#this is a very self indulgent fic in which the AU crosses over with the vampire the masquerade universe

[thepixelelf]

ah! love

genres: married life au, family au, fluff, [best friends to lovers?] relationship: husbands 95 line x reader (feat. baby doremi line) words: 2.0k warnings and notes: coarse language. suggestive. the most self indulgent thing I've ever written; tropey, cringey, lovey dovey, I literally fought this fic while writing it and lost, no one look at me. I wanna write more of this au but will I? only god knows

ah! love masterlist

Seungcheol conducts a very serious interrogation.

"Okay," Seungcheol says with a tinge of authority once you've all sat down in the living room.

The boys are asleep in bed — finally, (you had to read Goodnight Moon twice just for Chan to let go of your hand, and had to give Seungkwan six forehead kisses goodnight, which of course you had to give Vernon and Chan too) — and Jeonghan has already tugged you to his side of the couch, playing with your fingers while he pretends to listen to Seungcheol's Dad Mode engaging. Joshua scoots along the cushions to press himself against your other side, and he crosses his arms as if none of you know he did that on purpose for your attention.

Seungcheol, on an armchair across from you, furrows his brow ever so slightly and holds all of you down with a firm stare.

"Who did it?"

You tilt your head. "Did what?"

Joshua steals your other hand.

"Who's swearing in front of the boys?" Seungcheol finally reveals, sending a pointed look at the husband on your left. "Jeonghan?"

"Me?" An exaggerated gasp leaves Jeonghan's lips as he puts a hand over his chest, then silently takes the opportunity to pull you onto his lap (and subsequently further from Joshua). He wraps his arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder to send a pout towards Seungcheol. "I don't swear around the babies."

You reach out to take back Joshua's sad, lonely, abandoned, totally casual and not bothered at all hand, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

"You know how hard Jeonghan works to use his good words when he's with the kids, Cheol," you defend. "He used to swear like a sailor, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." Seungcheol nods, then directs his gaze towards the husband on your right. "Anything to say?"

Joshua frowns, thinking. "Why do you think one of us is swearing around the boys?"

"Vernon's block tower toppled this morning, and you know what he said?"

You smile. "I can make an educated guess."

"He said, 'Oh fuck,' like it was nothing!" Seungcheol bursts out. "He was like, 'Oh fuck. Shit,' and I was literally just standing there like— like—!"

Unable to help yourself, you giggle at the image of your middle child swearing in that monotone, relaxed, and yet remarkably toddler-esque voice of his.

Jeonghan lifts his chin off your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek. "Sounds like something you would say."

"Who, me?!" you ask through more giggles. "I don't swear."

Joshua scoffs. He brings your hand up to his lips and speaks upon your skin. "You absolutely do. Back then I thought curses made up half of your vocabulary."

Your mouth drops open. "Wait, actually?"

"Being a parent has made you soft," Jeonghan adds, squeezing a hand at your side to make you squirm. "You seriously don't remember your prolific ways?"

"...Was it bad?"

Humming against your neck, Jeonghan presses one, two, three more kisses there. "I thought it was cute."

Joshua resituates himself so he's facing you and grazes his fingers up and down your arm. "So did I."

"Yah," Seungcheol says. Forgotten. Ignored. Annoyed. He leans back in the armchair, and his leg bounces in irritation. "I'm trying to have an adult conversation over here."

Jeonghan chuckles in your ear. Then kisses right behind it. "Okay," he tells Seungcheol, lifting one hand to lazily wave him off. "You stay over there then."

A hand touches your chin and tilts your head. "Look at me," Joshua whispers.

Seungcheol huffs, crossing his arms and sinking further into the chair. "I thought it was cute too..."

⭒-⭒-⭒

"Fucking... motherfucker cunt-faced shit-eating bitch of a... fuck!"

After hearing your ex's automated "I can't get to the phone right now" voicemail message for the fifth time in a row, you angrily threw your phone down. (Onto your soft bed, of course. You weren't made of money.)

"God damn it," you muttered, utterly frustrated.

The boys, sitting on your bed while you paced around your room, all shared a look with each other before facing you.

"Why are you trying to call this douche again?" Seungcheol asked, his stance on the asshole you were semi-dating clear.

"Yeah, didn't he cheat on you?" Joshua added.

Jeonghan nodded with a frown. "Shouldn't he be the one calling you? Begging for forgiveness like the loser he is?"

Rubbing your hands over your face, you let out a long, tired sigh. "I honestly don't care about an apology or begging for forgiveness or whatever from him. It was probably going to end sooner or later anyway."

The boys looked at each other again. They knew they didn't like the guy you were seeing, but since they also knew why they didn't like him, they never said anything. The fact that you seemed to think it was going to end even before the dickhead cheated? That, they didn't know.

Even though there was barely enough room, you flopped onto your bed face first, then shifted so you were on your back with a groan. "I just wanna call him, tell him I'm coming over, grab my things, and cut him out of my life for good."

"Is your stuff even worth it at this point?" Seungcheol poked a finger into your forehead, making you scrunch your face and swat his hand away. "I mean, it's just like, clothes and a toothbrush, right?"

Suddenly, you seemed much more shy than angry. You pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands and picked at a loose thread. "I like my stuff..."

"Nuh uh." Jeonghan leaned over you, his head upside down with your ceiling as a background. "You don't get worked up like this over clothes and a toothbrush. What'd you leave there?"

You shrank into yourself. "Nothing..."

"Suspicious..." Jeonghan said, then looked at Joshua.

Who went, "Very suspicious..."

"Seungcheol," Jeonghan ordered.

Before you knew it, your unfairly built-like-a-brick-shithouse friend had both your arms pinned to the bed, and Joshua had thrown his entire body over your legs like a six year old attempting to wrestle.

Jeonghan, with his free reign, yanked your sweater sleeve up your arm to reveal your empty wrist. "Aha! I knew you weren't wearing your bracelet!"

Joshua gasped, affronted, looking absolutely ridiculous draped over your legs. "You left your friendship bracelet at his dingy ass apartment???"

Ashamed and a little bit fight or flight, you struggled against your friends. "Okay, first of all! You wouldn't know if his apartment is dingy!" (It was.) "And second of all: I didn't leave it there! I just so happened to take it off the night before I figured out he was a cheating piece of shit, so excuse me for being out of sorts when I stormed off in my PJs with tears in my eyes!"

Your words set off an awkward silence, and you groaned, shutting your eyes so you didn't have to see the pitying looks on your friends' faces.

But they knew you, and they knew apologizing for someone they weren't wouldn't make you feel better.

Instead, Seungcheol asked, "Why'd you take the bracelet off?"

You peeked an eye open, frowning in retaliation — they were still holding you down. "I'll give you one guess."

Seungcheol immediately let go of your arms and put his hands in the air like he was at gunpoint. Jeonghan just chuckled, shaking his head.

Joshua, dramatic as fuck, rolled over so his back was practically crushing your stomach. "Ewwwwwwwww," he whined. "I do not want to hear about how this guy fucks."

Your hands freed, you shoved him off, but he just went boneless and slipped to your side. "When did you get it in your head that I'd tell you how he fucks?" You crossed your arms and sat up. "It just... felt weird wearing our friendship bracelet while I... you know."

Joshua grimaced. "I'll make you a new one."

"No!" you protested, causing them to all give you a look you didn't bother to interpret. "It won't be the same. You made the original four at the same time. Together." Unable to meet their eyes, you looked down. "It's important to me..."

Another silence greeted you, and you scrambled to switch up the mood.

"If only that fucker would answer his bitchass phone."

Jeonghan and Joshua blinked at you, but Seungcheol just chuckled. You looked up at him as he stood from the bed, walking over to where he'd draped his jacket over your chair.

"Where are you going?" you asked.

"We're going to his dingy ass apartment," Seungcheol explained casually, tossing you your coat as well. "He's the one choosing to not answer his phone. He shouldn't be surprised when we show up."

The other two stood up, and Joshua dragged you by the hand to join them.

Seungcheol twirled his car keys around his pointer finger. "Let's go get that bracelet back."

You beamed.

"Fuck yeah!"

⭒-⭒-⭒

Seungcheol, after only so many seconds of enduring seeing you like that on Jeonghan's lap and with Joshua's stupid lips on yours, of course, relents. "Don't leave me out," he mutters through the poutiest pout he can manage. He gets up, strides two steps across the living room, and looms above you, though you don't see him with your eyes that have drifted shut.

The remedy for that, of course, is to grab your chin and kiss you like it's the first time all over again.

You giggle into the kiss, and he smiles too, both of his hands floating up to cup your cheeks.

Thud.

Your lips pause, and your brows furrow at the sound. Seungcheol hardly notices, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, but—

Thud thud thudthudthudthud.

You open your eyes to see Vernon lying supine, starfished at the bottom of the stairs he just tumbled down as he silently regards the ceiling, and you push Seungcheol off like he doesn't weigh anything.

"Oh my god, Vernon!"

Jeonghan's groin becomes the next victim of your haste, him groaning in pain when you launch yourself off the couch to run over to Vernon. You fall to your knees beside him, looking at his face with wide eyes.

He simply blinks up at you, face void of emotion.

Until you ask, frantically, "Are you okay?"

Vernon blinks again, and he suddenly realizes, oh, this is when a normal human five year old would cry. So his face scrunches up, and tears well in his eyes, and he looks at you with the most hold me right now or the world is gonna end expression on his face that you can do nothing but sweep him up into your arms and hug him to your chest.

"It's okay baby, it's okay."

Jeonghan's voice makes you look up. "What are you guys doing out of bed?"

At the top of the stairs, Seungkwan has one hand tightly gripped on the handrail — he's seen the consequences of not holding it now — and the other around Chan's tiny fist, which is really not that much smaller than his. Your youngest shifts on his feet, mumbling, "G'night kiss..."

Seungkwan, ever the all-knowing older brother, clarifies for him. "We didn't give the moon a good night kiss."

Your mouth drops open, and you can't stop the slight laugh that comes out. Vernon sniffles and buries his face in your shoulder, his hands scrunching up the material of your shirt.

"No good night kiss to the moon?" Joshua repeats. He begins up the stairs and scoops up a sleepy Chan into his arms, resting him on his hip. "That won't do, will it?"

Seungcheol's already hoisted Seungkwan up when he says, "Let's go kiss the moon goodnight and then go back to bed, alright?'

Seungkwan leans his head on Seungcheol's shoulder and nods slowly.

While you bring up Vernon (who you're pretty sure is already asleep in your arms and drooling on your clothes), Jeonghan keeps his hand on your back, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing back and forth.

The boys have their own rooms, but for now, they all prefer sleeping together in Seungkwan's. The room in which Seungcheol, as soon as he walks in without turning on the lights because it's late, knocks over an intricately built Lego city.

"Oh, fuck," he lets slip as he struggles to stay upright, then gasps when he realizes what he said and goes, "Shit."

Jeonghan snorts. Joshua muffles a laugh in Chan's hair.

You smile at Seungcheol with all the love in the world.

"Guess that answers that."

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #scoups x reader #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan x reader #joshua hong scenarios #joshua hong imagines #joshua hong x reader #choi seungcheol scenarios #choi seungcheol imagines #choi seungcheol x reader #yoon jeonghan scenarios #yoon jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan x reader #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

[billiedeansbitch]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?

(𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Prompt: You’re having troubles choosing which bra to wear. Brienne has a better option.

A/n: Modern day setting/AU. Slight smut. Self-indulgent fic.

Warning/s: none

Brienne’s done showering, she lathered, scrubbed and washed her body and hair. She even dedicated a whole happy birthday song from beginning to end as she thoroughly washed each finger, she brushed her teeth, flossed, gargled some mouthwash then flossed again. All of these only took her only fifteen minutes to get done. She feels refreshed and clean, so clean that she doesn’t want to touch anything or do anything, she just wants to stay fresh all day and then there’s you.

When she left to shower, you were already getting ready and now that she’s done, you’re still getting ready.

Brienne stops and leans on the doorway. She’s wearing boxer shorts because it’s loose and comfortable, so much space for ventilation, she always chooses comfort over aesthetics, and honestly you couldn’t blame her. Above her torso, nothing, she had nothing but the towel that covers her chest after aggressively drying her short blonde hair. It’s going to get frizzy and you’ll probably lecture her again but she doesn’t care.

She watches you with her long, strong arms, crossed against her chest, almost flexing her toned muscles. She doesn’t understand the fuss over these bras, they all look the same to her, but oh, she finds great joy in removing them from you or palming your breasts over them, especially those ones that don’t have underwires. Extra points if they are lace and very sheer.

Still in your underwear, you can’t decide which is better, the nude demi or the black balconette, both will bring great definition and more lift but still you can figure which is much preferable with your outfit. The sigh that left your lips is pretty much a cry for help, so you turn around, brows knitting together.

“This or that?” you asked your partner, eyeing the black one that’s draped on the armchair next to the mirror. 

Brienne’s eyes don't waver from your breasts, she just keeps looking until a grin cracks on her lips and you can’t do anything but smile as well. Shaking your head,  you turn around as you playfully roll your eyes and face the mirror once more. 

You should have known better than asking her. As soon as you turn, your gaze lingering on her reflection in the mirror. it’s your turn to ogle at Brienne, appreciating the taut skin along her stomach and her calves extending up to her thighs. Her arms that can easily sweep you off of your feet, oh and that wicked smile.

Once Brienne gains control over her legs, with a few huge strides, she’s quickly made it behind you. “How about this?” she says, serious and all, and then you feel it, the coldness of her palms cupping your breasts. Your nipples hardened almost immediately. 

“This is much better. Wouldn’t you agree?” She has a goofy smile on her lips, one that reaches her eyes, your heart jumps a little at the view of her face. Her crooked lower teeth are showing, her cheeks flushed, the way her hair is messed is tragic and art at the same time you wanted to comb your fingers through. Oh Brienne, so handsome and so pretty at the same time. And God, Brienne is tall, so tall and so perfect.

“This will do but I don’t think everyone will appreciate it if we're going to show up like this to your father’s birthday party.” you feel her peck your cheek.

She chuckles, agreeing but still not quite ready to let you go.

A pinch on your left nipple caused a gasp to spill from your lips. A flash of mischief in her eyes.

She did it again with the other, until she’s massaging both mounds and you’re helplessly defeated in her hands. “Gods, Brienne.” 

You slip a hand on the back of her neck, tilting your head a bit to the side. Kissing her is about finding a good angle and all. So your lips met, slow, sensually slow like you both had the time in the world when in reality, you will both be running late if you don’t detangle yourselves from one another.

“We’re going to be late, darling.”

“Five minutes.” she breathed on the skin of your neck, her hands are now on your ass, massaging and groping. “Just five minutes.” and her lips are now back to yours, tongue thrusting in.  

“Hold on,” this prompts you to wrap your arms around her neck, your legs spread around her hips. Gods, she’s strong.

Brienne carries you with unbelievable strength, and it turns you on, so much that your underwear is now soaked. Briefly, you withdraw from kissing the handsome beauty, your fingers combing through her locks, “We should change the shower head.”

Brienne stops assaulting your neck, “Yeah, I was thinking of that, too, and place it much higher.” You remember the first time you both showered together after moving in together to your apartment, Brienne had hit her forehead on the shower head causing a small bruise to form. You can still remember where it was, you rub the spot on the right side near her hairline and kiss it. 

“What about the tiles? I think it’s a bit out of style.” you said, kissing her eyelids some more then her cheeks and her mouth.

“We’ll change it, too, if that’s what you want.”

“Mhmm, and we should buy a bigger tub so we can both fit in.”

“Done.” she murmurs, chasing your lips in the process.

“Gods, I love you, Brienne.”

“And some lingerie,” she says, licking your lower lip, “For you.”

Five minutes turns to half an hour of kissing and a lot of fucking, she even fucked you some more in the shower when you protested that you can’t both go to her father’s birthday smelling like horny teenagers. 

You both made it to Selwyn Tarth’s fiftieth birthday, although you were both late, and Selwyn isn’t very much pleased with it, Brienne still managed to cool the old man’s head with a kiss on the cheek and a little birthday present from you.

#lady brienne #brienne of tarth x reader #ser brienne #brienne of tarth imagines

[cosmicanamnesis]

little self-indulgent fic that I'm posting without proofreading, enjoy

steddie, modern AU, idiots to lovers | read on ao3

"It's not a big deal!"

Eddie's crush on Steve was a secret both short-lived and ill-kept. His first mistake was telling the band. Well, no, his first mistake was forgetting that Gareth and Will were dating and that Gareth had the physical inability to keep his fucking mouth shut. But Eddie telling his closest, most trusted friends about the guy he liked was definitely Up There on the list of mistakes.

Which was how Eddie found himself mildly hungover drinking black coffee in his living room while Dustin paced up and down the length of the trailer, berating him for not confessing his doomed love to his alleged "favorite child" sooner.

"HOW is it not a big deal, Eddie?" Dustin said, just a few notches too loud for Eddie's looming headache.

"Because it's not! He doesn't like me! He's never gonna like me! I'm an adult, dude, I have critical thinking skills. I know how to pick my battles."

"It's not- Eddie," Dustin suddenly went stone faced. "It's not about your chances with him. You're moving in with him. He deserves to know."

Oh yeah. There was that. Robin was starting college and there was no way she wasn't taking her Emotional Support Pretty Boy with her. The only place they could find was a 2-bed just slightly out of their budget, and had asked Eddie if he wanted to join them, finally striking out on their own in the city. The agreement was that Steve and Robin would share the bigger bedroom, and Eddie would get the smaller room to himself. Their move-in date was less than a week out when Eddie made his inebriated love confession at his quote-unquote Going-Away-Party.

"It's not about what he deserves, man!" Eddie said, sinking back into the couch. He rubbed his eyes hard to try and relieve some of the pressure building in his head and sighed. "If I don't say anything to him, nothing changes. If I tell him, everything changes!"

"Oh, please. Steve's an adult too, dude, if we tell him you like him but you're well aware that he doesn't like you, he won't make it weird!"

"Wait wait wait, hold up. Rewind. We? Who is we?"

"You and me!" The boys stared at each other in bewilderment for a moment. "Oh come on, Eddie, we both know that if I don't sit here and watch you do it, you're just gonna lie and say you told him when you actually just hid under a blanket listening to Metallica and wishing you had the balls to-"

"OKAY!" Eddie yelled, loud enough for the very shock of his volume to trigger his headache in full force. "Jesus H., kid, you don't need to call me out like that. Fuck. Fine. I'll do it right now, how about that?"

Eddie pulled his phone out and Dustin dropped down hard on the couch next to him, arms already crossed, smug satisfaction already settled on his face.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Dustin scoffed. "Here's what you should say-"

Eddie held up a hand to cut him off. "I'm not listening to you anymore. You had one long distance girlfriend ONCE, you're not some kind of Cassanova here… oh, son of a bitch."

"Son of a bitch what?" Dustin asked, scooting closer to read over Eddie's shoulder.

"I can't do this right now… The last thing I sent him was asking his opinion on the D&D movie and he hasn't responded yet."

"What the absolute fuck does that have to do with any of this?"

"Well I can't be like hey what's your opinion on this movie you know I love because I'm the one who told you to watch it, also I'm in love with you but it's no big deal. Like, what the fuck is that?"

"Oh… Yeah, you have a point." Dustin shifted back away from Eddie, covering his mouth with one hand in concentration.

"I mean… It can wait-"

"It can, but it shouldn't, dude! Shit… I mean, I could tell him, if you want."

Dustin had expected an outright "no" and was shocked when Eddie paused, apparently seriously considering the option.

"Actually… Yeah, could you?"

"Sure, but I'm not letting you see what I say until after I send it."

"You drive a hard bargain…" Eddie said, drumming his fingers on his knee. "Fine. Go for it."

Eddie stood and grabbed his coffee off the table, wandering slowly towards the kitchen, both to find some ibuprofen and to quell his temptation to watch Dustin quickly type a message to Steve.

"Okay. Sent. Now you can look," Dustin announced, beckoning Eddie back over as he downed the medicine. Eddie felt like he'd never moved so fast in his life. The message read,

Eddie wants you to know, before you move in together, he has a crush on you. he won't make it weird if you dont

As Eddie read, the three dots that meant Steve was typing popped up. Suddenly Eddie regretted ever agreeing to this, and pushed Dustin's hand and phone away so he wouldn't have to see Steve's rejection first-hand.

"He responded… Do you wanna know what he said?" Dustin said. Eddie was leaning hard against the armrest of the couch, staring into nothing, imagination running wild.

"Yeah, hit me," he said.

"Oh, alright. Thank you for telling me," Dustin read. "I don't feel the same way about him. I assume you talked to him about telling me."

"So he gets back to you right away but he won't tell me- oh. Never mind. He just responded to my text." Eddie was doing his best to not feel completely devastated by Steve's frankly predictable response to Dustin's text.

"So… What did he think of the movie?"

—

"Uh… Rob?"

"Yeah?"

"Um… Come here and… Just read this."

Steve and Robin were taking a break from packing up Steve's childhood bedroom in preparation for the move when Dustin's text came through. She quickly chugged the last of her soda and came around to Steve's side to see what he was seeing.

"Oh," she said, not bothering to conceal her surprise. "I mean… We knew this was a possibility."

"Yeah, I guess, but… What do I say? I don't like him like that."

"Then say you don't like him like that, dingus. He's probably breathing down Dustin's neck right now waiting to see what you say."

"Yeah, you're probably right…" Steve said. He typed and backspaced and typed something else until Robin got sick of watching and grabbed the phone out of his hand to answer Dustin's text for him.

"Just trust me!" Robin said, actively walking away from Steve as he sputtered indignances, chasing after her halfheartedly. As soon as she sent the text, she turned and shoved the phone roughly back to Steve's chest.

"Oh… Yeah, okay, that makes more sense than anything I was trying to say…" Steve conceded, reading the text Robin sent on his behalf.

—

Steve, Robin, and Eddie saw each other next when they were loading up the U-Haul. No one said anything, and Steve tried as hard as he could to act like nothing was different. It put Eddie's mind at ease while simultaneously driving Robin nuts.

Since Dustin sent the secondhand confession, the only thing Steve had on his mind was Eddie, and how he definitely didn't reciprocate Eddie's feelings, how he was definitely bisexual but Eddie… Eddie wasn't his type. He was pretty, sure, but he was so… Himself. He was loud and unapologetic and into things Steve had never even heard of. They had nothing in common besides their love for the kids.

But Robin saw it coming a mile away.

"It" finally came to fruition a month after they had all moved in together.

It turned out, Steve and Eddie were practically the same person. Same sense of humor, same taste in TV, they even took their coffee the same way. They really only differed in their music tastes, fashion, and theater snack preferences. 

Robin got the text in the middle of her French class.

shmuck: i think i have a crush on eddie

bobbin: FINALLY. please just kiss him and put me out of my misery

Steve came out of the kitchen, bag of chips in hand, to see Eddie just as he'd left him: cross-legged on the couch, demolishing a bag of Sour Patch Kids to the tune of the Criminal Minds theme music. He tucked his phone into his back pocket and rejoined his maybe-crush to watch trash TV until Robin came home.

He didn't know why he was so nervous. He knew Eddie liked him. There wasn't a chase here, he didn't have to flirt or try to win Eddie over… He just had to say yes and Eddie was his. It was different from any other relationship he'd ever been in. Maybe that was why it was so scary. Because it was new.

They watched the episode and bantered back and forth about it, same as always. But before the next episode could start, Steve hit pause.

"Bathroom break?" Eddie asked, hugging a throw pillow to his chest.

"No, uh…" Steve started, unable to even look Eddie in the face. "No… Can I… Can I kiss you?"

Eddie didn't answer right away, which finally inspired Steve to really look at him. His expression was completely unreadable.

"Uh… Yeah, I mean. Yes, absolutely. Um. But what happened to you don't like me like that?" It was such an Eddie response, Steve could almost laugh.

"I, um… I guess I spoke too soon," Steve laughed, trying to be cool and suave and everything else people thought he was in high school. Eddie brought the pillow up to hide his expression.

"Really?" he asked, muffled behind the pillow so that Steve almost couldn't hear him.

"Yeah, really. Just… Since you told me-"

"Dustin told you," Eddie corrected.

"Whatever… I dunno, I guess it put the idea in my head and now… I haven't been able to stop thinking about it… About you- what?"

Eddie was giggling quietly behind the throw pillow, gently rocking himself back and forth as Steve talked. 

"Nothing," Eddie mumbled into the pillow. "Go on."

"You're such a pain in the ass, y'know that?" Steve laughed again. "Can I kiss you or not?"

Eddie slowly moved the pillow away from his face to set it aside, revealing himself to be smiling like an idiot as he turned slightly to face Steve better.

"You understand I've been uselessly pining after you for like, two months now, right? Please kiss me, oh my god."

—

Dustin's phone lit up with a Snapchat notification; a message from Eddie to the D&D group chat. He expected a meme, or for Eddie to ask Jeff for a ride somewhere because his van broke down again.

Instead, it was a picture of Eddie looking smug, leaning against Steve's chest. Steve, apparently unaware he was having his picture taken, had his fingers tangled up in Eddie's curls. The text overlay simply read "hey guys guess what."

The first reply came from Gareth, a picture of him leaning against Will in the exact same position as Eddie was with Steve. "Gross," it said.

Dustin rolled his eyes. Eddie was about to get so much more insufferable.

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #text

[hana-no-seiiki]

a/n: first full genshin fic in tumblr let’s go.

we’ve had god readers but what about god complex reader who’s a smartass.

without further ado i present to you the flowers of evil au! (which i will actually explain more in another post but for now have this)

divider by omiyours!

no beta read we die like rukkhadevata’s god friends

summary: reader is basically wanderer but a slut

cw/tw: self indulgent, wish fulfillment, manipulative! reader, asshat/arrogant! reader, implied noncon (reader gets drunk), alhaitham being incredibly horny, alhaitham being a homewrecker, kaveh doesn’t have any self esteem, very snobby ass intellectualism, mary sue/gary stu reader.

pairings: yandere! al-haitham x spy! reader x yandere! kaveh x ? ? ?

“RED ROSES BURN MY EYES”

V O L U M E ( I )

[Y/N] [L/N] is the epitome of perfection. Even amongst the scholars that excelled in their fields, and the sages that basically ruled over the Akademiya. [Y/N] always managed to stand out.

Part of that is what attracted Al-Haitham. They were intelligent, and quick-witted. He found himself effortlessly engaging in conversation for hours when it came to their banters. Everything he was looking for in a partner — both in academics, romantic and sexual side of things — could be found in [Y/N].

But there were two things he had to consider.

The first thing was their awful(ly hot) god complex.

“Told you I’d be correct.” [Y/N] sat atop his desk. Their legs crossed, practically begging to be ripped apart as the scribe fantasized of bending them over the nth time that day.

Their intoxicatingly sweet yet mature scent — of roses and old books — wafted through the air and into his nostrils. It took all he had to not pin them on his table so that he could breathe it in. He wanted their scent to be permanently ingrained within his mind like the languages and manuscripts he’d memorized to heart.

But alas he had to at least maintain a modicum of sanity and control over his hormones. He replied, trying to edge away from their form, “You don’t have to rub it in my face, [L/N].”

But it was getting rather hard when they began leaning over “Fair is fair, Scribe. You get to gloat when you win, and I as well during the many triumphs I have over you. So, what are you supposed to say in this situation?”

“I was wrong to go against your judgement.”

You poke his nose. A mocking grin on your disgustingly pretty features, “I knew you had it in you.”

He could tolerate the first thing. In fact, he found it attractive at times. It’s what attracted him to the idea of dating them; owning them, the desire to rip that smug look on their face. To make their face contort to that of unfettered desire. To bring them down and off their high horse and instead kneeling — yearning for his touch, his lips, his cock.

The second thing was the fact that they were dating his roommate. That darned Kaveh.

“My love.” Al-Haitham could swear Kaveh smirked at him as the latter mouthed his petname for you.

“You’re late.”

“They’re sending me away for a project.”

“What?” Oh, [Y/N]’s concerned face however? Hurt even more. The palpable love between the couple made him want crush the book within his hands and throw its remains across the library. He’d tell you two to get a room if he didn’t want eyes on you 24/7.

“It’s just another construction. I’ll be back soon.”

“Stay safe.”

Al-Haitham couldn’t help but stare at your back while the two of you left him alone.

Was that a smile - no - a smirk on your features?

It was a mistake on your part. You should have known not to get drunk on enemy territory.

But your one success as a spy finally came. You had to celebrate somehow, right?

Wrong.

In your mistake in judgement you found yourself tangled with Al-Haitham of all people. How’d he even get drunk enough to sleep with you anyways? He couldn’t have purposely have sex with you, could he? All your interactions have been those of rivals and friends at most.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“We’re adults [L/N]. You don’t have to act like this.” Stop acting like this. Al-Haitham wanted to scream. He couldn’t take it anymore. He missed your presence so dearly. If only you could see the mess that had been his room and office.

“Exactly. Adults. I can make my own choices and I choose not to interact with you. I’m doing this for the sake of staying civil. For Kaveh.”

“I’ll tell him about your lord.” You paused.

No, you couldn’t have. Your [e/c] orbs slowly turned a velvet red while he continued his speech. Were you that careless? Were the words your co-workers used to describe you true?

That you were an absolutely useless, reckless piece of rot?

“The way you screamed his name while I—“

His? Ah, so he didn’t know their name. You probably just screamed My Lord and he automatically assumed…

He’s bluffing.

“Then go ahead.” You couldn’t help but grin knowing that you finally didn’t mess up in a mission. So what if he said those words to Kaveh, your mission to distract the Light of Kshahrewar had been a success. All you needed was to leave once everything had been finalized and your god had been reborn. “This may not be Focalors’s nation, but this sort of conduct could get you in jail, Scibe.”

“By who? Cyno hates me, sure. But if there’s one person he loathes more than me it’s you.”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“No, [Y/N]. We’ll talk about this now.”

“Why are you so persistent—“

“Because I love you!”

Al-Haitham grabbed unto your face, squeezing so tightly you knew it’d bruise, “I think about you every single day, hour, minute — every damn second even. I can’t get a single paper fully transcribed because I always end up writing your name over and over again as if I’ll forget it any second.”

“That’s impossible. You can’t love me. No. That isn’t supposed to happen.”

“[L/N]. I know you’re a skeptic but doubting my feelings is—“

“You were never my target.”

Al-Haitham gasped as red petals enveloped his entire body.

“My lord. May you forgive this forsaken soul. Grant this servant a place beside your holy being as you ascend—“

His throat, his nose, even his eyes — all burnt under the heavy scent of roses.

“and accept this sacrifice.”

You looked at him solemnly. If only you weren’t so incompetent, he wouldn’t have been roped into this.

Your time with the roommates was fun while it lasted.

“Oh Lord of Flowers.”

[FOOTNOTE:]

In the end, [Y/N] could not kill him. It was always like this. Their missions always went wrong. It’s anyone guess really — why they haven’t been thrown away by their lord. They were defective at best. Completely useless at worst.

So they were commanded to be a honey trap. Someone made to lure in and distract an assigned target while the rest of the Zuhur, came in to assassinate and/or thieve around.

“Kaveh.” You greeted. Shit, you shouldn’t have gone back to his place to check for lose ends. Wasn’t he supposed to be away anyhow? What was he doing in the Akademiya?

“Where are you going?”

“I—I’m leaving.” You had recently finished drugging Al-Haitham and sending him to the sages to deal with. Time was ticking, and you had to be there for when your new master breathes his first as a brand new god. “to get some samples for research. Meet up with the Forest Rangers and all that.”

“Does lying to me get you off or something?” Kaveh stopped you in your tracks, he didn’t have to hold you still, the hurt in his voice was enough.“I know about it. About your affair with Haitham.”

“Then—“

“And I’m fine with it.”

“What?”

“You- You can meet up with him all you like. I already knew someone like me couldn’t possibly satisfy a being such as you.”

“Just don’t leave me ever. Please?”

“Kaveh . . .”

“I promise to never get between you guys. I swear I-I’m not jealous at all. You deserve to receive all the love you can get.”

“Kaveh!” You cried. Who was this person? The Kaveh you knew was loud and boisterous. In fact, you used him and Al-Haitham as a basis to create [Y/N]. The prodigy of the Akademiya.

Who was this weak, broken person that trembled in front of you.

“You deserve someone better than me, alright? Not the other way around.”

“What…?”

“Stay safe and get as far away as you can from the Grand Sage in the next few weeks alright?” You continued your journey away, only stopping to say a few words, “I love you. Truly.”

“If you love me, why would leave me?!”

“I have to.” You clenched your hands, and disappeared.

“(Wardati) وردتي … “

TRANSLATIONS:

flowers = zuhur

وردتي = my rose

#genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #genshin #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere imagine #genshin impact imagine #x reader #yandere al haitham #al haitham #kaveh #yandere kaveh #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact imagine #yandere genshin imagine #yandere genshin au #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x you #gi #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fic #genshin impact fic

[thewayofthemandalorian]

supposed to be just friends - oneshot

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: You and Dieter Bravo are just friends. That all changes when he brings you along when he travels internationally to film a new movie. This has to be a mistake, right?

Word count: 8,148

Notes: This might be the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written. The vague outline I had for this fic was Dieter cuddling and then this came out of it. It’s sort of AU-adjacent as Dieter doesn’t do Cliff Beasts in this version of events and instead works on himself. There are many, many references in this, some meta, some not. Our reader is on the struggle bus at the beginning of this fic and is kind of going through it, but our Dieter helps her get through it. The title comes from the song Glitch by Taylor Swift. All my love and appreciation to @ezrasbirdie​ for beta-reading  ❤️

This fic is cross-posted to AO3 under the same name and my taglist can be found linked in my bio as well as my masterlist which is linked below.

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Warnings: Mentions of COVID-19/anxieties surrounding it, rehab, addictions, references to being high, swearing, food mention, (idiot) best friends to lovers, aimlessness, only one bed, unwanted attention, kissing, non-explicit sexual content (including fingering, female receiving oral), minor miscommunication.

masterlist (main) || masterlist (dieter bravo)

The door opens with a bang — not unusual with Dieter Bravo, your neighbour and best friend of four years — and a second later, he calls out your name. “You home already?” he asks. He knows your schedule in and out, ever since you were called back to your office after a year and a half of working from home (at his apartment, no less). 

You look up ruefully from the couch, your eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “I-I’m home early,” you say, trying to diffuse some of your sadness. 

“What’s wrong?” For all that he is a shit who doesn’t know anything about personal space or boundaries (not that you would ask him to change. That would be like asking a zebra to change its stripes), Dieter Bravo of apartment 605 is an expert at reading people and reading social cues when it comes down to it. It must come with being an actor. Or maybe he’s just good at reading people. 

“I… I was let go,” you admit, wiping your eyes.

Dieter actually laughs. Not at you, but out of incredulity. “What? Why?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Something about downsizing? Or budget cuts? They gave a very inane reason that I didn’t really pay attention to.” You had wanted to pay attention, but once the words “I’m afraid to have to inform you that we are letting you go,” were out of your manager’s mouth, your ears started ringing and you didn’t process anything else that was said after that. 

“Did they at least give you a warning? Any sort of indication?” Dieter asks, coming over to the couch where you’ve flopped down, still in your work clothes. 

You shake your head. “My boss called me into her office this morning. My first thought was that I was getting that promotion that she hinted at six months ago.” 

That promotion was the only thing that was keeping you at that job. You hated it. It was a menial, joyless job. What you hate the most about it is that you were good at it. So when Tiffany had called you into her office this morning, you had been hopeful that your performance was going to finally be noticed and rewarded. “Not that it matters that I’m the highest performing employee,” you grumble to yourself. 

Before you realize it, Dieter’s arms are wrapped around you. “Fuck them. And fuck Tiffany.” 

You snort. “You already did that,” you remark. 

Dieter frowns. “Did I? When did I do that?” he asks.

“At the last holiday party before the pandemic. In 2019 I think?” 

Your best friend racks his brains. “Oh yeah, I did.” He smirks, then wrinkles his nose at the memory. Apparently she hadn’t been very memorable. For her on the other hand, she’d asked you for weeks after if Dieter was seeing anyone. In the end, you’d told her that he met someone else. 

His embrace is warm and you melt into it.

That’s the other thing Dieter is amazing at. Cuddles. You take them at any opportunity you can get. He’s like your own personal weighted blanket sometimes. “It’ll be okay. It’s the company’s loss.” 

You close your eyes. He’s wearing lounge clothes as usual. Soft and worn and cozy, making for peak cuddles. “Is it bad that I’m kind of relieved?” you ask. 

“No. You hated that job. Still, it’s never fun being let go. Trust me, I know.” 

In the four years you’ve known him, he’s made about four times the references of jobs he’s been fired from before breaking into the industry. His first movie, Hunger Strike, had been a fluke, he’s sure of it. A perfect case of right place, right time. Everything he’s done since then has paled in comparison. Sure, Hunger Strike won him his Oscar, which he keeps on display next to the award he’s more proud of, his Golden Raspberry Award, that he had gone in person to to pick it up. It had been for a movie called Deadly Monster From the Deepest Jungle! He’d done it as a joke movie. It was where he’d first met the hack director Darren Eigan, who’d been a script supervisor at the time. A man so far up his own ass, Dieter almost respected him. Almost. He’d gone on and on and on about how Deadly Monster was going to re-invent the horror B-movie genre. He’d then gone on to win some award and had been thrust into the world of Cliff Beasts. Dieter would never forget the phone call he’d had with his agent when they called him to see if he was interested in mid-2020, shortly after the pandemic had started. He’d laughed down the phone and said “Hell no. If I do that movie with that hack it might just kill me.” 

He also knew that if he went to film Cliff Beasts 6, his career would never recover and spending time away from his home during a time of great uncertainty would be the last thing he wanted. And to be so far away from you? No, it’s a bad idea all around.

Not to mention, filming a movie that seemed like such a clusterfuck as Cliff Beasts would interfere with his rehab over Zoom. He needed routine. And he’s not sure why, but he got the feeling that if he went to England to film during all of these upheavals, he would fall off the wagon and get so high off his rocker there’s no telling what outlandish things he’d attempt to do.

It had been rough, but he made it through to the other side, with his mentor and his sponsor and you cheering him on. You’d done work from home on one couch with your wireless earbuds (much to his chagrin) while he did his meetings. He couldn’t have done it without you cheering him on.

Your sigh pulls him back to reality. “I know. It sucks being fired. I just wish… I kind of wish that I knew what I wanted to do with my life, y’know?” you ask. 

Dieter nods as he twists the friendship bracelet around his wrist, the one that you had gotten for him as an almost gag gift; he hasn’t taken it off since, except when filming. “I get it. I still don’t know if I know what I’m doing. At this point, I just go along for the ride.” 

He wants to tell you that he got offered a movie role that looks promising and more in line with what he got into acting for in the first place. He’s tempted to say yes. He knows you would be happy for him – it’s his first role since before the pandemic. Or at least, the first role of consequence. He’s had recurring roles in TV series since 2021 that were filmed in LA, but this is his first starring role since Deadly Monster. 

His arms are still around you. “Dieter, you can let go,” you murmur, not wanting him to. 

Dieter doesn’t listen. He cuddles into you more. He’s always been a hugger. At least with you. But this is the first time he’s actively cuddled with you. 

You remember the first time he hugged you was when you had been discussing the pandemic and what you were going to do. You’d been panicking. “What are we going to do, Dieter? They say that it’s really bad.” You’d been teary-eyed with worry. 

Dieter, usually the more chaotic, unhinged of the two of you, had simply placed his hands on your shoulders before wrapping you in a bear-hug. It was the first of many. “We’re going to get through this. Together.” 

If you hadn’t been best friends before that evening, you certainly were after that. 

- - - - 

It’s been an easy friendship with Dieter since he moved in next door. Sure, he gets on your nerves every now and again, but he always makes up for it. He carries himself as an asshole sometimes, which you call him out for, but you think it’s mostly for show. 

Dieter cares for you. In a way that he hasn’t cared for any of his friends before. You see him. The real him. The one that he doesn’t want strangers to scrutinize on Twitter or in gossip magazines who only cared about his string of failed relationships (he needs connection) or his struggles with sobriety. It took his therapist six months before she finally cracked him. You cracked him in less than half that. 

Dieter orders a pizza once he’s deemed your cuddling session over. You miss your weighted blanket as soon as he’s gotten up to get himself a Sprite from the fridge, grabbing you some water. 

You’ve since moved back into your own apartment next door, but you spend a lot of time at each other's places. Despite the fact that you have a boyfriend. It’s a new relationship, still in its infancy, what you have with Ben. But you’ve just agreed to be mutual not too long ago. You’re not sure how long it’ll last, but he’s nice…ish. Dieter hates him. “He’s boring,” he’d said after meeting Ben for the first time. “And I don’t like the way he treats you. You can do so much better than that guy.” 

You’d waved it off as friendly concern. Even if you agreed with him. Your other friends had also given similar opinions. But Ben was nice, if a little boring. Sometimes boring is a good thing, you try to tell yourself. 

Your spirits are lifted; while you’re still bummed out about losing your job and being strung along for a promotion, it’s for the best. If you were going to be promoted, you would have already. And Tiffany was a toxic boss. 

“Hey, I wanted to tell you something,” Dieter says as his phone pings with an email including the script for the movie he’s in the process of being booked for. “I think I might be doing a movie soon.” 

You hit Dieter on the arm. “Get out! For real?” you squeal with excitement for your best friend. “Tell me everything.” 

That’s the thing Dieter likes about you. All of his successes are celebrated by you as if they’re your successes too. You always build him up. He’s not always sure that he deserves it, but he’s glad to have someone like that–someone like you—in his corner after so many people only wanting him for his modicum of fame. 

“It’s called Foe, it’s an adaptation of this really insane novel where I would be playing a bit of a double role, and it starts filming next month.” 

“That’s so exciting. I’m so fucking happy for you, Dieter. Really. Ugh. I’m so glad that one of us has good news today. Where is it being filmed?” 

Dieter has to think for a minute. “I think in France.” He tries to gauge your facial expression. Your excitement doesn’t diminish, though. 

“You’re going to love it there. I just know it. Congratulations, Dieter.” 

A few days go by. You try not to wallow too much about losing your job. Dieter books the role and is sent the script. It’s the lead role. It’s not quite a mainstream film, but it’s not an obscure indie role, either. But it’s character-driven. It’s something that speaks to Dieter. He doesn’t want to be known as the actor who does movies like Deadly Monster. Only doing movies for the money. Sure, the money doesn’t hurt. But after doing so many franchise movies and bit roles on tv, he’s beginning to wonder why he got into this industry in the first place.

He’s come a long way in the four years that he’s been living here. Sure, he still has his vices, and yeah, he might still be a bit of a fuckup and a magnet for chaos, but he’s trying. He doesn’t want to coast on his good looks and his modicum of luck. He has to work for what he wants. 

If rehab and the lockdown taught him anything, it’s that hardly anything good comes easy.

In the interim, you try to spend more time with Ben, trying to get to know him more. He mostly only talks about his job. He’s an accountant. 

You haven’t told him that you were fired. You know he’ll only condescend. You’ll tell him when you find a new job, and say that you wanted something different. Something new. 

Part of you knows that you want to cut things off with Ben. He’s not clicking with you. The sex isn’t even that good. Most times, you’ll have to finish the job yourself after he’s left. 

Still, he’s… someone. 

You hang out with Dieter, running lines with him, helping where you can to get him sorted for his flight. 

The night before his flight, you have to cut things short, meeting Ben at his apartment for dinner. “I will try and see you before you go before your flight tomorrow morning,” you say at the door. He pulls you in for a hug. He’s always so warm and comforting. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

After typing out a quick text (which he doesn’t respond to, which is odd for Ben), you drive over to Ben’s place. It usually takes longer to get there, but traffic is light tonight. It’s raining, so that probably has people staying home. 

Usually you buzz up to his apartment, but there’s someone coming out the locked door as you’re coming in. You grab it just as it’s about to close and make your way up in the elevator. 

You knock and Ben opens the door. You greet him with a smile. One that he doesn’t return. 

“We need to talk.”

- - - - 

“You’re back early,” says Dieter when you come in half an hour later. “Like, a lot earlier than you told me.” You don’t answer, just sit down on the couch next to his half-packed suitcase. He says your name. “Sweetheart? Are you okay?” 

“Fine. Ben broke up with me,” you murmur. 

Dieter doesn’t think he heard you correctly. “He what? Why?” 

“He said I wasn’t giving him what he was looking for. Which is fucking ironic given that he was the one who wanted things to be exclusive. He also said…” You blink back tears, not knowing why it upsets you so much. “He also said that I’m boring.” 

You omit the part where he outright accused you of being in love with Dieter and spending more time with Dieter than with him. You don’t need to put that on Dieter’s plate the night before his flight. 

Dieter sees that while you’re relieved to be free from Ben and your incompatibility with him, as well as your earlier relief at being let go, you’ve been struggling the last month. 

He sits down on the couch next to you and draws you into him. “I’m sorry. He was a loser and an idiot. You’re not boring. Not at all.” 

You offer him a melancholy smile. “Thanks, Dee. But you don’t have to say that.” 

“I’m not just saying that. When have I ever said things I didn’t mean? And don’t count when I’ve been high. Those statements are either cosmic truths or complete bullshit with no in between.” 

Looking at him, you notice his brown eyes. They’re tender and truthful. You’ve never noticed just how handsome he is. How he…

You push that oncoming thought away. He’s leaving. He’s your best friend and that’s all you’re supposed to be. You’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t started to feel more for him recently. 

“Thanks, Dieter. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Dieter hates the idea of leaving you like this. He knows that you’ll be fine. Beyond any doubt. You always bounce back. But the past month—hell, the past three years—have been difficult for you. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Allowed someone to do something for you? He admires you. He cares for you. More than he probably should. You’ve made it clear you want this to be nothing more than a friendship. 

“Come with me,” he blurts out. 

He’s met with a quizzical look. “Come with you where?” you ask. 

“To France.” You open your mouth to protest, but he doesn’t let you. “Querida. When was the last time you did something nice for yourself? You deserve this. You’ve been through so much and you need to get your mind off things. I want you to come.” 

You can’t explain the emotion this last part unlodges in you. Everything becomes blurry all of a sudden and before you can comprehend what’s going on, your face is buried in Dieter’s warm chest, his arms wrapped around you. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s all right,” he soothes. 

You let out a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I–I just… how am I supposed to pay for it?” 

Dieter doesn’t care. “The company is paying for my seat, I can pay for yours.” 

“I can’t let you—Is it even okay that I’m coming? What about, like, quarantining and your schedule and all that?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t really give a shit. They can’t make this movie without me and I don’t want to leave you behind. Let’s just go. Two best friends doing something nice for themselves. That’s all this is. Okay?”

Dieter levels you with a long, soul-searching gaze. You hold it for a long minute. Probably longer than is necessary, but neither of you can bring yourselves to look away. He’s made several good points. “All right,” you sniffle again, accepting a tissue from Dieter. “Yeah, okay. I just need to find my passport and hope that it hasn’t expired.”  

While you’re searching for your passport, Dieter adds another passenger—you—to the flight. He can’t get you directly next to him in first class, but he’s sure that if he sweet-talks one of the desk agents tomorrow, they’ll let you switch seats. 

“Is it okay that I don’t speak any French?” you ask, coming back in with your passport, which gratefully doesn’t expire until next year. 

“Don’t you? I thought your mom had French Canadian heritage.” 

You nod. “She does. It just… never clicked for me.” 

“Should be fine,” says Dieter. “I don’t speak French either. We’ll wing it.” 

You can’t help but chuckle. “You wing everything, Bravo,” you tease. 

Dieter offers a trademark grin that’s graced so many magazine covers. “It’s one of my specialties. Go pack, ma chérie. That means sweetheart,” he adds with a wink.

- - - - 

At an entirely ungodly time of morning, your phone’s alarm goes off. You whine and hug your pillow closer, hitting the snooze button blindly. After two more snoozes, you force yourself to get up, stumbling to the shower, only turning on the overhead light in the shower and not the bathroom light itself. 

Just as you’re finishing getting dressed, Dieter marches in. He looks bleary-eyed too. 

“Why did I say yes to this, Dieter? You didn’t tell me the flight leaves at ass-o’clock.” He knows your complaint isn’t serious. 

He mumbles something about airport Starbucks. “Shuttle’s almost here, we should head down.” 

The ride to the airport is mostly passed in silence. The sun won’t be up for hours. Last night you’d hastily put together a suitcase and carry-on. Dieter said that the movie would take about a month and a half to film. You didn’t know if you had a month and a half’s worth of clothes, but you were sure that the hotel that the production company was putting him (and you, still unbeknownst to them) up in had a laundry facility. You’d asked if you should maybe return without him and come back sooner, but he’d said no and you didn’t want to come home by yourself if you didn’t have to. You hate air travel at the best of times. After informing your parents, your uncle and some of your friends where you were jetting off to, you headed to bed but only got a few hours of sleep because you were so excited.

The shuttle pulls up at the international gate entry. Even at three forty-five in the morning, LAX is overrun with people. It’s easy to get lost, so Dieter slips his hand into yours, making sure that you’ll stick together. 

He can’t sweet-talk the desk agent into switching your seats, but tells him to try his luck with the flight attendants. The plane is boarding in just over two hours, so you have lots of time to kill in the interim. Dieter tracks down the nearest Starbucks. You get a vanilla latte. He gets twelve shots of espresso over ice. It’s his usual order; you often wonder when you go to get coffee with him how he hasn’t died from the adrenaline rush two hundred times over. It’s one of his many Dieterisms as you’ve come to call his more eccentric behaviours. 

Before you know it, it’s time to board the plane. You’ve never flown first class before. There’s so much more room, the seats are more comfortable. It doesn’t look like it will be seven hours of pure torture like it usually is in economy. You stop a passing flight attendant. “Is it okay if I sit with my friend?” You sound like a kid.

“Wait until the plane has taken off and the fasten seatbelts light comes off.” 

The pilot comes on over the speaker, goes over the safety procedures. The plane takes off smoothly, and before you know it, Dieter’s plopping down in the seat next to you. 

“Do you want the window seat? I don’t mind.” 

Dieter waves your offer away. “Nah. You can have it if you want.” He leans back in the seat. “I think they’re going to come around with snacks and drinks soon.”

The flight goes smoothly and uneventfully (apart from the dirty look the old lady with the Pomeranian in her lap gives you and Dieter when you’re laughing “too loudly”). Once you’ve eaten, you start to feel drowsy. Dieter is actively fighting sleep. The blankets the airline gave you are soft and cozy. Not as cozy as the man who is sitting next to you. A little rest won’t hurt…

When Dieter wakes up, your head is resting on his shoulder, his head resting on the top of yours. He shakes his head a little, sees how the two of you have been resting. It’s not a new sleeping position for the two of you, but this somehow feels different. There’s an inkling of something new. With a smile, he leans his head back to where it was a minute ago and falls back to sleep.

The flight lands some time later. You wake before Dieter does this time. You’ve been resting against each other. Nothing new, but it makes you feel warm. 

It’s a bit of a process, getting through customs and waiting for your bags. The nap on the plane did you good. A lot of good. You know jetlag will sneak up on you sooner or later. 

Luggage obtained, you and Dieter make your way through the airport, luggage in hand, knapsacks on your backs. There’s someone waiting for Dieter to drive you and him to the hotel. 

You still can’t believe this is real, that you’re in France with Dieter Bravo.

- - - - 

The hotel can’t give you your own room, since they are fully booked with the production company and cast of the movie. The best they can do is offer a king room. That’s fine you tell yourself. You’ve shared close sleeping quarters with Dieter before, usually unintentionally, but somehow this seems different. 

“I can take the couch,” you offer immediately once you’ve made it to the room.

Dieter shakes his head. “Don’t be silly. I’ve shared beds before. I know you have, too.” 

He’s right. You’re just friends. This will be fine. 

“Plus, it’s big enough that it’s like we have our own beds anyway.” He tries to ignore the growing feeling of confusion and botherment at this. Has there been a glitch in his brain? There must have been. Or he’s just tired from the flight.

Gratefully, you don’t notice. “You’re right,” you reply. “It’ll be fine. Also, that bed looks super fucking comfortable, like lying on a cloud.”

Dieter grins. “Right? Ugh, I’m just thinking about how nice it’ll be after long shooting days to just collapse into it.”

He flops down on the bed, stretching out with a satisfied groan. He somehow manages to take up half of the bed with his limbs spread out like he’s making a snow angel. 

You shove him over, lying down on the bed too. Oh, god. It’s soft.

Dieter’s sunglasses are askew on his face. You lean over and take them off, putting them on you instead. At his exaggerated pout, you give a saccharine sweet smile before pulling the glasses off and putting them on the nightstand. You stretch out your legs. Turning to your side, you see that Dieter is lying on his side facing you, twisting one of his rings around his finger. “Ready for filming?” you ask.

“I think so. Thank fuck it doesn’t start for a few days.” He fights a yawn. “D’you wanna do some sightseeing tomorrow or something?” 

“That sounds nice. Apparently this is a very historic part of the country. It dates back really far.” 

Dieter frowns. “Isn’t all of Europe dated back really far?” His eyelids are drooping. 

The two of you decide to power through and attempt to adjust to France’s time zone. While the meal on the plane was good for plane food, you’re starving. You’re always half-convinced that Dieter is a walking, talking stomach.

Wanting to get into your jammies, you order room service over the room’s iPad, using the English setting. “Maybe I should work on my French while I’m here,” you muse. “Surprise my mom when we get back.”

You have a month and a half at your disposal. a month and a half to unwind and have some time to yourself, to pick yourself back up. Figure things out. Gratefully, you don’t have to do it on your own. 

The room service is delivered and you have a small feast on the hotel room floor before attempting to unpack. There is a large wardrobe in addition to a dresser that you share with Dieter. Glaring domesticity aside, it’s a very good setup. While you finish unpacking, Dieter takes a shower. 

Getting into your pajamas (stolen from Dieter), you climb into the massive bed and get cozy. You’re mostly passed out by the time Dieter comes out of the bathroom. You vaguely feel the dip of the bed on his side, so far away from your side. The comforter is warm, the pillow plush, the mattress just right. His breathing evens out and lulls you into sleep. 

It’s early when you wake up. The sun is just barely making its way over the horizon. You’re wide awake but you’re cozy. Dieter’s shifted in sleep, or maybe you did, because you’ve almost met in the middle. He’s facing you, his hand outstretched. His lips are parted a little bit, enhancing his pout. 

Even in sleep, even rumpled like he is now, he’s pretty. You think you can admit that about your friend. 

If you listen close enough you think you can hear it drizzling outside. Checking your phone you see that it’s just before seven in the morning. Later than you thought but still early. You are wide awake. Maybe you can just rest. It’s too early to do anything right now. You’ve never done international travel like this before so the time change is going to kick your ass, at least for the first few days. And then you get to relive it all over again when you go home. 

Dieter wakes up a half hour or so later and makes the suggestion that you go out for breakfast before doing some sightseeing

- - - -

Three days later, Dieter begins filming. The call time is early; even when he’s trying to be quiet, Dieter doesn’t know how to be anything but loud. It’s as if it’s ingrained into his DNA. You’re used to it from the years of living next door as well as spending a lot of time in his apartment; you just roll back over and go back to sleep. 

You were stunned when there was nothing more than a platter of cheese and crackers as a cast social two days after arriving. Thinking that the cast and crew deserved more than just a paltry welcome, you’d asked the director and one of the producers if you could plan the wrap party. It would give you something to do on the days when Dieter was filming. Aimlessness was not a good fit on you, and you’d been wearing it for far too long. They had enthusiastically said yes, and given you the studio’s credit card number. They had the budget for what you had planned.

Dieter shows up at the hair and makeup trailer before shooting, his least favourite part about making a movie. He knows why he has to do it, but he’d prefer not to.

“I’m Kate, your makeup artist-slash-hairstylist for this movie.” Kate is a young woman in her late twenties, maybe a few years younger than him. She’s good-looking, he admits, but he doesn’t feel the need to hit on her as he has done in the past with makeup artists and hair stylists. Her eyes appraise him slowly. She’s checking him out, he realizes. 

Dieter doesn’t really respond to her talking. Kate seems shallow and bossy. In a way that he doesn’t like. She takes way too long on his hair, and spends a lot of the time not so subtly flirting with him; he doesn’t respond. He does have to admit, she’s good at making it look appropriate for the movie. Artfully tousled. “Thanks,” he grunts when she lets him go. The old him would have asked her out. Or, more likely, just asked her to sleep with him. He’s not that man anymore, hasn’t been for awhile. It wouldn’t be fair to you, when you’re sharing the room with him. That’s what he tells himself.

Not to mention, he doesn’t gel with her vibe or her personality. No, best to just keep his distance. She’ll get the hint sooner or later.

On his days off filming — or on days where filming starts late or ends early enough — you go on little sightseeing adventures together. They almost, almost, feel like dates. Dieter’s always been a touchy kind of person. You think it might be one of his love languages. You aren’t sure if it’s just Dieter being Dieter, where you are, or something more, but you are starting to feel like more than what you’re supposed to be with him. Especially the past couple of mornings when you had woken up and Dieter, who had started on the other side of the massive king-sized bed, had made his way to your side of the bed in his sleep, apparently needing to be closer to you. You’d woken up these past few mornings with his chest against your back, Dieter sound asleep. One morning when he’d woken up, you’d been facing him on your side. It could have just been your imagination, but you were sure that for a split second, his eyes had flickered down to your lips. And were you dreaming or did he lean in just a fraction for a second before getting up before his call time?

Today, you’re doing a self-guided tour of an old castle from the early Middle Ages, his hand in yours the entire time. At one point, he says something funny. You laugh and he smiles, his eyes crinkling, and he kisses you on the forehead. 

“You two make such a cute couple,” says another person on the tour in French. You don’t know enough French to know what she’s saying but understand two, cute and couple and can glean what she’s saying. Not knowing enough to dispute her claim and say that you and Dieter are just friends, despite the glitch in your mind returning and saying that you could be more than that, you just smile and nod politely, if a bit flustered. 

Truth of the matter, though, you worry that if you and Dieter do become more than friends, it will  be a lopsided love. That you will ultimately end up caring for him more than he would care for you. Or that he would only be with you because it’s easy to, for the sake of convenience. It would never work

You shake your head, trying to clear these intrusive thoughts. 

On Dieter’s end, it’s been almost four weeks of filming this movie. Kate still hasn’t picked up the hint that he’s not interested in her. He’s started name-dropping you more and more frequently around her, hoping that she’ll pick up that he’s interested in someone else, interested in you. He’s starting to realize that he maybe doesn’t just want to be friends with you. He once heard that love is friendship on fire. Dieter’s always admired you, your sense of humour, your kindness and empathy for other people. The way you always cheer him on because you’re genuinely happy for his successes and want him to do his best. Never asking for anything in return. It’s everything he admires. He’s never felt this sort of connection to anyone before. Not even Annika, who he had dated for a long time (at least by his standards). He didn’t invite you on this trip to get laid, not at all. Nor had he done it out of pity, like he sometimes worries is what you think. He’d done it because he wanted to do something nice for you. It was never his intention to fall for you, but here he is.

As Dieter is, though, he got a bit stuck in realizing that he’s in love with you. He thinks he’s been in love with you from the beginning, or almost from the beginning. He just got stuck in realizing. It always takes a while for his brain to catch up with what’s happening. But being here, with you, doing all these things, sharing a bed on purpose, has unlodged something in him. He thinks you might feel the same way. At least he hopes that you feel the same way. He knows you’re happy being his friend, maybe that’s all you think this relationship is. 

Sooner or later, you’re going to have to deal with this. 

- - - - 

There’s only one more day of shooting, tomorrow. It’s an early call time. The wrap party is planned and paid for, all ready for tomorrow night.  You’ve worked really hard on it. It is not over the top. Just something more than what was originally planned. “Have you ever considered doing event planning?” Dieter had asked when you had put the finishing touches on the plans. 

It was something new, but you enjoyed it. It gives a sense of purpose. You’ve always been organized, you like coordinating things like this. “Not until just now,” you’d answered. 

You’re sitting on the couch, looking over your plans for the party. Dieter sits next to you and plays with his friendship bracelet. It’s a silly little five-dollar thing, but he loves it. To him it is priceless. 

“Why do you still wear that?” you ask, shutting your laptop and placing it on the coffee table. 

Dieter looks up from the bracelet. “Because it’s one of my most prized possessions, that’s why. You gave it to me.” 

It had been a bit of a gag gift. When you first met, you’d talked about how difficult it was to make friends as an adult. “As a kid,” you’d said, “it’s so easy to make friends. You find someone that you share the same interests in and make friendship bracelets for each other. Boom, bang. Friends. It’s kind of hard to give a friendship bracelet to an adult.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Dieter had countered. “If someone gave me a friendship bracelet now, I’d know for sure that we were friends.” 

A few months had gone by, you’d forgotten about the conversation until you were out and about and saw them for sale at a vendors’ sale. You’d gotten one for Dieter and given it to him as a belated birthday gift. 

That had been four years ago. 

“You’re my friend, babe. My best friend,” Dieter says now, licking his lips, bracing himself for something. “But… it’s more than that now, isn’t it?” he asks. 

You think you might be going into cardiac arrest. “Um… what?” you ask. 

“You know what, honey. I know what, too. I think we both know what’s really happening between us.” 

Weakly, not even believing it yourself, you say, “We’re just friends, Dieter.” 

Dieter shakes his head, moving closer to you on the sofa. “We’re not just friends and you know it.” 

You’re about to say something, but you’re cut off by Dieter’s mouth pressing against yours. You must be dreaming. He swallows the gasp that you let out before you respond to his frankly yearning kiss. Something that you, and evidently he, has wanted for a very long time. 

“Dieter,” you whisper when he eventually breaks the kiss for a breath. “Are you–are you saying what I think you are?” 

Dieter kisses you again, more sweetly this time around. “I like you,” he murmurs. “And I don’t think friends kiss like that.” 

He pulls away from you for a minute, giving you space. You don’t want space. You want him on you. In you. You grasp the collar of his soft, worn-in t-shirt and pull him back, meeting his lips in a kiss that tells him just exactly what you think of his confession. 

Dieter pulls you into his lap. You can feel just how much he wants you. The effect you’re having on his body. You would say it’s too soon, but this has been in the making for four years at this point. 

Your hands scrabble at his shirt. His hands go up under your shirt, his fingers roaming your back around where your bra should be. His eyes widen when he realizes that you’re not wearing one. “That’s no fair, taking off the bra is one of the best parts about foreplay,” he whines against your neck in between kisses, nibbles, and grazes of his teeth. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” you reply, your hand roaming southward. Dieter hisses when your hand makes contact. 

There’s no way you can have sex on the couch. You could, but as Dieter says when he takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom, “there is a perfectly good, perfectly large bed that we haven’t been putting to proper use.” 

Which is how you find yourself spread out on the king-sized bed, Dieter on top of you. His pupils are blown with want for you. He can’t believe this is really happening. Neither can you. His shirt is off. His perpetually rumpled hair is an absolute mess. Your lips are beginning to swell, your soaked underwear a testament to how much you want this man. You almost laugh at yourself for being so incredibly stupid for not seeing or acting on this sooner. 

Dieter’s deft fingers pull away your leggings and your panties in one fell swoop, grinning when you’re laid bare for him. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful.” One of his fingers makes his way inside and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head in sheer ecstasy. How is your body going to react when it’s—? You don’t have a chance to finish that thought because he adds another finger. His mouth hovers around your thighs, his lips almost pressing but just barely. You’re already anticipating the beard burn later. And then, after several minutes of teasing, his mouth presses down on you, right where you want it to and you nearly die of pleasure. 

Not that you’d ever really given it much thought, but it makes perfect sense that Dieter is a generous lover. He’s been nothing but generous the entire time you’ve known him. 

He grunts in satisfaction, his words muffled to the point that you can’t understand them, let alone process what he’s saying. Of course he runs his mouth during sex, even when it can’t be understood. 

When he comes up once he’s satisfied with your own satisfaction, he rests his head against your chest. “I feel like this isn’t fair,” you murmur once you find your voice. 

He gives a worried frown. “What isn’t fair?” 

You gesture to yourself and to him. “I’m naked and you’re still wearing your jammie pants. I feel like there’s an unfairness to this.” 

Dieter’s eyes glint. His smile is so bright it’s like he’s being lit from the inside. “All in good time. I’m just letting you catch your breath.” 

Sure enough, within a few minutes, even if he doesn’t give you a lot of time, you’re helping him take his pants off, suddenly eternally grateful that there are condoms in the bedside drawers courtesy of the hotel. 

Dieter pushes inside of you, biting down gently on your shoulder, and then he starts to move and holy shit, you think you might just die from how good it feels. 

“Take what you need,” he gasps between thrusts. “My pretty girl. Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking pretty,” he continues to mutter. 

The two of you don’t last long. The only sounds in the room are the slapping of your hips, gasps and grunts and sighs of pleasure, and skin on skin. You suck marks into his neck, not giving a shit at all that his makeup artist is going to have to cover them up tomorrow morning. 

“Dieter, I–I–I think I’m close.” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in even more. Hips stutter against each other as Dieter’s movements become less pronounced. 

You cry out, burying your face in the crook of his neck, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck as you reach that peak that you created together at the same time as Dieter does. 

Sweat-glistened and delightfully sore, you start to laugh. 

“What’s so funny, beautiful?” asks Dieter. 

“We are such dumbasses for not doing this sooner.” You don’t say anything else, not daring to jinx it. Tonight feels impossible, like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

Dieter strokes your shoulder, a teasing glint in his eye that you can’t see. “Oh, don’t worry about that, baby. I fully intend on making up for lost time.” 

- - - - 

The alarm goes off far too soon. You are warm, safe in Dieter’s arms. If it weren’t from the ache between your legs, you’d say that the events of last night — and twice again in the early hours of the morning—were a dream. You moan in protest and bury your face in his chest

“Baby,” Dieter groans. “I gotta get up.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his lips in a sleepy kiss. He sighs into it. “I gotta go, babe. But I’ll see you at the wrap party. There’s something that I gotta talk to you about.”

The old Dieter would have just assumed that you were together after having sex. You deserve more than that. He wants to ask you properly to be his girlfriend, wants to ask you out on a date that’s actually a date. Preferably while you’re still here in France, the most romantic country in the world. Not much can top that for a first official date. 

You’re still too sleepy to respond with more than a, “Mmmkay.” Dieter kisses you again and then, very begrudgingly, gets up for the last day of filming.

Kate notices his hickies almost immediately. She narrows her eyes. “Hmmm,” she mutters to herself. Dieter’s still caught up from last night and what happened that he neither notices nor cares, too excited at the prospect of asking you to be his girlfriend properly.

You spend most of the day doing final preparations for the wrap party, smiling every time you think about last night. You hope whatever Dieter wants to talk to you about is good news. 

Filming wraps early in the afternoon. You’re out doing errands when Dieter returns to the hotel to take a nap, shower, and change. You left a little note for him on the pillow telling him that you will see him this evening. 

The party is in full swing when Dieter arrives. You’ve done such a good job of organizing it, not that he doubted you for a second. He sees you at the buffet table. You excuse yourself from the conversation, heading towards the washroom. Before he can follow you, he’s intercepted. 

Kate stands in front of him. She’s wearing a glittering black dress and a look of determination. 

“Kate,” he greets politely. “How are you?”

Kate skips the niceties. “Dieter, I’m tired of being subtle, I guess you prefer more upfront than what I’ve been giving.”

Dieter’s insides twist with dread and discomfort. “Kate, I’m sorry if—”

She barrels over his unnecessary apology: “You’re cute, Dieter. I think we would look really great together.” That’s not presumptuous at all, Dieter thinks sarcastically. “So I think we should cut the bullshit. You didn’t need to make me jealous with those tacky hickies this morning. I say we just go for it, get to know each other outside of the makeup trailer.” Kate rests a hand on his arm, in an attempt to be seductive.

Dieter feels absolutely nothing. Removing her hand from his arm gently but firmly, he says, “I’m flattered. But I’m not interested. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, even though I’m pretty sure I’ve been clear from the beginning.”

Kate wasn’t expecting that. She blinks. “I see. So then, who gave you those?” 

Dieter smiles and turns around to where you’ve returned. You look confused to see him with Kate. “See that beautiful woman right over there? She’s the one who planned all this. She’s also my best friend and the love of my life. She makes me so fucking happy. Happier than I probably have any right being. But that’s okay. I love her. You’re… a nice-looking girl, I’m sure you’ll make someone very happy. It’s just not me. Sorry,” he says, not sounding or feeling at all apologetic. 

He leaves her standing there, gaping at the notion that someone would turn her down. 

“Hey, baby,” Dieter greets you, kissing your forehead. “You did such a great job with this party, I’m so proud of you.” 

You beam at him. “Thanks, Dee. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Dieter doesn’t think that’s true; you could do anything. “Um. What was that all about?” you ask, pointing over at who you’re pretty sure is the makeup artist, who’s now talking to one of the other cast members, a barely stifled look of incredulity and annoyance on her face. You’d been momentarily insecure when you came back from fixing your dress, that what Dieter wanted to tell you was that last night had been a one-time thing. But then Dieter looked at you like you were the sun and all your insecurities had melted away. 

“Oh. That. I was telling her about you and how I’m in love with you.” 

You have to blink a few times before a coy grin grows on your lips. “Is that all?” you ask.

Dieter grins, then turns serious, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s all I told her. But there’s more I want to tell you. I, um,” he clears his throat, “I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to make this a real thing. I know I’m not the best at this, but I want to make it work with you. I also want to take you on a date. A proper one where we both know it is one. What do you say?” he asks, heart in his throat.

You gaze at him wonderingly for a moment before you take his hand in yours, lean up and kiss him. 

“Is—is that a yes?” Dieter asks nervously. 

With a contagious smile, you nod. “Yes, Dieter. Yes.” 

You kiss him again, beyond grateful that you were lucky enough to fall in love with your weird, beautiful, wonderful best friend. This isn’t a glitch, this is meant to be; you were always meant to be more than just friends and you couldn’t be more lucky that it’s with him.

The End

--- taglist in reblog.

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #my fic #my writing

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Liability- Part 1

Pairing: College Student!Rafe Cameron x Cousenlor!Reader

Summary: Rafe gets himself into a bit of a bind with one of the professors at Duke and is forced to see an on-campus counselor, someone he was very set on hating. But she's extremely hard to hate.

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, mentions of drugs.

A/n: First of all, I want to mention that this fic is an AU type fic; it will only include Rafe's mildly destructive behavior and daddy issues but this does not follow allow with the Outerbanks storyline. Second of all, this fic would not be a thing without the lovely @storytellingwitht feeding into my addiction lmao. You guys are amazing. I love you all!

“So, what brought you to Duke?” 

My head tilts curiously at him, eyes trailing over his frame as he desperately tries to not tremble like a leaf. He’s either drunk, high or anxious (or all of the above), his eyes flickering around the dimly lit room, his eyes momentarily locking with the lava lamp in the corner of the room. When he looks around, he chooses to not look directly at me but instead at the wall behind me, knee bouncing anxiously as he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. 

He resembles something close to agitation or anxiety and has since he walked in the room twenty minutes ago, not caring to say hi or introducing himself but instead just sat down on the couch across from me and decided to take his sentence in silence. It’s to be expected, especially from someone with his track record. I heard a little bit about him from the other faculty in the office and his professors, mixed reviews on his behavior but how, miraculously, his grades show the opposite.

Crossing my legs, I ready the notebook in my lap, pen tapping against the paper as I wait for him to answer my nth question of the night. After a few minutes of uncomfortable and unfortunate silence, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath before adjusting himself on the couch, eyes flickering up to look at the ticking clock on the wall.

“‘s a good college.” He shrugs simply, eyes flickering up to mine briefly as I let out a small sigh of relief at the sound of his deep voice. His back cracks as he leans back into the couch, biting at his lip as he watches my pen scribble aimlessly across my notepad. I can tell he wants to ask what I’m writing, which is the reason why I lifted the pen to draw a simple smiley face in the first place, knowing the thought of me analyzing him would drive him crazy.

“I’ve seen your grades, you should be proud.” The shocked uptick of his brows makes me laugh quietly to myself, taken back by his response to the simple praise. He nods sternly, a faint blush spreading across the tops of his cheekbones. “So why the self sabotage?” I quiz and his brows furrow cutely.

“What?”

“Keying a professor's car?” His eyes immediately roll at the recollection of his transgressions, the events that brought him to my office three times a week. There’s a part of me that thinks he’s embarrassed, eyes low as he toys with the thick ring on his thumb but I can see the desperate need to defend himself behind his eyes, but instead he chooses the path of least resistance. 

“Got angry.” He answers simply but it’s not enough for me.

“Yeah, you have a history of that.” I sigh, placing his records on the table in front of him, giving up the gimmick of ‘good cop’, trying to get through to him as a counselor, but it took very little time to realize my coworkers were right- he’d never trust my authority- the little authority I have. He picks the papers up tentatively, almost looking at me with a ‘should I be seeing this?’ look but indulges anyways, flipping through the pages with a tight jar.

Folding my legs beneath me, a sad smile spreads across my lips as he tosses the sheets back onto the table in front of me, his fists clenching in his lap. I can’t tell if his anger stems from insecurities regarding his own actions or if he’s angry that others have had a view into his darker past. I can tell that he’s a closed off guy, that he doesn’t open up unless it’s mandatory and even then, he attempts desperately to not share, to not open up. 

“Look, Rafe, you have to do this- talk to me, I mean. You’re lucky you got mandatory counseling instead of mandatory jail time.” I laugh, trying to desperately ease the tension in the room but he doesn’t crack, just stares down at the packet of paper between us with uneasy eyes. But after a few minutes, my staring breaks through his tough exterior, a heavy sigh leaving him as he finally looks up at me, taken back by my comfortable stance. He mirrors me, folding a leg over his other before tossing his hands up in surrender.

“What do you want from me?” 

“Answer the questions I’ve gotta ask you, ask questions of your own- hell, talk about football or something that’s bugging you.” He cringes at the offer, his eyes fluttering shut to briefly imagine what it would be like if he had taken the punishment the professor originally wanted to force upon him but instead he’s stuck with the peppiest counselor he’ll ever encounter. 

“Are you an actual therapist?” He asks curiously, attempting to take a jab at my credentials but my smile only grows, happy that he’s taking a step in the right direction. 

“I have a masters degree in psychology.” My finger jabs up at the wall to his left, blue eyes following my direction to three diplomas on the wall.

I certainly never expected to end up in a university, tending to the most fucked up age group in the country- my generation. I wanted to go into forensics, to get into the grittiness of the mental psyche but you’d be amazed by the messed up shit you see on college campuses- the dorms, the streets late at night, the blackmail and betrayals. Some of the students that I see, like Rafe, are in mandatory counseling, probably to heal from academic issues or destructive tendencies. But others are girls looking for a way out of toxic relationships, young students who wish so desperately to come out to their parents, or the occasional meltdown where a student just needs me to listen.

 Maybe Rafe needs someone to just listen.

Either way, I’d never go back and change anything that led me to this couch right now.

“A masters- how old are you anyways?” He asks, suddenly confused at the math as he leans towards the diploma to look at the year it was dated. With a shocked huff, he turns back to me with wide eyes, elbows resting on his knees and I let out a small bashful laugh.

“I’m 23.” 

“Oh.” He mutters, shifting in his seat before adding, “I’m 20.” A fond smile stretches across my lips at his subtle attempt to connect, his quiet voice almost boyish and innocent. I’m not sure the connection was intentional or if he’s sizing me up but either way, the realization in our closeness in age sparks something in him, his discomfort seeming to fade more and more as our times goes on.

“I know. I have your chart.” I lift the binder from beside me into the air, waving it back and forth.

“What else is in there?” He asks, fingers rubbing along his jaw as his eyes seem to focus on his name that’s spelled across the front of the binder in big black letters.

“You’re 20, you have a 3.6 GPA, you’re majoring in Developmental Psych- which is interesting to me.” I snort, wanting nothing but to dive deeper into his psyche and understand why a smart, handsome athlete is majoring in something as specific as developmental psychology. They say people go into a psych degree to learn something about themselves, their past or their family. So, in Rafe’s case, which is it? “You’re a tight-end on our varsity football team, you came from the Outer Banks-” There’s a sense of tension that thickens the atmosphere around us at the mention of his hometown, his shoulders rolling and head tilting so he can direct his attention out the window to look at the setting sun,  his strong jaw squared. “I can also see that you spent two nights in jail, you’ve been arrested for drug possession and illegal possession of a weapon-” 

“You’ve got my full rap-sheet over there?” He snaps, voice no longer playful but instead he’s seething, brows furrowed as I pause, eyes widening at him briefly, almost asking him ‘may I continue’ without actually saying it. I fight the urge to ask him all of my questions at once; ‘why are you such a troublemaker?’, ‘why the need for drugs?’, ‘why’d you leave your hometown?’- but instead I bite my tongue.

“You’re not giving me anything else to go off of.” I whisper tiredly, anxiously looking up at the clock, wondering if we’ll even end up getting anywhere in this session and/or if I’ll be able to count it as a part of his punishment. A look of realization passes through his expression, his handsome face relaxing with a gentle nod. “You’re not exactly an open book.” He smiles sadly to himself, eyes focused down at his lap.

Take the path of least resistance, Rafe.

“What do you wanna know?” He gives in, clasping his hands in front of him as I grin, prepared to take full advantage of my power and make him laugh, something I’ve heard he doesn’t do often.

“What’s your favorite color-”

“Oh now you’ve overstepped.” He says, dead serious, but after a few moments of silence he breaks into quiet laughter, a shocked scoff leaving me at his teasing. “My favorite color- really? I keyed a car and this is my punishment?” He asks incredulously, scooting to the edge of his seat, the distance between us only lessening as I bite back a nervous smile, focusing on the job at hand- my job at hand.

“The point of counseling is to have breakthroughs and to form a relationship based on trust and open communication.” He cringes at my explanation, a look of discomfort passing through his eyes as he sucks in a breath. “You don’t seem like the trusting type but I’m willing to take my time.” My voice comes out ten times more flirtatious than I intended it to but it causes his whole body to pause, eyes looking up at me with a teasing look, the gears behind his eyes to turn. “To be honest, I have a bit of a habit of growing on people.” He snorts, biting at his lip.

“I gathered that.” He breathes, running his fingers through his hair before giving it a small tug.

“Are you saying I’m growing on you, Cameron- it’s been like a half an hour.” I tease, loving the innocent blush that covers his pale cheeks as he instantly tries to deny, head shaking immediately in defiance. It’s hard to imagine him doing all of the bad things I know he’s done, things that are more extreme and way beyond vandalism. He seems almost awkward at times, boyish and bashful as he’s slowly sinking into the comfort of my office and my prying- far from the man depicted in his records. 

“New record?”

“New record for sure.”

“Does that mean I’m free to go?” He quizzes and he blows out a breath, rubbing his clammy hands against the tops of his jeans. I ponder letting him go ten minutes early but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite ready to set him free from my clutches just yet.

“Sure.” His eyes light up at my agreement but before he can stand, I hold up a pointed finger at him, urging him to sit his butt back down. “On one condition.” He agrees almost immediately before knowing my true demand, head bobbing in an agreeable nod.

“Shoot.”

“Hand over your phone.” His face pales at my instructions, eyes staring at my open palm that sticks out to him, waiting for him to do what I said. He looks like a deer in headlights right before a catastrophic crash, tongue slipping out to wet his cracked lips as he stutters.

“Wha-”

“Give it.” I ask again, stern voice forcing a shaky, nervous laugh from him as he goes fishing in his pocket. He hands it over to me without any questions, his eyes watching me like a hawk as I go into his contacts, adding myself as ‘best counselor’.  “Only call or text if you’re having an emotional emergency and/or feel like doing something mildly self destructive.” I laugh but as I hand back his phone, he just shakes his head, brows furrowed in confusion as he stares down at the contact. 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” I ask and he shrugs. “Why care?” The nod he gives me is almost sad, my heart aching in my chest at the thought of him being so out of touch when it comes to having people that care about him, people that want to see him succeed and to not key professors' cars. “Because, it’s what I do. Get used to it.” Slipping his phone back into his pocket, I make my way to my feet and he does the same, awkwardly shuffling towards the door. His hand hesitates to reach out towards the handle, neck craning to look back at me with a desperate expression.

“You know that’s like asking a fish to breathe air, right?”

“Better learn.” I shrug, crossing my arms across my chest as he huffs, pouting like a child. Reaching out, I push him playfully towards the door as he groans, head tilting back at his steps out into the busy hallway. “Behave!”

“You got it!”What a liar.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy

@steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee @storytellingwitht @savageneversaw @admiringlove @witxhy-lexx @starlightandfairies

#rafe #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #au!rafe #au!rafe x reader #the outerbanks #the outerbanks fic #the outerbanks au

[one-winged-dreams]

Cold

ship: what do angels dream of (angeal x adriel) source: final fantasy vii au: monster au word count: 445

I DIIIID a fic. To go along with the new AU design. There are a FEW fics I want to write for this AU for self-indulgent comfort purposes but have this sickeningly sweet one first.

tag list: @dearly-beeloved @camellias-and-coriander @rebel-wolf13 @sunstar-of-the-north @mahitoslittlebird @goldenworldsabound @edencantstopfallininlove @sosoftandsweet @dorothys-wife @faerie-circle-ships @kylars-princess @little-miss-selfships

"You look very beautiful today," Angeal's voice gently soothed the creature whose head lay resting in his lap, "Just like always."

Its ebon locks alone covered the extent of his folded legs, cascading down his knees and onto the ground where it spread in a wide spanse beneath its marble-white form. And just like marble, the front arms remained as stone crossed over its chest, unmoveable and keeping that ribbon of gold cinched around its throat.

But the secondary set of arms lay in an asymmetrical manner, one splayed out on the ground next to it, the other reaching up to place its sizeable-in-comparison hand upon Angeal's shoulder.

Adriel was substantially larger than Angeal in this form, the only manner he could be so. Angeal's own Penance form towered over even this 8+ foot tall monster, and it was only when Adriel and Adriel alone became so that he was the largest.

But as sizeable as he was, Angeal never minded these quiet moments where Adriel lay in his lap to the best of his abilities - if not just his head. As he continued to stroke his hair, running his fingers through the silky strands, he wondered if Adriel found the sunlight cascading down upon them bright. Though tears of gold ran down his face in a continuous stream that never seemed to drip, wings took the place of eyes in this instance.

Angeal supposed it didn't matter, Adriel seemed to be enjoying the warmth and fresh air well enough.

As if to confirm this claim, a soft sigh left the monster's lips, an echo of chimes to the ears. This brought a smile to Angeal's face.

"Warm for this time of year isn't it?" he mused, continuing to caress, "I hear it's going to get much colder soon, so best enjoy it while we can."

Adriel responded with whispered mumbles of not-words that echoed and chimed, just as his sigh had. And though Angeal did not understand him, he acknowledged that Adriel was happy with how things were now.

"That's my sweet angel," Angeal continued to speak, soothing and grounding, "When you come back, I promise I'll keep you warm. You're a bit chilly yourself right now," he followed with a chuckle.

Another ethereal breath spread Angeal's smile, crossing his right arm over himself to place his hand atop the one that lingered upon his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. You know I don't mind," Angeal continued to fill the silence for the both of them, giving that still-pliable marble-esque hand a gentle squeeze, "Let's just enjoy the sun for now."

Which they would ultimately proceed to do. Up until Zack showed up.

#self ship #self shipping #virus fics #what do angels dream of #aus

[starlit-dreaming]

when honestly you can't recall (Baxter Ward/MC) p1

Rating: M

Romantic Ships: Baxter Ward/Original Character(s); Derek Suárez/Leandra "Lee" Last

Platonic Ships: Main Character | Jamie Last & Leandra "Lee" Last, Main Character | Jamie Last & Original Character(s)

Tags: Unplanned Pregnancy

TL;DR: A self-indulgent Single Parent AU. Lee has a better relationship with my MC compared to Liz. I wrote this when the Baxter DLC was still in beta, so I opted to avoid writing spoilers (for now) and to avoid rewriting moments of the Jude/Scott wedding.

A/N: Cross-Posted on AO3 under the same title (@ Starlit_Dreaming). Also, obligatory tag @arcosoffireheart because they deadass made a post yesterday, right after I took a break from editing this first part and just needed to reformat it before posting. This fic is still very much a wip but it's CRAZY that they wanted this au too, even if it's not entirely the same in how they might've imagined it to go.

Links: [1] | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary:

Everyone assumes that Gabby is exactly like her mother, but Rosaline will always see the traces of her daughter’s father. The shape of her eyes, how fussy she gets if there’s even a hint of conflict, every moment her daughter is calm and serene in her arms, the sweet and gentle smiles. 

Her daughter does not have her black hair, either. Wavy hair, yes, but it was not fully black and her father has only ever dyed his hair.

It’s a miracle that nobody notices their similarities.

Including Baxter himself.

// In which Rosaline ends up becoming a single mother in the aftermath of her and Baxter’s summer fling. Some things change. Some things don’t.

——————————————————————

Part 1: we're just strangers tonight

——————————————————————

Two Months Ago

Beginning of Summer

Step 4: Age 23

———————————

“How did we even get here?”

She chuckled bitterly, purple eyes flickering up to meet dark brown before averting her gaze from his. Whatever expression he had on his face after the question was asked, she didn’t know, and she didn’t want to know.

Not any more.

They both stayed this way, swaying along to the music and the beat, dancing in tune with one another as they’ve always done. It was a song and dance they’ve been intimately familiar with over the years. Every summer since the first time they kissed, they would meet by pure coincidence, and every summer’s end, they’d say their goodbyes with the belief that they wouldn’t find each other again.

Most would call it romantic. Most would say it’s lovely. Most would claim it to be fate.

She would say it was tiresome.

And he… says nothing to her.

Good. Rosaline is quite certain that she prefers it that way, swallowing down the bitter and the hurt. She’s not sure that she even wants to hear anything he has to say at this point. Even if he claims that he’ll talk to her after the wedding is over, she’s very much doubtful. Avoiding important topics has always been his specialty, and she’s sick of it. Sick of his avoidance, sick of his damn smile, and sick and tired of how he still makes her heart skip a beat.

Rosaline isn’t a lovestruck fresh-out-of-high-school girl any more.

Every time, since she was 13, every meeting she would fall for his charms again. Every time, he would sweep her off her feet like a perfect puzzle piece. Every time, he would leave, again, and again, and again. Every time, she would accept the situation. She would forgive him for cutting contact.

Every single fucking time they meet, she would smile at him and accept it, only to cry and nurse her broken heart the second he left.

And maybe it is better they leave it at that. After everything they’ve been through together, everything they’ve done, she’s tired. Tired of feeling that maybe he’ll change his mind, tired of feeling hopeful and falling for him every single time, tired, tired, tired. She’s tired of crying over him, of accepting his goodbyes, of having her words go in through one ear and out the other.

She was tired of him telling her that they wouldn’t work out, if they were to ever try long-distance. That he was never suited for the long-term. That she shouldn’t be with him.

That he didn’t deserve her.

Maybe, Rosaline thinks solemnly to herself, this should be the last time.

———————————

Then

Mid-Summer

Step 2: Age 13

———————————

The first time they meet is at a summer soirée hosted at The Cypress.

She’s a little bored, because she’s letting her moms have a chance of a little mini-date without her third-wheeling. And while she does want to socialize for a bit, she feels a bit too ansty — dancing it is.

It starts with a tap on her shoulder, putting an abrupt halt from her search for a dance partner to instead focus on the boy with black hair and a boyish smile, with brilliant brown eyes. He was roughly around her age — certainly taller than her, which made her feel less self-conscious about herself — and he was, admittedly, very cute.

(If anyone were to ask, however, she would claim that Mr Holden is the most attractive guy in her life, but that is neither here nor there.)

While she recognized several faces of the teens her age due to accompanying her moms to The Cypress events over the years, she didn’t recognize him. Rosaline quite likes meeting new people, so she smiles back and takes this meeting in strides.

He’s dressed in a typical formal suit, with his hair tousled in a way that made her heart race — like those romance novels that Lee gushes over with pink cheeks and a wide grin. This boy was like a mysterious prince swooping in to steal her heart, and she thinks that she’ll be content with just the thought alone.

.

(Maybe, she will think, years down the line, this is when she first falls.)

.

And then, he asks her if she’s going to dance.

And then, she tells him that she was looking for a partner.

And then, he holds out his hand, smiling and asks her to be his partner for a song.

How charming, she thinks, smiling wide as she takes his hand. They dance, with her allowing him to take the lead — she knows how to dance both parts, but likes to follow rather than lead. She enjoys the song and dance, the way they move gracefully and fluidly in time with the music.

Dark brown eyes visibly brightened after they dance for a few seconds, and it’s likely the same reason why she’s vastly enjoying herself in that very moment: he’s a fellow dancer.

By no means was Rosaline a competitor, but she always insisted on dancing with someone when given a chance. Not a lot of people in her life were great at dancing — Cove only knew the basics because of her, meanwhile Elizabeth practically hated being in the same space as her most days and only tolerated her on the other days. Her moms danced, but Ma was too tall and Mom liked to tease her a little too much. Lee was probably the only one who would entertain her dancing demands without teasing.

It was the first time in a long while that she’s had so much fun dancing with another person outside of her classes. Especially someone outside of her social circles.

And it ends just as abruptly as it had started.

He doesn’t really stay for a small conversation, he doesn’t even give her his name. All that happens is him commenting on her legs, and then never turning back.

That’s how their first meeting ends, but it’s her first actual crush.

(Lee is the only person who knows.)

———————————

Then

End of Summer

Step 3: Age 18

———————————

Lee is the only person she calls.

Not Derek, who is literally miles and miles away, who, out of all her friends, is the only one with his life put together apart from needing therapy. The only one who knows how to give some semblance of comfort from a distance.

Not Miranda, who would offer her soothing words of comfort over the phone, who won’t push her to talk, who will be there and offer to listen if she needs it.

Not Terri, who would understand what it’s like, to have someone reject their offer of friendship due to how their personalities can be considered “too much”. She would offer to talk and talk and talk, to help her drown the thoughts away with fun conversations and get her to laugh and smile. A temporary sweep before confronting it later.

Not her moms, who live in the same house as her, who would offer a shoulder to cry on and warm hugs of comfort, with soothing words. And if things were different, if Rosaline had told her moms that she was serious about Baxter, that she was thinking about their relationship in the long-term, maybe she would’ve woken them up.

Not Liz, who had already left on her plane to go back to college, who — Rosaline cannot talk to her, nor does she want to confide in her sister regarding the matter. She can’t, and she loves her sister, she cares for her deeply and keeps her secrets, but Liz was never there for her when she needed her the most, even if her own sister doesn’t know that.

Not Cove, who is, well, the most surprising of them all. The boy who literally lives next door, her best friend for life, her brother in all but blood and official paperwork. Cove, who would literally come rushing to her via climbing in through her window, who would hug her, cry along with her, and tell her that she’s worth it. If she laid out her broken heart and its broken pieces, he would try his best to help her fix it. Even if he’s already asleep and in bed by then, he would come to help in whatever way he could. He would offer to call Baxter, to take it upon himself to try and mend her broken heart and…

It’s Lee. It’s Lee who she calls in the quiet evening in the aftermath of it all. She’s sitting on her bed, her hands trembling as she hugs her pillow, tears dripping down her cheeks and — well, she’s in shock, maybe, the reality finally hitting her. It’s Lee, who Rosaline wants a hug from, who Rosaline wants to hear words of comfort from, who Rosaline needs to talk to.

“Lee,” she sniffed, and that’s all it takes for her cousin.

“I’ll be right there,” was all she said, keeping her phone on. Rosaline isn’t sure why her cousin hasn’t hung up yet, so she can focus on driving, but Rosaline doesn’t make any move to end the call either. At some point, she hears a door opening and closing, the clack of a door being locked, the slam of a car door, the twist of a key inside a car, the rev of a car’s engine, and the clack of her phone being placed down. It was oddly comforting, if she had to be honest.

Lee didn’t live too far away; just a 10-minute drive without any traffic. Maybe she’ll break a few laws if she speeds over to her, but Rosaline doesn’t mention it.

She keeps sniffing, and her eyes are burning from the tears, and her cheeks are uncomfortably warm and cold and wet from the tears. Her pillow’s damp, and it — it sucks. It fucking sucks.

“We broke up,” she croaked. She’s not sure if Lee heard her through the muffled pillow.

All she hears is the sound of a moving car.

(Liz would say “I’m going to kill him,” before coming to hug and comfort Rosaline by saying that he’s not worth it. Cove, her parents, Derek, and Miranda would apologize to her when they all know they’re not to blame, give her a hug and say that things will get better. Terri would ask why, would ask too many questions that she just can’t fucking answer and—)

“I was worried about that,” Lee softly admitted.

Because it’s Lee, who Rosaline had poured countless insecurities that laid bare between them over the years. And Rosaline had been worried that this would happen, that Baxter would leave her, that he would dump her for something else, maybe even somebody else, but the reality is so much worse.

Because it’s Baxter, who decided that their relationship wasn’t worth the long-term hardships. It’s Baxter, who says it’s just a flight of fancy.

It’s Baxter who…

“He doesn’t think we’ll last if… if we went long-distance.”

“…I figured,” Lee gently answered, her voice so soft that Rosaline almost didn’t hear it.

“I… I want to stay with him so bad. I thought we could’ve… I… fuck! Sorry, Lee, I’m— I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” her cousin firmly, yet softly said. “It’s not your fault for feeling the way you do. I’m here for you, Rosa, and if you need time, then take as much time as you need.”

“I just… I love him,” the words come out rushed, a quiet whisper admitted into the dim night. “I fell for him so badly in three months. Fucking hell, Lee, I love him.”

“…I know you do.”

(If she called anyone else, she knows that they would all try to help and help and help, to try and fix her broken heart. Few might think that she’ll move on, after all, it was only three months.

But Lee understands her, she’d see the broken pieces and leave it as is — she won’t sweep it aside, hide it under a rug, or try to patch her heart back together. She’d help her pick up the pieces and set it aside, leaving her to deal with it when she’s ready because her relationship with Baxter was doomed to fail the second he didn’t want it any more. She won’t assure her that she deserves better, that Baxter isn’t worth an ounce of her affections.

Because Rosaline knows this better than anyone else. She knows that she deserves better than being dumped just because Baxter didn’t want to try. She knows that she deserves to have a little bit of happiness.

They would all try to fix her.

Lee would not.)

“I’m here.”

And it’s Lee, who rushes to the house even though it’s far too late in the night for it to be convenient for her, and gives Rosaline a warm and comforting hug the second she opens the door for her cousin, and it’s Lee, who tells her that she’ll get through this, that it wasn’t her fault.

And it’s Rosaline, who breaks down in Lee’s arms at 2 in the morning over a boy who doesn’t want her, who thinks that their relationship isn’t worth the distance.

(She does feel bad that Lee’s plans for the following day were set back by this incident, but the understanding smile and a warm hug goodbye was enough to reassure her that it will be okay. That she will be okay, just as Lee can be okay with this change in plan.

What happens next, however, is a surprise like all the rest.)

———————————

Then

Beginning of Autumn

Step 3: Age 18

———————————

What happens next, strangely, is a surprise unlike all the rest.

She knew that she was going to end up meeting a former friend of her birth mother. Ma and mom both told her that her birth mother did leave her a few things with her friend back then, and that the grief of meeting her deceased friend’s child had been too much at the time for her to meet her.

But Rosaline never expected it to be Carol, the old lady who regularly appears at The Cypress, the country club her moms regularly attended. Even though she’s spoken to the elderly woman a few times, her moms often do, once Rosaline was allowed to leave their side to play or interact with kids her age, she never really gave her a second thought.

“I’m sorry,” Carol softly spoke, giving Rosaline a pained smile. “I know that perhaps I’m overstepping, but I felt that these things needed to be addressed sooner than later.”

“You were… friends with my birth parents?” Rosaline simply asks before taking a seat across from her.

She’s not like Liz, who wants to know everything about her birth family. Rosaline didn’t care, and all she knows is that her parents are dead, and she still has an untouched inheritance that she’s had access to once she turned 18. Frankly, she was content with never touching anything relating to her birth family, but with the future expansion of her family, she might have no choice.

“No, just your birth mother,” Carol shook her head. “I’m also the owner of the company you applied to.”

Well, that made this meeting all the more nerve-wracking.

“I’m not here for a formal meeting as your future boss,” she smiled reassuringly. “However, if my relationship with your moms make you uncomfortable, I would not be hurt if you chose to work with another company. There are some people who knew your mother, back when the company was much more of a small-time business, and that might make you uncomfortable to handle the comparisons that will undoubtedly occur.”

“I used to work part-time at a mall kiosk,” Rosaline stated. “I can handle the discomfort that comes with dealing with strangers.”

That made Carol smile with mirth in her eyes, “That’s good.”

“Um… why did you want to meet me all of a sudden?”

“You’re an adult now,” Carol softly states. “And I… I still have your birth mother’s belongings. I wasn’t sure if I should’ve gotten rid of it, since there isn’t a will discussing an inheritance, or anything like that.”

That felt… odd. Even though she knew her birth mom passed away, and that she found the idea of someone she doesn’t know being her birth mom to be unthinkable, she thought it was unexpected. Didn’t people normally have a will? Sure, Rosaline didn’t have one yet, but she was thinking of it…

It felt a bit awkward to ask, and maybe… maybe her birth mother was younger than she thought.

‘…there’s no will…’

———————————

~1 Year Ago

Beginning of Summer

In-Between Steps 3 & 4: Age 22

———————————

If there’s a will, then there’s a way.

It comes to no surprise to her that the moment she takes her daughter out of her toddler seat, the second she places her daughter down for a moment to rummage through her purse, her daughter darts off. That was negligent of her, she had to admit — no matter how calm Gabrielle was, she was still only three and can act like a hyperactive puppy.

Her daughter was normally well-behaved, but there were only so many people she would run off to. Where’d she learn that behaviour from?

Cove, probably.

“Auntie Lee! Uncle Dare!”

Of course.

Rosaline let out a fond sigh, watching as her toddler fled to her cousin and her friend. She then smiled, watching as Gabrielle cling to Lee’s leg, babbling and rambling about her day and squealing the second Derek swoops in and picks the girl up.

“Hello to you, too, Brielle!” Lee cooed, smiling wide as Derek held her in his arms.

“Heya Gabby,” Derek grinned.

“Hi,” she greeted, purple eyes bright as she giggled.

“Hello lovebirds,” Rosaline greeted with a teasing smile. “You’re lucky that you were there, otherwise I’d be scolding Brielle for running off without me.”

“Uh oh, looks like we saved you, Gabby,” Derek grinned, tapping the toddler on the nose, causing her to giggle.

“Rosa!” Lee squealed, hugging Rosaline right away. “Thanks so much for coming!”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she hummed, pulling back from the hug to look at her cousin happily. “Congratulations on the engagement. You’re both totally lucky to have me in your life,” she grinned, poking Lee’s cheek.

Lee grinned at that, “And you’re as modest as always, Rosa.”

“Never change, gal,” Derek laughed as Rosaline gave him a hug before he handed over Gabrielle.

“Never,” Rosaline agreed, smiling as she looked at her daughter. “Next time, hold mommy’s hand when you leave the car, okay Brielle?”

“Okay, mommy,” Gabrielle nodded.

“That’s my baby!” Rosaline cooed, cuddling her daughter and making her giggle.

“Mommy, you’re smooshing me!”

“Man, she’s looking more and more like you every time I see her,” Derek commented, his arm wrapping around Lee’s shoulder as he watches the mother-daughter interaction with a smile.

“Of course she does, my god-daughter has her mother’s good genes,” Lee stated, straightening her back and puffing up her chest in clear pride.

“Yeah, yeah, no need to rub it in,” Derek laughed.

“With me and Cove as godparent candidates? Yeah, you didn’t stand a chance, babe,” Lee poked his cheek. “You’ll have to settle for godfather-in-law.”

“I think I can accept that,” he softly said, staring at Lee with a warm smile.

Rosaline was used to Derek and her cousin always being the cheerful type of people, but when they were together, there was just this look in their eyes, one that just… it felt like genuine love. Lee’s eyes shined brighter than ever before, while Derek’s eyes softened — not quite closed, but rather his eyes would be half-lidded.

Playing matchmaker for her and Derek was definitely a good move on Rosaline’s part.

(Ignoring how exhausting it was when they were kids. It didn’t help that Derek used to have a crush on her when they were teens.)

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Rosaline smiled softly. “Cove’s bummed out that he couldn’t make it tonight, but he’ll still be able to make it to the engagement party next week.”

“That’s alright, it’s just gonna be dinner with the wedding planner, since Liz, Sofiya, and my brothers can’t make it tonight, either,” Derek smiled. “It’ll just cover the basics — the classic getting to know you stuff, possible wedding themes, things we’ll need to think about for the wedding and all that. He said it was fine if we didn’t have an answer right off the bat, since we’re gonna go into details throughout our meetings. He knows that you’re a single mother, and he’s okay with her tagging along to our meetings as long as she doesn’t cause mayhem.”

“Thanks for accommodating us. You’re prepared as always,” Rosaline grinned, pinching Derek’s cheek. Brielle blinked, reaching out to poke Derek in an attempt to imitate her mother. That made Rosa laugh, causing her to lightly tap her daughter’s nose with a soft, “Boop.” Her daughter giggled.

“He is pretty reliable, isn’t he?” Lee smiled softly, cheeks pink as she looked at Derek with a loving stare. “I’m so lucky.”

“If anything, I’m the lucky one here,” Derek chuckled, sounding awfully bashful as he held Lee’s hand.

“Well, at least I’m not the only one third wheeling this time,” Rosaline laughed, looking at Brielle who tilted her head. “Isn’t that right?” she cooed at her daughter. “I’m not alone.”

“Not alone!” Brielle cheered.

Rosaline then follows Lee and Derek into the restaurant. It vaguely reminded her of The Cypress, if she had to be honest, bordering on almost casual and formal.

“He said he already grabbed a table for us close to the windows,” Derek explained, leading them down the restaurant as they weaved between the tables.

“Oh! Is that him?” Lee asked, nudging Derek as she looked at a lone man sitting at a table, staring out the window.

“Sure is,” Derek answered before calling out to the young man. “Hey, Baxter! Thanks for waiting.”

“Wait…” Lee froze, abruptly halting as she narrowed her eyes at the man, scrutinizing him. “Did you just say Baxter?”

“Huh? Yeah, I guess I forgot to tell you, huh,” Derek blinked as they both finally approached the table. “Lemme introduce you guys. Baxter, this is my fiancée and—”

“Oh my god!” Lee exclaimed, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah… of course. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Leandra. Admittedly, I should’ve put two and two together when I saw your name.”

“Wait, you already know each other?” Derek looked at the two back and forth, surprised.

“Do I know him?!” Lee looked at Derek, looking downright panicked and still in blatant disbelief. Rosaline understood that pretty well, but she’s gotten over the shock relatively quickly unlike her cousin. “Of course I do! He’s the guy who—!”

“Lee.”

Her cousin stops, glancing at Rosaline for a brief moment before calming down and taking in a deep breath in and out. When her shoulders relax, she shoots Rosaline an apologetic look before looking at Derek. She mouthed, “Later,” to which Derek frowned at.

Baxter abruptly stands up from his chair, his hand gripping the table as he looked at Rosaline with wide eyes.

Rosaline stared back at him, her expression softening for a moment.

“Mommy?” Brielle owlishly blinked, reaching a hand to tug on her mother’s hair and abruptly interrupting the quiet moment. “Do you know that purple mister?” she tilted her head, her eyes flickering back and forth between Baxter and her mother.

Rosaline winced before gently prying her hair from her daughter’s grip. “Careful, baby, it hurts mommy if you tug on mommy’s hair like that.”

“Sorry mommy.”

“It’s okay, baby. And yes, my Brielle is so smart!” Rosaline kissed her daughter’s forehead, making her giggle happily. “That’s Mr Baxter Ward. He’s the wedding planner for your Auntie Lee and Uncle Derek’s wedding.”

“Mr Batter?”

“Baxter,” she corrected with a laugh. “And he’s going to help your auntie and uncle get married,” Rosaline smiled at her daughter before looking at Lee and Derek. “He’s a fantastic planner — your wedding’s in good hands with him.”

“Are you sure?” Lee softened, completely ignoring the man in question. “You’re my maid of honour. You’ll be interacting with each other a lot, especially because you’re my dress designer…”

And, comes the unspoken words. Memories briefly flash through Rosaline’s mind, memories of sobbing into Lee’s arms, crying over a boy who left without knowing anything of her broken heart. Part of her thinks that maybe she should be enraged at him for ignoring her phone calls, but he did give her the greatest joy of her life.

Rosaline chose to become a parent.

Baxter did not.

“Lee, it’s okay. Really, don’t sweat it,” Rosaline turned to look at Baxter with a smile. “Welcome back, Baxter. Looks like we’ll be working together.”

And when she looks back at him, there’s something different in his posture. The way he looked at her was a clear indication that this was only business, that he wasn’t here for a reunion like she had once dreamt of. Yet, as his eyes land on her hand, as if searching for something, he says nothing about her, about Gabrielle.

If she were hopeful, if she was still that fresh-out-of-high-school girl, she would’ve thought that maybe he was trying to see if she had a ring on her finger. Maybe then, she could believe that maybe, just maybe they could…

He only gives her a grateful smile, an awfully hollow smile, and Rosaline drowns the thought away, smiling back at him with an equally hollow smile.

What a frightening situation she’s in.

#wynter writes #fic: when honestly you can't recall #baxter ward #our life beginnings & always #baxter x mc

[sdaomine]

'til death do us part... or 'til i kill you first

Things take a sharp turn when Marius and Vyn discover each other's secret identities. Filing a divorce is on the table, but Vyn takes matters into his own hands—after all, he'd rather end the marriage here than in court.

A/N: Finally, FINALLY done with this fic that has long been rotting in my drafts! I've been wanting to write a Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU for my favorite gay ship but lacked the time to actually finish it (but here we are!). I wrote this in 2022 but only concluded it today, AMIDST my many, many university backlogs <3 Anyway, I know some stuff here won't make sense but this is a self-indulgent fic so... yeah.

wc: 13.8k words.

==

Six years in.

Six years of a wonderful marriage. Six years of black tea and chocolate drink during early mornings. Six years of intoxicating kisses, sweet and zealous; six years of what the youngest von Hagen called the best fuck he’d ever get in his lifetime.

You see, when you marry the love of your life and spend wild, beautiful years with them, you start to think you are building your relationship’s mighty foundation—that sooner or later, the two of you would be able to finally lower those invisible walls which had always separated you, because admit it or not, there is no marriage built without deep, dark secrets.

But six years in and Marius von Hagen finds himself holding tightly onto his gun—a pretty sleek silencer he so cherished, a gift from his brother—his back pressed hard against the wall just beside the stairs, waiting.

“Hah—shit. Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his chest heavy, almost suffocating. Marius pressed one hand against his heart, feeling its erratic pace and, at this very moment, he was all but trying to calm his rapid breathing.

But then there was a quiet creak on the wooden stairs.

Marius’ eyes screwed shut. Fuck fuck fuck—

Marius threw himself to the side, hiding further beneath the wall, just in time—just in time before a series of raining bullets holed through the wooden wall and the staircase banister, which was soon followed by another round of rapid firing. Marius shook his head as he waited for it to stop.

With one arm protecting his head, Marius leaned slightly against the safer side of the house. Deep down he cursed and cursed the sheer agony of having to prop himself like that against the wall, right after he had dived into the floor like it was some massive pool of water. “Goddamn,” he cursed quietly, and however could he not? His once neatly painted Victorian walls that probably cost some other person’s soul were now ripped into shreds, the wood falling off, their deadly splinters scattered around. There were holes all over, both small and wide, and Marius took a little peek.

There he is.

Vyn Richter, Stellis’ most esteemed psychiatrist: well-mannered, elegant, so fucking pretty. Marius was in awe even when the doctor, who still wore his pearl, white coat, carried two massive rifles in both of his hands. Fucking assault rifles. Just where the fuck did you keep those in our fucking house, Vyn?

A sly smirk curved the doctor’s lips. Vyn caught a glimpse of his husband peeking through the small holes and asked, a little too seductively for Marius’ taste, “Darling, you are still alive?”

Dammit!

Vyn held back a scowl when he heard nothing. Marius used to surprise Vyn whenever he came home from work, so it was not impossible the young CEO had already switched hiding places. And so Vyn, as silently as he could, made his way down the stairs—

“Still am, baby.”

Vyn dived down the stairs instinctively,  hissing out small, foreign curses as he landed—crashed—on the floor. He helped himself up with animalistic speed and grabbed his weapons, dashing towards the room opposite the wall where Marius continued to fire his silencer gun.

The doctor clutched his side and winced. Two minutes in and he already got himself a bruise.

“Stupid brat,” he muttered sharply as he reloaded his rifle. “Whatever crossed my mind? I should have killed him that fucking night.”

==

Two nights ago.

Vyn—in his white Mercedes—took a sharp turn round the bend of his English garden, leading out of the mansion gates. He was running, no, driving away from Marius. Why? Nothing much, really. Just that after six years of marriage Marius found out that aside from being a psychiatrist, his dear husband actually worked as an assassin. Learned that Vyn was a killer from another agency, which unfortunately for Marius was PAX’s worst rival with… well, dirty work.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Marius was an experienced killer, too, a secret even the best psychiatrist in the country must have somehow missed.

So… shit.

It was supposed to be a romantic dinner date. Vyn came home earlier than usual (he had to call off his assassination schedule that night) so he could cook his husband’s favorite dinner. The ever-so-loving Vyn Richter even lit candles on the table, did some last-minute flower arrangements, all so they’d have a good time (He even had half a mind to light candles and scatter rose petals across their bedroom, for a change). It had been a while since the last time he’d eaten a proper meal with Marius, anyway.

But there was something amiss, and Vyn was upset. Upset with the fact that he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Or what could possibly go wrong.

Although he was quite certain it involved his husband. And involved he was indeed because Marius was all but suspicious that whole evening, asking this and that, inquiries Vyn himself often utilized whenever he questioned a target or a client. And he wouldn’t have been a renowned psychiatrist if his husband’s dubious actions went unnoticed. Marius. I did not know he would be this daft.

Until the bottle of wine Marius was holding suddenly slipped from his grasp, and Vyn—who was seated, his back turned away, his attention wholly fixated on anything other than Marius and his wine—caught the bottle swiftly with one hand.

It was then he realized he’d made a grave mistake, because if anything his husband’s grip was always firm, and not in this life would Marius von Hagen let a million-stellin wine slip from his hands.

Marius let it slip on purpose.

And now Vyn drove his Mercedes the way a lunatic would their car, ramming on the trash bins and fences and even some of the patches of roses from his beloved garden, all to escape from his husband. Because apparently, his dirty secret’s out, and Marius is out to get him (perhaps).

The car screeched as he took a sharp turn, finally out from their mansion. Was he a free man, now? Not exactly—Marius von Hagen suddenly appeared in the middle of the road, running. Vyn muttered under his breath. Goddammit. He took the shortcut. I forgot about the shortcut—

A bang sounded, and the next thing Vyn knew, there was a crack on the windshield. The car halted abruptly.

Vyn scrutinized the crack. A bullet.

“Did…” he mused—hissed, rather—as his eyes trailed to where Marius was knelt on the ground, slowly helping himself up. “Did this bastard just try to shoot me?”

Marius almost flinched when Vyn, just a meter or two from him, slammed his hands on the car horn repeatedly. If it wasn’t his pretty little husband Marius would’ve just shot the car until the tires go off and the driver dead; but then again it was Vyn inside that car, and—

And the windshield… has a crack. And I have a gun. And I…

Marius swallowed. And he must’ve accidentally pulled the trigger when he hopped out of the bushes from the sidewalk and tripped. And now Vyn thinks he tried to shoot him.

“Baby, accident.” Marius now stood in front of the car, and the sight of his husband—who looked angry as hell—could be seen clearly from his line of vision. He hoisted both arms, the way a cornered, guilty criminal would, and repeated his words gently, “Baby, accident. Accident.”

Marius gestured to his gun. “I tripped. Accident,” he shouted. Marius didn’t really give a damn anymore whether or not the neighbors would hear him. “Baby, accident—no, stop!”

Marius inhaled sharply as he heard the engine rev—and it revved loud, as if a warning, more than enough to tell Marius if he didn’t step out of the way at that very moment Vyn would drag him to death by way of a hit and run.

And he did not hesitate.

“No, stop! Wait!” Marius waved his arms frantically, almost throwing away his gun just so he could show Vyn he wouldn’t dare hurt him. However it was his mistake that he pondered it at all, because Vyn Richter was the pettiest man alive, petty enough to actually hit the gas and hurl the vehicle towards Marius.

Oh, shit. Is this my end?

The car steered forward, its speed almost inescapable (for anyone in Marius’ situation). Marius gathered all his weight and lunged at the car, and Vyn then piloted the steering wheel in a rapid pace, left and right, in an attempt to haul his husband—probably ex-husband soon—out of the car, but to no avail. “Get off my fucking car!” he yelled irritably. “Marius von Hagen!”

Marius even managed to smirk as he held onto the side of the car (for dear life). “Stop the car—” he shouted back, his face almost hitting the windshield. “Vilhelm von Hagen!”

“Fuck you.”

“When?”

“Saturday, if I have not killed you yet by then.”

“Sweet.” Marius took advantage of Vyn getting carried away by their banter—Vyn could only hiss out in frustration as Marius broke the passenger seat window with the handle of his gun. It didn’t take long before he was halfway inside the vehicle, and Vyn was fumbling with his seatbelt.

But Marius was a second too late. The moment he’d gotten inside entirely, Vyn had already thrown himself out of the vehicle, and the Mercedes, along with Marius, was heading straight to the dark woods.

“Fuck you,” Vyn spat, still lying on the asphalt, catching his breath. He had wounds and scratches all over his skin—so much for all his skin routines—but that did not matter at the time. He fished out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

“Good evening,” he greeted rather blandly. “Yes. Please fetch me, and bring something sweet. I need my sugar levels to spiral.”

==

Present times.

And so they are here, trying to shoot one another’s head. Marius had initially come to gather his hidden weapons, only to find them gone. Vyn must’ve found out. The psychiatrist, on the other hand, returned home and got his guns ready. Heck, Marius even considered the great possibility of his husband setting up traps within the house.

Now we can tell who loves who more.

Yeah. That would be me, Marius would say. I love this sick fuck more than he loves me.

He peeked at the stairs. Marius caught Vyn claiming the opposite wall as his barricade, swore to god heard his muse wince at what could’ve been new bruises. He chewed on his lower lip as he crouched and stalked along the hallway with confident precision—he moved the way shadows would devour the night, utterly soundless as he coursed towards their dining area, which was also a connecting room to their massive kitchen.

To Vyn’s kitchen, his mind noted, almost like an instinct. His beloved had always been the one to cook all their meals, bake mouthwatering desserts and mix their cocktails and most times they’d end up hot that Vyn would find himself bent over the counter with Marius railing him from behind. Sometimes atop that long table, where Marius would feast on his husband the way he would his favorite meal; in return, Vyn knelt on the carpet under the table and sucked Marius’ hard cock until he moaned and screamed his name and squirted his cum on Vyn’s crystalline smooth face.

Marius was never in the kitchen, that sacred place. Sacred to his husband, at least, but when he did go there, it was always to admire Vyn while he prepped their meals.

He let out a bitter chuckle as he entered the dimmed space. Good old days.

Marius scanned the room, one he was most familiar with, before he proceeded to check under the table and chairs, ran his hands along the wall, removed the exquisitely-framed portraits hanging on them as a precaution. He knew Vyn couldn’t have been here for long; he wouldn’t have ample enough time to set up his baits within the house, but just in case.

He’d learned well not to underestimate Vyn. Vyn Richter, of all people.

Keeping his steady stance, Marius trod towards the high archway that led to the kitchen hall. He moved with a spy’s practiced grace and quiet, walking about the area as he quickly drafted a plan in his head. It was safer here, he thought, for almost little to no lights were switched on, and none of them would dare, since the lights could only be opened with two claps or a snap. Even without Marius’ careful movements, Vyn won’t be able to locate him that quickly. Especially since their house was a goddamn mansion.

No, screw that. A goddamn castle. If Vyn had not declined his husband’s initial offer with regard to housing, their residence would have looked like Buckingham Palace, except it was in Stellis.

Well great. How nice would it be to reminisce while your husband’s lurking in the same house, trying to kill you? Marius blew a sigh through his nose, frustrated. Couldn’t this be resolved with yet another delftware imported from France—

Marius went cold. “Fuck.”

He went cold because somehow, he’d forgotten that he didn’t really own this kitchen. That even though he’d been here a lot of times to fuck his husband on that table and over that counter, he wasn’t there enough to fully know and memorize each tile, each wall, each delftware that perched on display. Because somehow, Marius had focused on the possible threats that he’d missed the most unsuspecting yet lethal ones: Vyn’s decorative collection of teacups and teapots and plates.

And perhaps the odds were not in his favor tonight, because Marius accidentally bumped into one, and the teapot—even though he had caught it with his hand at first—proceeded to take its fall and break itself into hundreds of tiny shards. Marius stilled, his blood thrumming in alarm.

At first, there was silence. The eerie kind.

And then rained a series of bullets from the dining room entrance.

“Fuck fuck fuck—”

Marius dived into floor, clutching his silencer. He crawled swiftly under the long table until he reached the archway to the kitchen. He stood on his feet and snatched his other pistol from its belt holster, scanning the kitchen—a fucking enormous kitchen—for efficient shields, weapons, or if the heavens somehow favored him again, a possible way out. An escape from his deranged husband.

He’s too beautiful for someone demented, though.

He heard footsteps. Slow and steady, its familiar, elegant cadence enough a warning for Marius to keep his guard, his guns hoisted and at the ready. In one stride, he took refuge beside the fridge, the opposite side of it facing the entrance.

And then there was a distant, honeyed voice. “You dare break my delftware.”

“You fired because of a fucking teapot?” Marius sneered, but cackled all the same. “You’re crazy.”

“Your fault for marrying me.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

Vyn pulled the trigger and fired, the bullet merely grazing past the fridge. A warning. “I gathered. Seeing how you are out almost every other night, only to a foolish spouse will that go unnoticed,” Vyn uttered, his voice laced with venom—bitterness. “Tell me, darling. How many ladies have you fucked while you were gone?”

Marius resisted the urge to step out of his hiding spot and confront his husband head-on. “Fucking stop it, Vyn. Are you serious? This again?” he complained, the grip around his silencer tightening in his simmering anger. “I never cheated on you, godammit. I told you—I was out for business. How many times do I have to drill that into your head?”

“Ah, yes. Business. And what exactly is your business, Marius?”

Marius chuckled. “I could ask you the same, baby,” he said in his smoothest, sweetest voice, then strode out from his refuge, aiming his silencer at Vyn. In those few, shared seconds of conversation he’d noted where his husband stood, where he was facing, the appliances which surrounded them—Vyn won’t be able to duck anywhere, and could not possibly sprint too fast to shield himself from Marius’ attack.

But then again—he shouldn’t have underestimated.

Because when he’d stepped out, Vyn was not there.

He was already behind him.

“Shit—”

He did the most possible, most horrible thing he could think of: as he swiveled round to Vyn’s direction, Marius hooked his fingers under the fridge’s recessed handle, pulled it open, then slammed its massive steal door against Vyn.

“Scheisse.” The fridge door rammed against him face-first—Vyn’s nose throbbed with a nasty pain, and he sensed hot liquid leaking from it, tasted the coppery tang of blood when it drifted further into his mouth. “Fucking. Swine.”

He knew the fridge door would be a serviceable shield, knew the bullets he’d fire would protect Marius no matter what and doing so would only be a disadvantage. However Vyn blasted back that instinct, that knowledge, and proceeded to rain yet another series of bullets towards Marius (or the fridge, actually), all because of sheer aggravation. How dare he slam that door into his face—was he not his muse, his darling? Was he not this ethereal man Marius had always drawn and sketched and painted on his canvases for he wished to preserve his beauty?

Goddammit—the curse looped inside Vyn’s head, his nose flaring with rage. His nose fucking hurt.

And Vyn screamed along his firing, both weapons aimed toward the fridge. The kitchen was dimmed, with no lights on and so all he could see were the blazing yellows and oranges and reds, could only hear the all-too-familiar bangs and booms as the shots blasted through the metal.

He stopped attacking. Vyn wept the blood from his face with the sleeve of his once immaculate, white coat, wincing as he did. His nose stung so much and it rendered him so very, very furious. “Marius von Hagen,” he said. Hissed.

A low chuckle. “Vilhelm von Hagen. Or would your surname be back to Richter now?”

And there was silence, utter silence, before Vyn’s life flashed before his eyes.

The psychiatrist could only slide back as the fridge—which was a whole lot bigger than him in all aspects possible, completely towering over him—started slanting from above and down to crush him. It was too swift that he could only clumsily stumble back, almost slipping on the tiles and making a fool out of himself.

Marius heard Vyn curse in a vague, foreign language—German, no, Svartian, probably—as he scurried to save himself and dodge his husband’s pretty little trick. Actually, screw that, Marius thought. Pushing this goddamn fridge might very well be his disadvantage: one, it was too heavy it took a lot of effort and energy, and two—the kitchen was a spacious room and he threw his only barricade away.

No matter. He will just have to remedy that, in whatever way he can.

Like taking advantage of his disoriented, recuperating rose by means of taking their electric stove and throwing it in Vyn’s direction.

He’d turned away before that stove hit his husband.

No. He didn’t want to see that.

Didn’t want to see his husband hurt.

He released a sharp breath and looked skyward, then blinked his eyes repeatedly, well-aware of the stinging tears threatening to flow. He ran to the exit all the same, his only goal to escape—he didn’t wish a violent shoot-out with his love, inside their home, no less, but he needed to return the act lest he got killed.

All this—the thought of killing Vyn would kill Marius just the same, anyway.

Heh. He didn’t seem to hesitate shooting me, was what roved in his mind as he made his quick escape. God. That hurt. That fucking hurts.

And he was now well on his way out, finally, with only a step before the archway when Marius peered over his shoulder—then regretted it shortly after.

A kitchen knife had grazed past his ear, the tip of its blade hitting the wall with a dull, slicing thud.

Marius stood there for a while, utterly shocked. Vyn hurled the blade too skillfully that blood trickled down his ear—only a slight brush with the knife, truly, and there was only a minor sting—and Marius recalled it again and again, the way that knife went past him so swiftly, almost like a soft winter’s breeze.

Maybe he deserved it. He’d broken not only Vyn’s delftware but his nose, too.

“Just to remind you, my darling.” Vyn stood steady far across him, his gun hanging by his side, his other arm still held forth after throwing the knife like a sports dart. He was bleeding, his nose and his arm, yet his poise was much like a prince’s, still, as if he hadn’t partaken in this chaos of an indoor shoot-out.

Oh and despite himself, Marius swooned when Vyn had addressed him darling.

“That you destroyed my fridge.” He leveled his gun, his aim at Marius’ direction. “And inside that fridge were all the pastries I had worked so hard for this goddamn week—more particularly that matcha cake.”

Ah, Marius thought, almost nodding unconsciously. I’m thoroughly fucked, then.

The psychiatrist fired another time, only once, but close enough to shoot off Marius’ ear.

Thoroughly, completely, perfectly fucked.

If that bullet blasted a few inches down Marius was sure he’d only have one serviceable ear left. Fuck it. Vyn’s aim was as good as his so thank the heavens the odds somehow favored him tonight because if they didn’t, his head would be pounding with a static burn at this very moment for he got his ear blown off to oblivion.

Marius sprinted. Not out, because the hallway was narrow and with how accurate Vyn’s aim is, he was certain he’d get shot at some point. So instead he darted to the side at lightspeed. “Goddammit, Vyn!” he shouted as Vyn fired constantly, following his every stride; thank goodness there were no kitchen lights and Vyn couldn’t see clearly even with those ugly glasses. “You’re really going to blow off my ear? How am I to hear your needy moans then?”

“You will not hear them again.”

“Not of pleasure,” said Marius as he slid behind the mid counter, hiding away from Vyn. He tugged open the small cabinet and swiftly made a slice on the gas hose before he slithered away like a madman and out to the archway. It would be nasty with that leaking gas and Vyn’s shotgun.

Wow, thank god we weren’t all into electric shit.

When Vyn fired, the kitchen exploded in flames.

Vyn threw himself back, and he crashed into the wooden floor, breaking his glasses in the process. Every part of him ached, and his head pounded; his vision was obscured without his glasses, the narrow hallway a distant horizon he was not sure he’d reach because he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—

His thighs burned, a hot, searing pain pulsating within his loins, and it was only then that he realized he was on fire. Like it was his second nature the doctor halted thrashing and crawled to the nearest open space, that area near the archway, and rolled himself across, exhausting the flames on his person.

He wouldn’t dare glance at his burns. He couldn’t stomach them for sure.

Not because they were gruesome, no, but because he cared greatly for his vanity, and now his efforts had been all in vain. So much for face and body value.

He snatched his gun, then, and hastened out of the burning kitchen and into the dining area.

Vyn didn’t mind the burn, the throbbing, the pain that wished to devour him. Not when his adrenaline was spiraling and begging to be put to fucking use. His instinct—an assassin’s or a husband’s, he couldn’t discern—led him out and around the lobby, up the stairs, to that one, distinctive chamber his husband treasured most.

The Atelier.

The memories rushed in with each step, every soundless stride. He’d designed that room with Marius, had decorated it day and night with him. Had baked cookies and delivered them there, so Marius would have something to eat as he worked on his new opuses; had stayed by his side as he recounted stories with his paint.

Had taken off his silken robe as he perched on the chaise, naked, looking so ethereal as Marius painted him, brought his beauty to canvas.

The reward? Marius had fucked him silly all through the night, on that very same couch.

Vyn took deep breaths. He acknowledged those memories, accepted them. Then locked them all away.

He hoisted his gun, and tiptoed close, closer. No signs told him Marius was inside, but Vyn steered forward, trusting his gut as it churned at his intuition—he is here. I do not know why, but I know he is here.

He ticked that box with a check.

As he entered the room a silencer shot, hitting just behind him. Marius stood by the opened windows, his weapon in hand; a thick cable wrapped around the atelier’s metal handle and it fell outside, down to Vyn’s precious garden. He was escaping.

“Heh.” Vyn aimed his gun at Marius, the smirk on his face menacing. “Planning for escape?”

Marius threw him an annoyed glance. “You put the house on a fucking lockdown.”

Vyn shrugged his shoulders. “You were able to open that window,” he said. “Whatever happened to the alarms?”

“Switched them off first.”

“And the window?” No one was supposed to open any part of the house when it is on lockdown.

“I know shit on this house that you don’t know of.”

“Ah. Well, that does not matter.” Vyn trod forward, careful. The weapons were still aimed at one another as he neared a small, circular table where Marius’ rarest pigments sat in glass bell jars. “What matters is… oh, look. These are your pigments.”

“Vyn.”

“Such rare pigments,” mused Vyn, eyeing the expensive, imported, rare set of paints atop the table.

Marius took a cautionary step forward. His hand reached towards his husband, the gesture as if attempting to halt whatever deranged thing Vyn framed out to do. “Vyn—”

“Imported from Italy, yes?” The older man trailed, his finger brushing against the glass. “Ah. And this one was from our Grand Tour—France, if I remember correctly. From Louvre.”

“Don’t shoot it.” Marius’ voice shook. “Don’t fucking shoot it.”

Vyn stopped. He chuckled—then looked up at Marius. “All right,” he said with an innocent smile, “I won’t.”

Then struck the table’s legs so it tumbled down, onto the floor, the special paints now mere, vibrant stains that tarnished the wooden tiles.

Vyn sneered at Marius. “Screw you.”

And proceeded to fire not to his husband, but everything inside the atelier: the canvases, both empty and brimming with colors, the vases and the chairs and stools, the portraits on the wall, the unfinished sketches and all the works in progress—the Seti Falls among other brilliant landscapes of their travels in Skadi, in and around Stellis, all the way to Europe.

Marius seethed, and one may even argue he was about to breathe out flames. “You fucking fiend—”

Vyn halted his advances when his aim pointed to an unfinished portrait of him.

Gods, he looked beautiful in it. Like the image of a prince, one of which a hopeful maiden would see only in the fairytales she reads, wondering if she’d ever snag a man as handsome as him. His lips were curved into a half-smile, all so lucious, and Vyn felt that familiar, rancid guilt tug at him—only a little, he wanted to deny it—as he wondered the many hours Marius had worked to capture him as beautifully as he could. Not that it was a hard task, for Vyn had always been a most spectacular muse, but still…

He lowered his gun and spared that portrait from his rage—saved himself from his own, unfettered violence.

But soon enough, Dr. Richter would realize that only portrait Vyn had been granted salvation.

Vyn nonchalantly aimed at his husband another time, did not hesitate, even a sliver, as he pulled the trigger toward Marius. But Marius dodged and rolled to his back, deftly until he tumbled against the wall under the window, and with a terrifyingly calm expression poised himself to kneel on the tiles.

Vyn reloaded his gun. “What are you doing, kneeling there?” he seethed. “Have you given up, darling?”

“No,” said Marius, a chuckle rumbling down his body. His amethyst eyes had darkened, and Vyn tensed, feeling gooseflesh all over his skin as Marius took something out of his person—a hand grenade.

“You know what,” the young von Hagen began, his voice low and cold, “I shouldn’t have tended your garden during the days you weren’t here.”

“You are to stop this instant.”

“What do you say? Fuck off and say adiós to your precious little garden.” It only took a split of a second as Marius pulled the pin with his mouth, and tossed it behind him, the grenade hurtling over his husband’s precious sanctuary of roses and lilies.

Only a split second before Vyn Richter’s garden exploded into a thousand, splendid fireworks.

And if it weren’t for his unmitigated, passionate fury thrumming with each breath, each step, and every thunder of his heart transcending over the harrowing, golden flames burning in the dead of night, of which singed the beloved flowers he’d tended to for years, Vyn would’ve fallen to his knees onto the wooden tiles, and cried his heart out in heavy grief.

But Vyn stood there, not moving an inch, as he watched the scorching fire. The flares flickered in his eyes, round and round the deepest trenches of those golden hues, until all he could see and feel was…

Well, nothing. As if unbothered.

However his mind, his brilliant mind toiled clearly—too vivid, the thoughts smooth-sailing in his ocean of schemes.

“Dieser verdammte Marius,” he muttered—that goddamn Marius—as he strode near the doorway, opened an emergency cabinet, and pulled the heavy, metal handle, activating the manor’s fire sprinklers.

Wet chemicals erupted from the ceilings, all over the house. Vyn navigated the halls and the rooms with precision, checking the bedroom, the lounge, the bar, in a search for a certain von Hagen.

He hoisted his gun as he trod to each chamber, each corridor. Vyn went down the stairs and proceeded, with much caution, to the main living room—

When a click sounded behind him.

“Let’s stop this now, Vyn,” Marius said quietly as he drew closer, his silencer only a meter or two away from his husband’s back.

“Unlock the house, and we can separate in peace—”

Vyn swung around, pivoting on his heel, and knocked Marius’ weapon out of his grasp.

Marius stumbled to the side, but maintained his balance almost as instantly. “What the—”

“You are naive to think that after all this, I would let you out.” Now it was his time to brandish his gun, leveling the weapon slowly to Marius, who now had both hands raised in surrender. He was on the farthest corner of the room, trapped; his only escape was the very path Vyn stood on, getting in his way out, deliberately so. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

“Your loving husband.”

Vyn’s brow raised, and his features scrunched into disdain. “I would not say that—”

He was cut off by Marius pouncing onto him with all his weight, Marius’ hands wrapped around his own, restricting him and the gun. And before Vyn could even try to get away Marius sent him to the ground—Marius had forcefully slid his leg against Vyn’s, and when his husband lost his balance, the two of them plunged into the floor.

At the impact, Vyn’s grip loosened, and Marius kicked the gun away from them as he helped himself up.

Oh, zounds. Why did I kick it away? I should’ve taken it—

A flower vase came hurtling toward him, and Marius shielded his face from the glass, letting it break into tiny shards as it fell to the floor. And his jaw might’ve been broken, too, for Vyn had suddenly appeared in front of him, and threw Marius the best jaw-breaking punch he had ever received.

“Fuck—”

It was painful, to be sure, but he had no time for such. He caught Vyn rushing to the doorway.

What’s he doing?

Marius’ face scrunched and he winced, the pain in his jaw utterly excruciating.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

He’s going for the gun.

“No way in hell.”

Marius the nearest object he could find—a mini coffee table—and hurled it in Vyn’s direction.

He stood on his feet and sprinted to the doorway. The table had hit Vyn’s torso, the impact heavy on his waist, and he dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

But before Marius could reach for the gun himself, Vyn held him by the leg.

He landed face-forward. His arms, thank goodness, saved him from rendering his handsome face wretched. Marius rolled onto his back, only for Vyn to lunge at him.

Vyn first threw a punch to his jaw yet again, but Marius caught his wrists. With a mighty force Marius was able to toss Vyn to the side—he was the stronger one, after all—and Vyn ended up with his back against the couch.

Vyn was still recuperating when Marius came to wrap his hands around Vyn’s neck, restricting his breathing. His hands went instinctively around Marius’, punching and pulling and desperate to get away. At last Vyn gathered enough strength to move away from the chaise and to the side, bringing Marius with him; Marius who, despite his strength, admitted to struggling with Vyn’s futile attempts to escape.

But the next thing Marius knew, he was throwing his husband across the room.

Vyn flew directly to the massive grandfather’s clock, the glass shattering and raining over him.

Blood now stained the doctor’s face, his body. But at that very minute he wouldn’t feel any wound, any injury. Just the unfaltering will to fight to death with his husband.

He felt betrayed.

He was scared. He was so scared he would lose him—to a woman, to PAX, to this. Add the five consecutive nights he’d prepared dinner for them and Marius never came home.

He’d rather end the marriage here than in court.

Marius dashed towards him, ready to pounce. Vyn caught sight of the expensive wine bottles on the table beside him.

And so he snatched two of the wine bottles and smashed them on either side of Marius’ head. The bottles crashed, and Marius bellowed in pain. Crimson leaked in his skin, his clothes—was it the wine? His blood? Vyn swallowed as took in the sight of his husband, hands on his head, moaning in deep pain; he looked away immediately and strode out from Marius’ reach.

Marius chuckled. “Of course you’ll go for the gun.”

“Do you not think it the easiest way out?” Vyn merely said, his voice higher, obviously vexed. Yet the way he spat those words was honeyed, still. “I shoot you, I win.”

“Is that what this is all about?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Marius staggered, but pressed onward. “Then you’re not getting that gun.”

In quick strides Marius threw himself at Vyn, but the older man rolled himself easily over the couch. Marius pushed the chaise to the side with one swift move, and only the oval glass-lined coffee table separated them.

Like that table’s gonna do shit.

And it all began with footwork. In his fighting stance, Marius assessed his husband, the two of them circling around the table slowly, vigilantly. Waiting for the other to hint at their weakness, to give away their hidden cards—neither knew the other’s tricks, having only found out their secret careers this evening.

But goddammit, Marius cursed inwardly as he observed his muse with that perfect sparring form, however his bearing elegant, still. The lock of his shoulders, the way his forearms were bent to his elbows, his knees curved just right; that determined face, his brimming confidence—goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.

Perfect.

He’s perfect.

I love him.

“Well fuck me. You always made me carry your heavy stuff, but now you look like you’re ready to carry me to my grave.”

Vyn smirked—then pushed the table with his foot.

The force was too strong that Marius knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it on his own, and that he’d only hurt whatever part of him that met the table’s edge. The table slid forward, launching straight at Marius, and all he could do was leap on top of the table.

It was small, that table. Marius lost his balance and fell face-forward to the marble tiles.

“Fuck it,” he groaned, his elbows stinging. “I fucking hate you—”

Vyn gripped his shoulder and swung him around, his back now on the floor. “Hello, my love,” he purred as he pinned both Marius’ hands atop his head, then straddled him. “Do you like this?”

Marius smirked. “You on top? Hell yeah.”

Vyn’s fist went flying to his face.

“FUCK—” Marius groaned, his nose stinging. He could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. “I can’t believe you ordered me to carry your shit around when you can punch this hard.”

“You betrayed me.” Vyn landed another punch. “You are a liar! You lied to me!”

“Look who’s fucking talking!”

“Go to hell.”

With his weakening grip on Marius, the young von Hagen was able to snatch his arms and finally turn the goddamn tables. He wrapped his legs around Vyn’s torso and flung themselves to the side.

Vyn gasped. Marius now sat on top of him, towering over him. His grip on Vyn’s wrists was too tight they could’ve been red with the mark of his fingers, or a nasty purple because of bruising—god, they could’ve been a pale blue for that grip might as well halt the blood from coursing through.

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Marius pinned his lover’s wrists on the floor. He noted the slightly frantic tussling, Vyn’s… sexy labored breathing. “I think I like this better,” he whispered. “Me on top of you.”

And Vyn could only gasp as Marius grappled his throat. Not to kill him—to weaken him, somehow. To make him lose consciousness. And then he’ll decide from there.

“Hck—” Vyn’s choking filled his ears and, even when he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. “M-Marius—”

Stop it. You’re hurting him.

His grip did not weaken.

“Hck… P-Please—”

Don’t say it. Don’t.

Say it. Vyn hurt you. You’re just returning the favor.

I can’t...

“Look at you. I love choking you like this,” Marius spat, his eyes dark and wicked. I’m going to hell for this—I’m sure of it. “If only this were a different circumstance.”

He caught Vyn’s arm flailing to his sides, and Marius wondered why he’d suddenly stopped grasping the hands that throttled him—until Vyn seized something and smashed it to his head, sending him backward.

A lampshade this time. From yet another small desk drawer just beside them.

Well, Marius thought. I should’ve seen that coming.

Vyn was, however, still frail from Marius’ attempt to strangle him. His breathing was strained, his face breaking out in cold sweat.

And hot tears rolled down his pale, bloodied cheeks.

However his adrenaline pumped again, and again, and even when his head pounded a fire burned from within, and he tried to go on all fours, a futile attempt to stand.

Marius now stood, albeit unsteadily due to the impact of the lampshade on his temple. “Come on, honey,” he managed to say despite himself, imitating a sparring stance, “come to daddy.”

Vyn inhaled a sharp breath.

He turned on his back, then, and used all his remaining strength to kick his husband’s groin.

“Fucking fiend—” Marius moaned in agony as he fell to his knees.

“Heh,” Vyn chuckled darkly. “Who’s your daddy now?”

“Ahahaha,” Marius managed a laugh. For some reason, it did not sound even the least sarcastic. In fact, it sounded so… genuine. “That’d still be me, Vyn,” he breathed, “still me.”

Then he rolled to the side, Vyn the other way around.

When they got up to their feet, nimble as men who were yet to be injured and beaten up, Vyn and Marius found themselves in a rather precarious situation:

Their guns on each other’s heads.

Blood coated their faces. Some trickled down, some already dried from earlier’s violence, the crimson-brown marking their skin as if pinpointing just where they had tried to inflict pain on one another. Desperate breaths filled the thrashed room, heaving in attempts to ease the thumping hearts, seemingly beating for something other than the desire to kill—perhaps beating for love, still.

The room had now quieted. No more crashing and shattering and heavy thuds brought about by relentless kicking and punching and hurling. The once catastrophic space was now but a peaceful one, at least in terms of sound and every other external force of nature.

“Let us end this here.”

Vyn’s tone never wavered. It was still as honeyed, elegant. But neither had the strength to actually ask, is that what you really want?

“Baby.”

“Stop,” he said, or rather breathed, as if Vyn had drained all capacity to speak, and Marius almost didn’t hear it, but he did. He always did. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Okay.” Marius nodded. His gaze remained fixated on Vyn, who so determinedly held out his gun, although Marius wondered why his finger was a little far off from the trigger. He took that as a good sign—something to hold onto. “So,” he began, his silencer still aimed towards his husband, “what now?”

I do not know, he had the urge to say. But he wouldn’t say it. Not in this life.

“Are we to stay like this the entire night, Vyn?”

“No, of course not.”

“Should I worry now?”

“As you should.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

Vyn’s eyes snapped to him, meeting those eyes of dark amethyst, and Vyn realized he hadn’t been looking at Marius this whole time, only to a random part of his face so it would seem like he was strong enough to take this head-on. But when their eyes met he felt his breath catch, and gods did Vyn want to whip everything back in time just so this didn’t happen. Just so he would have him back.

It is still him, he told himself. This youthful man, so willingly returning his gaze even though Vyn bore some brutal promise, always the man who could see him, who chooses to see through him and accepts what sought refuge beneath the facade—still Marius.

My Marius.

Vyn gasped, more loudly than he’d intended, when the silencer dropped to the floor.

His line of sight panned up to Marius. “What are you doing?” he hissed with unmistakable, rising fury. “Pick it up.”

Marius raised his arms, slowly, in surrender. “I don’t want to.”

“Pick up the gun.”

“I can’t.”

He inhaled sharply that the air could cut his throat, which was painfully drying, his heartbeat starting to race another time as he attempted to persuade him, “Pick it up, Marius! Pick the fucking gun—”

“No,” Marius said, shaking his head in regret.

“FIGHT. FAIR. THIS IS NOT FAIR.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Believe me.”

He was pleading, and Vyn knew that. Not pleading for his life, but pleading his love.

Until Vyn asked, “Why did you do it?”

His eyes lit up. It didn’t matter whether Vyn would accept his answer, he didn’t even care if he would believe him, but he was so damn happy Vyn was at least interested to know. And he deserved the truth—he ought to grant his husband that.

“I’m…” He breathed in, his line of sight entirely on the floor, trying to find the perfect explanation. “I don’t know. I guess I just love—”

“Killing other people?”

He looked up at Vyn. “Bloodlust—that’s it, yeah?”

Vyn scoffed. “Bloodlust. Are you kidding me?”

“I had killed someone for Giann. Accidentally,” he began, “an act of self-defense, to save myself and him. He was drugged and unconscious and we were alone, and we were kids.

“And I felt like a different person, you know? Stabbing that man to death. Torturing him until he begged that I end his suffering. Instead I got a blunt knife…” He trailed, his voice now dripping with that familiar longing, that familiar tone of satisfaction Vyn so knew about him, “started carving the family insignia deep into his skin while I listened to his pleas, his screaming, and watched the way his blood leaked from his cuts…

“It was, to say the least, a feast to my senses.” Marius chuckled, his voice dark, almost evil. As if Vyn’s kind, youthful husband had gone, had turned into someone unspeakable, someone he didn’t know. Or perhaps, a Marius he has yet to meet. “That was when I realized I let another me live within. He’s someone who loved drawing blood, someone who craved for violence. All of this, Vyn—I do it all for fun. I couldn’t get it out of my system. So, yeah.”

“You could have told me,” whispered Vyn. Marius wanted to believe he saw those golden irises soften, even only for a passing beat. “You could have trusted me.”

“I trust you, baby. But no,” he said resolutely, “I love you, so damn much, and I wanted to be perfect for you.”

Marius took a step forward. Vyn’s grasp tightened around the gun.

But Marius pressed forth. Arms falling heavy on either side he took yet another step, his mouth curving on a slight, sad smile as he walked closer, and closer, dangerously closer to the beautiful man who carried such a hideous promise.

“I want to be the perfect man…” Marius halted, just a few breaths away from the gun aimed directly at him. He crouched a little, leaned forward—

Vyn gasped. His whole body tremored, a sudden chill running all over his skin.

Marius wrapped his long fingers around the gun’s barrel, tugging it towards himself, pressing his chest against the hot muzzle. “The perfect husband for you.”

He observed as Vyn continued to nibble on his lower lip, biting it hard that it reddened with the threat of blood, and Marius’ chest tightened as he saw those golden hues now glossy with emerging tears. Vyn’s breathing had gone from composed to ragged, and soon the hand which held the gun started to shake.

“Vyn,” his husband called softly, “I love you, okay?”

He was surprised to feel hot tears filling his eyes, a stray of it rolling past his bloodied cheek. “Marius…”

“Vyn?”

“I…” he paused, grasping for words, suddenly losing all the vigor to fight. His heart shattered at this, at everything—at himself for being such a petty husband who never truly gave Marius the chance to prove himself, all because of some missed dinners. Who never gave Marius the benefit of the doubt even when Vyn saw in his eyes a flicker of hope.

He was so lost swimming in his ocean of thoughts that he never noticed Marius, who started easing away the gun ever so calmly, and Vyn—exhausted and drained out of his wits—allowed him his weapon to make its descent, down until he himself decided to drop it to the floor.

And he seemed to be in a daze indeed as Marius pressing closer to him went unnoticed, until Vyn realized, only after almost a minute, that Marius had gotten their bodies closer, almost skin to skin…

Marius knew he was quite awake now—from all his little reveries—and while he expected Vyn to land another blow or finish him once and for all, he was surprised when his husband’s gaze flitted from his lips before it settled up to his eyes, his pale, slender hands sliding to his chest as he whispered, “I love you too, Marius.”

Then Vyn was pushed onto the couch.

The doctor gasped, too surprised that it was a pitch higher than usual, and for a moment he was afraid that Marius had gotten the upper hand with his trick and now he ought to strangle him, but his gut believed otherwise, and his gut turned out to be right because Marius leaned down to kiss him—rough and wet, hungry as his tongue lapped in his mouth, a quiet sentiment of how Marius would rather kiss and touch and fuck him instead of sending blazing bullets all over their house.

“Mm—oh, Marius…” he whined as Marius pressed against him, almost straddling him, his hands relishing the softness of Vyn’s face and disregarding the feel of dried blood there, and now making their way towards the back of Vyn’s head, fingers brushing, tangling, pulling on those silver locks.

He felt his pants tighten at the sound of Vyn’s moans, and he grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his head back, suddenly feeling the lust of tasting Vyn’s exposed neck. Marius leaned down, his mouth pressed against his neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along soft skin, tasting blood and hot sweat. He bit lightly at the hollow of his shoulder—

“Ah!” Vyn cried in perhaps both pleasure and pain, his fingers clutching desperately on Marius’ sleeves—sleeves that were rolled all the way up near his elbows and it was so sexy Vyn almost wanted to wave the white flag, in the middle of their shoot-out, just so he could fuck him. So he could kiss him, kneel in front of him, fulfilling his husbandly duty of sucking his cock. “Marius…”

“We literally just started,” Marius said as he looked up to meet Vyn’s eyes, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

“Fuck you.”

“Darling, I’m about to.”

“Well why don’t you get on with it? Or would you rather waste my—oh, fuck—Marius!”

Vyn could only screw his eyes shut, and Marius could only let out a satisfied groan as he ground his hips against Vyn’s, biting his lip as he felt that hard erection, the proof of his husband’s growing need and oh, how he’d love to satisfy him. “What was that?”

“Will you ever stop talking—”

Marius shut him up with another kiss on the mouth. Vyn tasted sweet, as usual, however Marius made out the metallic flavor of blood, but it’s not like he would mind. It’s his husband’s blood, anyway, and he’d be most willing to take a sip of it, drink it, chug it until it sank down his throat the way he would his chocolate drink.

Ah, but Marius loved it more when it was Vyn who did that with his cum.

As he kissed Vyn he continued moving, grinding his hips until all he could hear were the melodies of Vyn’s whines and sighs, and gods was he so distracted Marius failed to notice Vyn already taking the matter into his own hands unbuttoning Marius’ shirt, and with fervent speed at that.

He suppressed a laugh as he bowed his head, watching in awe as Vyn fumbled with the buttons of his black shirt, breathing so hard and sensually as if he could wait no longer. In fact it felt like Vyn would be very much happy to just tear his shirt apart—not that his husband would mind, either.

“You were so determined to kill me earlier,” Marius said as Vyn unbuttoned the very last one, “but now you’re so hot and horny for me. I told you I did like your mood swings—hmph!”

He was cut off by Vyn’s mouth claiming his own—much to his delight—and soon he found himself hooking his arms under Vyn’s spine and the back of his legs, his feet then making way to their bedroom on the second floor. Vyn wrapped his arms around Marius’ neck instinctively, even pulling him closer as if he needed more, plenty more of him, and Marius loved the way his husband craved for his kisses that it must have given him some omniscient power to navigate the halls and the stairs in the dark so precisely.

In a minute a heavy thud reverberated, echoing across the massive bedroom as Marius opened the door—or rather twisted the knob then kicked the door—and went towards the bed with much haste. He’d licked, bitten, lapped at Vyn’s mouth one last time before he dropped him to the king-sized bed, covered in midnight-lacquered sheets, and proceeded to take off his shirt—

“Wait,” Vyn protested, but before his husband could respond he hooked his two fingers round the belt loop of Marius’ pants, and tugged him closer. It was so damn hot Marius’ cock twitched.

Suddenly he wanted to grab a fistful of Vyn’s hair and make him suck his dick. He’d fuck Vyn’s mouth so well with his hard cock the man would be a beautiful, crying mess the moment he swallowed his cum.

“I…” Vyn turned a little red. “I want to suck you.”

Marius swallowed as he hurried to comply, feeling a certain heat within him intensify. Vyn was already kneeling on the bed, making quick work unbuckling Marius’ belt and letting his cock spring free and fuck, Marius’ cock was heavy and warm and slick with precum, and Vyn felt his own twitch against the fabric of his pants.

He did not waste time. Vyn wrapped his long, slender fingers around his husband’s cock, feeling Marius throb against his palm, his cold fingers. He had sucked Marius dry since god knows when, but suddenly he felt like this was all new, that he was nervous and shy again, and it was as if he was taken back to their first night as two married men. That first night after Vyn said Yes, I do, I shall marry you, and Marius beamed and Vyn thought his husband could rival the sun. Funny what some husband quarrel and house violence could do to you—

“Just so you know, Vyn.” A low, impatient voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “I’m this close to shoving your face down my cock, if you don’t mind.”

Vyn bit his lip as he saw yet again that massive, hard cock staring right in front of him, waiting to be devoured. God, his husband’s cock was so beautiful, thick and velvety soft that his breath caught. And realizing once again that someone was getting impatient, Vyn leaned in and licked gently under the crown of Marius’ dick.

“Fuck.” Marius’ head dipped back, feeling his cock twitch against Vyn’s tongue. “Please—”

He rasped as Vyn complied, letting his mouth close around the head of his husband’s rock-hard cock—

“Fffuck,” Marius breathed, panting as Vyn made swirling motions with his tongue as he slid halfway down his length, “Fuck, Vyn!”

His eyes screwed shut, his hands clutching onto Vyn’s silver locks, and moaned out a broken cry as Vyn sucked his whole length, deep throating him, his wet, warm lips touching his Marius’ hot skin. “Fuck, Jesus.”

Vyn moaned around his cock, and as Marius felt it vibrate around him he dipped his head back again, seeing the goddamn stars. Vyn’s moaning didn’t stop even as he sucked his husband’s dick, Marius’ cock moving in and out of his mouth. Marius tasted so good. Every time Vyn sucked him it seemed he tasted even better and better, as if there were new flavours to his taste of clean sweat, of salty skin, and god even his precum seemed heavenly to Vyn’s tongue, melting like chocolate. His eyes fluttered shut as he sucked. God, he would suck this man’s cock forever.

Until Marius tugged Vyn’s head back, “Fuck, wait.” He panted heavily, and as he saw Vyn lick his lips—still glistening wet from his own saliva and Marius’ precum—Marius wanted to plug that pretty little mouth with his dick again. But he held himself together and said, “Wait. I’m… I was about to…”

“I’d swallow everything, Marius.”

“Fuck, stop it. Stop it or you’ll have to choke on my dick the rest of the evening.”

“What is the matter?”

Marius’ cheeks tinged a bit pink. He looked much like a teenager who wanted to try sex with his crush. “I want to… I—”

“Too good?” Vyn smirked.

“Fuck you.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. Marius caressed Vyn’s hair, as softly as he could. “I want to come inside you.”

Vyn swallowed, his mind once again drawn to their little memories of fucking every night until both their legs had given in, and Marius thought the same. God, he  couldn’t stop staring at his husband. Vyn looked ethereal bathed in the bedroom’s soft orange glow…

However this time it was Marius who was stripped—so quickly—from his reveries as he was pulled, thrown to the bed, with Vyn taking off his shirt, leaving his necktie around. His shirt was hauled off to the floor in a second, and now Vyn looked like some fallen angel as he straddled Marius, untying the silken tie with deft fingers, his wet lips parted in awe…

“What are you gonna do with that, huh?” Marius’ hand slipped round his husband’s waist. We’ve been married for years but goddammit, your waist is so fucking small.

“You’re gonna use that on me?” he added, whispering against the shell of Vyn’s ear, making his husband shudder. God, he loved it when Vyn did that. Loved it when his ministrations, even the smallest ones, had a great effect on him. “And look at you, don’t you think you’re a bit overdressed for the occasion?”

“I—ah—”

His cock twitched again that it almost hurt, as if begging to be hilted inside Vyn’s ass. Vyn had the sexy habit of whining and making those kinds of sounds whenever he’s surprised or caught unawares, like that very moment when Marius stripped him off his vest with one go, the buttons clinking on the floor in unison. Marius didn’t waste a second and gripped the sleeves of his doctor’s coat, tugging it off him.

Until Vyn caught his wrists and said, “Let me.”

The muse started taking off his vest—slowly, tantalizingly. He knew all too well this act was a feast for his husband’s eyes, for his cock. The slutty bottom that he was, Vyn removed his clothing alongside his heavy, sexy breathing, his mouth slightly ajar, with some stray, silver strands falling over his eyes.

The vest went abandoned. Thrown to the floor just like all else. The shirt followed, Vyn making sure the sounds he made were heard, acknowledged—oh acknowledged indeed, what with his husband’s erection poking against his leg—and he couldn’t help but suppress a smile knowing Marius was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

When everything was unbuttoned, Vyn let the right sleeve slide down his arm, revealing some skin on his chest, his collarbone, his shoulder. Marius had seen it all, but still he thought he looked so ethereal, and so hot all the same that he was torn between treating him right—sweetly, gently—and fucking him so rough and so hard he won’t be able to walk the next day.

By instinct, Marius looked away. He bit his lip as he did, setting his sights away as he was suddenly so overwhelmed, so doubtful—do I even deserve this, he asked himself, realizing that it had been his fault why the shoot-out occurred in the first place: he missed a lot of dinners with Vyn. He was always out for his business of killing other people. He hurt him in all ways possible, especially tonight.

But then, “Marius.”

His gaze returned to Vyn. “Darling?”

“Do not look away.” Vyn’s hands, soft and cold, reached to caress his face. “Just look at me,” he said, his voice like that of an angel’s, “this is all yours—all of me. I am yours.”

Marius made sure that shirt was off his husband immediately.

He’d kissed him again, a mix of love and dominance, of lust and longing. Arms tight around Vyn’s waist he pulled his muse close to him, skin to skin, but he wanted them to be closer. He wanted to be inside him—to own him, body and soul.

He loved Vyn. Marius wouldn’t know who he is without him.

“I love you,” he grunted as Vyn ground against his erection, “I love you.” His hands wandered up his spine and down his ass, squeezing it, eliciting a moan from Vyn. “I love you.”

But it wasn’t long until Marius took his black, silken tie, staring intently, lustfully at Vyn before he hoisted it in between them, “May I?”

Vyn raised his wrists in answer. “And my tie?”

“For your eyes,” Marius said, his eyes darkening. “I was thinking your mouth, but I love hearing your noises.

“I love hearing your moans. Your whines. I love it when you scream my name.”

Marius licked his lips, and his chest swelled with triumph as he saw Vyn shiver again, turned on by a few words. Vyn gasped in surprise as Marius finished tying his wrists, pulling on the knot a bit harshly than he’d intended.

“Now,” Marius said as he worked on Vyn’s red tie, “you love the dark, don’t you darling?”

A whine escaped his lips as he was pushed to the bed. He couldn’t even recall how Marius looped and that red, silken tie around his eyes. All he knew now was he’s on the bed, on his back, his hands tied in front of him. “Ah, Marius…”

“What was that?”

Vyn could only nibble on his lower lip. “Please… oh!”

He moaned as he felt his husband’s mouth, warm and wet, close around his nipple. His toes curled at the sensation, especially at how Marius knew just how to kiss, lick, and suck his nipple and make him cry and moan so loud. His body moved frantically, the pleasure almost maddening now that his vision was obscured, and not knowing what Marius was gonna do next was killing him.

However soon he felt large hands grip his thighs, hoisting them, and Vyn most willingly submitted by wrapping his legs around Marius’ hips. He was now on top of him, could feel his hot, ragged breaths against his skin.

“You’re so hot,” Marius whispered as he kissed Vyn’s beauty mark, that one on his collarbone, “I just love fucking you so much,” he said, before unbuttoning Vyn’s pants and sliding his hand down under, wrapping his fingers around Vyn’s length.

“Oh! Marius, ah—”

“Yes, just like that…”

“Please!”

“You like that? Damn, you’re actually making this harder for me… let me just…”

Marius stopped, his hurrying hands fumbling on Vyn’s pants, in much haste to get inside him. Oh how badly he wanted to fuck his husband when he all but looked like a willing captive, writhing underneath him—he let his fingers travel down under, lingering on Vyn’s back, then trailing further south, massaging his arse, lifting Vyn a little in the process.

Marius did not waste any more time and took the head of his own cock, moving his hard-on closer until it rubbed softly, carefully over Vyn’s hole. He rasped as he did a little push inside. “Shit.”

“M-Marius…”

Marius took that as his signal to push further, letting out a small grunt as he moved another inch, then another, and he took satisfaction witnessing Vyn’s mouth parting as he whined, silver brows furrowed in pleasure. “Ohh, Marius—”

Marius gripped on his husband’s waist and hilted his entire cock inside him.

Vyn whined again, so loud Marius wondered if his voice reached the outside, even with their windows closed. Vyn cried as Marius moved inside him, his thick, warm cock fitting perfectly in his ass, hilting deeper and deeper with each thrust that Vyn couldn’t stop muttering curses and Marius, Marius didn’t have any words for it—just sounds, low and needy. Just grunts, and moans, and whines and cries.

Marius thrust again. Harder, deeper—

“Ohh, just like that!”

“Yeah?”

“Mm—ohh, f-faster please—!”

Marius nodded frantically, and he thought how much Vyn had an effect on him that, despite Vyn being the one tied up and writhing underneath him, Marius was actually the one in his mercy.

Good. Deservedly so. Vyn Richter was his Saving Grace and he’d worship the man forever.

“Ah—fuck! Marius…!” moaned the older man, biting his lip as he welcomed the familiar pain—and pleasure—down his nether part. It was only then Marius realized he had been too excited to claim Vyn that the thought of using a lubricant or even covering his dick with saliva never crossed his mind.

“Fuck, Vyn. Does it hurt?” he asked, but never stopped moving, pulling and pushing back in.

“N-no! It feels good. You feel good…” he moaned as he shook his head, “I’d rather you—ah!—fucked me hard.”

And it was enough to make Marius pin his husband’s hands atop his head, cursing as he thrust in, and out, so hard and so deep tears started rolling down Vyn’s pale cheeks. “Faster?”

“Y-yes!”

Marius gripped hard around Vyn’s wrists, railing the man as hard as he could, making Vyn cry with each powerful thrust. The sounds of wet, forceful squelching echoed across the room and, partnered with Vyn Richter’s needy moans, Marius thought damn, I should’ve brought a recorder.

Well, it’s not like he couldn’t do that soon. Pretty sure Vyn would be most willing to film all their blasphemous activities together. “I’m close.”

“M-me too…” Vyn bit his lip, his back arching in ecstasy brought about by their bodies, skin to skin. Marius pounded faster. It felt like fire, really, and he felt his stomach surging and ebbing and surging again and again with pleasure. They moved in sync now, Vyn’s hips thrusting to match his husband’s pace, and he knew he was close when he felt that electric sensation zipping through his veins, his loins, his cock. “M-Marius…!”

His balls drew up tight as Marius slammed into him, again and again. Vyn could only let out a broken cry as he sensed Marius’ hand grasping his cock, jerking it as fast and as hard, perfectly matched with the way Marius pumped his dick inside him in a relentless rhythm.

Vyn came. Loud, majestic, his hot cum spurting on Marius’ stomach and making a beautiful mess there, much like the way he was one. His head was fucking spinning and he thanked Marius for it. And he kept on crying out even as Marius came, his fresh seed filling Vyn up like he was always meant to.

He kept on going. Grinding in him so deep, so sensual, thrusting again and again and letting his very hard cock feel inside Vyn, helping both of them through the very last of their orgasms. Again, then again. One last time, until Vyn croaked weakly, and Marius grunted as he fell on the empty space on the bed, beside his husband.

Despite the exhaustion, he shifted to his side. Took the blindfold off his husband. Vyn’s eyes fluttered open immediately, albeit blearily, the fringe of his long, silver lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He gave Marius a weak smile. “That was…”

Marius let out a soft laugh, feeling the last bits of his energy dripping away. “I want to fuck you again.” He relaxed, but felt himself stiffen at the sight of his husband: ethereal. Beautiful with his cheeks flushed and mouth parted, his neck and chest gleaming in sweat. Vyn Richter, once again, in the afterglow of mindblowing sex.

“I love you,” he whispered, though he was not sure if Vyn heard. His eyes were already closed, and he looked like he was fast asleep. Marius smiled and snuggled close to him, with Vyn’s soft breathing lulling him to slumber.

==

Sometime around his dream, if he ever truly dreamed, he heard a silken voice say, “I love you, too.” Felt a gentle kiss on his forehead once, twice. Then another, “I will love you forever.”

When he awoke in the middle of the night, the quiet surrounding them, he saw Vyn was sound asleep. He rested his head against the hollow of Vyn’s neck, inhaling his sweet scent, and wrapped his arms around him. “Vyn,” he whispered, “I’ll love you forever, too,” before he kissed him on the cheek.

Somehow, Marius knew he hadn’t dreamt it.

==

Vyn awoke three hours earlier than usual, his eyes bleary, almost blind as he stared at the digital clock which blinked 5:58 AM. He wouldn’t be up this early, but his phone rang so alarmingly in the distance—atop that couch beside their bed where Marius fucked him the whole night—and with a ringtone he wouldn’t dare not pick up, lest he received yet another lecture. An hour or two of it, even if that lecture came from his, well… not his superior, because he was the superior.

He sighed—it was his junior calling. “Good morning, my rose.”

“DON’T ‘MY ROSE’ ME, RICHTER-VON HAGEN!” came his beloved junior’s rather sweet response, and Vyn instinctively pulled his phone away from his ear, unless he wanted his hearing damaged forever. “WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO YOU?”

“Language, beloved.”

“VYN!” Ah, there it was. He knew she was suppressing those sobs. It was conspicuous she had been pulling back tears the moment Vyn answered the call, the moment she’d heard his voice and confirmed he was alive, although not much well. “I was so, so worried about you… I thought… I thought you were—” she paused to take a light sniff, “dead. The squad is on their way. What happened?”

“I… I cannot tell you right now. I am sorry, dear,” he said, his gaze drifting to his husband who was still snoring in his sleep, and gods did Vyn thought Marius looked ethereal even during his most vulnerable moments. He fucked me so well last night…

“And please, Rosa,” he said, “tell the squad to halt their mission. I am all right—harmed, but I am faring well. And so is my husband.”

“Oh, my god. Mr. von Hagen was a witness?”

“Sort of. I shall tell you all about it when we meet.”

“Which is when, exactly?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied, his fingers running across the bare skin of his chest, wincing at the hurt from where Marius bit him. “You are in charge for now. Make certain the HQ is still up and about,” he said, “you are my second-in-command, so do what you must in my stead. Meet me tomorrow, same place.”

“Oh, uh—tomorrow, you said?”

“Yes. Is something the matter, dear?”

“Er, well…” she trailed, and Vyn’s brow arched in curiosity. He tried to rewind their past conversations, see if she’d mentioned anything she ought to accomplish tomorrow. There was nothing in particular, and Vyn was about to tell her twice until she cleared her throat and answered, “I actually… have a date tomorrow, Vyn.”

Ah. Understandable.

However, “I have taught you of the risks which comes along with our line of work. I hope you do keep your emotions out of your job—”

“What a hypocrite,” Marius muttered beside him. Was this idiot fake-sleeping the whole time?

“Never you mind. I am not against your relationships. I will meet you in two days, then,” Vyn continued—not without glaring at his husband first and foremost in the morning—and added, “but of course, what is this lucky lad’s name? Age, hair colour—”

“Luke Pearce, thirty years old. Coral eyes, chestnut blonde, and very cute.”

“Make certain you put up his records in the office. That aside—please enjoy your date, Rosa.”

Vyn pressed on the end button. He was thinking whether to check up on his husband or do a background check on Luke Pearce first, but he heard another phone call—this time from Marius’ phone—and even though he never truly meant to listen… well, however could he not?

“Hey, Luke?”

Vyn’s ears perked at the sound of his name. Luke.

“Yeah, sure. Wait, you can’t tomorrow?” Marius asked through the phone, his voice getting inaudible as he yawned, “oh, man. Congrats on bagging your first date—oh, wait a minute. Is this girl Rosa you’re going out with?”

“Who is that?” Vyn mouthed to him with those piercing golden eyes. My junior, his husband mouthed back, shrugging his shoulders. It’s not like I can hide it anymore from you.

Well, Luke was not his junior since Luke was older by a few years, but Marius had been an assassin earlier than him. And, well… he was Luke’s boss.

Vyn didn’t need to do a background check. He’d have to pester Marius for it. Just great, what are the odds that their juniors were going on a date?

The first thing Marius did when he ended the phone call was tackle Vyn into a hug, which the older man reciprocated much lovingly (despite his grumpy morning face). He was still scowling, but it was a contrast to the warmth which he gave Marius in return, and the eagerness emanating from him as he pressed closer against Marius’ exposed chest. It wasn’t very soon that Vyn had started nuzzling his face against his husband’s cheeks, like a cat trying to be sweet.

“Vyn.”

“I thought you addressed me as darling or love or baby, but I suppose we—”

“Really, Vyn? This early in the morning?” Marius laughed as he cuddled him more. “You know, I was just gonna ask you something…”

“You want to fuck me again?”

And there it was, that familiar pout and puppy eyes, all too powerful even for Vyn that he knew immediately he wouldn’t be able to deny him. Well, it’s not like he’d decline some more good fucking. “Don’t you want me to?” Marius said, his pout much guilt-enducing now.

But not until Vyn pushed the sheets down until it reached his thighs, revealing his now bulging erection, his sudden craving for Marius. “Whatever are you waiting for?”

“Fuck. You sure know how to—”

Another phone call.

Vyn sighed and took the phone. His eyes widened, only for a fraction of a second, upon seeing the caller ID.

“Please tell me you’ll ignore that.”

“Unfortunately for us—” he slid a finger down the green button, “we cannot decline this one.

“Good morning, Captain Morgan.”

“This is Artem,” came that deep, familiar baritone, and Vyn felt himself shiver from the way Artem sounded in the mornings. The senior lawyer had always been a morning person, but there were times too wherein he was too lazy to get up for work—can you actually believe that?—so Vyn had to do all sorts of things to get him moving. His voice during those moments hadn’t changed at all: deep and husky, almost seductive.

“Artem,” he repeated, and the name seemed to capture Marius’ attention, too. “Good morning. Why are you calling this early in the morning? And why are you using Captain Morgan’s phone?”

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “Darius forgot to bring his phone,” he answered. “I called to let you know he’s coming, along with his squad. Too many noise complaints last night. They’re going to investigate.”

“Just so you know, Wing—my house is an estate. I am quite certain no one was bound to hear us…” Oh, shit. Marius threw a grenade in my garden.

He shot Marius a glare before he returned, “Tell Captain Morgan to go home.”

“I kept telling him that,” he replied, quite vexed now. “It was supposed to be our day off, Vyn. Our only day off, and you just had to ruin it.”

“It is not my fault you cannot persuade your boyfriend to stay in bed with you.”

“Are we—”

“Hello there, Artem.” Marius had snagged the phone away from Vyn, having felt that impending argument that would probably last hours—he wouldn’t admit that he was only jealous because Artem was Vyn’s only ex-boyfriend, almost husband—and had taken matters into his own hands. “We’ll meet Captain Morgan when he gets here, all right? I’ll tell him to go home, so let’s have peace, yeah? Bye!”

“I could have handled that, Marius,” Vyn spat, but not before Marius hopped out of bed and went to browse through his cabinet. He got himself a clean set of sleepwear in pastel green, Vyn’s most adored colour, and threw the shirt in Vyn’s direction. “Give me the pants as well.”

“No,” said Marius, already in the process of wearing it, “you take the shirt, I take the pants. It’s too long for you, anyway.”

Vyn crossed his legs, folded his arms. “What are you planning?”

“We’re gonna give ‘em a show.”

==

When Vyn opened the front door to their house, he was met with the rather hot welcome of flashing lights, towering video cameras, fully-dressed reporters and papparazzis in all black. He could make out the faint sirens coming from the police cars parked outside the estate, and he only hoped no one was able to round the bend leading to his recently-bombed garden.

“Vyn Richter, is it true there was a shoot-out here last night?”

“Vyn, did you have a quarrel with Mr. von Hagen?”

“Vyn, the people are curious—is divorce on the table yet?”

“Are you and Mr. von Hagen are going to be available in the marriage market again?”

“Vyn, rumors say that you and Mr. von Hagen are involved in matters of Mafia and secret services. Is that true?”

“Vyn, are you pregnant?”

His eyed widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“VYN!”

If he really ought to be true to his role of being a… babygirl who would pretend to be lightheaded or unwell after coming across crazy reporters with no sense of privacy, he would’ve done it after a few more moments or so. However Vyn truly was made unwell by said blinding lights and mad interviewers, and by instinct he pressed a palm against his temple and leaned against the doorframe, suddenly dizzy at the commotion. “Please…”

“Give him space, everyone. Move, move!”

Oh, dear. Thank goodness for Captain Morgan, he thought as Darius practically shoved the reporters out of the way as he reached for Vyn. A strong hand gripped him by the arm, enough to steady his slowly unstable body. “You okay, Richter?”

“von Hagen,” he corrected. “And not quite, Captain.”

“You can hold onto me,” he said, then faced the crowd of reporters again, “stop it with the cameras. If I see another shot I’ll have you all arrested—”

“You better listen to him.” Marius stepped beside Vyn, and in a heartbeat slipped his arm around his huband’s slender waist. Vyn felt his cheeks grow warm at the feeling of Marius’ hand holding him around the waist, in front of all these people—not to mention he was only wearing a green button top and Marius only in his pajamas. Thank god the cameras had stopped—courtesy by Darius who threatened an arrest—because those dark red hickeys and bite marks were clearer than the clearest of blue skies.

This man, Vyn thought as he leaned against Marius’ chest, he really likes to show off, doesn’t he?

He tried to hide a chuckle. It was true Marius loved to show off, but he loved it most when Marius showed him off for everyone to see, for everyone to know who owned him. At this moment, the message was pretty clear. Even the most senseless person would make sense what Marius wanted to say—that Vyn was his, and Marius was Vyn’s. It was written all over the young von Hagen: from the smirk on his lips, the red marks on his exposed chest. The top which covered Vyn’s probably hickey-filled body.

And so Vyn acted the part, pretending to be nauseous as he rested his head against his husband’s shoulder this time, and hooking his arm around Marius’. “I am not feeling very well…”

Marius squeezed his waist gently. “I’ll get you inside,” he said, and Vyn nodded faintly. Marius then turned to Captain Morgan, who was staring at them rather incredulously. It was conspicuous he never wanted to be here, to witness all this—he’d rather spend the day fucking Artem. “Sorry, Cap. I’ll give you a call and help you fix our mess. For now…” he paused and gestured to an exhausted Vyn, “my husband needs rest. You’ll handle this for now, yeah?”

Darius sighed, massaging his temples. “Yes. I’ll also let Artem know.”

“You better go home to him. He was pretty pissed with us this morning.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. von Hagen?”

“Ehh ~” Marius pouted, but before he could say another word Darius asked, “What am I going to report? There were a lot of noise complaints. Some said it sounded like a grenade.”

“The answer is right in front of you.” Marius winked. “You see, this is what happens when you’re away for work too long. You tend to really, really miss your husband…”

Darius wanted to roll his eyes—no, he wanted to punch Marius. Does this brat really expect me to write ‘very loud, earth-shattering sex’ as the reason for those noise complaints?

Whatever could he do, though? He couldn’t possibly deny the Marius von Hagen of all people. Besides, he was not anointed as the newest NXX member for him to report Marius and Vyn just like that. Fine—he was going to write that unreasonable reason.

Marius seemed to know Darius was not going to deny him, and so the captain was met with the von Hagen’s signature, youthful grin that seemed to say: Hehe, you can’t deny me, can you?

Darius eyed Vyn one more time. He didn’t seem as sick as he appeared, but Darius knew he was indeed exhausted. However he wondered, as he waved the couple goodbye and ordered the reporters and paparazzis to keep out lest they get arrested, how can Richter—er, von Hagen—be this radiant after that violent shoot-out?

The moment Marius closed the door, Vyn muttered:

“Tell Vincent to arrange you an appointment with me,” he said, almost half-moaned, “based on my findings last evening, you need psychiatric help.”

… This hypocrite!

#vyn richter #mo yi #tears of themis vyn #tears of themis #marius von hagen #tot artem #artem wing #darius morgan #rosa tears of themis #tears of themis luke #luke pearce #vynmarius #marivyn #vyn richter x marius von hagen #artem wing x darius morgan #lukerosa

[pigeonwit]

hey mista wouldja recommend a poor starvin kid some nice long javey fics to read in these rough times

ive hit a total slump in reading fic and i would love if ya had any good ones to recommend + you have an incredible taste so ofc i have to ask the expert!!!

(also hows it going???)

SNEEP my beloved i have MISSED you!!! so funny you ask cause i've been waiting to say this: sneepy i am eepy. so very eepy, sneepy. my whole body feels weighed down my brainf eels like sludge its a LOT. but im gettin through it! im writing something self indulgent and fun and trying to focus on my assignments before i get to requests, but i can absolutely get you some recommendations sneep, lets go.

losing my mind because i find you in it by PenzyRome - jack and race are getting married and he is so close to getting over his ex who is consistently crushing it and is friends with celebrities and is obviously so much happier without jack except oh! race hired him as their wedding planner! excellent! almost every relationship in this is a hot mess and i love it. everyones a bit of a disaster but thats how love is, huh. its disastrous and awful and fucks everything up and you can either give up on it or make it worth it. that's what this fic is about. making it worth something. penzys fics really stick the landing for endings that feel not just satisfactory, but earned. for all the shit the characters are put through, its more than made up for. also, davey is allowed to be messy! he's not a saint! he made mistakes, he is flawed, he has insecurities that he takes out on others! i love break-up fics that dont make jack the sole bad guy - dont get me wrong, he fucks up too, but both of them need to work to make this worth it. ALSO also, sprutchie. nough said.

too many colours (enough to drive us all insane) by scarlettroses - i think everyone knows this one but on the offchance you dont, its really good. it takes that joke-prompt of 'straight guy worries hes being homophobic towards gay roommate, realizes hes gay instead' and runs with it. because if that DID happen, how would it affect you? you wouldnt just go 'welp, guess im gay now!' and swan-dive into a relationship with your roommate. the fic really explores both davey and jacks relationship with identity and self expression and how discovering your sexuality is a big part of self acceptance and self love; jack takes time to connect with his home and his friends and realizes his sexuality is a piece of that, thereby feeling more whole and at home with himself. davey is allowed to learn that simply being gay is not an expectation and there is no requirement needed to meet a certain amount of Gay - he can just exist the way he wants to. and he gets a nose ring and buzzes his hair, which is 90% of why im reccing this. it does an excellent job of exploring this idea that a person does not make you whole - only you can do that. but a person can make you happy, and you deserve that, too.

Auspicious Beginnings (and the entire May Look At A King series) by ArtemisRayne - my favourite newsies series ever. this fic itself (as well as most of the fics in the series) is a oneshot, but put together you get a long and lovely road through davey and jacks relationship set in a really interesting au. i know the whole idea of cat-human hybrids might feel weird to some people, it is an idea thats been VERY tainted by the internet, but like with 'the crime of being small' i just love fics that explore this recontextualization of humanity. how WOULD a race of cat-human hybrids go about their existence? what accommodations would need to be made, what prejudices would they face, what strengths, what difficulties? the author explores it really well and if you can get past any awkwardness you might have with the trope itself you get one of my favourite javid relationships ever written. they support each other! they fight for each other! they fight for themselves! they cross boundaries and hurt each other and learn how to do better! its really sweet and was one of my big inspirations for 'vice vermin virtue' so i highly recommend the whole series.

#newsies #javid #javey #fic recs #fic hoard #sneepsnoopboopideeboop #ask

[lothcatthree]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

thank you for tagging me @forloveofcodywan (i've been wanting to do this one for a while)

under the cut so i don't plague your dash

1.) How many works do you have on ao3?

16 (i used to have >30 but i orphaned half of them bc i wrote them when i was 14 and nobody needs to see that)

2.) What’s your ao3 word count?

162,724

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

star wars all day babey. i dabbled in steve x bucky from 2017-2018 ish, but star wars has had my brain in a vice grip since 2015 (i was another victim to the sequels causing a sw renaissance).

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

the right feeling - from my finnpoe days :') this is part 1 of a soulmate au series. this one has 4.7k words.

i think i was blind before i met you - steve x bucky (damn we're going way back, this is 7 years old) modern au with barista steve and college student disaster bucky. 15k words.

please stay for awhile now - finnpoe, again for the win. this is part 2 of the soulmate au series. 5.6k words.

we should just kiss like real people do - finnpoe. this is the fourth and final part of the soulmate au series. hurt/comfort, recovery, all the good stuff. 8.2k words. (i suppose we all needed the soulmate finnpoe fluff in 2016, judging by these stats).

but through it all, i will need you anyways - current codywan WIP!! fix-it fic with just an insane amount of disgustingly tooth-rotting fluff. no clone death, just good feelings. this has been ENTIRELY self-indulgent and i started it when i got initial codywan brain rot. 64k words and counting!

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

oh my god yes, i love comments and it puts the biggest smile on my face knowing that people took time out of their day to write something nice for my little ramblings :')

6.) What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

jesus, literally none of them. i have to do happy endings, i'm too fragile. closest would be i hate you, fuck you, please never stop looking at me which is wolfwren PWP, except they still kinda hate each other at the end. (this barely counts because i am writing a follow-up that explores more of their feelings for each other and has a happy ending)

7.) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

ALL OF THEM. idk what to tell you. probably the cheesiest ending is the dinluke modern soulmate au i just wrote - how did i ever live without you?

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

no, thank god. i keep things pretty vanilla and i tag very thoroughly to do my best to avoid any hurt feelings. (also i've just simply been lucky to never experience that)

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

oh fuck yeah. 2/3 of my fics are explicit. mostly m/m, one f/f and two m/m/m. we have fun over here.

10.) Do you write cross overs? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

no, this would break my brain. next question.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no, unless it has been and they're very good about hiding it (doubt it, tho. i'd be a weird choice to steal from)

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

no, but i would love it!

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

no, but i have been thinking more and more that i would love to do this!!

14.) What’s your all time favourite ship?

this is so hard. . i think codywan has been the one ship that has just slapped my across the face and gave me stockholm syndrome. I think about them.... All the Time. second closest would be finnpoe, judging on how many stories i wrote about them. and they just fit so well together and i adore their characters and they had so much chemistry and. (i'll stop now)

15.) What’s a WIP you’d like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

my brain will simply not allow me to leave a WIP uncompleted. by god, it's going to happen even if i am chaining myself to my laptop and typing through tears.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

i have received many compliments about my dialogue and smut scenes flowing very naturally :) i try to make them play like a movie and have it immersive enough that a character doesn't do/say something unnatural to make the reader stop and say wait what?

16.) What are your writing weaknesses?

oh god, PLOT and ANGST. can't do it for the life of me. i work best in oneshots so i can brain vomit and move on. i have a hard time planning out fics and i deeply envy writers that can create beautiful long fics in a timely fashion. i deeply lack the patience for something like that.

as for angst, yes i can technically do it, but it pains every cell in my body. just let the sad old gay men be happy.

17.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

closest i have ever gotten is mando'a, but it's been very fun to learn!

18.) First fandom you wrote for?

oh boy. one direction (the aforementioned orphaned works).

19.) Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

i am cursed with "i immediately hate everything i write as soon as i release it" syndrome. recently, though, i was particularly proud of safe. warm. mine. because it was very outside of my comfort zone due to the involvement of three people and it was the first a/b/o i have written!

no pressure tags for @veelawings @apricusapollo @shy-wookiee. these are all the mutuals that write (that i know of) and haven't already been tagged (i think)! but please, anyone who i missed or who sees this and wants to chime in and tag me, please do!!!

#this prompted me to see when i made my ao3 account and it was september of 2013..... #when did i get.... Old #my writing #finnpoe #stucky #dinluke #codywan #bobadinluke #wolfwren #fic writing #ask game

[redwayfarers]

so i mentioned a bridgerton AU for nika and artoirel and uh,,, it kinda broke my writer's block so i wrote a thing. self indulgent, as fics go. ignore the historical inaccuracies, glaring though they may be.

The gentlemen’s club is full. Of course, there was a good reason for that; as a frequenter of the clubs himself, Nika fully understands the appeal of such places, where you meet men of your rank, drink, gossip like you would in drawing rooms, but with less rigidity around it all. And this particular club, situated at the very periphery of the fashionable part of town, housed one of Nika’s favorite places to settle when he was in the mood for observation. The chairs are always awfully comfortable and the drink is of superb quality, and not to mention their black teas. Sometimes, after a performance at the court, he’d go here to listen to the impressions. All delightfully positive, which soothed Nika’s ego like little else. 

Now, though, he has a mission of critical fucking importance. This club was the only place he could think of as he tried to run away from calls from a particularly adamant mother who wants musically inclined grandkids. So he tasked his own mother with fending her off, with a half strangled, ‘I do not wish to marry her fucking daughter’ and off he was, to the only place he knew he was more or less safe, to the only place where he could slump in the chair and nobody would bat an eye. 

Who the fuck knew that fending off sharklike marriage connoisseurs would be so tiring? 

Unfortunately for him, when he ran towards the table at the back with semi-appropriate haste, he found the seat had already been taken, by none other than the new Count de Fortemps. He’s equally taken a chance to tiredly slump, and is now drinking small sips of port. The delicate glass fits his long fingers, Nika thinks. The details on the glass is almost as pristine as the perfect roundness of his short nails; he crosses his legs, as if to showcase the brilliant shine of his black shoes and his long legs. The low lighting of a nearby lamp makes the sharpness of his face stand out, and in the warmth of it, his blue eyes gleam with relief of finally having a moment to himself. 

Too bad Nika’s mean enough to disturb it. He deserves it, the handsome bastard. “That is my spot,” Nika says. Artoirel straightens immediately and squints. 

“There is not your name written anywhere here, Lord Perseis.” Artoirel shakes his glass. He looks at Nika beneath dark eyelashes. “Therefore, I am permitted to sit here. Am I not a paying customer of this fine establishment?” 

“You are, but you can be a paying customer on another seat. Your money’s going in the same pocket.” Nika crosses his arms. He will not allow anyone else, regardless of how pleasing to the eye they might be, to sit in his place. 

“As is yours,” Artoirel quips and raises his chin. Nika stares him down. “Is there anything I can help you with, Lord Perseis?” 

“You can move from– You know what, my lord? Nevermind. But I’m going to sit here–” Nika points at the chair opposite of the one Artoirel’s currently occupying, “and annoy you with my presence when you so very obviously wish to be alone.” He promptly throws himself on the seat. “You Ishgardians are another breed of person, I swear.” 

He’s breaking a hundred social protocols, but he doesn’t care. He never did. Not now, when there’s a pretty bastard on his seat, and he has to wait for the offending matron to be successfully evicted from the manor premises. Artoirel’s steely gaze would make anyone uncomfortable, but not Nika. Oh no, not Nika. 

“I concur,” Artoirel then adds, quietly. “Especially persistent mamas who would like to see their children married off.” 

Nika blinks, but before he can react, the waiter comes over. “Brandy,” he orders, and turns his attention back to Artoirel. “They’re trying to marry you off too?” 

“There is nobody to marry me off but myself, my lord. However, other people of rank seem to think they ought to be related to a Count.” He rubs his temples. “I, for one, am not willing to marry just yet. But alas.” 

“Ah,” Nika takes a sip of his brandy. “People also seem to think they ought to be related to a musician.”

“And there is no stopping the tide,” Artoirel finishes, with the same misery as before. “‘Twould seem we share a struggle.” 

“At the moment, no,” Nika throws his head back and sighs. He watches Artoirel - the dark pink of his lips, pressed in a thin line, the strands of black hair that fall around his face in a tamed wave, the high points of his cheekbones. I wouldn’t mind being seen with him, Nika thinks. This serious expression suits him. Although, he would probably look just as good if he smiled more. 

No, I wouldn’t mind it at all. 

Nika jerks upright. “We both have the same issue, my good count,” he starts. “And I may have a solution.” 

“If you are suggesting we run to Coerthas and live in a small cabin, thus never seeing a soul ever again, which Lord Stephanivien has told me at some point, I shall promptly turn you down.” 

Nika frowns. “No! What I meant to say was we pretend to be betrothed. That is the problem - people preying on our lack of current romantic lives, right? So we simply pretend we have them, with each other, we walk sometimes around the gardens and go to some operas and people leave us alone.” 

“That.. is not a horrible plan,” Artoirel says after a thought. “And after a while, we break it off, once everyone else has understood that we are to be left alone.” 

“Yes! Like that! We both win!” Nika grins. Finally! A solution that might work! No more annoying nobles, throwing their children at him! At long last, he’ll have peace, music and fame! 

“If we are both in agreement,” Artoirel says with all the seriousness in the world, “when would you find it appropriate for me to ask your mother for your hand in marriage?” 

Uh oh. I wouldn’t mind being seen with him. 

Uh oh.  

#nero plays ffxiv #inspo birb has come to town #bridgerton au #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #ffxiv #i am so sorry. i tried not to do full research for regency drinks and titles. #art was this close to being a duke and nika was this close to being an earl #but hey. this was fun to write! i missed writing fr #wolartoirel

[tblsomedoodles]

Got any wips of project you're wiling to show? I know you said some of the stuff eas kicking you're butt... maybe people seeing you're progress might help?

Yeah, i can share a couple : )

I'll share two things (mostly because the one is very self-indulgent and i'm not entirely sure i'm going to post it when it's done), and the other is just a bit of the seer twin fic i was working on

I'll put it all under a break just so it doesn't get messy.

Here's an excerpt of what i've been writing for the Seer Twins AU. This part is the very tail end of Leo's first waking vision, which i felt like i needed to write out before i could go into the talk (fight) they had the next day. (also that talk might end up being broken up? Mostly because they can't exactly talk to Donnie about hsi visions if no one else really knows he's having them. but that's besides the point.)

-

A decision was made and Donnie continued across the room, dropping to sit cross-legged in front of Raph and Leo. He hesitated briefly before prying one of Leo’s hands away from Raph’s arm to hold in his own.

Leo clung to Donnie’s hand like a lifeline, somehow more desperately than he still did to Raph’s arm. It had to have hurt, but Donnie didn’t so much as wince, instead leaning forward to mumbled something directly to Leo that even Raph couldn’t hear properly.

They sat like that for over an hour as Leo slowly quieted and stopped struggling. By the time the glow began to fade, Leo was limp in Raph’s arms, head laying against Raph’s plastron but his hand still firmly holding Donnie’s. His thoughts came stuttering into Raph’s awareness once again, it’s contents breaking Raph’s heart. Fear, pain, exhaustion, confusion; all sat forefront in his little brother’s mind even as he slowly blinked, taking in his surroundings for the first time since this began.

“Hey,” Leo’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper as he saw everyone in his room. “If I had known there was going to be a party thrown in my room, I’d have cleaned first. Maybe.”

Raph was relieved as he hugged Leo close, Mikey and eventually Donnie joining soon after. Leo was hiding his thoughts behind humor again, but Raph was just glad he was aware enough to do so.

“I love the attention, really I do, but ow,” Leo said after a moment. They let go quickly, though Raph kept him in his lap propped up against his plastron. Leo was still shaky, his entire body feeling like achy Jell-O, his description, not Raph’s. Leo himself wasn’t sure if he could sit up right now, so Raph opted not to have him find out.

- The second thing is a very messy planning video for a Donnie VS the World video, that i never expected to make, but recently realized a song fit too well not to. I doubt it will be full length, or make any sense. Essentially i just had the thought of drawing one of Donnie's first encounters trying to get his brothers back. This is probably very ambitious of me considering im bullshitting my way through the animation process. (i literally do not know how to properly animate. It's all trial and error over here, plus some not-really-helpful youtube videos.) If it looks cool when it's 'finished' i'll probably post it.

This video is just Donnie breaking into a purple dragon warehouse because he heard they have Leo, only to find evidence he was there but actually finding him, and thus making that the purple dragon's problem.

thank you!

#asks #tmnt #rottmnt #seer twins au #donnie vs the world #my wip #i know i have a few more asks i haven't answered #i'll try to get to them tomorrow #anxiety got bad today #all i could do was watch tmnt03 when i got home #anyways as far as Donnie vs is concerned #donnie's brothers are like 90% of his impulse control #without them there #he's blowing up warehouses #just because he's pissed #their enemies are going to learn it's better not to separate him from hsi brothers #b/c an alone Donnie is a scary donnie #and that's like the main thought behind Donnie vs the world #his brothers aren't there #and he will do whatever it takes to get them back

[theserpentsadvocate]

I am drowning in half-planned fic right now because I made the mistake of rewatching Veronica Mars (and seeing the new season) and then there was very very little of the stuff I wanted to make me feel better, so I am now writing it myself all at once??? (Yes, juggling like six AUs at once is a bad idea, no I did not do it on purpose.) And I know better than to post unfinished stuff, so give me some feedback, guys:

What are people interested in?

(Relevant information: I am here for Weevil, and I am decidedly not here for Logan. Also, these are mostly not the actual titles, I just don’t have one yet.)

Finish the short ones first!

*The long, sad, bittersweet Weevil/Jade reunion, where she runs into trouble post S4 and has no one else to call. (Pros: As a (long) oneshot, will probably be finished in the next millennium! I’ve also not only started it but made some decent progress. Has a likely sequel which is… maaaybe less sad. Kind of. Jade POV, which is, uh, scarce. Cons: Sequel is less well-planned-out and kind of self-indulgent, this is a ship that like two people are on. Also it’s sad.)

*Five Children Veronica Mars Never Had (Pros: Short enough it might get finished before the heat-death of the universe! I’ve also already started it. Takes a bit of a turn from the typical children-as-a-ship-exploration/validation these things often have (most of these children are not biologically Veronica’s). Novel canon is relevant! Some very solid V/W friendship in at least one. Cons: Tremendously, horrifically depressing; I literally just keep killing people to make the premise work. Very little shipping.)

*The Jade/Eli Chronicles (Pros: Related oneshots so, again, will probably be finished in a semi-reasonable time. Fluffy if you block S4 from your memory. Jade gets, like, lines. Cons: Not a ton of substance, only happy if you block S4 from your memory, this is a ship that two people are on.)

*Five (Or Some Number) Worlds Veronica Didn’t Grow Up In (Pros: Fun crossovers/fusions! All the chapters will be more standalone, so I might even post it serially. A BtVS where Veronica isn’t the Slayer (Lilly was). Animorphs!!! Cons: Fusions are automatically disinteresting if you don’t know the other canon. Some of them are not super well-developed yet. Also, how do you make Veronica Mars more upsetting? Cross it with Animorphs!)

I want longfic, because the literal problem is not enough V/W longfic!

*Veronica Mars, Intrepid Reporter

A Lilly lives AU where canon splits whenever Lilly (doesn’t) begin her affair with Aaron. Veronica copes with Duncan’s sudden cold shoulder by becoming an investigative high school journalist.

Pros: This is my first-concieved AU, and maybe the project I’m most proud of? (Pending completion.) Heavy focus on the death of Marisol Reyes. Features a not-irredeemably-awful high school experience for Veronica. Lilly is still flawed as per canon but she’s not evil and she loves her brother and her friends. Eventual (very eventual) Veronica/Weevil. Meg lives. Lots of Keith and Veronica’s relationship. Probably the most optimistic of all my AUs.

Cons: Spans a long time and will probably be gigantic (these things always get bigger once I’m writing them), so will take approximately forever to finish. Planned out to some extent but not started yet. Somewhat critical take on Logan (I almost put that in the ‘pros’ column but I know how the fandom is about him).

*The Lawsuit Story

An AU where Weevil doesn’t settle as soon as in canon (or maybe Lamb just panics quicker), and an attempted attack on him kills Jade instead.

Pros: Hello to the novel canon! This is probably my favourite of all the universes I’m messing around with. The Weevil/Veronica friendship is so strong with this one that I am legitimately conflicted over whether to actually even have them get together. Valentina has an extremely strong presence and I love her. It's pretty charitable to Logan, considering I wrote it. Carmen makes a few appearances. Celeste Kane goes down.

Cons: This was originally just part of ‘Five Children…’ so the long version probably won’t be written until that’s finished. May or may not contain Weevil/Veronica, but if it does, it is a loooong wait. Does contain LoVe.

*High School Revenge Story

Another Lilly lives AU, where Lilly definitely IS having an affair with Aaron. And also Weevil, but not anymore. And also, Veronica’s (post-Troy) boyfriend. Anyway, Veronica finds out about the last point and decides to get revenge/prove she’s not some virginal innocent sidekick by hooking up with Lilly’s sidepiece, who she imagines wants to piss Lilly off as much as she does.

Pros: Not only is it Veronica/Weevil, but Veronica/Weevil is, like, eighty percent of the plot. There’s definitely smut (plot- and character-advancing, even!). There’s an unexpectedly touching strangers-with-benefits relationship even before the extremely unplanned pining. This one felt the most like the show when I was planning it out, especially with the nature and timing of the twists. Lilly is not evil, she’s just a teenager in over her head who doesn’t want to admit it and coping maladaptively.

Cons: I always feel weird touting porn as a selling point when I wrote it, because I have had zero sex in my entire life (although I am thirty, and I feel like life experience and general knowledgeableness about actual human anatomy count for something here). I have not started this one yet, although it’s more or less outlined. Logan also does not come off well (this is because he is a teenager having a Very Bad Time, but his actions are still not excusable). This was originally two different AUs before I realized they should probably be one (I cannot say what the other one was, because it’s a major spoiler), so there’s the possibility of disjointedness where they meet. Also, I’m not entirely sure I have the chops to pull this one off – there’s a lot of dark stuff going on under the surface (well, there’d have to be, for the plot to work, because otherwise it’s just very OOC), and it’s not the kind of thing that’s usually my forte, but I’m going to give it a shot anyway.

*Platonic Co-parents

AU where Veronica stays at Hearst. She and Weevil have a one-night stand in her third year and end up getting a child out of it.

Pros: It’s just a lot of fun! It’ll probably end up W/V but in the meantime they’ve got a solid, supportive friendship going on, to the aggravation of everyone either of them tries to date. (“What do you mean your daughter’s father is sleeping on your couch because the hot water broke in his apartment???”) I have a later scene planned out where they go to the high school reunion separately and deliberately show everyone the same picture of Mariana to see if anyone realizes it’s the same kid, which sums up the vibe pretty well. There is Keith+Weevil awkwardness and then probably some Keith+Weevil friendship later on. Lots of time given to Weevil’s family. Also, Veronica looks into Susan Knight’s suspicious drowning. I have also (technically) started it.

Cons: Listen, I know it’s a reach for Veronica to be willing to have a child at this point in her life, but I’ve done my best to justify it and I think I did okay. Plus, you know, the entire premise is a junk food trope – it’s not evil, but it’s trite. I love it anyway.

No, I want something else/FINISH YOUR OTHER STUFF

*[Earth’s Children] The story where an adult Durc and Brun’s former clan meet the post-Ayla Lion Camp!

Pros: Ambitious dual narrative I think I’m pulling off well (time divergent; one strand moving forward from the first encounter, one from Ayla’s departure), lots of screentime for supporting characters with wasted potential (Vorn, Frebec, Ura, Brac, not to mention Durc), several chapters already written.

Cons: Extremely ambitious so it will take me forever to finish, there’s basically no one in this fandom.

*[Earth’s Children] The Echozar/Joplaya fic

Pros: Actually develops their friendship into something that makes sense, development of Echozar’s childhood and of the Lanzadonii, I’ve got a rough outline and a few pages written.

Cons: Definitely chaptered so it will take some time, there are even less people in this part of the fandom.

*[The Old Guard] Give An Inch Fall A Mile (Joe and Nicky friendship-with-benefits their way into being Joe and Nicky)

Pros: Lots of sex scenes (obviously) on which I have had positive feedback, several chapters written (probably half-finished), I'm very proud of the writing quality on this one, and I absolutely should be writing this first.

Cons: I have been stalled out on it for more than a year, it may not be finished before the new movie comes out and possibly makes it incompatible with canon.

*[Veronica Mars] The Firebird AU… crossover… fusion… thing

Post-S4, Veronica travels through alternate universes and learns that she needs to get her shit together and apologize to Weevil.

Pros: Um, the Firebird Trilogy is cool but is not required knowledge for entry, alternate universes are neat, and even though this idea is probably dumb I can’t stop thinking about it. It would probably even technically comply with canon.

Cons: Half of the universes I have up my sleeve are from the AUs mentioned above, so it probably won’t get written (if it does) until they’re finished in like ten to twenty years. The actual plot is thin; I mostly have a bunch of scenes. There is a decent chance this idea is self-gratifying and pointless, but I also just cannot stop thinking about it.

*[Veronica Mars] Zombie Apocalypse

Post-S4 zombie apocalypse lands Veronica and Keith on a stolen yacht with a bunch of Weevil’s gang, Jade and her new boyfriend, and this one other guy.

Pros: There’s a lot of compelling (I think) personal drama, which is largely not rooted in anyone being an asshole (except Veronica, but that’s canon and I can’t do anything about it except try to fix it with zombies). Weevil finds out his kid is trans and does his best to speed-run the acceptance ladder despite his personal doubts because he’s extremely concerned about being killed by zombies (and thinks he's dying for a minute) and knows this is his only chance to make them feel supported. Eventual W/V, probably.

Cons: I do not know where I’m going with this. Author is not trans herself and might fuck up.

*[Veronica Mars] The Babysitter Effect

Valentina’s babysitter is still in the truck when Weevil stops to help Celeste, and she witnesses everything.

Pros: Teenage awkwardness, but in a fun way. Weevil gets the justice he fucking deserves. Beginning already written.

Cons: I have no plans at all for what happens after the inciting incident, and even if I did I don’t know how long this would be.

Soooo... if you're not in the Silm fandom you've probably never seen my writing before, but I'm happy to back it up with excerpts! Please ask me for excerpts.

If I keep up the volume of writing I've been doing I can probably get something substantial finished by the end of the year but I need input, please weigh in even if we're complete strangers and you found this post two years from now, best-case scenario I can link you to the completed fic. :)

#veronica mars #eli navarro #weevil navarro #fanfic #fandom misc #earth's children #i seriously keep bouncing between these ideas at the speed of light #give me some direction and i promise i will finish SOMETHING #i just want to keep my momentum up #yes i know this is going to look bizarre to 90% of my dash but hey you can veronica mars AND tolkien #so hopefully i am not screaming into the void #although that's not much different from talking loudly about weevil in my empty living room which i already do #so i'll be fine either way #revenge gambit fic #the jade/eli chronicles

[strangersmunsons]

okay so I'm trying to work out an internal conflict I'm having over one of my WIPs:

I have a Rockstar!Eddie AU in mind, where the reader character is also a musician. and they're heavily inspired by (okay fine, more like blatantly based on) a real person, one of my favorite artists ever, and I can't tell if that's like...crossing a line, somehow? if that's too embarrassing and self-indulgent to write and put it out there for the world to see?

the musician in question is very unique and maybe a little obscure compared to more mainstream artists, but nonetheless they have a devoted fanbase with a presence on tumblr. and I'm scared that if I ever were to complete the fic and post it, someone who knows them will come across it and instantly think it's the most cringe shit ever, in which case I'll just have to completely obliterate my blog and disappear

#lou.txt #don't mind me lol just having sum thots #but if anyone comes across this and wants to give their two cents i will gladly accept it #eddie munson x reader

[bluecichlid]

Fanfic ask game from the lovely and brilliant @ravencromwell! I am afraid I accidentally deleted

 5, 39, and 43

5. How many wips do you have?  What fandoms/pairings are they for?

If you mean vague ideas that will likely never see the light of day, an infinite number!  

Counting just things I have at least something written for, for Shades of Magic, after I finish Nothing Alike (which is proceeding at a glacial pace), I have a multichapter Kelillia fic planned (working title, A Midsummer Night’s Madness) which will have visits to all three worlds and pretty much the full cast of characters, including Holland and the Dane twins.  I also have a first draft of a one shot that is the origin of the Kell/Alucard feud (working title, A Five Lin Bet).

I’ve also got very rough drafts of a few fics for a “sliding-doors” AU series, of which Love and Loss is one. The one I've developed the most is pretty out there, but it is a retelling of DSOM where Kell is female (trans, but the distinction between trans and cis is meaningless for an Antari: she chooses to live as a woman).  She was adopted out to the Emerys and she's engaged to Rhy.  

Other than those ones for Shades of Magic, I do have my Game of Thrones fics, but that is a sad story.  Among other things, I found that as the show progressed, I discovered that neither the show nor the books were the story I had fallen in love with.  I keep thinking about finishing them off, but I just can’t muster the enthusiasm and by now I think I never will.  

39. What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

LOL - something that I’m not sure I can even explain, and have no intention of it seeing the light of day!  Basically a zany take off on a tolkien-style fantasy adventure with all the tropes, except my MC is just along for the ride and has no fucks to give.  She’s the old trope of the ageless immortal sorceress, except she’s fully occupied with building something called the worldshield (much more important).  She got dragged into this (dramatic music) epic war for a fate of a kingdom because she’s banging this (SUPER hot) guy who fell over on her doorstep, who turns out to be the prince, and since they don’t speak the same language, he thinks he’s protecting her by taking her along with him.  It’s all fine, she likes him, the sex is great, he means well, she can keep ‘working from home’ on the worldshield, and she has a strict policy of noninvolvement in the fantasy-trope plot.  (“You’re doing great, honey!”)  She drinks a lot of coffee. 

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

Probably true love/star-crossed lovers.  I don’t even know what’s holding me back.  Maybe I’m too cynical, or too into dark humour and quips, but I’ve never managed to write people who totally love each other and have a happy ending.  But someday!

#my writing #Shades of Magic #I continue to ramble