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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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The Grey Zone 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: This is what happens when I decide to say fuck it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

The scent of matcha dampens your corset. Lucky for you, it’s black and won’t stain. That’s the one worry you rarely face in your life; stains. Dark fabric does more favours than just slimming you.

Still, that sunny side isn’t enough to brighten your mood. Your day has been shrouded in dark clouds. Your wasted Starbucks matcha and spoiled study sessions weigh down your feet, the thick treads of your boots clomping down the pavement. And on the bus, you nearly fell right on your face with no seats free to sit.

You look up as you approach your father’s ranch house style home. He didn’t take much pride in you but the house was always a gem for him to show off. Almost all your life, it was under one renovation or another. He was always trying to fix things up, including you.

Your mother enabled his endless ‘improvements’ so long as he bribed her with something pretty. That was her thing. He builds, she decorates, and you are the one ornament that doesn’t fit. At least, that’s what it’s felt like since your turn towards black nail polish and fishnets at thirteen. Seven years later and there was still the same angst woven into your parental relationships.

You tramp up the steps of the porch, not noticing the figure sat on the handcrafted bench near the large squared paned windows. Mr. Hansen sits with a can of craft beer in hand, arching a brow at the can as he reads it skeptically. He glances over, not so surprised by your sudden appearance.

You take your earbuds out as the racket scratches from the tiny speakers. You thin your lips, smiles not exactly your forte. He sits up and puts the can down on the bench.

“Tastes like fermented socks,” he says coolly, “your dad never has anything good.”

“Mm,” you grumble as you grip the leather strap of your studded knapsack. “Yeah…”

“You want it? Just don’t tattle on me,” he offers as he taps the aluminum brim.

You shake your head.

“I won’t tell,” he smirks.

“You’re right, it tastes like socks,” you say dully.

He chuckles and brings his hand up, smoothing his palm across the buzzed side of his head. He looks at you, a bit longer than usual. You have the urge to take out your phone and check your reflection.

“I should–”

“That new?”

You speak at the same time. Awkward. Mr. Hansen isn’t usually that out of sync. He has a confidence that makes you feel even more clueless.

“What?” You blink and twist your toe into the wood.

“That shirt.”

You look down at the boned black corset with the violet trim, over a plain black turtleneck. You got it from a vintage store years ago. You’ve worn it so much, the boning holds the shape of your body. You shake your head and shrug.

“Hmm, looks nice.”

The compliment catches you further off guard than his solitary presence. He’s blunt and to the point. The only person you’ve ever heard tell your father the truth. And you know your style is not to everyone's taste.

Looking at him, it's definitely not his. Cream coloured pants, burgundy loafers with golden buckles, and polo striped in shades of goldenrod and garnet.

“Thanks,” you keep from sucking your lip in, not wanting to smear your lip stain. “I should… go.”

“Sure,” he sits back, leaning against the window frame, “if you see your dad, send him out. He ditched me like fifteen minutes ago to find some nonsense sports card.”

“Right,” you continue across the porch.

In your peripheral, his head turns but you don’t meet his gaze. You pull open the screen door, innately aware of him watching you. Why?

The interior door is ajar. You step inside and the spring of the screen snaps it shut behind you. You put your bag on the console table just inside, and lean on it as you unlace your boots. Your mother would subject you to her shrill disapproval if you leave dirt on the runner again.

As you stand, you check your reflection in the round mirror hung on the wall, a frame of golden oak leaves around it. You don’t look that bad. You fixed most of your smeared eyeliner before you left the mall and your lip stain has stuck pretty well. You might be a bit shiny from sweat but nothing egregious.

Before you can grab your bag, the screen door opens. You wince and look at Mr. Hansen as he enters. He is close as he lets the door shut softly and you quickly snatch your knapsack and move away from him.

“Second thought, gotta hit the bathroom,” he explains but pauses and wiggles his nose, the gesture made more obvious by the trim of hair beneath, “smells like grass.”

“Uh, yeah,” you sling your bag from your elbow, “spilled my tea.”

“Probably a good thing if it smells like a lawn,” he scoffs and kicks off his velvet loafers.

“Probably,” you agree glumly and turn away.

“Too bad though. Hope you didn’t burn yourself.”

You stop again, at the bottom of the stairs. You glance back at him. He’s being strangely nice. This isn’t the same man who called you Wednesday Addams and teased you how he was certain that you must sleep in a coffin. Is something wrong? Is your dad okay?

“Hey,” your dad’s voice booms down the stairs above you. You spin and look up at his descent. He carries the old cigar box he keeps his collectibles in, “home early. Thought you were studying.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m just going to do it here–” you say.

“Your mother wants you to help with dinner tonight,” he doesn’t let you finish. As he nears he stops, looking you up and down like he always does. You have to know that he hates everything about you. “Colourful.”

“Dad,” you whisper a weak plea.

He doesn’t answer you as he shoulders past. You frown but don’t look back. You don’t want to show how much it hurts. Even if it happens every day, it still crushes you. It’s just clothes, why does he care so much? You remember the day he stopped taking you to car shows with him, the day you refused to take out your earrings. That was the switch.

“Studying, huh? Boring, but admirable,” Mr. Hansen comments, “think most dad’s would love to hear that from their daughters, huh, Ray?”

Your father just huffs, “depends what they’re studying.”

You keep on up the stairs. You won’t argue, not in front of company. Especially not in front of Mr. Hansen.

“Degree isn’t worth much when you dress like that,” you hear his remark before you get to the top.

You peek back downstairs but can’t see the landing below. Funny, you got a job and they don’t care what you wear, they just want you to show up. If only you had the courage to say it out loud. If only it would make a difference.

You shuffle to your room, just down the hall from your father’s. He occupies the primary room and your mother sleeps in her studio, just the next doorway. They can be amiable, given they don’t spend too much time together. Their relationship is more transactional than affectionate.

You wouldn’t know much about that, though. You’re only guessing. The closest you got to a relationship was when Travis invited you under the bleaches… that’s a memory worth forgetting.

You close your door before you can get carried away. You stopped worrying about your parents’ marriage right before high school. You realised then, there wasn’t any use in fretting in it. In fact, you became almost hopeful that one day they would split.

You put your bag on your bed and look around. The vanity you painted black stands beside the dark curtains. Little bat stickers decorate the edges of the mirror, your collection of antique vials and painted bottles line one side, and your make up chest sits on the other. It’s your little cave, the one place no one can tell you who to be.

You turn on the lamp in the shape of a crystal ball. You undo your corset and peel off your turtleneck, leaving the damp clothing in the hamper. You pull on a black and white striped sweater instead.

You unpack your laptop and climb up on your high queen. The frame has curling iron posts, a particularly gothic design with a peak at the center of the headboard. You love it even if it scratches the paint off the wall.

You pile your pillows up, building a cosy nest to catch up on your work. It’s maybe ten minutes before there’s pounding on your door. Your mother doesn’t wait for an answer. You’ve learned not to expect her to. You look over as she flips on the overhead lights, ruining the subtle ambience of your bedside lamp.

“Uh, hello,” she snips, “your dad said he told you about dinner.”

You frown, “it’s only four–”

“Yes, and? I’m making a bouillabaisse. It needs lots of time,” she retorts, “besides, the table will need to be set for our company.”

“Company? You mean Mr. Hansen–”

“Er yeah,” she sniffs, “don’t be so dumb and stop asking questions.”

“Just curious,” you close your laptop and push yourself across the bed, “coming…”

Your voice trails off as your mother’s already gone, your door left slightly ajar. You huff and follow her tracks, her steps on the stairs as you get to the hallway. You pull your door shut behind you, checking to make sure the fault mechanism catches.

You continue downstairs and follow the impatient clanging of your mother. She’s never very subtle. She already has a glass of red on the counter. She’ll bark at you over it as she tells you exactly how to cook and refuse to do any of it herself.

“Oh, honey,” she says dramatically as she slams the soup pot on the burner, “you look so grim. What happened to that new gloss I bought you?”

“The pink stuff?” You utter as you pick at your sleeves.

“It went so nice with your complexion,” she preens, “it would look so nice with a new dress. I was online shopping today–”

“Mom,” you cross your arms.

“Don’t be a brat. You know, when I was your age, I would’ve loved if my mother still bought me clothes. She made me work for everything I had. She wouldn’t even buy me tampons.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“Don’t be sorry, get the fish out. Don’t forget the mussels…”

You do as she says. You take out the vast array of fish along with the vegetables she lists off. She empties her glass by the time you start adding ingredients to the blender for the base. You’ve never been a fan of the dish but the last time you tried to convince her on something similar, you went to bed with a stinging cheek. She pours a second glass as you run the motor, holding it extra long to override her nagging.

She leans on the counter, swirling her glass. You can smell her cabinet-laced breath. She’s tipsy already. You add oil to the pot and wait for it to heat up.

“You look so dreary in black,” she mopes, “what happened to my little girl?”

“I’m twenty,” you offer flatly.

“Oh, you started this long before that,” she snarls, “you never wanted to be pretty for your mama.”

“I…” you look down, “this is pretty. To me.”

“You look like one of those girls on the internet…” her head wobbles and she slurps from her glass, “I’ve seen the type. They wear tights like yours and nothing else. What are you always doing on your computer, anyway?”

The accusation scalds you. You shake your head and add the chopped onion, fennel, and leek to the hot oil. This isn’t the first time she’s made the insinuation. Like that time she found certain websites saved on your father’s iPad. It couldn’t have been him, he wouldn’t look at those things. And there was only one other person to blame.

“Schoolwork,” you sigh, “mom,” you look at her wine glass, almost empty again, “how about some water–”

“How about you don’t tell me what to do,” she points at you with a long red nail, “I am your mother, not the other way around.”

“I know,” you grab a rubber spatula and push around the veggies and oil. The fragrant aroma rises in the air. It stokes your appetite.

“Mmm, something smells delicious,” Mr. Hansen’s voice enters ahead of him as you glance over.

Your mother turns and leans her elbows back on the counter, pushing her chest out. You know this part too. Not just with him but the gardener and even the garbage man. Your eyes flick to Mr. Hansen’s before you quickly return your attention to the pot.

“Looks delicious too,” your mother slithers as she leers at him, “Lloyd, I didn’t even get a chance to thank you for the merlot!” She raises her glass sloppily, “there’s enough left for you.”

“Ah, Connie, that’s nice of you,” he replies as he nears, “but it’s cabernet, actually. And my stomach was turned by that craft bullshit.”

He comes close to the stove, standing beside you as he peers down into the pot. The heat from the stove couples with that of his proximity. Your mother drains her glass and pulls away from the counter.

“More for me,” she chimes and grabs the bottle.

You feel a warmth on your lower back as Mr. Hansen’s cologne mingles with the scent of your cooking, “what’s for dinner, sweetheart?”

You realise he’s touching you. His hand slips under the wool of your sweater and his thumb rubs the skin along the top of your pants. You freeze and keep your hand steady as you simmer the veggies. You peek over at your mother, she’s too distracted with her glass.

“Bouillabaisse,” you answer in a brittle voice. You shift and his hand falls away, grazing the top of your pocket, a tickle on your ass.

“Mmm, fish,” he purrs, “I’m starving.”

“Shoo, shoo,” your mother waves her hand at him, “won’t cook faster with you hovering around.”

“Fine, fine,” he raises his hands defensively, “don’t burn yourself, Connie. I see you doing all this hard work–”

“Oh, you,” she sneers and grabs the dish cloth from in front of you where it hangs from the oven handle. She whips the end in his direction, “no wonder you and my husband get along.” She snaps him with it again, “you’re a bunch of jackasses.”

He cackles, unbothered by her anger, but retreating nonetheless. You keep your head down and your mother takes another thick gulp. She scoffs.

“Men,” she slurs, “no good. If you won’t listen to me about anything, you take that in, hon. They’re all trash.”

You refuse to look after Mr. Hansen or think about the shadow of his touch on your skin. Men are confusing, that’s enough to keep you away.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #the grey zone #the gray man #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #au #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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poptart-productions · 1 year

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afk !

[streamer! eren x reader headcanons/drabble]

↳ ❝ [pairing] ¡! ❞

modern! eren jaeger x black fem! reader

↳ ❝ [content/warnings] ¡! ❞

manbun eren, german native! eren, foreign/western! y/n, simp/maidenless! eren

↳ ❝ [nova’s notes] ¡! ❞

manbun eren brainrot

got a rumbling eren! x modern! reader coming out soon so look out for that if you’re interested!

↳ you caught eren’s eye while you were studying abroad at his university

↳he’d never seen anyone like you before; you made the bold choice of wearing your hair natural and he thought it was so cute—purely irresistible

↳eren being eren, came to your defense when he saw people petting you like a dog

↳ he had no idea you watched his streams as a method of practicing the german language

↳ he learned a little english to impress you, and even though it was severely broken, you thought the effort to make you comfortable was sweet

↳when you told him you watched his streams he lowkey wanted to crawl into a hole and die—a lot of his streams was just him finding a game he liked and turning on his subpar camera. in other words: he had no filter

↳he acted cool about it— “nice to know i have such a beautiful fan” the translating app would say back to you in it’s robotic voice and you would smile up at him—but he was extremely embarrassed that your heavenly ears have been tainted by all his swearing and screaming

↳after that, you noticed he’d been more subdued; but that made his eventual outbursts all the more hilarious

↳sort of desperate to talk to you, so you two came up with a deal in which he taught you german and you taught him english

↳genuinely put in a lot of work into paying attention to your lessons and practicing in his free time so within a year he was already learning about slang

↳after learning that you watched his stuff religiously, he started putting a lot of effort into his appearance—it was for you; he would wash his face and hair before getting on stream, tying his hair up into what would become his iconic manbun, and he would constantly glance into his viewfinder to adjust his appearance

↳meanwhile: mikasa and armin, who were both visiting their families were immediately suspicious

↳as his best friends they watched every single stream—and they know him well enough to know he’s never been a model—he’s got the looks for it, sure, but it seems like whenever a user by the name of [idk_cantspeakgerman] says a broken hello in the chat, he seems to think he is. re-tying his hair, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, and straightening his posture

↳ ”it’s about a girl” they both agreed; and a special one too

↳mikasa calls him out on it immediately, and eren gets belligerently dismissive of the idea—him, having a crush? no way.

↳eren, with your encouragement and help, switches from his german streaming service to twitch; “you’re pretty good at english—and you’re super funny, so if you stream on twitch in english you’ll reach a wider audience—i’ll even help out!”

“really? you’ll help?” your feverish nod and cute facial expression made his heart swell, so he agreed

↳due to his good looks, humor, and a video of him flying off the handle completely in german blowing up on twitter, all of his socials have literally been vibrating ever since

↳then mikasa and armin got back; mikasa is a little skeptical at first, but once she sees how good of a person you are + that poc solidarity, she now seems to like you better than she does eren

↳now the three are constantly checking up on you and making sure you feel included. they know you study hard so you have to miss out on hangouts sometimes

↳it was during one of these hangouts that eren’s feelings toward you become undeniable

“let’s take a picture for [n/n]” mikasa shows a tiny smile as your nickname falls from her lips; she adjusts her bangs

“sure,” armin nods, fixing his jacket and ensuring that his cute milkshake was in frame as mikasa lifted her phone above their heads

eren quickly glances up at the screen, his face contorting as he stares at his image—he begins to recoil as mikasa started counting,

“1,2,3–“

“—wait, wait, fuck” the brunette pulls himself out of the frame and takes his hair down

he pulls it back up, and fixes his shirt before sliding back in next to armin as if nothing has happened

mikasa and armin are silent and unmoving for an embarrassing amount of time.

“are you gonna take the picture?” trying his best to hold his ‘smoldering gaze’ into the camera, eren fails to notice the exasperated sighs coming from his two friends

↳like i said, despite his good looks—bro is very much maidenless, which isn’t his fault, (i hc him to be somewhat aro) but it still makes him unsure how to approach you about this—or even act around you now that he realizes his feelings

↳mikasa is lowkey eren’s top op when it comes to keeping those feelings a secret from you—it gets to a point where he literally refuses to let you two be alone, and constantly looks over her shoulders when she’s texting you

↳we’re getting off topic but his feelings for you are put on blast when his DUMBASS forgot that there were german speakers that watched his stream

it started with an innocent call from you—well, perhaps it was a little deceptive “i know you’re streaming but this is urgent—will there be food at your mom’s place, yes or no?”

all of the tension and worry he was holding melted away, and he let go of a breathy laugh; “yeah, my mom always makes food for guests”

his eyes flicker to the chat, who was curious as to who he was talking to, ‘my friend’ he mouths to the camera

“say less, me and mika will be over there in a bit—later, ren-ren!”

“later”

the nickname is new.

from you at least.

armin started calling him that as a mean-spirited joke when he found out his mother used that nickname when he was young.

armin must’ve told you—you couldn’t have known that it annoyed him, you sounded so innocent and sweet—like you just wanted to give a nickname to your friend

and when you said it, eren didn’t even care; it was honey flowing from those lips of yours

something about it was so domestic; like you were his loving girlfriend, calling to check up on him.

he almost wanted to throw his head back and sink into the bliss you had single-handedly caused him to stumble into

but then carla, who had long since finished her cooking and was silently watching her son’s streaming out of frame, breaks her silence to ask, in german, “who is that—is that the girl you like—“ “yes, mom it is” he tenses, but forces a laugh and hopes his camera doesn’t pick up the red on his cheeks

“she’s a good one.”

when i tell you, when the translations came out, eren was being nothing short of harassed by his so-called fans.

obviously after that,

you knew.

↳the two of you awkwardly avoided each other for like a day, before you asked him out to coffee over the phone

↳coffee date with streamer eren. that’s it.

↳he’s super sweet and quiet during the date, just invested in whatever you’re talking about

↳like deadass, if you’re like me and just say random shit because you have adhd or just wanna fill the silence, he might freak you out. you’ll just say something about “this is some sweet coffee” and then you look up and he’s staring you down

↳speaking of adhd. eren def has that, and it shows through in his streams but he tries his best around you

↳speaking of trying his best, he literally treats you as his wife—you’re the only girl he’s ever romantically loved, so he genuinely sees you in his future; because of you, he sees his streaming as less of a hobby and more of a career, and he literally manifests/puts it in his journal that he wants to give you a luxurious life

please give him the world—i love him he’s perfect

↳his mother sees how much this means to him, and that his job is raking in a lot of money, so carla allows him to switch to an online curriculum in order to focus on his career

↳of course, that means you see each other much less. you want to support his dreams so you try to get used to it—but it’s eren’s fault for spoiling you with his love and affection—you couldn’t just go from all of that to just talking on the phone

↳he knew that his absence was hurting you, so every day he made an effort to take you back to the dorms after your classes.

“eren!” you practically tackled eren—you see him every day, and yet you act like long lost lovers every time, “princess!” he welcomes you with open arms, the same puppy-like adoration in his eyes you had, “i missed you”

“i missed you too”

↳will abandon his stream to swoop you out of class if you’re having a shitty day

↳gets super excited when tell him you wanna meet his fans, and keeps telling his chat “it’s a very special day”

↳they knew he was living in germany and was a native, so most were pleasantly surprised to find that he was in an interracial relationship

‘AYO? A FELLOW NEGRO?”

‘I AINT KNOW YOU ROCKED WITH THE CHOCOLATE EREN”

↳super clingy the whole stream.

“hi, i’m [y/n]! i’m from [h/c] and i’m this knucklehead’s girlfriend” you tried to give him a noogie, but it lowkey hurt so you stopped immediately

“sit on my lap?” you weren’t even given a chance to answer before he was pulling you onto the gaming chair with him

↳eren doesn’t get jealous when he sees comments about how beautiful you are—because you are, he’ll just tighten his grip on you and smile—that is, unless the comment is completely out of pocket. in which case, he will call them out

“also [username], you’re fucking disgusting”

“you don’t say that shit about any other person—and you had the fucking nerve to say that about her right where i can see it—right in front of her—shows you have no fucking respect”

“get the fuck off my stream—the fuck is wrong with you”

embarrassed, you attempt to do some damage control “babe—“

“—no, you don’t have to take that shit, alright? not when i’m here, alright?”

ngl men defending a woman’s honor is so goddamn hot oml

↳miss girl—when i tell you his fans LOVE YOU, there are entire channels and accounts dedicated to you two—entire video compilations dedicated to every time you say something funny on stream or are just existing next to your boyfriend

↳simps so hard and you don’t even realize; his face visibly softens when he looks into the viewfinder to find you peeking into the room

↳his nicknames for you are constantly changing as a result of his adhd: my baby/babe, gremlin, woman/girl, sexy, sweetheart, sweet girl, the girlfriend/the (future) wife

↳tries his best to avoid saying cringey shit and fetishizing you like: ‘i love you my little cocoa butter gumdrop nubian goddess’

↳unfortunately, though; your year studying abroad came to an end, and eren deadass cried into your lap the night before your flight home

↳he hugged you so tight you thought you’d break in the airport, he almost didn’t let go.

↳five weeks away from each other and he’s already crumbling. calling you every morning and night, and texting you every five minutes

↳eventually him, mikasa and armin all go silent on you after asking very specific and leading questions about your living arrangements and it you’re super confused,

“hey, [n/n]?” your roommate peeks into your room, as your currently contemplating switching majors—yes, this late

“yeah?” you inquire, not sparing her a second glance in favor of straining on the computer screen sat atop your lap

“your friends are here to see you?”

“hot as fuck, too” she whispers as she walks off

it’s that comment that finally gets you to look up, but she’s already gone

then, an unmistakable pair of emerald eyes peek into the room, scanning it briefly before locking onto you

you sat in stunned silence as the owner of those eyes fully steps into the room.

you fall over yourself trying to get to him, and eren meets you halfway, “eren!”

“hi, sweetheart!”

“fuck—i missed you”

“i missed you too”

armin and mikasa made their way up the stairs, seeming that eren was much more excited to see you than them, and they joined your embrace

as you sat on the floor in a group hug, you realized you stumbled upon some amazing people

↳eren planned to stream while there he really really did, but he got distracted by you so he spent that entire trip afk

#black reader #anime #fanfic #eren x black reader #eren x black y/n #eren x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan eren #bwwm wmbw

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likedovesinthewindd · 11 months

Note

...peter parker with a popular gf who loves pda

yes yes yes

peter parker x fem!reader

warning: description of displays of affection

wc: ±680

a/n: idk how american school timetables work so apologies if that is inaccurate, i also switch between 2nd and 3rd person the whole time lol sorry.

The school hallways always found a way to be ungodly busy and full of children at any time during the day. You clung to the straps of your backpack as you tried to maneuver your way through the hoards of kids, searching for your boyfriend.

You hadn't been able to see him all weekend, your schedule jam-packed with activities ranging from studying to practicing, even babysitting. Peter himself was busy studying for an upcoming test, so that left no time for your weekly meet-ups at one or the other's house.

You knew Peter usually stood by his locker in the mornings, and you exhaled a sigh of relief when you saw the all too familiar head of brown hair sticking out from behind the locker door. "Peter!" you shouted and he peeked from behind the locker's door warily. He smiled when he saw you approaching and before he even had time to register, you had reached him, immediately wrapping your arms around his neck in a bone crushing embrace.

"I missed you," you spoke into his neck, and your warm breath tickled the area. "Missed you too," he said genuinely. He really did miss you; he was so used to you always being around, and the weekend without you had been boring and excruciatingly long.

You pulled away from the hug, your arms still wrapped around his neck as you moved closer to him once more to plant a kiss on his lips. It was quite chaste, but a few students still turned their heads to your direction to gauge the interaction.

Peter was a little shocked at your very public display of affection, but he had gotten used to it since the two of you started dating. Your love language was physical touch, and it also didn't help that you were absolutely smitten with your boyfriend. You loved being around him, holding him and kissing him and just having him with you.

You'd been scared at first that your actions were a bit too much for him, but he reassured you that had he didn't mind it. Sure, it was strange to all of a sudden have someone so affectionate around him—towards him, but he loved it when you doted on him, showing him your unabashed adoration and love.

You pulled away from the kiss, dopey smile plastered onto your features. "What do you have now?" you asked quietly. "What? Oh! I uhm— Biology. I have Biology now." he spoke, mind still a little jumbled from the kiss. "I have History," you huffed. "Walk with me?"

Peter nodded, and you smiled, retracting your arms from around his neck and placing one of your hands in his, interlacing your fingers. He walked you to class, steadily holding your hand as you walked through the hallways. When you arrived at your class, you gave him one last kiss (on the cheek this time) before making your way inside, leaving him standing outside your class with pink ears and a dopey smile.

BONUS: i wanted to add some random thoughts bc I'm too lazy to write everything out in a whole fic lol.

ꕤ the two of you are alwayss holding hands.

ꕤ you see that thing where a guy walks with their hand in their gf's pants pockets? well peter's gf does that to him when they're walking. (lmao just imagine)

ꕤ the two of you eating lunch/going out? you share food with each other like always. it's like here have some of my fries then you try a piece of my sandwich.

ꕤ you and peter take the subway alot, and you'll share wired earphones or he'll read quietly along with you when you bring a book along. also let's you sleep on his shoulder when the two are making your way home and you're tired.

ꕤ you're always fixing his clothes bc the boy's always messy. fixing buttons on his shirt and fixing his bedhead or even patching up the countless jeans he's ripped when skating.

ꕤ with popularity ofc comes a lot of parties, and best believe you're dragging peter to every one, showing him off as your pretty, smart boyfriend:') so that everyone knows you're taken, and also so that no girl try their luck.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman fic #peter parker x fem!reader #likedovesinthewindd

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dailyunstableeve · 7 months

Text

Together

Hobie Brown x witch!Fem!reader

Chapter One

Hobie Brown's Masterlist

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Magic, Spell, energy, aura, elements, and many more are the key for you to manifest whatever you want to.

You're born a witch, or so called mutant, but witch is the term you rather go with. Your power is a secret to everyone, not even those who are close to you, your family. You don't really have friends because people think you're a freak, due to your power, it gives people around you chills, just as if you're bad news. They aren't fully wrong, you think that too. Why were you born with this power? Why can't you just have a normal life?

Since you have the powers, you would try to help people in secret but only a little because sometimes it will get out of control which you managed to quickly fix before anyone finds out. After the multiple times of going out of control, you minimize your power usage, rarely occasionally light up a candle or fill up your drinks.

You always thought you're the only one, until the news is all over about a group of superheroes, the Avengers. Soon, there's more, X-Men and the Fantastic Four.

And SpiderMan. He usually works alone, he has this punk vibe, you would always spot him swing through the city with his guitar on his back, spiky spike on his head, torn out shirt on his suit and a vest with lots of badges.

Everyday, SpiderMan would swing above you and everyone who's heading to school, which gives you the idea that he goes to the same highschool as you. Face the fact, you admire SpiderMan, he doesn't need to worry about his web skills getting out of control, he can swing freely across the city and everywhere he goes, crime disappears even the Avengers and others are more focused on big events.

Turn to your highschool, no one talks to you, which gives you the free time to study more instead of socialize. Forgot to mention, you have a crush, due to your lack of social, and many people avoid you, when this one guy, Hobie Brown, he helped you times to times if he sees you in trouble which makes him the first person who does that to you and eventually, you can't help it but to catch feelings for him.

One thing that can be never understood is why Hobie would help you even with your title of being the creepy scary girl until the superhero you admired resting at the fire escape outside your window. It's your first time seeing SpiderMan right in front of you, just a few feet away, your bed to your window. Ever since then, you know that SpiderMan is Hobie Brown because you could see their aura, everyone's aura is different, or so you thought, after all, you have never met two people who have the same aura.

After that day, you have never stopped looking at people around you, wondering if you could see two same aura on two totally different people but everyone is all different.

Soon enough, high school is finally over, it's time for college or looking for jobs, you hesitated on both. Your scores have always been the best, continuing studying would be a great choice for you but your family's financial situation isn't stable.

Everything changed the moment some purple alien decided to invade your planet. You were running away from the war, eventually you gave up because you saw SpiderMan beaten on the ground, bleeding badly.

"Oh my god Hobie!" It just slipped out of your mouth, when you called out his name, SpiderMan used all his strength to look at you, unable to believe what you just called him. "Hang on, don't close your eyes,"

Your healing spells weren't the best but you could see the wound slowly recovering, the bleeding stopping. Spiderman just looked at you in disbelief, about how you're healing him, with your power that he has no idea about.

"Don't ask questions please," you quickly said because even with the mask, you can tell that SpiderMan wants to ask you a lot of questions.

Five minutes passed, and his wound was fully healed. You were about to flee the scene in case you were found out but how could SpiderMan let his life savior run around? He webbed you and started to swing you up the city, towards where all the superheroes were fighting the purple alien.

"Why are you here? You're assigned to protect the citizens," Captain America asked, when he saw you, he just let out a sigh.

"Don't worry Cap, she can help us," SpiderMan smirked.

"What can she do?"

"She just healed me, look!" SpiderMan showed his wound to Captain America.

"Well, we could use all the help we needed," Captain America said and ran off fighting the purple alien.

"Look luv, I believe in you, you can do this," SpiderMan patted your shoulders, "you're the most amazing person I've known, so I believe in you."

Just like he swung off joining the other, leaving you standing at some random ground of the war, looking at everyone fighting with their life just so they can protect the world they love.

In a blink of an eye, it's over, with your help, the purple alien was defeated and leaving you in terrified of your power because you killed the purple alien instead of doing it in a hero way, show him mercy and justice.

"I did it again," you whispered under your breath, you felt your heart tighten, as you can't focus on breathing but the horror of knowing what you've done. Everything around you becomes muffled, blurry. You can see SpiderMan trying to tell you something but you can't hear anything, all your focus is on the dead body of the purple alien.

There's only a moment of relief for you, which is you fainting out in front of everyone.

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a/n: my first multi chapters Hobie fics is finally here, please go easy on me with the mistake I'll made in the chapters since I'm very used to write one shot comfort fic of Hobie's, hope you guys enjoy ❤️

Chapter Two ->

Chapter Three->

Chapter Four->

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year

Text

Fireleaf (Part Nineteen)

Hello! Hope you're all well and having a good week. @greeneyedivy and I have been super excited about this chapter since...well, since the beginning of Fireleaf really. We're so excited to finally be posting it!

We hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for all the lovely support!

Warnings: Smut. 😏🌶️

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For the following three weeks, keeping busy was Lucien’s sanity.

While Tamlin had his people covertly keeping an eye on the Autumn Court, on Beron’s movements, Lucien was researching until his eyes felt like they were bleeding. Reading the old laws of Prythian.

Three weeks. Three weeks had passed without him seeing Y/N. Almost three. He’d ticked every day off with an ache in his heart. It hurt more ferociously than anything he’d ever felt before, but he would face it, endure it; make sure it was worth it in the end.

That didn’t stop him thinking constantly about her, though. Which he was doing, right now, whilst he was supposed to be studying the book in front of him.

He rubbed at the ache that was building between his eyes and loosely tied his hair back. It had been early morning when he’d carried the pile of books into Tamlin’s office and began reading. Hours had passed since — it must have been noon, by now, at the very least. He would grab a quick lunch and get right back to his reading.

It was as he stood and opened the door that voices floated up to him. He frowned to himself — beyond the Spring Court staff and sentries he saw coming and going, it was relatively quiet here. Any High Lord business tended to take Tamlin into the villages rather than him receiving an audience here.

But it was a lilting male voice that was lingering with Tamlin’s, and — Lucien realised, as he descended the staircase — a familiar one at that. He stopped in the doorway of the dining room, taking in the sight of Tamlin engaging in conversation with Eris.

Eris looked up upon Lucien’s arrival, his hand naturally rested on the hilt of his sword. He looked…different, somehow. Older. Stronger.

“Brother.” He dipped his head at Lucien. “You look positively awful.”

Lucien pursed his lips, anxiety roiling in his gut. What would bring his brother here, besides bad news? He studied him, looking for some indication that something had happened.

“What are you doing here, Eris?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“I was waiting for your return so I could tell you what I discovered.” The oldest Vanserra said. “But it would seem you’ve taken to wallowing.”

Lucien supposed he couldn’t blame him for thinking that. He looked a mess, with his crumpled, unbuttoned white shirt and loose trousers. But that was because his self-care had taken a backseat whilst he’d thrown himself, morning and night, into whatever research and work he could find to…to fix this. Of course he didn’t look his best.

“So I’ve come, instead, to give you a brotherly pep talk.” Eris finished.

“Eris—”

“Hear me loud and clear, Lucien.” Eris stepped forward — and rather comically tightened his grip on his sword. “I know everything. Dion told me. And running away is not the answer. Quit your damn wallowing and get back home.”

“You don’t understand—”

“No, I don’t think you understand. You are the only person who can fight for the female that you love. What good is it going to do, holing yourself up in another court? She needs you. And you need her—”

“Eris, will you shut up for five fucking seconds?”

Eris faltered, cocking an eyebrow. From across the table, Tamlin watched. “So he does still have some fight in him.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “That’s why I came here, you ass. Not to wallow. To figure out how to fix all of this. Tamlin and I have been working together.”

Eris went still, studying his brother. Within seconds, his stance relaxed. “…Oh. Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well…good.”

Across the table, Tamlin seemed to be stifling a laugh. Eris shot him a look, lowering himself into a chair.

Lucien, though, remained standing, his hands nervously clenching at his sides. “You said you discovered something?”

Eris nodded. “I did. Well — two somethings, actually.”

Tamlin rose from his chair, hastily grabbing for a decanter of whiskey and three glasses. He placed them on the table, watching as Eris dug into the inside of his jacket and produced a small pile of envelopes.

“First of all,” he said, chucking them onto the table, “Y/N’s friend Linden? He’s been writing to her since she first came to the estate. Father has been intercepting those letters and hiding them from her. Allowing her to think he hasn’t bothered to be in contact. These are the copies I made.”

Lucien frowned, reaching out and grabbing the envelopes. “For what reason? Besides being a cruel bastard.”

“Because — as you’ll discover from reading them — Linden had information that he wanted to tell Y/N that could have compromised father.”

Tamlin kept an eye on Lucien as he repeated, “information?”

Eris nodded. “The entire thing…the engagement between Dion and Y/N…was all cleverly calculated. Even though Dion did nominate Y/N’s name himself, he would have found himself engaged to her anyway — because it was all part of a deal between Y/N’s father and ours.”

Lucien was hardly listening, his nose buried in the letters. His stomach churned with every word he drank in, every bit of information that took root in his brain. Letter after letter, he read and chucked onto the table, his expression hardening, hands shaking.

“What would Beron be getting out of a deal with Y/N’s father?” Tamlin asked.

And it was Lucien who answered. Lucien, whose voice was so cuttingly cold as he bit out, “Faebane.”

Eris nodded in confirmation. “Y/N’s family’s business had been going under for a while because her father gambled away pretty much everything they had. His reputation — their family’s reputation — was at risk of being destroyed as thoroughly as their fortune. And so to bring some money back in, Y/N’s father began dealing in prohibited chemicals and substances such as Faebane. Our father got wind of it, and instead of putting a stop to it, he saw a way to use it to his advantage. Together, they cooked up an agreement — Y/N’s father would provide ours with any of these substances that he desired, free of charge, so long as their reputation was kept intact. Part of that deal was getting Y/N away from their family estate, because her father knew she would intervene if she heard of what he was doing. Which was how they agreed on her being sent to our estate to marry Dion.”

“And Linden somehow found out.” Lucien murmured, staring into space. “Which was probably why he got sent away. Going by these letters, he wanted to meet with Y/N and warn her.”

“But father put a stop to that.”

Lucien swallowed. “Does Y/N…have you told her? About her father?”

Eris shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to track Linden down first. Speak to him and find out everything he knows. This…this is going to be hard for her.”

Yes, it was. Lucien’s eyes shuttered, his throat bobbing as he tried to swallow. He swiped out, pouring a measure of whiskey and knocking it back. Both Tamlin and Eris watched him.

“How is she?” He rasped, as desperate for the answer as he was scared of it.

A look of concern passed Eris’s face. He gave a half-hearted shrug. “About as well as can be expected. She’s drowning in wedding preparations and is all the more miserable for it.”

Of course, it was the answer Lucien expected — and yet it didn’t make it any easier to hear. He slumped into a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He despised the thought of her being there…thinking he’d given up—

“It won’t be long, Lucien,” Tamlin said quietly. “You’ll be back with her soon. This—this information is good. This can be used against Beron.”

“I know. I know.” Lucien stared down. “I just…I miss her.”

“And she misses you.” Eris supplied. “As does mother. She keeps asking after you — asking what the hell is going on and when the hell you’ll be back.”

Fuck. Lucien hadn’t even considered what his dear, sweet mother must be thinking or feeling. What she must have made of Lucien disappearing without a single goodbye. He loved her dearly, hated keep things from her—

“Tell her.” He blurted, not sure he really meant to. “Tell her everything.”

His brother studied him. “You’re sure?”

“The more people we have on our side, the better.” He shrugged. “She may not be able to do much, but…we have a greater chance of protecting her from whatever’s coming if she knows everything that’s going on.”

Eris seemed to consider it for a moment, before he nodded resolutely. They loved their mother dearly — would spare her from being caught in the crossfire as well as they reasonably could.

“Then I shall.” Eris stood from his chair, tucking it in. He reached out, knocking back his measure of whiskey before brushing himself down. “I’ll return home and speak to mother. And then I’m going to find Linden. You…you shouldn’t wait to see Y/N, Lucien. She needs you.”

He’d barely taken a step forward before Lucien was gripping onto his arm. “Eris.” He stared up at him. “When you find Linden…bring him to the old orchard. Father won’t look for us there. And send for me immediately. I’ll find a way to see Y/N. And…thank you. For everything.”

A moment passed of the two brothers just staring at each other — a moment of solidarity and understanding.

And then Eris was dipping his chin and squeezing his brother’s hand.

And in a flash, he was gone.

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Quiet, uneventful days had become a rare commodity.

The subject of your wedding was a dull, monotonous entity that seemed to follow you around everywhere. Day in and day out was filled with some sort of preparation, some situation that you had to meet with a false smile. You were sick of being poked and prodded and pulled and pushed like a damn doll — and all when you just wanted to curl up and cry, too. When heartache was a splintering thing inside your chest that never lessened.

But today, at least, there was nothing in the calendar. Perhaps you’d be able to have a cry in peace.

You’d woken to a heavy silence, and it hadn’t taken you long to learn — through asking servants — that most people were gone from the estate for the time being. Beron and Barric away on business, Eris having left on his own. Dion had a particular set of errands to run, apparently, as an upcoming groom. Where Jareth and Rian were, you didn’t know nor care.

You were just relieved to drop the false smile for a bit. You curled yourself up in an armchair with a book that you knew you wouldn’t able to concentrate on.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there like that, watching shafts of sunlight cast across the lawn, when the door opened behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, taking in the brilliant, vibrant hair and skin like finest porcelain. Lady Autumn’s concerned eyes roved over you.

And just like that, you were slamming that smile back onto your lips, forcing the corners to lift up no matter how much they protested.

“I didn’t realise you hadn’t left with the High Lord.” You said.

She inclined her head. “He allowed me to stay — with the wedding being so near and details needing to be fine tuned. I thought you and I might spend the day together.”

You fought to keep your reluctance from showing from your face. It wasn’t that you didn’t like her, or even enjoy her company – on the contrary, you’d found her to be a pleasant companion over the past two weeks, someone who came alive when she wasn’t being watched and analysed. She was kind-hearted and soft…and a constant reminder of the future you were unable to escape.

She read the hesitation on your face, stepping further into the room. “I know life has been pretty constant recently, but…humour me. There’s…there’s somewhere I’d like to take you.”

Not, exactly, what you’d been expecting. Lady Autumn rarely said or did what was beyond expected of her. It was so out of the blue that it had a slither of intrigue snaking its way through the blur of negative emotions that so heavily weighed you down.

Perhaps…perhaps it was better for you to go with her. To do something, anything, to occupy yourself. Surely it had to be better than sitting and ruminating on what you couldn’t have.

You set your untouched book aside, rising from the chair. “Of course I’ll spend the day with you.”

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With a hamper packed with food, the two of you each took to a horse and rode away from the estate. It was like…like breathing for the first time in a long time.

You rode in companionable silence for a while, following in her direction. Only when the peaceful autumn landscapes began to shift and change did your curiosity pique. You knew Beron wasn’t due back to the estate for at least a couple of days, but…to travel so far away without his knowledge–

“Where are you taking me?” You asked, more worried about the consequences Lady Autumn would face than yourself. “Lady–”

“Please—call me Catrin. And you’ll see.”

Catrin. Was that the first time you’d ever heard her name? You couldn’t recall anyone ever having spoken it. The High Lord had pretty much given her a title and stripped her of any other identity.

You couldn’t bear the thought of a similar fate. No matter how worlds apart Dion was from his father in personality, in values…just knowing that others would simply see you as his wife, his lady…a lump rose in your throat. You tried to shake the thought away and focus on the journey ahead.

You’d lost track of how long you’d been riding by the time you came to the opening of a sprawling forest. The trees seemed to naturally part as though they’d been expecting you.

Catrin glanced over her shoulder at you. “We’ll dismount and continue on foot from here.”

With a nod, you followed her lead. You couldn’t help subtly studying her as you climbed down from your horse and rubbed at his neck soothingly. Away from Beron, even her hair seemed more vibrant. A slight pink dusted her cheeks, and her brown eyes seemed to beckon the sunlight towards them. She was beautiful, anyway, but…truly breathtaking, when she wasn’t being stifled.

Retrieving the food hamper from her horse, she met your gaze and gestured to the forest opening. “This way.”

You hesitated. Beautiful as it was, the whole thing felt…bizarre. You didn’t know what or where this place was. Why she’d taken you here in particular. And lovely as she was, you knew how firmly she lived under Beron’s control; you couldn’t stop paranoid thoughts pelting you of this being some sort of trap. Of Beron having got his sweet, docile wife to lure you here to finally punish you somewhere where nobody could hear you scream–

“You needn’t fear me, Y/N.” Catrin said softly. “There’s something I want to show you. Something very few people know about. Especially my husband.”

The bite in her voice was enough to convince you of her honestly, at least. You took a step forward, towards those strange, shimmering trees that seemed to be listening to you. “Where are we?”

“The Otherlands.” Catrin told you; your sparse knowledge of Prythian had certainly never touched on that name. “It sits just outside the Autumn Court, but it’s governed by no one. Whatever takes place here…the High Lord has no jurisdiction over it. Nor does he have any interest in it.”

It was certainly beautiful – and empty. Quiet. A place where nature was allowed to thrive without the intrusions of manmade structures and smoke polluting the air. No wonder the trees looked different. The air smelled different.

“It’s stunning.” You answered earnestly. “But…why have you brought me here?”

“As I said — to show you something.”

Without sparing any more information, she turned on her feet and began to walk. You followed – and then stopped to blink. Your eyes hadn’t been deceiving you; those shimmering trees were truly parting to let you through. With every step forward, a path seemed to reveal itself before your very eyes. Rare, rare magic, like nothing you’d ever seen.

You’d lagged behind enough that you had to jog to catch up. You fell into step with Catrin, your wide eyes focused on every inch of smooth pathway that appeared out of nowhere. Catrin watched you with a smile.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” She said softly. “I never get tired of it, even after all this time.”

“I…what magic is this? Whose magic is this?”

A faraway look entered her eyes, though she didn’t falter a single step. As if she’d walked the hidden path a thousand times before and knew it by heart.

“The magic of somebody I love very much.” She answered quietly.

You watched her, waiting for more. A strange shadow had crossed her face that was so at odds with the landscape, it was almost frightening. Darkening.

There was no doubt in your mind that she absolutely was not talking about Beron.

“Do you…” You spoke. Swallowed down your words. You weren’t sure what to say. “Is he not alive?”

Catrin’s eyes danced over to you. “He is alive. Which makes it worse, somehow, don’t you think? For them to be there, and for you to still be unable to have them.”

Such true, painful words. They fit your situation so perfectly that you winced.

Catrin stopped, and the path forked before you. You followed her lead as she took a left, the trees parting and forming a perfect clearing. You stood at the edge as you watched her step in. She seemed to be taken somewhere else for a moment. Another time. A happier time.

But then she shook it off. Turned to you. “I brought you here to talk about Lucien.”

You felt stillness prickling over your body, your mind emptying of all thoughts. Nothing but bleating panic existed about you as you stared back at her.

You could see — in her face, you could see that she knew. How or why, you weren’t sure. But her eyes held the truth; your truth. She’d found you out.

You swallowed, still attempting to slam up your perfected facade. “Lady—Catrin…I’m afraid I don’t know why Lucien left—”

“You do.” She cut you off gently. “We both do.”

There was no anger evident on her face or in her voice; although, you couldn’t picture her parading such an emotion. She almost permanently wore that blank, vacant expression that you’d begun to master yourself these last few weeks.

Now, though, there was fire in her eyes.

“Lucien left because he loves you. And you love him.” She said.

Your eyes shuttered. “Listen—”

“Eris told me. Yesterday. Although…I suspected before then. I know what love looks like. I’ve seen how Lucien has come alive since you arrived.”

The words — those damn words — were torture. What good could they do you now? Love couldn’t prevail. It couldn’t solve everything. You could love Lucien for the rest of your existence, but that didn’t mean you could have him. And he could see as much himself; had left because of it.

“I’m marrying Dion.” You whispered, begging your voice not to crack. “I have no choice—”

“Listen to me, Y/N.”

Catrin stepped forward, her soft, gentle arms gently landing on your shoulders. Nothing but sincerity sat in her eyes as she stared at you.

“I brought you here,” she said. “Because I cannot see history repeat itself. I won’t. Not for my children.”

“What—”

“A very long time ago, I fell in love with a wonderful male. A kind male, who is good and noble and gentle. I would happily have spent my life with him, but only a year later, my family married me off to Beron. For their sakes — their social standing. They knew he wasn’t kind, and they knew I wasn’t happy, but that was not important to them. It was all about appearances. Reputation.”

Again, your eyes shuttered. Appearances. Reputation. Just like it was with your family. This alliance between your family and the Vanserras was simply about rebuilding what you’d lost. Your happiness didn’t come into it.

“I relented.” Catrin’s eyes stung with tears. “I was weak and not at all brave. I told myself that I had no choice. That it was my duty to be Beron Vanserra’s wife and bear his children, even though I loved another male so ferociously. So completely. Even though I always have. Those feelings do not go away. I spent twenty years without my love before I saw him again. He rescued me from harm, and it took one look at him to realise that I loved him just as much as I had two decades earlier.”

You wanted to slam your hands over your ears, to hide from her words. It wasn’t helpful to know that your feelings would always linger. It didn’t…it didn’t help.

And yet you did want to hear. You wanted to know how it had ended. How it might end for you.

“What happened?” You croaked.

“We began an affair. On and off for decades. This is where we would meet.” She gestured to the surroundings around you. “If Beron were to ride this way, he would see nothing but plain woodland. This was our place — mine and my love’s. His magic allowed us to be here together. Even if years went by of us not seeing each other, this was where we would come. On the other side of this clearing is a cottage — Dayview Cottage, he called it. It still stands today. And that is all I have left of him. When I was pregnant with Lucien, Beron found out about the affair. It stopped after that. We haven’t been together since.”

Such raw, visceral emotion coated her voice that you had to take a step back, to turn away. Because you knew that was what your own voice sounded like. You knew that you held the same look of utter turmoil and heartbreak in your eyes.

“Y/N,” Catrin whispered, “I don’t tell you this to hurt you. But the second Eris filled me in on what had been going on, I knew I had to speak to you. It got too late for me. I had children to think about — a family. I had duties that went beyond what I, myself, craved. Your only duty is to yourself. Do not make the same mistake I did. Do not give yourself regrets. Have the bravery and strength to fight what is expected of you. You cannot doom yourself, or Lucien or Dion or Willow, to a life of misery, because you’ve been told that you must.”

“It isn’t that simple.” You choked. “Beron—”

“Beron,” she cut in her, her voice uncharacteristically cold, “will be dealt with.”

Such confidence in such a weighty statement. You curled in on yourself, wiping at your eyes. Your entire body trembled.

“My children are the only thing I live for now, Y/N.” Her arm came around you. “And you…I consider you to be the daughter I never had. I see so much of my younger self in you. And I’m telling you what I wish I could tell the younger version of me. I will not see any of you resigned to the same fate that I was unable to escape.”

That was it. Your tether snapping, the dam breaking — you buried into your hands, and weeks and weeks of pent-up emotions came storming out in a pained, keening cry.

Catrin’s arms snaked around you, and you felt yourself slump against her, bringing you both to the forest floor. Somehow you ended up in her lap, her arms rocking you like a child while you sobbed and sobbed. For the male you loved more than you ever could have imagined. For the future you so wished you could have with him.

“It’s such a beautiful thing, Y/N, to love.” Catrin whispered, pressing a kiss atop of your head. “Grab it with both hands and don’t let go.”

She said nothing more as she held you. Nothing more as you cried until your throat was scratchy, your eyes raw.

But her words stuck with you, right where they’d slammed into your heart.

Grab it with both hands and don’t let go.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *

The two of you shared the hamper of food, words laying heavy around you as she told you more of her younger self. Who she was before she became a Vanserra. The woods continued to shimmer and dance in your presence, and right before you left to find your horses, she led you to the other side of the clearing and showed you — Dayview Cottage.

It was beautiful, in a melancholy sort of way. The magic that belonged to the unnamed male she loved — the same magic that enchanted the trees and the forest floor — kept it nicely preserved and untouched, no matter how many years it watched pass by. But its emptiness was bleak and lifeless, and it left a similar look in Catrin’s eyes.

Just as the first signs of evening began to show, Catrin ushered you onto your horse with a simple “it’s gotten late. We need to leave.”

Your head ached as the two of you rode back, and your full, swimming mind made it feel like mere minutes before you began to recognise villages and landscapes. You knew your surroundings enough to recognise exactly where you were — a couple of miles from the hamlet that had been destroyed by the fire.

Catrin glanced at you somewhat knowingly, and it was the first time she spoke since you’d set off as she said, “There’s one more place you need to go. But I can’t come with you.”

You frowned back at her, the action in itself self causing a twinge of discomfort to ripple behind your eyes. “What?”

“I’m heading home. But there’s a gamekeeper’s cottage around here, I believe. One you might be familiar with. Somebody is waiting for you there.”

You stared at her, knowing exactly what she was inferring without saying the words. The gamekeeper’s cottage – where you and Lucien had headed after the hamlet fire. Where you’d first ever given over to passion and found release in each other’s bodies. It seemed so long ago now.

And he…he was waiting for you there? It had to be him…the significance of the place.

Anxiety and anticipation and excitement hit you all at once. So, so desperately you wanted to see him; to see how he was doing after a few weeks in the Spring Court. To see…to see whether he missed you as much as you missed him.

But could it truly be that easy? Catrin’s words, her story, had certainly left a lasting effect on you, got you thinking. But thoughts of Beron, of Willow, of danger…they still plagued you. Still had you slamming that wall up and not allowing yourself to consider that you might have a different outcome than the one you’d been forcing yourself to accept.

“Why?” You rasped quietly. “Why is he there?”

Catrin studied you. “Because he needs you as much as you need him. This is hard for him, also. Don’t think for a second that fleeing to the Spring Court was easy for him, Y/N. He’d have come back far sooner if he had it his way. But he asked me to help you see each other; at least spare him a conversation.”

Of course you would. She didn’t need to convince you. Even if your body was taut as a bowstring and fear was in your eyes…even if you refused and began your journey home…you knew damn well that you would have turned back and ran straight to that gamekeeper’s cottage.

You wouldn’t leave him there alone, wondering if you were ever coming.

Catrin knew it, too.

“Go to him, Y/N.” She said, reaching out to press a gentle hand to your cheek. “Go to him, and let him speak.”

You’d thought you were all cried out, and yet as you nodded, tears welled in your eyes. There was nothing but a field that lay between you and that gamekeeper’s cottage. Nothing but a stretch of grass that lay between you and the male you loved. Missed. Wanted.

Catrin, herself, looked like she was on the verge of shedding a few tears. She plastered on a beautiful smile and straightened in the saddle. “Go,” she said. “And give my boy my love.”

Before you could thank her, she was digging her heels into her horse’s sides and taking off with a soft command. You watched as she rode into the distance, her red hair like a burning flame on the landscape.

And then it was just you and that stretch of field. The cottage that stood on the other side of it. The other half of your heart that waited within it.

You closed your eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Tried to calm your thudding heart. With chills spreading across your skin that had nothing to do with the fresh evening air, you guided your horse across the field.

Every travelled inch that brought you closer had your ears ringing, head spinning. And when you saw the cottage, slightly hidden amongst the trees, it was an effort to keep yourself atop of your horse.

You slowed to a stop, taking a moment to just…breathe. Every part of you shook as you dismounted and secured your horse to a tree, leaving it to graze the forest floor. There was no sound inside the cottage. No light that peeked out.

This cottage — this cottage that had been a harbinger of change; a painful one at the time. One that had set the wheels in motion for what was to come. Yours and Lucien’s own version of Dayview Cottage, you supposed.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do. Knock? Open the door and stride right in? Your hands twisted around each other, your mind ticking away at a pace you couldn’t keep up with—

But the door opened without any intervention from you. And there Lucien stood, the light of the cottage fire seeming to offset a glow around him as his eyes met yours, and he swallowed.

He was…glorious. Breathtaking. You didn’t have any words, try as you might to muster some.

He swallowed again before his lips parted, his eyes scanning your face.

“…Hi…” was all he said. But he could have spoken any damn word in the common tongue. It wouldn’t have mattered.

It was his deep, lilting voice that destroyed your resolve. Before you knew what you were doing, your body was colliding with his, your arms snaking around his waist. A cry tore from your throat.

He wrapped himself around you immediately. And pulled you into the cottage.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You didn’t know how long the two of you stood in the entryway, silently holding each other. Long enough to shed more tears and soak the front of Lucien’s shirt.

But once your cries had drifted into just the occasional snivel, he pulled back to stare at you. His hands brushed the wet strands of hair that stuck to your cheek.

“You’re okay?” He murmured, and his voice threatened to end you all over again.

You could only nod, your voice not quite strong enough, yet, not to break.

He’d placed a kiss against your forehead before pulling away, murmuring about preparing you both a warm drink. Which left you to drift around the space in silence, rebuilding your composure, your strength. You kept a little bit of a wall in place, not knowing what the hell to expect. Lucien’s pottering around the kitchen was a soothing background noise as you studied the random assortment of things around you.

And then, so naturally at the same time — as if your bodies mirrored one another’s — you were turning to each other. Lucien studied you, two mugs in his hands.

“You look well.” You croaked, your eyes drinking him in.

His lips twitched, and he placed the mugs down on the small dining table. “You don’t need to lie. I look like a mess.”

A soft laugh left your throat. You glanced down, rubbing your arms, giving your hands something — anything — to do. “As do I.”

Silence filled the space between you. And then slow, thudding footsteps approached. “You could never look like a mess.”

So, so not true. You were aware of your sallow skin, the dark smudges beneath your eyes. That you’d lost a little weight. And yet you also knew that Lucien spoke with such sincerity. He meant it, even if you didn’t believe it yourself.

Your eyes remained on the scuffs of your boots as he continued to approach. He stopped a hair's-breadth away, close enough for his scent to smother you. Your eyes shuttered as you breathed it in greedily.

“Y/N.” He whispered, his voice skittering over your skin. “Look at me.”

You weren’t sure you could. Your hands gripped your arms hard, the nails digging into your skin. It took you a moment to steel yourself enough to reopen your eyes and lift them to Lucien’s face. Nothing — nothing — could have prepared you for the emotion that lay there.

Love. Pure love, and adoration. Heartache. Despair. Somehow, you read it all. Somehow, you knew you looked the same.

The volume of the emotions threatened to bowl you over. You took a step back, clearing your throat. “Why—why did you want to meet?”

Lucien stared at you, pursing his lips. Because to question why he would want to see you was so ludicrous to him. But he followed your lead, straightening himself up a little.

“To talk to you.” He said. “To ask you — beg, if I have to — not to marry Dion.”

You swallowed. “Lucien—”

“Please just hear me out.”

You stared at him, every self-preserving instinct screaming at you to push past him and run the hell out of there. Because Catrin’s story, her words — hard-hitting as they were — didn’t change that it wasn’t as simple as just not marrying Dion. They didn’t change that there was danger involved. Real danger. Lives at risk.

But Lucien’s eyes were pleading. And you relented, relaxing your stance enough to show him that you were open, at least, to hearing what he had to say.

A moment passed of nothing. You wondered if he might not speak at all. But as you met his eyes in question, you found tears there. Found that he was struggling to speak around his emotion.

“Lucien…” you sighed softly. You reached for him, your hand lingering in the air. Would it make it worse to touch him?

His eyes shuttered, tears spilling down his cheeks. And then he was stepping towards you, cupping your face in his broad, warm hands. Tilting it up to look at him.

“Listen to me. Please.” His voice shook. So did his hands. “I am in love with you. So…so in love. I didn’t know it was possible to love anyone or anything this much. I didn’t know I was capable.”

You blinked away your own tears. “You said you were done fighting for me. I don’t blame you for that.”

“I said that to make it easier to turn around and walk out. But I went to the Spring Court to ask for Tamlin’s help. To find a way for this to work — for us to be together.”

Hope threatened to bloom inside you. You shoved it back down; couldn’t let it take root. Not for it just to be yanked out again.

“It isn’t that easy.” You whispered.

“Of course it isn’t.” His rough, calloused thumbs stroked your cheeks. “It’s love. But I will never stop fighting for you. Never.”

“Lucien—”

“Please, Y/N.” He stared down at you. “I need you to trust me.”

You placed your hands over his, brushing your thumbs over his knuckles. “I do trust you. With my entire soul.”

“Then please, my fireling, hear me when I say that there’s a way out of this, I just— I need you to choose me.” His eyes held something so familiar and yet so unknown to you — a glint of gold in a sea of russet. “I’m already yours. So claim me.”

You broke.

There was no staying strong beneath the weight of those words. Those emotions. You couldn’t.

You reached up, taking a strand of his hair in your palm.

His breath stalled.

You parted the strands of hair, keeping your eyes fixed on the pattern, as you began to twine them together. To braid them.

“What’re you doing?” He whispered, as if afraid that you’d stop if he spoke too loudly.

“Giving you a braid.” You answered and fastened the braid.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed — hard.

“There. You’re mine now.” Your eyes met his russet ones. “I’m in love with—”

Your words cut off as you felt it.

A resounding, earth-shattering snap, deep in your heart, in your soul.

It was like the sun breaking through clouds. Like warmth encasing you. It spread over your body, over Lucien’s, like golden rays of sunlight combining you as one. Twining your souls together. And as if those rays could speak, could whisper to you, you heard it. One word. One word that changed everything.

Mate.

You blinked up at him, so many words in your mind, your throat, on your tongue. So many things you wanted to say, and yet none would come to the surface. The world was shifting, altering your body to fit like a perfect puzzle piece with his. Your mate.

“You knew.”

“Y/N—”

A cry tumbled from your lips, and you were once more throwing yourself at Lucien, wrapping your arms around him. But it was different this time.

It was…it was you giving up the fight. It was you refusing to fight your feelings any longer. No matter what it may mean. No matter what it might bring to your doorstep. You couldn’t fight off your love any longer.

Lucien’s arms came around you, pressing you so close against him that it lifted your feet slightly from the floor. He held you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head. “Y/N—”

“I love you.” You choked, cutting him off. “I fucking love you, Lucien.”

He went so, so still. You’d only ever said it once, sobbing into his chest. He didn’t even know if you were aware of it. But this — you said the words with such utter conviction he knew his mind couldn’t have conjured up the emotion in your voice.

And then he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. There was fire in his own.

“Say it again.” He said roughly. “Please.”

“I love you.”

You surged up on the tips of your toes, capturing Lucien in a hard, bruising kiss.

He seemed to just blink for a moment, as though he couldn’t quite keep up. And then he was folding, breathing a cry against your lips, like they’d brought him home.

Mate. Of course he was your mate. You should have damn well known. You’d never been able to stay away from him, never been able to fight the intrigue. Even when he’d been rude and standoffish and arrogant, you’d wanted more, more, more. You’d wanted Lucien Vanserra entirely.

You wanted — needed — him now.

Your kiss was hard, desperate. It was with the force of your feelings, your bond, that you urged him backwards, back and back until you were at the bed. His legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he toppled down, dragging you with him.

You tore your lips from his. Stared down at him.

“I love you.” You said.

He pushed up and kissed you again.

Both your hands and his began fighting to desperately remove clothes. They were ripped from you, from him, tossed across the room. You kissed every inch of bare skin that was revealed; Lucien’s golden, muscled chest, his stomach, his arms, his hips—

But he wanted those lips of yours on his. He pulled you up. Stared into your eyes for a moment. And then he was kissing you again.

You didn’t know at which point you both ended up completely naked, your skin pressing against his, but the feeling of it alone could have brought you to release. It felt so right. So complete.

There was no fooling around. There would be time for that — a whole future’s worth. But you needed him inside you. He needed to be inside you.

He made to flip you over, but you were pressing his chest down, pushing him into the bed. He stared up at you, watching intently, hungrily, as you lifted your hips.

Your hand reached down, wrapping around his firm, hard cock. A grunt left him as you pumped him once, twice, and then lined him up with your entrance.

“Wait.” He breathed, and you paused. He sat up, bringing his body closer to yours, your faces inches apart as he said, “I love you too.”

The words were pleasure in their own right. You moaned. Captured his mouth with yours. And then you were slowly, gently, sinking down onto his length.

The two of you gasped against each other’s mouths. Lucien’s arms came round to fasten around your waist, and he held you to him, his hand landing on your hip and beginning to rock you gently.

He filled you so perfectly. You weren’t sure there was a more complete feeling than your bodies being as flawlessly aligned as your souls.

Every movement and moment was slow, unhurried. You couldn’t possibly get any closer as he kissed you and gently rocked you on his cock. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Gods,” he breathed, his hands moving up your back, over your shoulders, down your arms. “Gods, I missed you. My mate. My fireling.”

That fucking nickname would destroy you. You moaned against his mouth, rolling your hips faster. His brow furrowed in pure, unbridled pleasure as he pulled his face back and glanced down at your joined bodies.

“Look at us.” He groaned, his hand guiding your face down, thumb slipping between your lips. “Look how perfectly we fit together. There’s no one else for either of us.”

You were also groaning, whimpering, moaning, your tongue swirling around his thumb as you watched. Watched you fucking him and him fucking you. Your mate.

You weren’t aware of when, exactly, your bodies began to move faster, harder. The two of you were nothing but dancing souls as Lucien flipped you over, not once pulling out of you as he hovered over you.

But his hips ceased their movements. He stilled inside you. Stared down at you, his eyes like pools of endless, churning emotion. His hand brushed your cheek gently.

“Say it again.” He whispered, his breath fanning your face. You knew exactly what he meant.

“Lucien Vanserra, my mate,” you breathed. Your hand trailed down his body to find his. You laced your fingers together. “I am in love with you.”

It could have been a cry or a groan that left his lips. You weren’t entirely sure. His mouth met yours, and you knew your words had set you both on the home stretch. That this was how you would finish — together.

He moved in you and on you, his hands always gentle, his hips not stuttering once. Your soft “I love yous” mingled with one another’s until you didn’t know which was yours and which was his.

And then he was picking up the pace. You moaned against him, and you could feel him throbbing inside you. You wanted to feel his release.

“Come,” you whispered against his lips. “Come for me. Please.”

“Gods.” He choked. His hand reached down between you, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing at your clit, sending a white-hot sting of pleasure splintering through your body. “Come with me.”

His deft fingers left you no other choice. You were light as air as you went tumbling off that edge into oblivion, your pleasure overpowering you entirely. Lucien was falling right along with you, his cock spilling every drop inside you. While his mouth spilled nothing but love into yours.

And then he was pulling back just a little. He trembled against you, his head falling to your chest, his breaths heaving as much as yours. Your fingers threaded within his hair, soothingly massaging the area. It took you a moment to notice the wetness that trickled down between your breasts. You frowned, gently lifting his face.

Tear-filled eyes met yours. Lucien squeezed them shut, the droplets rolling down his face. You reached out, brushing his hair back.

“Hey…” you spoke softly. “Look at me.”

He did. He allowed you to see every emotion on his face. You leaned in, kissing his wet, salty lips.

“Promise me, Y/N.” He whispered, his arms pulling you against him. “Promise me we won’t be apart again. I couldn’t bear it.”

You didn’t know much. You didn't know what would happen the next day, or the day after that — or the year after that.

But you knew that you loved Lucien Vanserra more than you could possibly put into words.

And you knew you damn well meant it, with every piece of your heart and soul, as you stared into his eyes and spoke those words.

“I promise.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You’d never felt so serene, you realised, as you did while watching him sleep.

You knew you could happily lay there forever, your body slanted over his as your fingers absentmindedly played with the braid you’d put there mere hours ago. You didn’t once tear your eyes away from the smooth, unworried sight of his face. He was beautiful.

So, so lucky you were, to have this male. To love him. He’d given you so much already. Hope. Bravery. Strength.

Your mind gently thumbed through your memories of him. Your lips twitched at the thought of that first encounter in the woods — how unnecessarily rude he’d been. How he seemed to dislike you for no reason.

And yet — and yet — look at the two of you now. In love.

The backs of your fingers brushed gently against his cheek. It was then that Lucien stirred, sucking in a slow, deep breath. His eyes fluttered open, immediately finding yours. A smile tugged at his lips.

“Were you watching me sleep?” He blinked at you sleepily, a lazy smirk replacing the soft smile.

The morning rasp in his voice turned something molten in your lower belly.

“Maybe.” You conceded, shrugging as best as you could laying on your side. “I might’ve been playing with your braid, too.”

His eyes snagged on your hand — your fingers — as they still traced the intricate design. “It’s addicting, isn’t it.”

A hum was your only response.

Both of you remained quiet and blissful, basking in each other’s company, until Lucien noticed the corners of your mouth lifting up in a soft smile. His heart went a tad wobbly in his chest.

“What is it?”

“This braid is special.”

He studied you closely, that brilliant smile widening. “Oh?”

“It signifies another thing, now. Not just Linden, but…you, too. Us. It signifies our strength. Our love.”

You heard the slight hitch of breath in his throat. Like your words would start him off crying again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing you say that.” He whispered.

You smiled and leaned in to brush your lips against his.

“These strands of hair,” you murmured, gently tugging, “are our souls. Twined together. Always.”

He kissed you, somehow both hard and soft. And then his forehead was pressing against yours. “Always.”

You smiled. But there was no chance to breathe another word as his arms came around you, and he was flipping you over just as he had earlier.

And as he slid into you, he gasped that same word against your ear, his braid tickling your face.

Always.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The training barracks, as it turned out, were a bitch to find.

Sweat smattered Eris’s forehead and rolled down his neck as he slowed his mount to a stop. His eyes scanned the huge, imposing building before him, and with the unexpected silence that met him, it was hard to believe the place housed a troop of guards in training.

Though, if he listened harder, the sounds of clashing metal and light-hearted banter danced over to him on the soft breeze. Guards were training somewhere on the green that was big enough to rival the Vanserra Estate.

This was where the letters had indicated. And so this was where he would look.

He dismounted, shoes hitting the dirt path. He patted his horse’s neck as he strode towards the barracks. What was the etiquette here? Did he knock? Just stride in like his father would? He wasn’t sure—

He didn’t have to worry about it, though, as a sound caught his attention. He turned, eyeing the smaller — but still considerable — building to his right. A sturdy wooden building whose door was open just a crack. Curiosity piqued.

Before he could take a step forward, the door swung open wider, and a tall figure emerged. A naked, muscled torso of sweat-slick brown skin glinted in the sunlight. The male was huge, all defined, corded muscles and rugged handsomeness. He wiped his brow with a rag as he studied Eris curiously. And then stilled, recognition dawning.

But it wasn’t the sculpted body Eris’s gaze snagged on, no. His eyes scanned the brilliant, intricate braids that were currently tied in a knot atop of the male's head. The uptilted, dark eyes that were slightly feline. Cheekbones that could cut through stone.

“Eris Vanserra?” The male spoke — and if his appearance hadn’t been a giveaway enough, the smooth, lilting accent most certainly was. “Can I help you with something?”

Eris inclined his head, taking a step forward. “I sure hope so.”

Intrigue crossed the male’s eyes, and he stood up straighter.

“Finally we meet.” Eris said with a vague smile. “You must be Linden."

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

lucien tags: @brekkershadowsinger @sillycrownlady @ruler-of-hades @lectoradefics @lucyysthings @littlemoonash @janzquu @carmelalikestoread @cathyac @tasha2627 @elkessecretplace @inkyvelvet @acourtofthought @zazite95 @antisocialcookie16 @sehalpha25 @fuckthatfeeling @adamgetawaydriver @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @lostpirateinwonderland @scrunklybunny @owllover123 @vangoghsbaby @goodbyemilkyway @babyimagangsta2

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rinatic · 1 year

Text

Jaehyun as a boyfriend

You two met thanks to a mutual friend

At first, jaehyun sees you as a normal person, he doesn't feel attracted to you

But as days go by and you two hang out a lot more

He starts to feel something

He'll be so annoyed with his feelings, it makes him vulnerable and weak, that's why he'll fight with his heart for weeks

He wants to stop those feelings, but it becomes more difficult when you're present

Has a fear of rejection and trust issues :(

Please save him from the "what if-" questions

When he finally accepts his own feelings, he'll keep his eyes on you

Every time you two interact, he'll pay attention to how you act

Boy just wants to make sure you like him back

Or he'll never confess

One day, a big dose of confidence hit him and that's when he decided to confess

In this stage, he doesn't care if the feelings are mutual, he just wants to get it off his chest

He won't be awkward at all when he confesses, he'll be charming as hell

And you do like him so why not?

When you two started dating, jae won't know what to do at first and how to act like a boyfriend

While he doesn't make the biggest effort ever, he's still a gentleman and is trying to be better

He might be skeptical at first, but as time goes and he adapts to you being his girlfriend, he'll get better

The first thing he'll do is taking you to dates in places you've never went to

His love language is definitely quality time and actions of service

So he basically wants to 'show you the world' and make you explore it with him

And he'll keep a cam with him so he can take pics and have memories with you

Is an attentive boyfriend

He forbids you from doing any work when he's around

Also, when you say you want something, it magically appears in your room the second day

He's also that kind of boyfriend who fixes everything, no need to call someone to fix your broken lamp when jaehyun is here

Wants to teach you stuff, like how to take care of things when you travel or when he can't be with you

He doesn't really like to reveal much about himself, he's more of a listener and is always willing to listen to you

He has walls built up around him, and you're the only person who knows his secrets

That's because you gained his trust, and once you trust him too, he'll never let a single person know about your secrets or the things you wish no one knows

You two understand each other without saying a single word

And you two barely argue, he's so understanding and knows how to control his emotions well + he HATES arguments

Unfiltered conversations

He's not sensitive and will speak his mind + doesn't like sugarcoating

Sucks at giving affection, only gives awkward hugs and pats lol

So you'll have to initiate affection with him first

And if initiates it first, which is RARE, it's cute because he actually wants you two to be fair and equal lol

So he's not into pda, yet makes sure everyone knows you're his

Surprisingly, hand holding 24/7 is a thing (bro thinks he's slick)

He also sucks at expressing himself, sometimes you'll think that he doesn't love you but he is actually worshiping the ground you walk on

Just doesn't know how to show it

Poor boy

Isn't controlling at all, lets you do what you want as long as you don't hurt yourself, he likes independence and is more of a hypeman lol

Knows that you like hearing him speak english so he secretly studies it more to show you how fluent he is

And he talks in a deeper tone just to hear you simp over him lol

Always shows off his body in front of you 'accidentally', like after working out, he wipes his sweaty face using his shirt instead of a towel

Highkey enjoys receiving praises and compliments from you that's why he does this

When he's away, he makes sure to send you a playlist that he made specifically for you

"This is only for you, y/n." With that cute smile of his

Ugh

Okay

You better listen to the playlish 3953728294 times daily and don't you dare question his music taste, better than yours ofc 😊

#nct jaehyun #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct 127 #nct #nct u

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draculasfavoritewife · 4 months

Text

Let Me Patch You Up

Summary: Getting your partner to sit still and let himself be taken care of has always been a challenge.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, mild blood/injury, Din tries to hide his wounds because of course he would. Lots of fluff, sensuality, and hella implied smut at the end.

Because I adore patching-up fics :) Especially when one person is far too stubborn for their own good and the other is a caretaker type. 'Nuff said.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

"I'm not mad!"

You can hear the sigh behind you, longer and heavier than a New Republic frigate.

"You sound mad."

"All I'm saying is they should've paid double for the extra abuse! Their intel was way off." You scowl and rattle the pouch of currency for emphasis. "I didn't sign up for this job to fistfight an Aqualish, Din. An Aqualish!"

"You came out alright." There's a layer of warmth there now, sunk deep under the weariness. "Wish I could have seen more of it."

"I'll tell the Kid the story later, I'm sure." You gaze down at the dark bruising creatively decorating your arms and midsection with a wince. "Good thing I'm not vain anymore."

"Makes you look tough." His tone is clipped as he leans on the switch to pull up the boarding ramp of the ship. You can imagine his jaw clenching beneath the helmet; for all his beskar, he must be pretty roughed up, too. Aqualish may be brutal, but at least they're still flesh and blood.

Enforcer droids don't suffer from such weaknesses as pain and fatigue.

"How're you holding up, Cyare?" You keep the query casual -- he hates being fussed over.

You've learned from many previous jobs that your partner, when injured, has to be handled as cautiously and cleverly as a twitchy Blurrg; he's just as liable as one to bolt or take a bite out of an unguarded hand.

"Fine." He turns to make for the cockpit, tries to disguise the fact that he's still leaning on the wall for support under the pretense of examining the internal wiring. "Wind knocked out of me. Some sleep and I'll be in top form again."

He pauses at the foot of the ladder and gazes upward, the distance to the pilot's chair suddenly seeming excruciatingly long. As he ponders the best way to proceed, his dexterous fingers absently seek out the end of the small blade buried in his left shoulder, and yank it out.

No sound leaves his lips, he's far too conditioned for that, but he can't hide from you forever.

"Din?"

"Hmm?" He's still studying the length of the ladder.

"Dank farrik, Cyare, you're bleeding." Now truly concerned, you throw your subterfuge out the window and reach for his arm. Sometimes even a wild Blurrg just has to be wrangled into submission after all. "I'm going to fix you up, Din, and you're going to behave for me while I do."

"But I can still --"

"No."

"But you're --"

"No."

"What if --"

"Stop protesting, Di'kut! I won't have you collapsing on me if I could have done something about it." You push him down -- somewhat gently -- onto a cargo crate in the hold, stepping down on the edge of his cape as you search for the medkit.

He glances down at your firmly planted boot, up at your serious face. "Really?" he asks dryly.

"I'm not taking any chances with you, my love," you inform him sweetly, reaching around his body to press the releases on his cuirass and pauldrons. "You have this unfortunate habit of disappearing to lick your wounds in solitude whenever I take my eyes off of you for a moment."

"It's worked this long, hasn't it?" he mutters gruffly, but he knows well enough by now to not protest and aid you in removing his vambraces and finally his shirt.

It steals your breath for a brief second as it always does, the sight of him half-undressed but with his identity still shrouded from you.

Mesmerizing.

Alluring.

A tantalizing mystery that one day you desire to fully uncover.

But you know now is not the time.

Your rapidly heating thoughts are interrupted by a squeal from Grogu as he shuffles across the floor to stand by your legs. His tiny clawed hands grip your calf as wide, frightened eyes absorb the canvas of smeared blood and old scars spread across the Mandalorian's broad chest.

"Hey, Kid," Din says softly.

"Your buir is okay," you tell the little one, lifting him up to set him on the crate beside his father. "Maybe you can make him stay put for me."

Din insists he's not too badly off to help you, and you know he's still not comfortable being completely at the mercy of someone else's hands, so you let him handle the smaller task of cleaning up his stab wounds while you cauterize them. You still remember the first time you watched him do it himself, how you hated the way he hissed and spat in pain every time the tool slipped or stuck on lacerations that were awkward for him to reach.

He'd never admit so aloud, but with your more delicate touch behind it, it's a fair sight less painful of a process than it used to be.

"Still think I shouldn't have knocked them around until they coughed up more pay?" You let your fingertips skate gently over the taut bronze skin before you, checking for any sign of tenderness that could indicate an internal injury.

"You hungry for more bruises?" He shakes his head. "I know I'm not. We got what we came for. Sometimes renegotiating is pointless, Cyar'ika."

"I guess." You're kneeling on the floor now, his broad thighs on either side of your body as you finish closing up a slash to his abdomen, its rough line trailing down to his belt. Your hand tenderly follows the new scar, drifting over textured skin.

His muscles harden abruptly beneath your light touch, and it makes you smirk. He's always been a little ticklish there; it's an unspoken weak spot of his.

"What's really got you so worked up?"

Even exhausted he's still as sharp as ever.

You let out a long breath. "When are you going to stop trying to hide from me when you're hurt?"

That surprises him. "I don't...."

"Don't deny it. You tried to fly this heap of scrap with a knife embedded in you, Din."

"I would have taken care of it sooner or later."

"Probably later!"

He's staring, helplessly trying to figure out why his habits have disturbed you so deeply. "I haven't died yet," he points out in a monotone that would be hilarious under different circumstances.

You lean into his midsection, cheek resting against his ribcage. The familiar scent of sweat and slight charring from the cauterizer calms you, bringing with it delicious memories of sleepless nights and long, hot showers. Your choppy breaths even out as you search for the best words to express what you want to tell him, and your hands massage into his lower back, drawing a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan from him as aching muscles finally loosen to your persistent kneading.

"You're the closest thing I have left to aliit," you murmur at last, catching a shiver from him at the movement of your lips against his chest.

Still so sensitive to touch.

"As you are alor of our little clan, I would follow your way in all matters." You lift your eyes to meet that gleaming ebony visor, seeing the forward tilt to his helmet that means he's truly listening to everything you say, not merely hearing.

"Yet as the one I would consider my riduur, in soul if not by ceremony, you must know that even my respect for you is overridden by my own selfishness. I can't let you be careless with your life, ner'kar'ta. Even a beroya needs a cabur sometimes."

His hands, finally ungloved, slowly drift up to cradle your face, roughened fingers burying themselves in your hair. "I...will try, Mesh'la. Understand this is all still strange to me. But I do not want to cause you pain. Or be a burden on your worries. I will fall back into old habits some days, so I just ask your patience."

Relief wells up within you, and you all but let yourself fall into his lap. "Thank you. I don't know what I would do if you ever --"

"K'uur, ner'cyare." He shushes you and leans back against the stack of crates behind him, taking care not to crush Grogu who has been playing with his cast-off armor. "No more of this talk. I just want your touch for a moment. Gedet'ye."

Lying half on top of his reclined body, you exhale, telling those stubborn thoughts to let go of you for now. There will always be time for fear. The times in between hardships and fears are the rare ones, these sparse moments when you and your Mandalorian are gifted with a small respite from the inherent challenges of your lifestyle. These blessed breaths in which all that exists before you is the little aliit you have formed together, and his warm skin beneath your palms, and his heart beating beside your ear.

"Like this?" you hum, pressing your lips to the center of his chest, taking in the cherished taste of him, tracing the story of his life from the faded scars beneath your kiss.

"Jate?"

There's a shudder in the answering breath that rasps through his vocoder. "Jatne," he confirms, fingertips digging into your shoulder blades.

You keep kissing him, losing yourself in his deadly, battered body, and the way that his caresses answer your searching mouth.

As you push forward to go for his throat, however, you suddenly find his powerful legs pinning you in your place, holding you back from the kill.

"What -- ?"

"Hold, Cyar'ika," he grits out between his teeth. "No more."

You stop struggling against the iron hold of his legs. "Oh! Am I hurting you?"

"...No...." He jerks his head meaningfully in the direction of the Kid, who is still playing among the boxes. "But you can't tease me like this with him in the room. That's VERY unfair of you."

Catching on, you smirk and pull back out of his grip, not missing the way he almost thinks about not letting you go so easily. "Who said I was teasing?"

He huffs. "Then we really need to stop. Poor Kid's been traumatized enough in his life." A calculating look passes over the visor, sliding from you over to Grogu and back again. "Though I might be able to get him down for a nap."

You push him all the way down and straighten up, lifting the Kid in your hands. "Better let me, then. He gets clingier when he can tell you're impatient." You nudge his leg with your knee as you leave the hold, ignoring his disapproving stare.

"Besides, you need to cool down there for a bit, Djarin."

He knows you're flirting hard when you use that name for him. And it's just a tiny bit cruel of you to leave him all alone like that, simmering in his thwarted frustration.

Half an hour later, your small charge finally dozing off, you let yourself into Din's cramped quarters, realizing only too late that you've walked right into a trap. It's dark as the belly of a sarlacc in here, and you're pinned between a wall and a heavily breathing Mandalorian before you can even react.

"You're late, Mesh'la," he growls close to your ear, his scruff scraping your cheek. "And you know I get...restless...when I'm kept waiting."

"Oh trust me, I do." You melt into his trapping embrace as his mouth starts to blaze a trail across your flesh; inhibited by his creed in the light, Din more than makes up for his inability to reciprocate once the lights have gone out and all bets are off. "But be gentle, Cyare."

"A little Loth-cat once told me she likes it rough."

There -- the tempting threat of teeth skimming the base of your throat. You can't keep yourself from trembling slightly with anticipation.

"Just don't reopen any of your wounds, Din, I'm serious."

"To hell with that." A couple skillful maneuvers and you're laid out on his bed, still locked in his arms. "Now, are you ready to finish what you started back there?"

"Dank farrik."

You smirk at his sighed expletive, pulling him in closer until you can feel the softness of his damp curls falling across your chest.

"Now remember, you can't complain about being stiff tomorrow," you chide through a kiss to the top of his head. "I tried to tell you to take it easy."

He shrugs. "I've lived through worse. And it was worth it."

"Mmhmm. I definitely won't deny that." You stretch out your own depleted limbs, sure that the tapestry of bruising will look worse come morning. But he's right. Times like this make all of it worth it, the moments in which he is not Mando'ade and you are not dar'manda, but simply two people alone in a brutal galaxy, who love each other deeply and don't get to tell the other as often as they deserve to hear it. When it's just you and your beroya in the dark, relying on skin brushing skin to see and wordless exclamations of love to take the place of eloquent poetry, all of the struggles are worth it.

This life and its pitfalls are never easy, but you have him, and he is what matters.

"What are you smiling about?" you murmur, as his full lips break into a rare grin against your chest.

"Only that maybe it would perhaps benefit me to come to you more often when I'm injured." His voice is silky, deceptively innocent as a hand strokes its way upward to find your jawline.

"After all," and he leans into a chaste Keldabe kiss even as his touch once again turns suggestive, "I can tell you, none of my solitary patch-ups ever ended with anything like this."

You arch into him and claim his lips with your own, smiling into his mouth.

"Then you can consider this possible incentive for the future, Djarin."

Di'kut = Idiot

Aliit = Family/Clan

Alor = Leader

Ner'kar'ta = My heart

Beroya = Bounty hunter

Cabur = Protector

K'uur = Hush

Gedet'ye = Please

Jate/Jatne = Good/Best

Mando'ade = Child of Mandalore

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #x reader #female reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian and grogu #hurt/comfort #sentimental #romance #hes so hot #bounty hunter #suggestive #favorite tropes #im completely normal about this #my love #sexy

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coconutcordiale · 1 year

Note

wasted and strawberry lace with sub!rooster for the 1k celebration 💗💗 love u mae!!

your ecstasy (i'm floating away)

pairing- rooster x afab reader

synopsis- sometimes bradley just needs to get out of his head a little

warnings- 18+ minors dni (glen don't read this either ik you want proof rooster's a bottom but this is not the droid you're looking for) sub bradley, dom reader, dirty pics, teasing bradley while he's supposed to be working, unprotected piv, orgasm control, subspace, established relationship so kink negotiation is implied to have happened pre-fic, lots of anxiety and rooster's bummer of a life

length- 1.9k

an- thank you so much jo ily!!!! this is weirdly not just filth it kind of turned into a character study almost? my b

for the prompts wasted; ‘i know baby, I know’ & strawberry lace; lingerie. I had two other requests for {wasted} which’ll get posted separately the muse is just very fickle right now

i think of this as part of the heart in danger (rooster x roommate) universe but can definitely be read separately there's only one comment about it. also let's hand wave the fact that rooster would probably not be allowed to be on his phone while getting briefed on a life endangering mission

the link to lingerie is not very inclusive, if that bothers you feel free to skip the link. it fit perfectly so i had to use it. but as always envision whatever you want :)

title courtesy of dopamine - børns

The problem with being back in North Island is that no matter how many renditions of Great Balls of Fire Bradley does, that pit of uneasiness still sits like a rock in his stomach, reminiscent of the last time he was here.

He remembers being so heavy, having such a chip on his shoulder going through TOPGUN the first time around that it’s a wonder his jet was ever able to get off the ground.

So, when faced with Maverick - the one person who purposely ensured that Bradley was well and truly alone - for the first time in over a decade, the anxiety simmering deep within him starts to claw its way to the surface.

And it’s not just Maverick. It’s all too much; the idea that he might die serving the Navy, die doing the same job his mom always wanted to keep him safe from, die flying as close as he can to a blonde guy with a mustache that he barely remembers – his only real memories of him consisting of brightly colored shirts and deft fingers flying over piano keys.

Or maybe it’s even worse if he burns in trying to emulate the guy that never believed he was ready in the first place.

No time to be thinking about the past, Hangman spat at him. As if Bradley doesn’t know that, how high the stakes are. As if he doesn’t know that he’ll be a danger to the entire team if he doesn’t get his overanxious mind under control; like he’d still be thinking about this given the choice not to.

If only he could just get his brain to shut up for one goddamn second.

He’s pulled from his internal self-pity by his phone, nearly jumping in his seat at the vibration. He really needs to get it the fuck together.

Wanted something fancy under my new button-up today, what do you think?

“Christ,” Bradley mutters, flipping the device over before anyone sees the lingerie you’ve so kindly sent him a picture of, a sinful black lacy little thing, while he should be paying attention to Maverick.

“Feathers ruffled, Rooster?”

Bradley tries to keep his eyes from rolling, he really does, but Hangman’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to him, always has been. No amount of team bonding and dogfight football can fix that.

He flips the blonde off while Mav’s attention is on Fanboy, not trusting his tone to stay calm. When Hangman finally turns back to the front of the room, he texts you back as sneakily as he can with one hand and his eyes fixed forward.

Are you trying to make me jerk off in the bathroom like a teenager?

I don’t remember saying that was allowed, Lieutenant.

Fuck.

Bradley drops his head back and stares at the ceiling, trying to control his breathing. Whenever you use his rank against him it always spreads heat under his collar.

It only means one thing.

He’ll count his lucky stars that you were able to come with him to North Island, even if there is a death sentence at the end of it. Because you’ve always been able to read him better than anyone.

You must’ve sensed how much he needs this, needs to be taken out of his head for a little while. How his brain’s been running a hundred miles an hour, ever since he got called back.

It’s not something you do all the time, more often than not he likes to take the reins, likes to lay you out and take you apart.

His cheeks still get ruddy with embarrassment sometimes, thinking about how domineering, brushing against the edge of mean, he was with you the very first time you crossed the line from roommates to something more. But he knew what you needed, what you were too scared to ask for.

As it turns out, just as much as he knows what you need, you do the same for him. Like you know everything’s too much for him this close to the beaches of southern California.

That every day his flight suit has sat unpleasantly against his tanned skin. The straps holding him into his F/A-18 have felt like they were in danger of rubbing his skin raw.

Since the moment you both headed stateside his mind has supplied him with endless possibilities of what could go wrong, and probably will go wrong in this mission.

He hasn’t been able to finish one coherent thought. That’s the thing about your mind spinning with possibilities – eventually, they come too fast to really register them. He’s halfway through one nightmare sequence when his brain moves on to another.

Every day he’s come back to you, watched you answer work emails while perched at his Navy-issued hotel room desk, and felt a sob catch in his throat as he considers what he’ll leave behind if he gets chosen for the mission.

He almost wishes he could wash out, but knows his stupid, bull-headed pride won’t let him. That as much as he doesn’t want to be, deep down he’s still the same eighteen-year-old screaming in Maverick’s face for pulling his papers, for telling him he’s not good enough. No matter how much he tries to hide it, the chip on his shoulder hasn’t quite filled itself out.

Sorry ma’am. I can be good.

He can practically see your smartass grin when he gets your response, a simple two words that have him counting the seconds until he can bolt out of the debrief.

Prove it.

You’re still wearing the lingerie that’s sure to haunt his dreams for the next several deployments, that’ll be stuck in his head when he’s suffocating on other pilots’ egos and wishing desperately he didn’t have a bunkmate. It’s pulled to the side, his eyes transfixed on where you’re letting him thrust his thick cock into your wet heat, his feet flat on the bed so he has enough leverage to fuck up into you.

“Stop, baby,” you say, and Bradley knows his face crumples like he’s in pain, but he immediately halts his movements, hands tearing at the bedsheets in protest of the orgasm quickly being ripped out from underneath him.

You run your hands down his chest, nails raking red marks across his pecs, the sharp sting his only tether to reality.

“Plea –” He tries to beg, but it gets lost in a groan as you swivel your hips on his cock, too slow for him to build back up to the edge.

It feels like you’ve been at this for days and distantly, Bradley can tell he’s shaking with need, breathless whines leaving in a stream without his permission as you whisper how gorgeous he is like this. He’d preen under the attention if he weren’t currently floating, as close as he ever gets to flying when he’s on the ground.

He can feel the wetness beneath his lashes, spilling hot tears onto his cheeks as you move to cup his jaw, your harsh grip offset by affectionate strokes across his cheek with your thumb. “I know, baby, I know.”

Sounds are leaving his mouth, he thinks his hands are reaching for you, but he doesn’t know what world he exists in right now, his mind light and high in the clouds.

“You need to cum, don’t you?”

Bradley leans into your touch, the soft pads of your fingers giving him something to focus on, something to ground him as he tries to wade through the fog to understand your words, to be good for you.

Your fingers tighten on his jaw, just on this side of painful, bringing him back to Earth. “I asked you a question, Lieutenant.”

He nods and you tut, the disapproving noise lancing him, your displeasure bringing more burning tears to his eyes.

You look down at him, his world narrowing to the soft light behind you, glowing around your head like a halo and the smile that Bradley has dreamt of on every aircraft carrier he’s had the displeasure of being on since he met you.

“Words, Bradley, you know better than that.”

He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about the whine that rips from his throat, high-pitched and reedy. His head is empty, a lone yes rattling around his brain like the last piece of candy in those little cardboard boxes you get at the movies.

“Please, princess.” The words force themselves off his tongue, syllables falling out of his mouth slowly like molasses. “Need you, need to cum inside you.”

He should probably be calling you ma’am or something more deferential given your current situation, but at this point, it’s truly a feat he was able to get any words out at all.

"Good boy."

When you tangle your fingers in his curls and tug, another drawn-out moan leaves his lips involuntarily.

You smirk. Bradley thinks he’ll be seeing that coy, self-satisfied look on the back of his eyelids every day for the rest of his life.

“You’ve been so good,” you murmur, sultry and bringing more heat to his cheeks, which he didn't even think possible after they've been flaming for hours now. He wants to keen, wants to bottle up your praise and live with it inside his ears forever, but you’ve started moving your hips again, building your rhythm back up and it drives any coherency from his brain.

“Cum for me, baby, fill me up,” you whimper, leaning down so your words are hot in his ear, sending sparks down his spine.

His thrusts turn erratic at your permission, hands gripping your hips for dear life as his head falls back, exposing the thick line of his throat. Your hand stays on his jaw, moving down his neck, thumb rubbing softly over his pulse as his climax snaps through him, every muscle tensing and releasing as his vision whites out.

He’s boneless, afloat, mind blissfully, finally blank. For the first time since he got the order to return to California, his chest feels light.

Your hands are carding through his curls, voice soft and melodic when he comes to. It warms him all over. “You back with me?”

Bradley nods, face tucked into your neck. He hears the crinkle of a wrapper, opening his eyes to spy a piece of a Nature Valley bar inches away from him. He wants to roll his eyes, tell you he’s fine, but decides he’s too tired to argue, taking the snack between his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, princess,” he mumbles through a mouthful of granola bar.

“I needed it too,” you admit quietly, like you don’t want to ruin the calm that’s taken over your shared hotel room by being too loud. “I know you can’t tell me anything about why we’re here. But it can’t be good, right? It was nice, to be in control for just a little. I feel a bit better now, more settled.”

“Me too,” he agrees, nuzzling the soft skin behind your ear before nosing his way to your mouth for a kiss.

He tries to pour all his love into the press of his lips against yours, hoping it’s enough.

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otto-troy · 7 months

Text

Headcanons

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

- Troy rarely gets anything new, everything he owns is a hand down from Jake or his father.

- He used to sneak into Jeremiah's study and steal some of his books after he got pulled out of school, he actually enjoys reading and science but since everything Jeremiah owned was about ranch related things, he only learned so little.

- Small, dark spaces with no way out like elevators make him uncomfortable, he freaks out if he spends an hour in one, he's a stubborn claustrophobic.

- He once shoved a pencil in a child's hand because the child was bullying him for having to wear a dirty shirt after his mother forgot to do laundry and that's why he was pulled out of school.

- Troy used to be a good kid until he was twelve, then he realized that no matter what he does, his father would think of him as a monstrous mistake so he stopped and started acting up instead.

- Jake was Troy's favorite person in the whole world before he left to college, he once called him dad by mistake in front of Jeremiah who ended up beating the shit out of him for it.

- Troy only had one birthday party growing up and Mike is the one who threw it, He once visited Mike's house and the other told him it was his birthday party which seemed odd for Troy so the other made a deal with Jake to learn Troy's birthdate and he threw him a birthday party that had him, Jake, Charlie and Gretchen.

- Troy vowed to never drink after his mother's health began to decline because he didn't want to be anyone's burden the way she does, especially since he doubted anyone would care enough to look after him.

- He never fell in love growing up, he never dated anyone and he grew up thinking he wasn't good looking because everyone was too terrified to show him any kindness due to Jeremiah's bad PR of him but he once had a crush on a girl, the moment her parents saw her talking to him they told him to stay away, he was thirteen.

- When Troy sees a crying child, he winces cause it brings him back to how his mother used to lock him in the basement until he stops crying, in his head, this is how all parents treat their kids and it’s one of the most frightening experiences especially when they forget about him for days in there.

- He is a workaholic, Jeremiah made him believe if he wasn’t working, being useful then he’s nothing that’s why he’s always up to something, fixing fences, training, inventory, literally anything, he doesn’t want to be nothing and he hates sleeping because it’s not productive so it makes him feel like nothing.

- Troy doesn’t like physical touch but he’ll never admit it because whenever he hints it, people alienate him and make him feel weird about it, he rarely had any positive physical touches growing up, so the whole gesture makes him tense but he learned to hide it just enough not to be called out on his discomfort.

- He used to have a stuffed teddy bear, small sized, Jake gave it to him when he was younger and he told him it’d protect him from evilness, he hid it all his years on the Ranch and would hold it whenever things got too rough, it was his only form of comfort.

- Troy is very extremely organized, he can’t stand things that aren’t put or placed perfectly because it reminds him of how messy his parents are, his bed must be neat, his dish and utensils has to be placed in certain order for him to be able to eat and his drawers are spotless, everything is arranged, a bit too well arranged.

- He is social, he likes meeting new people, he’s always curious about learning about people who aren’t on the ranch, however, he comes off as awkward because of his years of isolation and he doesn’t necessarily know how to properly socialize, also, the negativity he receives from his environment sometimes gets to him and eventually he stops trying to meet new people.

#fear the walking dead #ftwd #ftwd rp #troy otto #fear the walking dead rp #fear twd #ftwd roleplay #ftwdrp #roleplay #jeremiah otto #jake otto #headcanon

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anarchytaken · 1 year

Text

The Ruler of the End - 3

That morning, Tenebris took off first before Yuu and Grim, in a white muscle shirt and a pair of jeans that fitted once he fully transformed into a human. Despite how restricting it was.

The dragon had scowled as Yuu tried to persuade him into changing into a more human form, “Do I really have to? The students aren’t gonna notice a handyman fixing. windows, aren’t they?”

“With that bare body that’s sculpted like the gods, of course they’re gonna notice!”

He scowled deeper.

“Don’t pout, Tenebris. Even if you didn’t need to wear clothes in your old world, at least you can put some on now.”

“I have an internal heater in my body, the cold doesn’t affect me and if someone tried to hurt me, then they’ll know better.”

“Please!”

“… Ah, give me the stupid clothing.”

Hence his situation now, adjusting the jeans that seem to love pinching his human legs. He withheld a growl of annoyance as he flew to one of the towers in need of window repair. Once arriving, he examined the glass pane; it looked like someone threw something out, the hole with jagged and sharp edges.

Tenebris clicked his tongue at the sight, he then peered at the inside of the classroom. Desks and chairs filled the room, empty of students as it was still early in the morning. With steady hands, he got to work. It was an easy yet tedious process of removing the glass. Once he got it out, he put it in his horde before fishing a shulker box out.

Holding the bow in his tail, he filed through the various colored glass panes.

I doubt they would appreciate tinted coloured glass in a room that’s meant for studying, The dragon thought as he picked a clear see through glass before placing it in.

Despite being the ruler of the End, he wasn’t a stranger to repairs and other simple things like cooking and farming. It was part of the Endermen’s lesson on the three realms; The Overworld and their players and mobs, the Nether which housed fiery creatures and piglings, and the very first lesson he had was about the End. Because not only does a ruler have to be powerful, they have to be knowledgeable.

He remembers his first trip to the Overworld, hidden from the players. He had watched them kill mobs and animals for ingredients and materials, how they cooked them for food, and how they mined and crafted things of value. While some players had turned to hunters, others had become builders. An example was Grian, a nice yet chaotic fellow who built amazing structures that Tenebris had never seen.

The dragon’s favorite one was the giant rock entity.

There were others that the dragon had liked like Shelby and LDShadowlady, both women were friendly and amazing builders. Although, LDShadowlady was a peculiar player with an interesting humour. Though, her husband Smallishbeans wasn’t any less funny. The two of them made quite a couple.

There were those who made amazing food that made Tenebris’s mouth water, and that was one of his first tasks from his nanny.

Feeling satisfied with his work, Tenebris went on to work on the other windows that are in need of repair.

*-*

“Ah, it’s you.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, lizard!?”

Tenebris made a face at the lion man in front of him. How rude, he had thought.

When he finished his assigned work, he had reported to the headmaster who had let him take a break. Content, the dragon had decided to explore the school, trying to familiarize himself with the building and its other structures.

Not wanting to disturb the students, he had taken to the outdoors where he wondered into a shop with a sign ‘Mr. S Mystery Shop’, it slightly resembled a cottage but bigger. Intrigued, Tenebris made his way into the shop to meet a dark skinned man with white face paint and a top hat, who had a very salesman-like voice. And immediately, he was overwhelmed with the loud salesman who kept calling him ‘Big demon’.

He had left the shop a bit frazzled and dizzy. He wasn’t used to loud personalities, accustomed with the quiet and serious endermen of his world, and he never interacted with the players of the Overworld who were loud, chaotic - and at times - destructive.

But before he left, the man named ‘Sam’ had told him of a greenhouse which they call the ‘Botanical Garden’ and gave him directions there. The dragon was interested, if he could learn about the types of plants here, maybe he could use that knowledge to help him and Yuu survive.

He has no worry about the monster named Grim.

Upon finding and entering the garden, he was astounded by the multitudes of greenery and colours, various plants of shape, colours, and sizes. Some he recognized like roses, petunias, and primroses, but there were some that he could not identify.

During his wonder, he was not mindful of his surroundings and stepped on something soft, fuzzy, and long. He immediately retracted his foot as a grunt of pain followed by a growl sounded at the same time. Bewildered, the dragon looked down. “A tail?”

“Watch where you’re going!”

Turning to the familiar deep voice, Tenebris was met with familiar green eyes and a brown mane. Fangs glinted in the sun as those same eyes glared at him in annoyance, brown skin lightened by the sun giving him a golden morning. But no matter how handsome the lion man was, his rude words and a snarl made the dragon deadpan.

Hence the situation now.

Still with the face, Tenebris pursed his lips into a line. “I was just taking a look at the campus, to answer your question.” He then takes a look at the uniform the lion wore. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

The lion man huffed before rolling to his side, “Who cares, I don’t give a damn about that.”

Frowning, the dragon crossed his arms. “You should be in class if you want to graduate. You’re setting a bad example for your underclassmen.”

The lion man scowled, “Godammit, go away. You’re ruining my sleep.”

“You have plenty of sleep to catch up at night, now’s the time for classes.”

“Argh,” the lion man groaned. “Try making me if you’re so bothered about that.”

“…”

As much as he wants to carry this rude lion man to class, Tenebris can’t force him if he doesn’t want to. There’s a limit on what he can force people to do and what he can’t force. Besides, he feels like something bad would happen if he tried to pick up the lion man.

Resigning, the dragon sighed as he seated himself beside the lion man, glancing at him. The round ears twitched at the slightest sound, so unlike the pointed ears of the feline hybrids. “So, what are you exactly?”

“You’re still here,” the lion grumbled in irritation, despite knowing his presence the whole time.

Ignoring the comment, Tenebris continued. “ You’re something similar to the feline hybrids in my world, yet you seem more dangerous than them.” he leaned closer to inspect the round ears on top of the man’s head. “Especially your ears and tail, they are different.”

The lion man did not respond to his question, disheartening the dragon a bit. Did he really annoy him that much? He just wanted to know what kind of species he is. He scowled at the lack of response, maybe he was annoying the lion by asking him these questions after trying to force him to class.

Perhaps he should leave him alone, if it will give him a sense of peace.

As he was about to stand up, the lion man spoke. “You really don’t have lions in your world?”

Tenebris’s ear appendages perked up at the voice, a sudden delight at the response. “There are lions, but they live far away, so I’ve only seen a few of them.”

A hum from the lion before he replied, “ The hybrids you call are what we call beastmen, and I’m a lion beastman for one.”

The dragon’s interest has been perked, “So there’s other beastmen in this world?”

“Obviously, you really think there’s only one kind? Use your head, lizard.”

Tenebris’s expression fell to a frown, “I’m not a lizard! I’m nothing like my distant cousins! Also, I now have a name and it’s Tenebris!”

The lion man - whom the dragon still doesn’t know the name of yet - turned on his back and glanced at him. “Now? You must live a sad life if you weren’t given a name.”

“Considering that my parent died to give birth to me, I would stay, it's the norm for us Ender Dragons.” The dragon deadpanned.

The lion man glanced at him, incredulous at the fact. “Damn, now that's depressing.”

Tenebris tilted his head, “Depressing? How is it depressing? Sure the multiple hunters that come to kill me because I’m the ruler and the strongest in my realm and my huge magic supply is a pain in the neck but it’s not so terrible.”

“. . .Maybe being the second prince is not so bad after all.”

“Wait, you're a prince?” the dragon asked. “No wonder you have a royal air around you, and it’s not just the handsome looks.”

“Oh,” The lion man grinned as he teased Tenebris. “So you think I’m handsome, huh?”

The dragon’s body flushed hot from either embarrassment or being flustered by the fact he admitted the rude lion was handsome to his face, he did not ponder as he hotly replied. “Be quiet, don’t tease me! And I still haven’t gotten your name!”

The lion man laughed, “The name is Leona, Leona Kingscholar.”

*-*

The first day of being in a new world and Yuu gets into trouble.

Tenebris had wanted to share Yuu some cookies when he got wind of the statue incident - he then learned it was mostly Grim and a new student’s fault - so he was on his way to bring some snacks for the human.

He was going to the cafeteria for some milk when he noticed a loud commotion going on inside. Speed-walking, he walked into the sight of a falling chandelier, and two humans and a monster under it about to be crushed.

Especially when one of those humans was Yuu.

Wings out, he rushed towards them as the chandelier gravitated towards the ground. With his hands and tail, he managed to scoop them from the ground and out of the path of the chandelier - which made an ear wincing crash to the floor. Looking at the destroyed chandelier, the dragon let out a sigh of relief as he looked down at Yuu, who stared at him in shock and relief.

The other human held at his side was a ginger with messy hair, mischievous scarlet eyes, and a heart painted on the side of his face. And judging by the uniform, he was a student here. Which also means he was the freshman who got Yuu into trouble.

Grim was in a complete daze as he was held by his tail.

When he fluttered to the ground, he had let go of the three when another human rushed towards them in worry. He had somewhat cobalt blue hair with turquoise eyes and a spade painted on one side of his face. He was immensely worried when he was with them, “I’m sorry! I didn’t think about the landing!”

“Didn’t think!?” Yuu shouted, the first time the dragon had seen the human angry made him jump in surprise. “You literally shot him - “ they pointed at the ginger. “ - To the sky without a thought!”

The ginger, who was panting, then screams. “ARE YOU AN IDIOT!?”

Tenebris’s ear appendages lowered at the volume as he winced.

“If it wasn’t for him - “ a finger was pointed at the dragon “ - We wouldn’t even be alive! Shit, if the headmaster founds out what happened-“

“If I. . .Find out?” a familiar voice said slowly, as if straining to rein his patience.

The dragon watched as the three of them slowly and creakily turned to the enraged headmaster, who was fuming from head to toe. The ginger then said pathetically, “Ah, headmaster.”

The dragon covered his ears as the headmaster shouted at the three, already having to endure a high level of volume. Ah, what a day.

Tenebris sauntered towards the wrecked chandelier, examining it to see if it could be fixed. The metal rods were bent in angles but nothing like heat and a hammer to bend it back up, the metal itself is not too hard to mold and the candles are easy since he has a shulker box full.

But. . .

The dragon took hold of a gem that’s broken in half, its glowing light dimming until it’s cold. It could be salvaged, but I’ll need another one of these-

“Mr. Tenebris, what are you doing?”

The said dragon turned to the headmaster, “I can fix this,” he ignored the shocked gasps or shrieks as he held up the broken gem. “But I’ll need another one of these if I were to make it exactly as it is.”

“A magic stone!?” the headmaster exclaimed. “There were originally from Dwarf mine, but I;m not sure if there’s anymore.”

“I’ll go!” the blue-haired human volunteered. “I’ll go and get a new magic stone!”

“Are you sure?”

“If it will prevent us from getting expelled!” Yuu added.

“Alright, I’ll give you until tonight for you to get a new magic stone.”

The three gave no haste before rushing out of the cafeteria. Tenebris blinked after them before going back to the chandelier, “Do you have somewhere I could fix this?”

*-*

Yuu wanted to cry.

First Grim burned an important statue, then they broke a billion dollar chandelier, and now they’re being chased by a monster that looks like Grumpy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Seriously, what’s with their luck!?

God, they wished they brought Tenebris with them, he would surely beat this thing in a minute! But no! The dragon was back at school, fixing the chandelier they - or Deuce with Ace and Grim’s help - broke! Agh, why is it the time I need him the most is when he’s needed somewhere else!?

*-*

Fixing the chandelier was not a hard job, all he needed was the magic stone. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Tenebris counted the money he had received from the headmaster, and the extra cash he made from fixing the chandelier. This would be probably enough for now, the question is what to make for dinner?

Walking back to their dorm, the dragon entered the pristine gate of chiseled quartz pillar with prismarine stands holding it. The large space of grass has now been converted into a farm field with growing vegetables on one side while the other side was a garden of various flowers that he had in his horde. The Ramshackle dorm wasn’t so ramshackle anymore, now built of stripped dark oak wood walls and a woof that fitted that body of the dorm painted in visually appealing colours, the double doors newly made of birch wood, and the glass windows newly installed.

The inside was clean and tidy, with the old wallpaper torn down and replaced with a newer and better one. The furniture was either replaced or fixed by yours truly, and lastly, he managed to fix the water system and the heater.

The dragon couldn’t help but smile as he looked at his work, pleased with himself. It took a while and a lot of materials and scavenging, but he managed to make it new. Although, he wonders if he should’ve used cobblestone for the base and a quartz pillar for the roof? Or maybe a coloured terracotta for the roof while the body is prismarine?

He should ask Yuu for their opinion.

Ao3

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5

#minecraft x twisted wonderland #minecraft #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #x male reader #ender dragon #ender dragon reader

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oh-soo-diabolik · 9 months

Text

complexion of god | chapter two point five [2.5]

The walk alone stroked her with a feeling of displacement and anger. Though, she couldn’t help but wonder, why is she the core focus of all of this? [yn] just wanted to meet Subaru’s family. “I see you’re terrible at holding conversation.” Reiji slowly opens the door to his room, stepping aside to allow her in.

“Oh, sorry. I’m just confused about why I’m here in your room. I just met you.” she spurs, a smirk tugs at his lips.

“I merely said I needed to talk to you, not when exactly or where. You willingly followed me.” Her face twists into a look of realization, as she soaks in his words. His eyes flash with a sense of bewilderment, the years he’s spent starving; Subaru was practically feasting on a personal blood bank.

“Since you’re here, I’ll treat you to some tea. What’s your preference?” He unbuttons the two top buttons on his designer dress shirt, walking towards his dresser, he stops turning to face her.

“Well?” he pesters.

“Early Grey, three sugars.” She replies, eyes wandering the room, [yn] takes her seat and waits. Humming in approval, Reiji begins to prepare the tea, once finishing he sets them down on the tables.

“Ah, so you’re not completely classless I see.” He mutters sipping on his cup, his cold eyes studying her face. The closer he looked the more he noticed her defined features, from the pout of her lips to the way her eyebrows knitted when she’d be anxious. If Reiji didn’t have such vampire-elite senses, just looking at her, he knew she was a mess.

An imperfection, someone he wanted, no, needed to fix, to mold into a proper woman. “Uhm, Reiji?” Her voice grounds him, clearing his throat, Reiji crosses his legs, placing his hands into his lap.

“Pardon me, I was just thinking. I'm sure you’re familiar with thinking, right?” He smirks, leaning back into his seat as he watches her cowering figure. Gritting her teeth, [yn] picks her cup and sips it.

“Yes, I’m very familiar, my grades can reflect it too.” She sneers, she was a brat, but Reiji didn’t really seem to mind.

“Anyway; what is your relationship with my brother?” He asks, [yn] chokes on her tea before staring at him in disbelief. Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure herself, but she did hope Subaru would label it something. At least when talking to his family.

‘I don’t know.’ Is what she wanted to say, “Uhm, that’s a bit personal.” he stares with a blank expression.

“I'm well aware—that’s why I asked.” He stops for a moment, checking his watch. “It seems to be getting late. I’m sure you’re tired. We’ll continue this tomorrow. You’re dismissed.” He waves her away, [yn] nods in response, standing to leave.

She stops and looks at him, “That’s something you should ask him, not me.” He hums watching as she leaves the room.

Three.

Two.

one.

A loud thud echoes throughout the halls. Grinning, Reiji approaches her unconscious body. “I think I perfected the portions this time.” his hand grabs her small wrist, pulling her upward, he lifts her into his arms. “But the real question is, does the after effects work?” he mutters to himself.

“Nfu, what a sick man you are, Reiji.” Laito stands in front of him, arms crossed. Daggering him with looks of amusement.

“Stop this overthinking nonsense, I'm not you. Now move, I have other things to attend to.” Reiji sneers, his arms squeeze her unconscious body against his.

“And what exactly are these ‘other things’.” Ayato’s presence feeds the already tense atmosphere. Reiji glares at the second eldest triplet, sizing him up and down.

“I’m merely taking her to her room. Now excuse me, I’m on a tight schedule.” He vanished with her sleeping form, teleporting into a muted pink themed bedroom. With one swift movement, he tosses her onto the bed.

“What a disgrace, I nearly lost my composure in front of them.” Reiji confessions.

The years of starvation, forcefully drinking such low-quality blood practically steered him into a feral frenzy. The anger and frustration ascends from his core to his chest, his throat itching for the feeling and the taste of her blood flowing through his mouth and into the pits of his stomach.

He was thirsty..

This was only the beginning of the end for [yn], and he knew it, he just didn’t care. Reiji wanted to be the one to suck her dry of her blood. But it wasn’t going to be easy. Not with a certain someone watching the shadows of the estate.

“Just come out now.” Reiji sighs.

“Damn, what gave me away?”

#diabolik lovers #ayato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #sakamaki brothers #shu sakamaki #shuu sakamaki #diabolik lovers fandom

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mewtwoevolution · 8 months

Text

The analytics room was sinking into despair…

“Nothing is showing up.”

“He’s going to crash before we figure any of this out.”

“The bosses don’t want a cadaver for study there’s already dozens from forty years ago still iced…”

Rex looked over the other humans and was going to berate them for complaining instead of doing something when the lab door opened. He groaned seeing the wheelchair bound two, “What is it now Rue?… And why is the transfer with you?”

The little blue two looked down, “My chair motor died, she’s pushing me… but I’m here because Mister Travis Orion wanted to meet with you?…”

Of course they’d use the mewtwo, the sweet thing didn’t know better. But the bastards knew they should have scheduled a proper meeting… “Fine. Go get the motor fixed and find Phineas for an extra hour out in the fields… you did good,” even if that jerk didn’t.

Rex sighed and stood up from his computer to head out, “And the rest of you keep trying!” He patted Rue on the head and gave the transfer a small nod as he passed them. Intelligent innocent animals they were…

He glared at the head of technology’s door before knocking hard on it, “I have a calendar you could have emailed you know!”

The door slide open and Rex was yanked on by his lab coat inside and he smacked their hands off it, not deterring the other department head in the least.

The much younger man had the biggest smile, “You won’t believe it! It really is working now! It can help your problem!”

“Spit it out! I can’t waste time I have a mewtwo in bad condition!” He hit a fist on the desk to emphasis his irritation.

The holographic screen on the back wall lit up and he nearly jumped out of his shirt at the thing staring back.

“Say hello to the M.I.R.A.G.E. Program! A Multi-Intelligent Reference, Artificial Genetics Entity. With a mew looking avatar for interactivity,” Travis exclaimed as he walked and paced around the room waving his arms to match his excitement, “It can run through that endless bank of DNA y’all have collected and compare new samples and scans and-“

“I don’t care I have an actual emergency that’s been going on for four weeks and time is precious Get, To, The Point!”

“Let it help!” Travis happily exclaimed, “Just give it a try and see if it picks up anything from scans or samples. What would it hurt? If it doesn’t help it’s no harm as it’ll only take a few minutes and if it does then isn’t it worth the try?” He nearly lept across the room to get into the more stoic older man’s face.

Rex stepped back and glared at Travis and looked up at the mew adjacent looking thing. They were out of their own options and could lose One any day or even minute now, “You get ten minutes and no more…”

Travis hit something on his desk and the creature in the screen looked like it floated off and he grabbed his tablet to rush for the door, “Then what are we waiting for?!” He grabbed Rex’s arm and dragged him out so he could leave the developers building to get to the genetics labs next door.

…

Travis didn’t wait for Rex as he burst into the room as soon as the door slide open and he looked to the screen in the room to see the Mirage Avatar float into view scaring a researcher.

9 looked over concerned, “What’s going on? Why is Mr. Orion here?”

“Just get a fresh scan and sample to put into the system,” Rex would debrief him after.

9 was about to protest the sample woth as weak as One was when he got Travis in his face.

“A real mewtwo! Nice to finally see one in person!” He was all smiles.

9 floated him a good five feet away from himself, “Let me work please, and I prefer HumanTwo… I am not genetically a Mew to be a two of mew. I’m still human.” He just went ahead with an extraction, choosing from the tail to be the least intrusive…

It took about three minutes to get the sample and the scan and another to plug that into the system.

The avatar on the screen glowed, a flow of information connecting to its head and then starting to flow back and forth from the head and back and a voice came from the speakers, “DNA stability comparison complete from six entires to current. Stability at 20.46% and dropping at .01 every minute. Tissue analysis complete. Showing resource strain. Diagnosis. Tumor draining biological resources…. Anatomy scan reanalysis… tumor drain location… abdominal. More data required for further accuracy.”

Rex had his mouth collecting flies as he stared at the thing floating on the screen.

Travis edged closer with the biggest shit eating grin.

Rex pushed him away by his face, “Get a new scan targeting the torso… The faster we find that tumor the better. And you get out.” He glared at Travis.

“I look forwards to updates and reports of the program’s work. I’ll be sure my team keeps up with patches and system updates don’t you worry Buddy,” he laughed and started out.

“We are not buddies!” Rex snapped and turned to glare at 9 who was staring at them, “Back to work we have a mewtwo to save! And you, program, you stay in this room, no wandering around!”

“Parameter recognized…”

He stormed out. Glad they had answers but pissed that Travis could lord this over him… the bastard didn’t grow the damn things but now he’d think he’s better than the genetics that spent their life times studying this…

The program ‘looked’ to the humans. Noting HumanTwo for its understanding of one of them. And the mewtwo in the tube. The security cameras focusing more on them. It was here to safe that creature… it awaited more data to analyze…

((Image under read more because of possible eye strain))

Everyone give a warm welcome to the Mirage Program. This can only lead to good things. :)

#the mewning flower #mewtwo #mewtwo oc #mewten crew #ask blog #one mewtwo #pokemon #mirage program

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dragonmuse · 2 years

Note

I love the what if fics so much do you think there is a time line where Peter Izzy and Lucius end up all together

(these just keep getting longer. Bulleted list time! Today's au of the au is 'feels just like I'm falling for the first time' )

-They lost a few men when Eddy took over the business. No one worth a damn, just cronies and hanger-ons, but it leaves them short a few hands. Eddy hires one or two to fill the ranks then turns it over to Izzy. Just tells him not to use Hornigold’s tactics and they don’t have to say anything else for him to get the gist.

-So Izzy does it the right way. He puts out a discreetly worded advertisement. He interviews people in his office (the office that had been Eddy’s and still bore the scars of her boredom on the desk, gouges with a blade that he runs his fingers over sometimes when he’s thinking).

-Pete Black has a strange resume, no security work to speak of, no real skills except maybe a mechanical bent and an ability to show up on time to his interview which is surprisingly rare.

“Why are you changing fields?” Izzy challenges Pete as he sits in the chair across the desk. The man wasn’t very large, just an average man with a shaved head and a shabby paisley jacket over a tired work shirt. There are scars on his face and a tightness around his eyes, but when he spoke it was with energy,

“Always dreamed of doing something more action based,” Pete tells him, a twitch of a smile on his lips that he kept repressing when Izzy caught his eye. “See the world.”

And Izzy should throw him out, but he is on time and did actually have a resume even if it's horseshit. He puts Pete on scutwork for now, and if he stayd after getting the worst jobs then maybe he’d be worth keeping.

-Except Pete doesn’t seem to know what a bad job is. He seems happy to drive around one of their worst clients, who was a screaming harpy that was never satisfied. Somehow, against all odds, Pete made friends with the harpy and she told Izzy that she was pleased they’d finally hired a ‘nice young man’ which was baffling on several levels including that Izzy was fairly sure he and Pete were the same age.

-”Met the new guy,” Eddy remarks over lunch one day. They were eating in her office, going over blueprints.

“Pete?” Izzy makes a note on the margins.

“Yeah, how’s he doing?”

Yesterday, Pete had stapled his shirt to a stack of papers, mixed up everyone’s coffee orders and forgotten every hand sign Blue Toby had impatiently taught him. But he’d also re-done the coffee orders with the shop and somehow convinced them not to charge them again, fixed the fucking copy machine that was the bane of Izzy’s existence, and this time took some video on his phone when Blue Toby re-showed him to study later.

“Not awful,” is Izzy’s conclusion.

“Huh,” Eddy eyes him. “Take him to the next away job then. Get some miles on him.”

-There are a hundred and one other things to occupy Izzy’s attention, including other new employees. He doesn’t waste much time thinking of Pete. Even if the man did almost aggressively say hello to him every morning and hand him coffee (and Eddy’s, only Izzy brought Eddy their coffee. This was not actually one of Izzy’s little acts of devotion, but a very important step in the day to judge their mood and act accordingly) with a side order of attempted small talk. He never seems to be scared off by Izzy’s rough dismissals, just gave a cheery ‘Ok, see you later!’ and went back to whatever he was meant to be doing.

-It’s just Izzy’s luck that the next time he was wounded on the line, the only person close to hand was Pete. It’s just a cut on his leg, but it was bleeding hard while he needed to concentrate.

“I got it!” Pete says hurriedly. “I remember the first aid course!”

“Then get the fuck on it,” Izzy turns his attention to spraying more cover fire.

He is dimly aware of Pete messing around, but he’s focused on Eddy. Watching them coiled in wait and then charging ahead through the hail of gunfire, and at the last possible moment, purposefully dropping and sliding across the slick hardwood floors to kick the legs out from under the main agitator. The guy went down hard and then there was a lot of blood.

Izzy sucks in a tight breath. Watching Eddy work has never stopped doing it for him, even if he takes care to hide it.

“Holy shit,” Pete mutters down around his thighs. Yeah, holy shit, indeed.

“Go!” Izzy barks and the swarm of men they had laying in wait crawled out. He got to his feet and found that his leg supported him. Glancing down, he finds a halfway decent tourniquet and a bandage. Huh.

It is only later, when he could finally be alone in a hotel room that he removes the bandage. It was clean underneath, except for an orange wash of iodine. The knot on the tourniquet was solid too.

The next morning when Pete shows up with coffee, Izzy takes it and gives him a long stare. Pete meets it without flinching away or shifting as the others did. He, of all the strange things in the world, smiles at him.

“You didn’t fuck up the bandage,” Izzy informs him.

“Thanks! I wasn’t sure. You move a lot more than the test dummy.”

It is a sign of his gratitude that Izzy held his tongue in favor of sipping his coffee and telling him to go do his fucking job.

-After that, Pete is around more somehow. He’s just hovering at Izzy’s elbow during briefs, during jobs, and if they’re grounded between events, he’s somehow in Izzy’s office a dozen times a day. But...not annoyingly somehow. He just makes himself quietly useful. Buzzes around making copies, refilling Izzy’s bottle of water when it gets low, asking not entirely stupid questions about how to handle something better the next time, and if there’s literally nothing else helpful to be done, sometimes he just sits in the extra chair and seems to play app games.

“The others are in the conference room,” Izzy says coldly the first time Pete plops himself down.

“I know,” Pete doesn’t look up, his shoulders hunching a little. “It’s quieter here.”

“Yes, I know,” Izzy says pointedly. It’s quieter by design. So he can be alone and concentrate.

“And you know. You might need something.”

Izzy didn’t know what to say to that. He might. It’s been known to happen. Usually he just stomps out and orders whoever is closest to do what needs doing. Pete doesn’t make much noise. He’s just waiting around.

To be of use. Izzy glances up to Eddy’s closed door.

....fine.

-It does occur to him that Pete maybe has some issues with the other guys. Izzy keeps an eye out, in case it’s something that could trickle out at a job, but as far as he can tell, no one dislikes him. Fang and Ivan even seem fond of him. Pete eats lunch with them, looking like a period at the end of a burly sentence.

But maybe it’s the way that the lunches often turn into wrestling matches or other roughness which Pete, for all the bluster he spills at the slightest provocation, is ill-equipped for. He doesn’t tend to come out drinking on the weekends much either. When he does, he’s merry enough and does hold his liquor well. It’s the man’s free time so he doesn’t ask, but Izzy wonders a little.

-“Where’s your secretary?” Eddy asks one morning, leaning in through the door.

“Who?” Izzy asks blankly. Eddy gestures at the chair that has, despite Izzy’s cool reception, become Pete’s. “He’s not my secretary.”

“Personal assistant, whatever,” Eddy waved that away. “I need someone to re-org my files.”

That is Izzy’s job. He’s kept Eddy’s files straight for years but he didn’t have the time right now, buried in their annual audit. He hesitates then nods, “I’ll send him in.”

Pete doesn’t seem as enthused as Izzy had imagined he’d be to go into Eddy’s office, but he go in. Izzy does not monitor that situation. Much.

Hours later Pete re-emerges and comes into Izzy’s office. He shuts the door behind him which he’s never done before.

“Is Blackbeard okay?”

Izzy frowns, “what do you mean?”

“It’s just…” Pete chews the inside of his cheek for a second. “They seem kind of… sad? I was in there for ages and they barely moved. Just sort of stared into space.”

Shit. “Probably just planning.” Izzy scrambles for cover. “You know how it is.”

“I-“ Pete sat down in the other chair. “I wouldn’t tell anyone, but you.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Izzy sighs.

“I wouldn’t,” Pete insists. “Loyalty is important.”

“Yes,” Izzy gets up. “I’ll…ask. The copier is jammed again.”

“On it!”

Izzy comes out of the conversation with Eddy nursing a cracked rib, but at least she seems out of her dark mood. And he gave as good as he got.

Pete gives him an ice pack and a worried look. Izzy accepts the former and closes his eyes to the latter.

-That night, Eddy drinks herself into a stumbling mess, which is predictable if annoying. Izzy props her up, intent on getting her home and away from anyone that might notice her plummeting mood. He makes it five steps and the burden is suddenly lighter. Pete is under her other arm. They're walking distance to her apartment and while Izzy is loath to expose her like that, he’s also exhausted and his chest hurts.

He doesn’t let Pete inside her apartment, but when she comes back out after getting her settled, Pete is still outside the door.

“Go home,” Izzy orders, exhausted.

“Let’s get you home first,” Pete says instead.

“Fuck off.”

“You’re not breathing right. Please.”

Izzy wants to push him aside. Growl. Punch him. But his rib is killing him and there’s other bruising aside from that. His home was well-protected. Pete wasn’t exactly the most threatening man Izzy had ever met. He could put him down in a second.

He doesn’t say a word, in the end. Just starts walking and Pete walks beside him. When Izzy starts to wheeze, Pete ducks under his arm and Izzy doesn’t fight him off. He doesn’t want it, but he wants to stop hurting. If only for a minute.

By the time they get to his apartment, Izzy has given Pete more than half his weight and he can’t bring himself to pull back. He has to slid his arm away to open the apartment door.

“I’ve got it from here,” he says hoarsely.

“All right,” Pete takes a step away from the door. “Good night.”

“Night,” Izzy shuts the door in the man’s face. Then he leans against the door, listening until he's sure Pete is well away.

Then he slides to the floor and lets his head bang back against the door.

-Pete doesn’t say a word about Eddy’s moods. Izzy was prepared to fire him, if need be, but it doesn’t come up. Pete still brags and postures, eats lunch with the others, but mostly lingers in Izzy’s office. Now more sure that he won’t be kicked out, he’s there nearly all the time and Izzy isn’t sure when it became normal, but now it is. Pete has a chair and a corner of the desk sometimes and one day, Izzy is doing payroll and looks at Pete’s name. He’s unarguably more useful than half the lot. Eddy doesn’t like to weigh in on H.R. bullshit and has already called Pete his P.A. anyway.

With a little hesitation, Izzy clicks a few times. Changes a number. He knows Pete knows when he gets his next paycheck.

“Did I get a raise?” He asks bemused.

“Job title change,” Izzy shrugs. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Do I get to know what I’m doing?” Pete blinks.

“Same as you have been. You aren’t a line guy.”

“I’m not?”

“No. You’re a P.A.”

You're mine, was unspoken. Because no one here was Izzy’s, not really. They were Blackbeard’s men, Pete included.

-”We’ll need someone to go in disguised,” Eddy looks at the group some months later. “Someone that Santiago won’t recognize.”

Santiago had been one of theirs, under Hornigold. He’d split off and now he was trying to take down one of their best clients. It was a serious job and no one was kidding around or making a noise that Izzy could use to work out some of his jittery anger on.

“Most of us worked pretty closely with him,” Blue Toby says. “He was around a long time.”

“I could do it,” Pete says.

“Sure,” Eddy snorts. “Like you’re not recognizable.”

Pete wilts a little, but doesn’t give up. “No, I mean I’m good. With a certain kind of disguise. I can do it.”

“What’s that mean?” Eddy presses and Izzy wants to know too.

Pete squirms under their collective attention, “I can do makeup and things. From when I was with the carnival. Make myself look pretty different.”

“How different?” Eddy’s eyes narrow. “Cause we don’t need a clown show.”

Pete pulls out his phone, walks around the table and shows Eddy something. Her eyebrows fly up, she leans in and really looks. With THAT look. The one that means she’s found something Interesting. Izzy really needs to see that picture.

“Just a hobby,” Pete mutters.

“Useful hobby right now,” Eddy decides. “Fine. Pete goes in to get the information. Izzy, he’ll need training for that. The rest of you are with me.”

It isn’t until they’re back in Izzy’s office that he whirls on Pete. “Show me.”

“...fine,” Pete gives him the phone.

If it weren’t for the scars faintly visible through the makeup, Izzy wouldn’t have been sure it even was Pete. The hair helped tremendously, a light brown fall of of loos curls that softened his face and the makeup made him convincingly feminine. The dress was garish, too loud for what they needed, but it would work.

“A hobby?” Izzy asks dryly, trying to parse that.

“I do drag,” Pete exhales. “And yeah, I’m gay. So if that’s a problem, I’ll walk.”

Izzy stares at him. No one has ever come out to him before. Certainly not in such a forthright way. What was he supposed to do with that?

“We need you for the job,” Izzy says. “And I can’t fire you for being gay. It’s illegal.”

“Doesn’t stop people,” Pete’s eyes meet his. Electric blue suddenly in the flickering fluorescent lights. “Not like we don’t know from law breaking.”

“Not when it comes to H.R.," Izzy clears his throat. “First rule of fishing for information is you can’t ask for it outright.”

“How do you get it then?”

And they’re off the races.

-Eddy is fascinated with Pete’s drag kit, poking around and probably getting sticky-fingered if Izzy knew her at all. What they plan on doing with lipstick and blush, Izzy can’t even begin to guess. They make Pete talk through the whole makeup process, listening with that casually intense way that means they're memorizing the whole thing.

-Pete goes in with a name and a backstory that’s too elaborate, but Izzy couldn’t talk him down from. Instead of the garish dress, he’s in a dark blue pants suit. He looks like someone’s mom going to a work event, but at least it's realistic. Santiago is fooled at least. Pete isn’t much of an actor and Izzy winces his way through most of the awkward flirtation, but it works and Pete makes it out just in time, the bomb Eddy plants going off.

“You should take him out to celebrate,” Eddy cackles. “Buy him a few rounds.”

And Eddy is just being fucking Eddy, but Izzy is used to a much lower quality of outcome from some of their staff.

He takes Pete out for drinks. He’s got questions anyway.

“How’d you even start with all that shit?”

They’re a few shots in and both just getting warm with it. The bar is loud, rowdy, but not one currently occupied with their colleagues.

“My drag mother...that’s a person that teaches you the ropes basically....she clocked me when I was still closeted. She was the best,” Pete smiles at the memory. “Taught me a lot about a lot.”

“Do you want to be a woman?”

“No,” Pete says, apparently unoffended. “It’s just fun to be someone else for a while. I like the makeup and clothes and things. I like performing.”

“....performing?” Izzy’s voice might crack a little at that.

“Sure. Can’t do it much now what with the full time gig and all, but sometimes I do amateur nights and things. I mostly juggle while I lip sync. It’s fun.”

“And that’s...is this a gay thing?”

“I mean most of the guys that do drag are, but like most gay guys do not do drag?” Pete frowned. “Yeah, like a Venn diagram thing like you showed me.”

Izzy, who had had to explain what one a Venn diagram was twice just a week or so ago, was reluctantly pleased that Pete had picked up on that enough to use it properly as a metaphor.

They may have gotten drunker than Izzy intended. They may have wound up walking the streets with a full bottle of whiskey that Izzy had casually lifted from behind the bar when the bartender’s back was turned.

They may have wound drinking in an alley like Izzy used to as a teenager. No one was around to say but them,

“The thing is,” Pete takes a long swallow and passed the bottle back to Izzy. “I kind of thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I was gay.”

“How the fuck would I know that?” Izzy growls and clings to the wall a little as the world shifts unpredictably under his feet. He takes a long pull on the bottle.

“Cause. You know. You and....” Pete starts then trailed off. “Or is that a secret?”

“Me and what,” Izzy’s head was suddenly very clear.

“Oh that’s worse,” Pete groans. “That’s so much worse.”

“Worse than what?” He demands.

“I thought maybe you guys were just weird about it. Some macho bullshit that includes roughing each other up, but it’s not that is it?”

“What are you talking about!” Izzy threw up a hand.

“You and Blackbeard!” Pete shouted then shrunk back, voice dropping to a whisper. “Uh, you’re just really intense about each other? Like all the time. And I thought...”

Oh. Izzy wonders if he could just kill Pete here. That would solve some things. But then who would fix the copier? And get the coffee? And ask Izzy if he needed anything ten times a day?

“No,” Izzy says heavily. “Not, it’s not...not that.”

“Was it ever?”

Izzy closes his eyes and can't find the words to respond. Something brushed his hand. So lightly that he thought it might be a bug, but then it resolved into a hand, just a press of fingers.

“Yeah,” Pete said roughly. “Been there.”

-It’s too much. It’s not enough.

-”Hey, I’m totally soused, but we’re not far from my place,” Pete offers. “You can have the bed.”

Izzy would love to go home, but he’s not entirely sure where they are actually and doesn’t trust himself to even give his address straight to a cab driver. He just nods and follows and at some point there’s a bed.

-In the morning, Izzy wakes with a violent start. The bed beneath him is unfamiliar, piled too high with blankets and pillows. Someone on the floor is snoring. He rolls over slowly, carefully, ready to stab them, but it’s just Pete on a further pile of pillows. Right. He climbs over the man carefully and makes his way into the main room of the apartment. There’s two other doors. The man must have roommates. Fabulous. Izzy makes use of the bathroom which is at least clean, thank fuck, if overcrowded.

-He makes to leave, but Pete stumbles out of the bedroom. “You want coffee?”

“Yes,” he decides.

The coffee is fine. Not his own brew, but his own brew is somewhere, an unknown distance away. There are voices after a while. Two men stumble out of one bedroom, one absolutely enormous and the other a more normal kind of tall and pretty. They’re already laughing despite the early hour, over whatever joke. They stop dead when they see Izzy.

“Didn’t know you went out last night,” the thin one ventured.

“I didn’t,” Pete shrugged. “Izzy, this is Frenchie and John. Guys, this is my boss.”

“Hi,” John said slowly. “Is this a business breakfast?”

“Yes,” Izzy intoned and Pete nodded briskly.

Frenchie and John were either very dim or very polite, and seemed to accept that even though Izzy had to look like roadkill. They made breakfast around him, kept trying to offer things. Izzy drained his mug.

“I’m going,” he decided and went to go find his boots. They were in Pete’s room, ditched by the door and he sat on the edge of the bed. He had to put them on, but fuck he was tired and he just closed his eyes for a second.

“They’re not in the business,” Pete said from the door.

“Believe it or not, I figured that out,”Izzy drawled, opening his eyes reluctantly.

“I mean they wouldn’t say anything.”

“Fine, there’s nothing to say.”

Pete closes the door, and moves to the side so he isn’t blocking it. Something Izzy often did for Eddy by force of habit. Something Eddy did for him too, come to think of it. Had Pete picked it up from them? Or was he just like that?”

“There could be,” Pete says gently. So softly. Too soft. Too soft for the business they were in. Too soft to be anywhere near Izzy’s spines and prickles.

“No,” Izzy bends to pick up his boot, “I’m not....I don’t.”

“I think maybe...” Pete sighs. “I can’t tell you what you are, but I think you’re hot as fuck, actually. And I’m quitting, so. It wouldn’t be weird.”

“You’re leaving?” Izzy asks thickly.

“I almost fucked the job yesterday,” Pete points out. “I thought I’d like all the action, but my favorite parts are really fixing the stupid copier and hanging out with you. I can fix a copier at a lot of places where I won’t die and maybe...maybe we could still hang out. Sometimes.”

“You like spending time with me?” he asks incredulously.

“Yeah. You’re kind of funny? In a mean way. And hot. Did I mention that?”

“You did,” Izzy says. “I don’t- I haven’t-”

“Why not?”

Eddy’s favorite fucking question. Why not, Iz? Why can’t we do the impossible? Why can’t we punch the moon? And Izzy always has to be the one with the logistics, the explanation, the reasons. He always has to say no. No to every insane plan that turns out to work. No to every wild chance.

Izzy fucking loves wild chances. He didn’t agree to work for Hornigold because he likes safety. He just didn’t want to die from lack of planning.

Pete stands there, too soft. Soft blue eyes, soft exposed head and soft bedtime clothes. He’s not Eddy, who is hard all over, including inside these days. He’s not like Izzy. This isn’t his world and the things Izzy wants, there’s no way Pete can provide.

But fuck, he’s so tired of saying no.

“I don’t know,” he drops his boot. Pete crosses the room, stands above him and there’s no looming there. Just the shadow crossing Izzy’s lap.

“I think you don’t need to hurt so much,” Pete offers and then leans down. Izzy doesn’t push him away.

-The sex isn’t anything like what Izzy’s done before. Pete laughs sometimes, not at him, but apparently just from enjoyment. He’s firm, but not rough and doesn’t give Izzy much to work with direction-wise. It’s unmooring and strange. The kissing is...it awakens old memories. Not of Eddy, who once kissed like they were trying to chew through his soul. Faith had kissed like this. Slow and inquisitive and sweet.

The sweetness makes Izzy’s skin itch, but he can’t pull away from it either.

-Pete tenders his resignation the next day with a wink and his number written across the bottom. Like Izzy didn’t already have it.

He doesn’t call.

For all of a week.

Then Eddy takes him along on a job and they both almost die and things are like the old times. Except Eddy leaves him standing at the door of the bar after with a wink and a finger gun before disappearing into the dark night. Leaves Izzy alone. Which is fine. He can be alone with the adrenaline and the churning in his gut.

He pulls his phone out, not letting himself think about it.

“I’m performing at this new place tonight, actually. We all are,” Pete says merrily. “Come over and see.”

It’s nothing like an order, but Izzy’s been ordered around all day. A request was fine. And it was maybe also a bit of a dare. Would Izzy show up at a gay club? Sit through a drag performance? This is Pete’s territory at last, a line in the sand that Izzy is being gently taunted to cross.

“Yeah, all right.”

-The performance is baffling and he didn’t think he was alone in feeling that way. Several people in the audience also look like they were slapped with a fish. Which is one of the acts. The bar is aggressively decorated, crystal and colors. Flags everywhere. It is very much not his kind of place. There seems to be an issue with the bartender, a nervy thin lady who disappears halfway through the night and doesn’t come back. The barback starts making drinks which are disgusting so Izzy has to deal with the whole thing sober which he could do without.

-Pete is pretty good though. Him and the roommate juggle and it’s not terrible. The knife throwing is fucking excellent and Izzy makes a mental note in case they need a new close combat specialist. Alfie has been playing dangerous lately.

-”You came!” Pete beams at him when he finds him after the show.

“What did I just watch?” he asks flatly.

“Fun, right?” Pete laughs.

“Fun adjacent,” he settles on, which only makes Pete laugh harder.

Izzy doesn’t make people laugh. That’s not a thing that he does. He does go home with Pete again, this time with more presence of mind. The sex is pretty good all over again. And after....

After Pete puts a hand on his arm.

“Hey, stay the night, huh? Go again in the morning? Get some breakfast?”

Stay. Izzy doesn’t get asked to stay. Izzy, if anything, is told in clear terms to leave. And when he isn’t, he goes anyway, unsure of his welcome. But that’s a clear invitation. And it’s late. No work tomorrow.

“Can’t do breakfast,” he yawns, “but yeah, fine.”

“Oh right, death by nuts, eggs and stone fruit,” Pete recalls from Fang’s unwanted, but necessary training on ‘how not to kill your second-in-command by getting lunch'. “What if I make something?”

“...fine,” Izzy concedes.

And it is fine, actually. He doesn’t sleep great, but they do have sex again in the morning and Izzy’s never gone twice in the span of twenty-four hours, so he’s feeling remarkably mellow. Pete isn’t much of a cook, but anyone can make toast.

-It becomes a thing. Not every week, not even most weeks, but at least once a month or so. Sometimes Izzy would go see the show, but usually he just met up with Pete after. There's sex and breakfast. He gets used to Frenchie and John’s shenanigans even, though mostly he tunes them out and leaves when they get loud.

-And then one otherwise unremarkable night, Izzy’s sitting at the bar wondering if it’s worth asking this week’s alcohol dealing flake for a vodka tonic when Eddy sits down beside him.

“So this is where you’ve been disappearing too.”

Every hair on Izzy’s body stands up straight. “Yeah.”

“I thought maybe you were in on something interesting,” Eddy tsks, “Maybe planning some good old fashioned betrayal.”

“I wouldn't-” he starts to protest.

“But then I remembered who I was talking about,” Eddy laughs darkly. “So I thought maybe you’d finally picked up an interesting vice or something. But Izzy in a gay bar I did not expect.”

“Well. Here I am,” he says miserably, wondering if he could get Eddy out of here before the show started.

“Hi! Good evening!” Leda House comes on the mic with outstandingly terrible timing. She made for an attractive enough woman, but the man underneath the makeup was a total fucking weirdo. Izzy had had one conversation with Stede Bonnet which had been more than enough. “Welcome! Hello! It’s the Friday Night Spectacular! I’m your host Leda House and tonight you’ll see things! Stuff! Amazing feats! Please get your drinks and get your tipping hands ready, for the beautiful and mysterious Frenchie!”

“Iz,” Eddy said with a giddiness that made Izzy want to reach for his gun on pure reflex. “Is this a drag show?”

“Yes.” What was the point in denying it?

Eddy at least watches quietly enough. Actually, they seemed enthralled.

“The host, do you know them?” Eddy asks.

“Yeah, she owns the bar,” Izzy mumbles into his drink which was mostly water. Another shit bartender, another night at the Revenge.

“Introduce me.” Eddy demands. Shit.

-Eddy took to Leda House immediately. It was....well. Izzy had seen Eddy getting someone they wanted before. He couldn’t help but compare it to how Eddy had gotten him. There was no charisma then, no sweet words. Not like now as Eddy smiles that thousand watt smile and Leda melts under its force.

“You know if I tell her that Eddy’s off limits, she’ll listen,” Pete drifts up to his side, out of drag now.

“I have no say in who Eddy takes home,” Izzy says. And Eddy is busy, full attention outward.

“The apartment is a disaster,” Pete says regretfully. “They’re working on the plumbing.”

And suddenly Izzy wants to be anywhere but here and he doesn’t want to be there alone. “Come over.”

“Yeah?” Pete smiles brightly at him. “You sure?”

Leda giggles and Eddy puts a hand on her knee.

“Yes.”

-It’s not so bad to make Pete breakfast for once. He eats it happily and looks around the apartment without being invasive and just says, “Nice place. When did you move in?”

“Ten years ago.”

“Huh,” Pete nods once slowly. “Yeah. Must be nice. To not have too much stuff. Our place is packed full, kind of a lot.”

Izzy does not say that he likes Pete’s apartment. Or his bed with too many pillows. It’s too close to something else.

He dreads seeing Eddy again, but she doesn’t come in for a few days. That happens sometimes and he doesn’t get nervous until it’s going on day four. Just when he’s about to go to their apartment, they swans in, dressed in bright colors and dragging the sunshine in after her.

“Great find, Iz!” She claps him on the shoulder and practically dances into her office, slamming the door shut behind her.

-It’s the beginning of the end though Izzy won’t know that for another few months.

-Eddy, clearly happier overall, does not bring that mood to jobs. Instead she comes in happy and goes out to work irritable and mean. Izzy takes the jabs as his due and parries them back, but his usual attempts to rile her into fighting shape have little effect. Her door closes in his face more and more often.

-”You could quit,” Pete suggests one night. They’re just laying in the dark, at Izzy’s place again. They switch off now. And not just on Friday nights. Seems like he's with Pete more often than he's not somehow.

“And do what?” He asks with a snort.

“Whatever you want,” Pete shrugs. “You want things, don’t you?”

Izzy does. He wants things to be what they were. He wants to still be young and feel like he understood everything.

He wants to be in control again, but these days he’s not sure he ever was.

-Eddy shows up on stage one night. Izzy watches her with a detached shallow ache. She’s beautiful and happy. She looks like she’s sliding in battle, but no one is going to shoot at her. She’s safe here, in this madhouse. Safe and herself. Maybe he’d never known her at all. He listens to them declare their love for Leda House, to speak that truth out over a microphone to any ready ear.

“What do you think?” She challenges when she sees him in the crowd. She asks him from the stage, towering above him. No one else knows who she’s addressing. There’s a wild cheer as though she’s talking to them all.

Izzy holds up his hand and flexes a few fingers together. One of their signs. A private signal if they had to go behind the backs of their own people. It’s got a lot of meanings, but he knows she’ll understand this one. ‘Job Done, All Clear’

She nods once. Signals the same back to him.

“You good?” Pete checks in, frowning as he finds him downing another shot.

“No,” Izzy laughs, wildly, spiraling out. “It’s fucking over. Fucking Stede fucking Bonnet.”

“Ooookay, let’s get you home then.”

-It takes an upsettingly short amount of time to close up shop. Eddy comes back to sign things, to pack up. She removes herself one step at a time like it’s just another dance, another fight that she can win without looking.

“You could take over,” she floats to him the first day they actually talk about it, meaning it's actually the last day with just the things left to sign sitting between them.

“No,” he drives the point of his knife into the desk, into one of the gouges she’d left behind. “I don’t want it.”

“Fuck, okay, Iz, chill.”

Chill. Right.

-Izzy doesn’t take over. He doesn’t go to Jackie with the handful that can’t give up the work. He considers it, but it’s a weird liminal space. Eddy is no longer his boss, but she’s also not gone. The job has dissolved, but he didn’t quit or really get fired. He’s just....not. Not Eddy’s second hand. Not Eddy’s shadow. Not anything really, except somehow....still someone Pete’s look for after a show. Someone Pete takes home and kisses like he's worth something.

Still someone to someone. Whatever that means. And he does want things as it turns out.

“A P.I.?” Pete wraps a hand around his shoulders, kisses him on the cheek with a loud smacking sound that makes Izzy roll his eyes. “So cool!”

“Just something to do,” he grumbles, but Pete isn’t letting go. There at the bar and anyone could see, but...who cares? His reputation means less and less every day anyway.

They’ve been having sex together for a year at this point, known each other for three or four. Izzy’s sitting in a gay bar, under a fucking chandelier and his life has disintegrated out from under him, except for Pete. Who is steady and warm against him, more solid and dependable than Eddy ever was outside of the job. Pete knows what he is, has watched him kill someone at least once and read most of the paperwork in his old office. There’s no hiding from him, really.

“Are we....” Izzy half-forms the question, then can’t quite see it through.

“I think,” Pete gets in a little closer and when Izzy doesn’t shove him away, he rests his chin on shoulder ,”that we can be whatever we want to be. So. Do you want to be?”

Izzy wants things. Stability. Order. A job. Someone in his life so his brain can’t devour itself.

“Yeah,” he says and hopes Pete can hear him over the music so he doesn’t have to repeat himself.

“Okay. Then we are.”

The word ‘boyfriend’ doesn’t appear on their lips for another few weeks. Izzy says it first which seems to free Pete up to say it all the fucking time with this lilt of pride that make it impossible for Izzy to shy away from.

-Stede hires a new bartender. What else is new? Except that Pete likes this one, Izzy misses Pete’s save at the interview because he doesn’t hang out at the bar in the middle of the fucking day like some people, but he hears all about it later.

“He’s kind of...”Pete trails off then grins. “You’ll like him.”

“I don’t like people,” Izzy informs him and Pete just laughs. This far in and Izzy is still not sure if Pete genuinely thinks he’s joking or just finds Izzy’s natural crabbiness hilarious.

-Izzy likes Lucius immediately. He shouldn’t. The man is obnoxious, full of jibes and his humor is so dry that it grates like sandpaper. He flirts incessantly with varying degrees of seriousness and upon meeting Izzy, he compliments Pete for ‘landing a DILF’ which Izzy googles and then wishes he hadn’t.

-”He likes you,” Pete points out as they get into Izzy’s car one night.

“He flirts with everyone,” Izzy rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s different with you.”

“Nah, it’s different with you,” Izzy can hear the warmth of Lucius’ interest when he leans over the bar to talk to Pete. They’re friendly, Pete is friendly with everyone, but it’s not the way Lucius talks to Frenchie or Roach or any of the others.

Pete reaches for his seat belt, slides it slowly across his chest. He gets like that, moving in slow motion when he’s grappling with something. Izzy leaves him to it, listening for the click before hitting the gas.

“Okay. Like...I don’t usually go for this, but Lucius is very....open.”

“That’s one word for it,” Izzy agrees. He was pretty sure Lucius would open up his skull and let someone climb inside if he could get off on it.

“So. You know. If we told him we're a package deal. I think he’d go for that.”

Izzy almost crashes the car. It was a good thing Pete was wearing his seatbelt as he slammed the brakes. They both hung in the silence for a second.

“Or....not,” Pete grimaces.

He doesn’t really casually touch Pete much. He lets Pete manhandle him as much as he likes, but Izzy rarely offers him the same. It’s...fucking dumb actually. He reaches over and takes Pete’s hand like he’s seen Eddy and Stede do a million times. Pete holds back, eyes wide. Behind them someone blares their horn, so Izzy gets them moving again. When he’s finally safely parked in his garage, he turns to Pete in the gloomy dark and asks hesitantly,

“Are you serious about that?”

“Yeah, Iz. It’s not my usual thing, I’m a one dick a time sort of guy and I know you are too, but....”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. Lucius is something else altogether. He’d make it easy because he makes everything like that easy. Izzy’s known him for about two weeks and can already tell that. Maybe because it reminds him of Pete a little, actually.

“Could be fun,” Pete offers. “And if not...then we don’t do it again.”

Like it was that simple.

-”Oh wow, yeah absolutely,” Lucius grinned at them. Apparently some parts were that simple. “I’m flattered fellas. Threesomes are a forte of mine.”

“Really?” Pete looks dazzled. Izzy knew his own expression was carefully schooled blankness, but fucking hell, Lucius did have a 200 watt smile.

“Oh yeah. Take a little coordination, some planning, some improv. We’ll have a great time.”

-It has to be at Izzy’s place because Pete’s roommates will tell the entire fucking world otherwise. Lucius steps inside the apartment and his eyebrows fly into his hairline, but he doesn’t say a word about it, apparently intent on getting on with things.

-About mid-way through, Lucius puts his hand on Izzy’s shoulder and playfully, but firmly says, “Suck me off.” And Izzy short circuits, banging down to his knees so hard and fast he feels it in his molars. So. That happens.

They have to talk about it after which is a special kind of hell.

“Don’t be shy about it,” Lucius waves away Izzy’s monosyllabic responses. “This way we all get what we want.”

“I didn’t even know you wanted that,” Pete says, clearly hurt.

“Neither did I,” Izzy admits, eyes on the floor. “Sorry.”

“I wasn’t sure you knew that word,” Pete reaches out, rubs his back. “We’ll figure it out.”

-The important takeaway is that Lucius makes it clear he’d go again in a second. And he winds up staying, crowding the bed, but also dispelling the air of caution that tends to linger between Izzy and Pete all the time. They always hover around each other like something might shatter. Lucius is happy to break everything and glue it back together again.

-Of course they tell him he can come back whenever. He takes them up on that. These days, Izzy and Pete don't hold Friday nights as sacred, since they're together almost every night, so it’s not a big deal that Lucius often counts out his tips, sticks them in his pocket and follows them home. And in bed, he’s sweet and soft with Pete, and sweet and hard with Izzy and it’s deliciously good. Izzy gets to make sure Pete is happy and he’s satisfied on a level he didn’t know he was missing.

Out of bed, Lucius likes to linger in the mornings. He makes fun of Izzy’s apartment, and starts leaving things around the place. His daring apparently spurs on Pete and suddenly there’s just...things. Everywhere. Books, a newspaper, doodles on napkins, clothes of all varieties and someone’s Revenge mug shoved in among the cabinets.

Izzy leaves every single thing where it lies. Like if he touches them, they’ll disappear.

-”What if we bought a bigger bed?” Pete asks, half-asleep himself, one hand on Izzy’s right shoulder, kneading a little at a tense spot.

“Why?” Izzy is half melted with the massage and the word comes out a little slurred.

“Be more comfortable. Don’t have room at my place, but here we could.”

They could. It would be saying something though.

“Is that a thing?” he mumbles.

“Bigger beds?”

“No...just. All of it, I guess.”

“Yeah, it can be a thing,” Pete said softly. “Do you want it to be?”

“I liked what we were,” he says. “Before.”

“Me too,” Pete assures him. “But...”

“Yeah.”

They buy a bigger bed. They don’t tell Lucius first because he’s a fucking know-it-all and it’s nice to surprise him sometimes. Izzy figures, worst case, he just has a bigger bed now. Sometimes Pete rolls up on top of him and they both almost die of heat exhaustion, so it’s a win-win anyway.

So they just bring Lucius home one Friday night and make it to the bedroom and watch his face go slack in disbelief.

“What did you do?” He asks, a little brokenly.

“So we all fit,” Pete explains which thank fuck for him really because Izzy would’ve said something cutting about Lucius’ powers of observation which would’ve ruined it.

“But-” Lucius starts then stops.

“It’s okay,” Pete reaches for his arm, holding him like he’s tethering him to the earth. It’s a good move, works great on Izzy all the time. “It’s not a demand or anything. Just an invitation. So you’re comfortable. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Lucius says, the word broken in half. “But I thought I was just visiting.”

“No,” Izzy realizes he has to say something or Lucius will read rejection there. “We want you to stay. As often as you want to be here.”

“You’ll never get rid of me,” half a threat, half a promise.

-They don’t get rid of him. If anything, it works out beautifully when Lucius’ roommate sets their place on fire. Izzy and Pete show up with Frenchie and John, move him out in a matter of minutes. They install him at Izzy’s place ‘temporarily’. It’s strange to share his home all the time, and he feels like he’s tripping on something every five minutes which only gets worse as Pete half-moves in too to be closer to both of them.

When Izzy can’t take it anymore he just declares,

“I’m moving and you two assholes are coming with me, so find a place with three bedrooms that doesn’t fucking suck.”

“Wow.” Lucius says flatly. “I can’t wait with an invitation like that.”

“I like apartment hunting,” Pete says serenely. “Can we get a balcony?”

They get a balcony. Izzy gets a room where he can shut the door and have absolutely nothing on the floor. Sometimes he goes in there and just cuts notches on the underside of the desk like he’s a wild animal locked up for too long, but that’s just sometimes. Most of the time, he’s on the couch in the living room. His old one had a mysterious moving day accident and has been replaced with the deepest, softest most comfortable couch in the world. It’s horrifying how often he accidentally falls asleep on the damn thing.

-Eddy shows up to the housewarming party. She brings prepackaged vegan cookies and shoves them at Izzy like she wants a sticker for it.

“These have nuts in them,” he points out.

“Motherfucker,” she sighs.

“You want a beer?”

“Please.”

They wind up on Pete’s balcony while the rest of the party rages inside. The place will be a disaster later and when he tries to clean it, Lucius will order him to bed and Pete will already be in it, naked as a jay and laughing at the two of them, arms spread wide in welcome.

For now, Izzy’s just grateful no one’s broken glass yet.

“Life works out weird, huh?” Eddy toasts him, then uncapped the beer with her teeth in a move that had never failed to make him wince.

“It does,” he agrees. “You good?”

“Never better,” she stretches her legs out, rests her feet on the railing. She’s beautiful in the fading sunlight, but in an objective way. Izzy has no more room for her inside, he realizes. They’ve shoved her out somehow, made room for themselves and no one else. “You?”

“Yeah,” Izzy uses the bottle opener on the swiss army knife Pete had bought him for his birthday. It was plain, utilitarian. Not unlike the ring Pete thought he didn’t know about that had been sitting in a box in Pete’s coat pocket for the better part of two months. Izzy hadn’t said a word, too afraid that it wasn’t for him until Pete had started giving him long thoughtful looks when they were out for a walk. Gearing himself up. Izzy would be ready with a yes, when the moment came. They'd have to get one for Lucius too, down the line. Izzy's got a design in mind already. “It’s all pretty fucking good.”

#leda house and the kraken verse #feels just like I'm falling for the first time

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