” you grunt harshly, pulling him away from the bar by his arm once you finally spotted him. “Can’t you keep it in your pants for one fucking second?! You’re supposed to be dating me, remember? No flirting with other people if you don’t wanna blow our fucking cover! You’re the shit-prick who asked me of this in the first place and you can’t even play your own part!”

“Right. Shit. Sorry,” he huffs in exasperation, a bit embarrassed from either his mistake or the cocktail reading of before. Perhaps even both.

Dragging him to a corner, you looked around to make sure no one was looking. Then very discreetly, you took out the weed pen from earlier, presenting it to Derek.

“Hey,” you began, poking him lightly. “You wanna get high?”

***

The two of you retreated to an empty and magnificently spacious bathroom, sitting on the ground against the wall as you took turns passing the vape. Several minutes had passed already and by now, you were in a torpid stage of lethargy together.

“Chumbawamba,” Derek states abruptly after you passed him the cart.

You continued to stare deeply into the porcelain tiles of the floor, yet your face had contorted into a befuddled expression after hearing Derek’s comment. “What?”

“You know. Tubthumping.”

“Wh—”

“I don’t know, it just got in my head just now,” he shrugged.

“I feel bad for you,” your eyebrows raised as you sluggishly rotated your head to finally face him, “that song is a shit song... Hey, what were you saying to that poor girl earlier?”

“I, uh,” he wipes his eye briefly with his finger, “I was trying to guess her favorite drink.”

“Yeah? How’d you do that? Do you look at her clothes or her body language, or—?”

“I actually, uh, just started listing the favorite drinks of my past assistants,” he confessed, pursing his lips vacantly, “the one’s I’ve had, uh… flings with.”

“Wow,” you let out a low whistle, chuckling softly. You remembered those people very well. None of them had worked for him anymore, of course, due to his harsh and unsurprising inability to commit. “You’re such an asshole.”

There was a short pause as he took a hit before speaking again, his face looking less tense—guilty, even. You probably had been too baked to read his expression correctly, doubting that he could be even a tad remorseful, until you heard his next set of words. “Look, I, uh… I’m… I’m sorry for, uh… dragging you into this. I just… I really need this, you know? You understand, right?”

You sigh softly before smirking, lighting up the mood with the curl of your lips, much brighter than the end of the vape pen could ever get. “You, Derek Danforth, asshole of all assholes, are sorry?” A breathy scoff escaped your mouth. Tonight, your best friend had been relentlessly surprising you with his confessions—damn, as if the pleading from before wasn’t enough.

“I—” He chuckles it off, not wanting to feel completely vulnerable. “I know, I know. But… Fuck, I can’t help but feel… shitty for it, okay?”

Your eyebrows raised again in suspicion. “Uh-oh. The grand needle of the great, moral compass stab you in the dick?”

“Y/n—”

“Alright, I’m done, I’m sorry…” you smile gently, hearing a lighthearted huff from him.

“It’s just… If anything seems off, my mom would suspect something, you know? So we have to just… wing it sometimes. But,” he began as he thought about before, “but if it gets too much for you, then just… let me know. And anyways, we just have to prove it to a couple of old rich guys for a few days. They don’t know as much about us as my mom, so we can make shit up however we want.”

Derek hated being vulnerable. He hated being kind, he hated being empathetic, he hated being seen as a generic, mediocre human. Because he wasn’t. He was extremely powerful, his company was an entire, capitalistic empire. Nobody deserved his empathy, his kindness, or his mercy.

However, he would forget all of that hatred and his entire superiority complex whenever you were with him. You were his best friend, after all. You’ve been there for him since college, and really, no one else has ever been there for him for that long—not even his own mother. You kept him stable.

The more you thought about the predicament of this illusion you two had to pull off, the more unsure you felt about it. “Yeah, but what if we’re in front of people and you keep talking your mouth off about a lie that I’m not okay with? Like, I don’t want you to make up something stupid or embarrassing about me in front of those high-and-mighty billionaires,” you frowned.

“Then… Then, I don’t know, you could give me some kind of signal, a-a gesture or code word, or—”

“What, like Chumbawamba?” You smirk knowingly, making his eyes roll as he took another lazy hit from the weed pen.

“Sure, yeah, fine, like Chumbawamba…”

He passed you back the cart, allowing you to place your lips around the mouthpiece for another drag. “Hey, uh… I’m sorry too. I was being a bit harsh and I should’ve seen things from your perspective,” you sigh as you thought more about his relationship with his mom. “I… I know what you’re doing, and I respect that. But… someday you have to make something of yourself, like, for real. Promise me that you’ll actually do something on your own that deserves your mother’s praise.”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods casually, feeling slightly insecure from your call out, “I’ll try.”

Suddenly, another thought appeared in your head, stemming from your previous recollection of Derek and Jessica’s relationship. You snorted out a short chuckle from the memory, eager to remind him about it. “Hey,” you grin widely, “remember… remember that one charity function for animal rights—”

“Oh, fuck no. No—” Derek groans immediately, putting his head in his hands as he already knew what you were about to bring up. “Y/n—”

“And out of, like, fucking everything, you chose to roast… an entire, fucking cow for the event? Mind you, at the event where a bunch of vegan, animal-loving, rich and powerful assholes would be?”

The two of you burst out into boisterous laughter at the foolish memory, amused and drug-induced giggles echoing in the bathroom. “Oh, god, my mom was so pissed at me for that.”

“Very pissed. I mean, I would know, I was there,” you remarked with a soft chuckle.

“Hey, to—to be fair, I was pretty baked back then when I arranged it all,” Derek slightly and without guilt, smiles.

“Of course you fucking were,” you scoff lightheartedly, “Hell, I think even I was too.”

There was a quiet laughter between the two of you, formulating a silent pause right after. A pause of comforting silence, however. It always would be.

”Just these three days,” Derek reminded, urging you to gain his trust. “I promise you, Y/n, just three days. No more than that.”

“Right.” You easily answered with a nod, passing him the pen as you blew out the smoke from your parted lips. “No more than that.”

[solradguy]

why is xtra hated? Does it have character inconsistencies or something else to have hate towards it?

Ok. So. For starters, one of the main characters is a girl named Mizuha that is very probably a child/young teenager and they draw her like this all of the time (sometimes even WORSE):

(her personality is... fine... I guess. she's just uncomfortably sexualized)

The plot is basic shounen genre trope soup. The other main character, Tyr, has a dragon/Gear arm and was sealed away for a mystery amount of years so he looks like a teenager but is older than Ky (who was ~24 in the canon at the time). They also did that thing where Ky ~just so happened~ to have seen Tyr on the battlefield when he was a kid before he joined the Holy Order, and Tyr is apparently working with/under Kliff. Very "we have a new character and need to speedrun making him relevant. let's shoehorn him into everyone else's backstories."

Tyr's Gear arm (it looks like a normal arm unless he activates it):

None of the characters ever bring any of this up ever again outside of Xtra. It's not mentioned in GG World, any of the guide books/encyclopedias, character profiles, novels, interviews, etc. Which you think it would be if Kliff knew A GUY WITH A GEAR ARM IN THE HOLY ORDER LOLL

The characters that are actually in the games make cameo appearances throughout the comic and I think the artist had more fun drawing them than they did the actual protagonists because they all look leagues cooler than anything Tyr or Mizuha end up doing

I will give Xtra credit for one thing though, and that's for giving us one of the rawest Sol Badguy scenes in the entirety of Guilty Gear:

I just don't get how the guy that wrote Lightning the Argent and Butterfly & Her Gale, two books that are still canon-relevant and generally enjoyed by the (JP) community, ended up writing such a bland story. Was it solely his idea? Was someone else forcing him to make changes to the plot and he just had to go with it?? This was GGX era so Guilty Gear was doing PRETTY GOOD in Japan at the time.

I have no idea why they felt the need to put out something with such an unoriginal premise in a series that frequently bends or breaks genre expectations. Daisuke Ishiwatari is included as an author on this, but I get the impression that was just a legality thing since he wrote basically the entire setting and cast outside of the few new ones introduced in Xtra. None of the Tyr lore beats line up with any of the established Gear lore, either pre- or post-Xtra.

Why did they write Xtra when they could have written something focused on the established cast instead. Going into Xtra for the first time is like when you pick up a cup expecting it to be pop and find out it's water instead but since you were expecting something sweet the water just tastes gross and extremely disappointing. Xtra is my least favorite Guilty Gear entry out of the entire library. Vastedge at least gave us Naoki Hashimoto and Isuka gave us A.B.A. Xtra just gave us wiki editors annoying homework.

You can read Xtra over on Mangadex if you wanna form your own opinions about it. It's only one volume and can be read pretty quickly: https://mangadex.org/title/911025e8-ae47-499c-8eff-453d18b6459a/guilty-gear-xtra

[theloregirlv2]

Lore Analysis of The Casting of Frank Stone

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷

Hello everyone, and welcome back to the fog. I'm excited to be dissecting this game with you all as I've been looking forward to it for so long now! From a story perspective, I find the game to be very interesting. While we aren't shown a lot of new info, the game does flesh out things already talked about in the lore.

So pull up a chair, and let's talk about The Casting of Frank Stone.

(Credit to GamersPrey for the footage)

MAJOR SPOILER WARNING.⚠️

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬

The thing that stood out to me the most about this game was its exploration of dbd's multiverse. I expected them to touch on it a little but not to this degree. This game not only explicitly references Tera Worlds but also shows us alternate versions of characters. We are officially shown this with Sam, the man responsible for taking down Frank Stone.

We see him later on in the present after he manages to get into the manor, only to find out that this Sam is not the same one from the 1980s that Linda knew. Instead, he's from a different Tera World and is actually a part of the Imperiatti. We later see this again as Augustine has stacks of tapes of different versions of Murder Mill from different universes. Augustine in general is a very interesting character, but we'll talk about her later.

For now, I'd like to talk about Frank himself. He shows up at the beginning of the game in a sequence that I actually find really interesting. He technically ends up dying due to being shot and falling into the fire below, but he seems to be taken by Entity afterwards.

This scene is kind of weird to me as I'm not sure why the Entity would appear here now. It could be that it was sealing its deal with Augustine as she is also present in this scene, or maybe it did something to Frank's soul? I think it was just simply cleaning up evidence of what had occurred, but it could honestly be anything.

The next time we see him is towards the end of the game, as his spirit is revived. While it's never explicitly said or shown, I'm pretty sure this is due to Augustine in some way. As the color of his ghost matches that of the machine she has.

It's also possible that this is due to the fact that the mill is most definitely a source of an overlap. The teens disturbing the site could have awakened his spirit, as it is mentioned that some trace of Frank was left after his death.

His final appearance is at Augustine's manor in the present. She uses the pieced together parts ofnthe film and some type of enchantment to summon Frank in a new form.

This version of him has been clearly transformed in some way. And while yes, he has been brought back to life, it's clear that's due to some "Entity magic." Frank chases the characters around in the manner in a sort of recreation of the trials until making it outside. Whoever you kept alive to this point will show up in the ending at a campfire.

The Entity claims both Frank and the surviving characters, as a trial is soon prepared. Even though I was expecting an ending like this, it still surprised me to just see the campfire in a story like setting. Getting to fully see how the Entity takes people into its realm was so cool, and the cameo from the original survivors was a nice touch.

The last thing I wanted to actually talk about is Augustine, who is a member of the Black Vale (the cult that worships the Entity). This is our first time seeing one of them visually as they have only been talked about in the tomes. I plan on making a separate post about her character so we'll skip over that for now.

What I want to talk about is her machine. It's pretty much what drives the game forward, and I find it really strange. It mainly seems to be some type of time machine, as it brings Chris back from the past and is also able to send her back.

We also see Augustine herself come out of the machine after she is sacrificed to the Entity by Frank. We see the same older woman from the store standing over her, which implies that the old woman is, of course, Augustine herself. The fact that she doesn't die or get taken into the realm after being sacrificed is interesting, though. I guess this is because she is a Black Vale member and extremely devoted to the Entity. So it probably has more use for her in the future.

Another thing to note is that the world we see in the Casting of Frank Stone might have actually been consumed by the Entity. While we do see Chris go back in time to before everyone went into the mill in the secret ending. I think her doing this probably created another universe or Tera World in itself since she does run into herself. But the main world was very likely destroyed by the Entity since Augustine does imply that she wanted that to happen.

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷

That was my short little analysis on The Casting of Frank Stone! I do plan to talk more about this game in the future, as I didn't get a chance to talk about everything I wanted. As you can see, there isn't really a lot of new material added to the games overall world building. But there are some things that elude to greater things to come, like the secret ending I mentioned.

That will be all from me for now! Remember to avoid any mysterious fogs, or you may just end up like our friend Frank :)