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p0ckykiss · 7 months

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five ways to say "i love you" - jeonghan

summary - how jeonghan shows his love to you, through all five love languages

-> sick y/n, worried jeonghan, fluff, established relationship, soft jeonghan!!!!, whipped jeonghan

seasonal depression is a real thing. at least, according to you it is. personally, jeonghan had never experienced it. its entire premise just didn't really make sense, is all. watching the leaves change colors and fall was beautiful, and when winter rolled around the corner, so did the holidays and days off. if anything, wasn't that a reason to be happier?

a sneeze interrupts his train of thought, and jeonghan feels a pang in his chest at the sight.

it's officially been three days with you being flu-struck, and you both hoped it would've gotten better by now, but if anything it only seemed to have gotten worse. the time reads a quarter past two, and jeonghan can't help but sigh.

you've been stuck on the couch since noon, curled up in your warmest blanket trying to watch the latest sitcom episode. your drowsiness is palpable, and every time you reach for a tissue to blow your nose, jeonghan flinches.

if seasonal depression corresponded with your well-being, then maybe jeonghan relates to it more than he thinks. and though jeonghan is chock-full of sympathy, his urgency to comfort you proves stronger.

and so jeonghan begins to rack his brain for different methods to make you feel better. and somehow his memories digress to the day you both took the love language test, even before you started dating. much to his embarrassment, jeonghan doesn't actually remember what your love language is, and he's way too prideful to ask. luckily, the nostalgia ends with the spark of a lightbulb, and jeonghan smiles. he knows exactly what to do.

—

the quest to rediscover your love language begins with the first type: words of affirmation.

slowly, jeonghan saunters over to you, trailing his fingertips over the leather of the couch, then over the fabric of the blanket, gently and gradually, until they find their way to your shoulder, and jeonghan leans down so you're promptly face to face. the quiet chatter from the TV fills up empty space, but it's not enough to force jeonghan to speak loudly. so he doesn't. instead, he inches ever so closer, until he can make out every beauty mark on your face, and he breathes, hardly above a whisper, "you're so beautiful."

in an attempt to play the compliment off, you merely roll your eyes. you blame your illness, though, when you can't contain the slightest inklings of a smile forming, nor the red flush that threatens to overtake your cheeks. you pair a gentle slap against jeonghan's arm with the statement, "i look like shit," and the accusation, "you're just saying that to make me feel better."

if it was even possible, jeonghan moves in closer, propping one hand on the couch arm for support so he could lift his other hand to rest perfectly under your chin. jeonghan swipes his thumb over your skin, hot to the touch, but he can't tell if it's from a blush or from the fever. "you might be right," jeonghan concedes, humming as he takes in every detail of your current state—rosy nose, puffy eyes, dry skin, messy hair—and yet jeonghan can't seem to find any flaws. inspection complete, jeonghan searches for the one thing he knows he can find. ever so faintly, glimmers dance in your eyes, and when jeonghan catches them with his own, like he's done before a million times, he repeats himself. "you might be right. i could just be saying that to make you feel better." jeonghan tucks one of many stray hairs behind your ear before reaching down to cup your hands together, "but that doesn't make it any less true."

and jeonghan can see it, can physically see it, how all of your insecurities instantly crumble, like a house of cards collapsing upon itself, melting away to make room for new walls, sturdier this time, built from affirmations and confidence and care.

a verbal response isn't required. all you do is smile, subtly, so that your lips barely curve up, and you close your eyes. but even this speaks volumes, because it's your cue of absorbing all the good things around you, no matter how small. it's also jeonghan's cue to add one final speck of positivity to your realm with a sweet kiss to your forehead, before he takes his leave to give you your much-needed space.

—

mindless chatter continues to emit from the TV, and when jeonghan peers into the living room, he spots you tucked away in your same spot on the couch, only this time your head rested lower and your mouth hung open, blissfully asleep and temporarily free from the virus that ailed you.

jeonghan is quick to shimmy on his coat. braving the bite of winter air, it was time to do some shopping for part two, giving gifts, in his mission to determine your love language.

months of taking extra shifts, saving up, determined observations, and heavy research all culminated into this one moment. he was battling not one, but two, life-or-death decisions. the first was to pick which gaming console to buy, and the second was to pick which game to correctly pair with said console. his dedication to this plan, despite being executed weeks before the planned date, does not fail him, and fifteen minutes later jeonghan is walking back into your home as if nothing even happened.

luckily, you are still asleep, which gives jeonghan enough time to wrap up (literally) this phase of the journey and get a head start on the next: acts of services.

—

about a million things fly through jeonghan's head when he watches you ease out of your slumber, the most prominent thought being how adorable you look, but the most important thought being how sick you still must feel, and how it's engraved in jeonghan's soul to fend off your demons.

unable to contain his excitement, jeonghan approaches you with his arms tucked behind his back, very conspicuously hiding something. you don't even get the chance to sit up before jepnghan kneels beside you, looking up with the largest pair of star-filled eyes.

jeonghan brings both hands forward, so the two presents display themselves proudly between you. "i was going to wait until christmas," he shuffles the gifts into your arms, "but i can't stand seeing you like this." jeonghan balls his fists into his lap to prevent himself from tearing away at the wrappings himself. "i hope you like it."

piece by piece, bits of red and green foil fall to the floor. no amount of congestion or itchiness in your throat could suppress the yelp that burst from your voice. "jeonghan," you begin, but the growing lump of emotion in your chest was making it damn near impossible to finish your sentence. "you really didn't have to."

jeonghan beams. "yes i did. i know how much you miss your old switch."

"you mean the one i threw out the window because i couldn't pass that one stupid level of super mario?"

it's clear that you are very unfond of the memory, but jeonghan simply finds it all the more endearing. "that's the one."

the grin on jeonghan's face has yet to falter, and suddenly the swells of appreciation that lap at your heart transform into guilt. you imagine all the sacrifices jeonghan must have made in order to afford this, all the late shifts he had to seek out, just to buy you a replacement for something you broke in the first place. you swallow a lump of equal parts of exasperation and admiration down your throat, ready to air out further protest because you really don't deserve this, and you sure as hell don't deserve jeonghan.

and jeonghan can imagine all of your internal turmoil, of course he can, which gives him all the more reason to assure you that you do, in fact, deserve the entire world. it's also happily up to jeonghan to deliver it to you. one warm hand placed on your cold ones and a couple of soothing circles rubbed atop of them later, and jeonghan has effectively drawn you out of your own bubble.

"whatever you're worrying about," jeonghan exhales, "don't." when jeonghan senses the tension releasing from your body, he drives his point across with a home run. "plus," he nods at the game he bought to accompany the console, mario kart 8, "we can play together this time, too."

there's no reason to argue, you conclude, especially not against jeonghan. a deep breath resets your mentality, and you try your best to return to your usual self, biting back a smile. "you know I won't go easy on you, right?"

"oh please," jeonghan ruffles your already messy hair, "in your condition, you'll be begging me to go easy on you."

frowning, you take a moment to envision this unlikely scenario. unwilling to even entertain the possibility of losing to jeonghan, you dodge the challenge altogether. "how about we play another time," you mutter.

and at that, jeonghan jumps to his feet, grabbing the switch and the game in one fell swoop. "i knew you were gonna say that," he giggles, "which is why I prepared something else."

after quickly shooting a prayer to whatever gods were out there, you tentatively say, "please don't tell me you got another ridiculously expensive gift. this is more than enough." you're more than enough, you want to add, but don't.

jeonghan all but skips to the kitchen. "i wouldn't exactly call this a gift." a painfully slow thirty seconds pass until he returns to the couch in the living room, to you, carefully balancing a plate of various desserts in one hand, and cradling what appeared to be a lighter in the other.

you squint, double checking if you were actually seeing what you thought you were seeing. "what exactly would you call it, then?"

figuring that calling it an act of service would be much too blatant, jeonghan settles on "lunch."

"lunch?" you eye the plate, definitively making out two chocolate bars, a sleeve of graham crackers, and a bundle of marshmallows.

once his rendition of a charcuterie board is secure on the coffee table, jeonghan maneuvers his way onto the couch and under the blanket, shoulder to shoulder with you one and only. "you haven't eaten all day. and i know you probably don't want to eat a proper meal," jeonghan gestures at their awaiting food, "but I also know you crave sweets when you're sick."

it should be second nature by now, really, with how many times jeonghan so casually demonstrates just how well he knows you, maybe even more than you knows yourself. but jeonghan leaves you in awe every time, regardless.

s'mores are your designated comfort food. the entire process is just so enjoyable, from prepping the ingredients and assembling the structure, to trying to eat the whole thing in one bite lest the remnants ooze out the sides. and so you both do just that.

lacking anything close to a fireplace or a firepit, you roast marshmallows skewered with chopsticks above the dim flame from the lighter. as per the laws of physics (or something like that), the first marshmallow never goes well, and you both end up with a big black burnt chunk of goo. you effectively hurl yours in the trash, but jeonghan dares to take a nibble off his own. he learns that curiosity does, in fact, kill the cat, and jeonghan scrambles to wash out that terrible ashy aftertaste on his tongue. then he hears the faint sound of you snorting, and he concludes that it was worth it.

you tackle the issue of melting the chocolate next, but it's jeonghan who requests to handle this part because he doesn't want to risk you getting burnt.

and so you watch as jeonghan carefully heats the chocolate piece by piece over the fire. and you note all of jeonghan's habits you've picked up on over the years. how jeonghan's tongue peaks out from the corner of his mouth when he's super concentrated, how he furrows his brows when he tries to see better, how he forgets to blink when there's one specific thing on his mind. and you feel yourself likewise melting like the chocolate, because even to this day, you still can't fathom how you were so lucky to have jeonghan to call yours.

"i hope you're hungry," jeonghan announces, grinning ear to ear.

you reciprocate the expression. it's assembly time.

you make a mess. it was inevitable, honestly. there was only so much precaution to be taken from your comfy position on the couch, legs and feet all tangled up in each other. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

laughter outshines any noise from the long-forgotten sitcom playing on the TV. each bounce of your shoulder from an accompanying chuckle is followed by the blanket sliding down, just a bit. jeonghan tries to be slick when he drapes his arm around you, a front to make sure he can pull the blanket back up every time it threatens to slip. but this is you. you, who notice everything that jeonghan does for you. you, who's grateful for all of it. you, who don't think you can love jeonghan any more than you already do.

—

an impromptu nap is essential for their post-s'more recovery. the last two love languages, physical touch and quality time, are much harder to gauge. considering jeonghan's affection is usually on full display 24/7 and the fact that he counts his entire lifespan with you as quality time, he can only hope you treasure your moments together as much as he does. and honestly, at this point, jeonghan is much too tired to care about his quest to uncover your love language. the only mission on his mind is to get you as close as possible, and so he seeks to accomplish just that.

pulling you into his arms, you both slump onto your sides, feet dangling off the edge of the couch, hands wrapped around shoulders and backs, and eyes locked unwavering onto the other's. jeonghan slips his bicep under your neck, fashioning a faux pillow, and rests your head against his chest, just above his beating heart.

you squirm in a weak attempt to create some distance between you. (you're not successful.) "i'm gonna get you sick."

jeonghan only snuggles closer. "i don't care," emphasizing his point with a chaste kiss upon your forehead, and then, oh so gently, on your nose, both cheeks, and finally, still ever so softly, on your lips.

you've both long since outgrown the butterflies in your stomachs. what used to elicit sparks of electricity at every touch now resound in echoes of warmth. and lying here, in jeonghan's embrace, in jeonghan's comfort, in jeonghan's life, you feel so safe. you'd spend eternity with jeonghan if you could, but right now, when the passage of time has all but stopped as you continue to hold each other in your own beautiful world, what you have right now is all you want.

—

you both wake up as you were, still entangled in each other's body, each other's affection, each other's hearts.

you let yourself drown in the serenity that was jeonghan before you ask the question that's been tickling the back of your mind the whole day. "what was up with you today? you were oddly kind, even more so than you usually are."

an instant flush of red rises upon jeonghan's cheeks, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think jeonghan was the sick one, not you. "this is gonna sound stupid," jeonghan says.

and to that, your first instinct is to reach for jeonghan's hand and intertwine your fingers, still perfectly warm under the blanket. "nothing you say is ever stupid." it's true. on a scale of endearing to adorable, never once have you thought jeonghan resembled anything close to the word stupid.

jeonghan bites his lip, as he confesses, "i hated seeing how miserable you were, and i wanted to cheer you up, but i forgot what your love language is, so i thought i'd do one of each to see which one you like the most, but you were equally receptive to all of them, and i feel dumb for not knowing what means the most to you."

when you don't immediately respond, jeonghan sighs and chides himself. "i told you, it's stupid."

but you just laugh, sporting a grin so wide your eyes turn into mini crescent moons. "yoon jeonghan, you're ridiculous in the best way possible." you unlace your finger in favor of cupping your palm around jeonghan's cheek, still blazing from embarrassment. "did you know that?"

jeonghan flits his gaze downwards, uncharacteristically shy towards the one person he's bared his entire soul to. "could you still remind me what your love language is?" he sheepishly requests, adding on, "just for future reference."

you just smile, and you hope your words are enough to convey the intensity of the way your whole body swells with an undeniable warmth every time jeonghan does anything. "as long as it's with you," you use your thumb to tilt jeonghan's head back up, ensuring he can see just how sincere you are when you say, "i love it all just the same." and then you lean in, breaths already mingling, lips centimeters from meeting, hearts seconds from colliding, when you whisper, "i love you all just the same."

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talesofesther · 1 year

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sweet calamity | ch 2

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that's destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it's easier said than done.

A/N: Slowly, the story is shaping itself, hopefully y'all will like it. Also thank you so much for 7.5K followers, love ya. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 1 here

It was rare the times where you woke up before your alarm, given that you weren't exactly a morning person. But you could barely sleep last night, excitement and apprehension twirling inside your stomach; so it was no surprise when you woke up with the birds this morning.

Today was your first official day at Nevermore, the place where, supposedly, you belong. You were lucky to already know a few of the students here, Eugene for one, who had given you a basic tour of the school yesterday.

To say that Nevermore was big would be an understatement, the ancient, castle-like structure had your anxiety spiking as soon as you walked through the gates. It was a given that you'd take your sweet time getting lost here.

Just as you are right now.

You were leaning back on one of the stone walls on the quad, cell phone in hand as you read one of your mother's latest texts; have a good first day darling, remember to make friends and don't isolate yourself, love you.

With a soft sigh, you typed back the generic response you always gave your mom, a sweet thanks and I love you that usually did the trick so she wouldn't press the matter.

Stashing your phone on your backpack, your gaze roamed over the hallways and doorways, searching for any clues on where the hell botany class was supposed to be. Technically, you could just ask someone. Your fellow outcast colleagues came and went, passing by you nonstop. Yet part of you didn't want to be the lost newbie.

You pushed yourself away from the wall, turning around on the spot, forcing your peers to dodge you as you took a slow step backward to get some new perspective.

And that's when it happened again, so suddenly this time that it got you stumbling on your own feet.

It reminded you of when you accidentally touched that hot frying pan when you were seven. The burning, sharp and angry against your skin; right on the pulse point of your wrist. The same one you felt for the very first time just yesterday, and maybe that was the main reason for your restlessness today.

Your mother always talked with you about soulmates, about how she was lucky to have found hers and that maybe you would be too. But at the end of the day, she was also a realist. She had never once allowed you to dream too big, hope too much. Because she knew it wasn't a reality for everyone.

You grew up in a world of maybes. Maybe you will find yours, maybe you won't; both are okay. And that was your truth, you were content with any outcome.

Until yesterday.

It's strange how a few seconds can change a lifetime.

You had never cared much about having a bond with someone, but then you felt it. It was almost palpable if you focused enough, that fragile red string tied around your finger, sending shockwaves to your heart and changing its rhythm.

Overnight, the thought of breaking this bond became almost unfathomable.

Your backpack bumped into someone when you lost your footing, you quickly turned around with an apology on your lips, but the person spoke first;

"Whoever it was, do it again and I will break each of your fingers." She spoke lowly, with a bite to her tone that gave you goosebumps.

You could tell she straightened her tie before turning around to face you, and once she did so — ever so slowly — any words you had tangled on your tongue faded completely.

She was all raven black hair and smooth pale skin, her lips had a dark shade of burgundy to them, shaping the lines to perfection; if you squinted, you could see freckles over her nose; her eyes were just as dark as her hair, lashes kissing the corner of her cheeks as she blinked once, twice and then kept her gaze on you with a faint frown to her eyebrows.

Something about her got your heartbeat going haywire. It was addictive.

Only when the silence was bordering awkward that you found your voice again; "shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you." It didn't help your nerves that you could feel the eyes of the passing students on you, as if they were watching a live decapitation ceremony — plus the ever-present ache on your skin.

Talk about an eventful first day.

All the girl did was angle her chin up, her eyes skimming up and down your body. "Stop walking backwards and maybe it won't happen again."

You pursed your lips, nodding once. Touche. "That's great advice, actually." You attempted a smile, but when you got no response back, you continued; "uh anyway, I have to go to botany class so, I see you around?"

If you looked closely, you could tell she acknowledged your words with a nod of her own. Figuring that's all you were getting, you turned around and took a step the opposite way.

A beat or two passed, almost as if she was considering if you were worth her time of day or not.

"I'm heading to botany as well," the raven-haired girl's voice called after you.

You looked at her over your shoulder.

"And that is not the way." She told you pointedly, raising a perfectly styled eyebrow at you.

Good one, idiot. Was all you could think to yourself.

You stood in the middle of the hallway with six feet between you and the girl whose name you were already itching to know, unsure if she wanted you to tag along or not.

"I'm not gonna wait on you forever," she said then, impatiently, and you scrambled to fall into step beside her.

You followed by her side as she left the quad, passing through Nevermore's gardens — which were breathtaking this time of year, the huge trees with a mix of faded green and yellow on their leaves, some of them already forming a blanket on the grass beneath them, old stone paths for you to walk on and a cold breeze in the air, countered by warm sunlight; you could spend hours out here — until you saw the big greenhouse in the distance.

"Thank you for this," you spared a timid glance at the girl beside you, "really, I would probably still be walking in circles if it wasn't for you."

There was no response other than a blank look in your general direction; you wanted to hear her voice though. "I'm Y/N, by the way." The question about her own name went unsaid.

Did you always have the need to speak so much? Wednesday wondered.

By no means, she was one to care enough in helping newcomers find their way around. They could be bothersome, asking too many questions and delaying her routine.

Yet there was something about you that got her feeling uneasy when she considered parting ways. For a second, she wondered if it was your soul that was doomed with hers, but you had already bumped into her and the cursed burning was still there; with no pattern to it, ever unpredictable, resembling the push and pull of waves on the oceanside yet never going away entirely.

And Wednesday wanted to be annoyed, she should be annoyed, shouldn't she? Because the sooner she finds out who her other half is, the sooner she can put an end to it.

She wasn't. She wasn't bothered that it wasn't you. Because the thought of hating you was slightly unappealing.

Her jaw was tight, sunlight framing her profile and reflecting on her pupils as she said; "Wednesday."

Were you going to be another Enid? Talking her ears off every given minute only to warp your way inside her cold heart eventually?

Wednesday let out an indignant scoff at the mere thought of it.

Her response lit you up like a Christmas tree; "Enid's roommate?"

You reached the greenhouse and Wednesday stopped in front of the glass doors. She turned to face you, her eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"Uh, we're friends," you were quick to elaborate, eyes focused on the way Wednesday's fringe flowed with the wind, "well, our parents are friends so we became friends too, she talked a lot about you on vacation. I almost feel like I already know you."

To that, Wednesday sharpened her gaze daringly, sure that Enid's version of her had the potential to be twisted into something sweetly inaccurate.

And was it bad that your panicked face was somewhat adorable?

"Not trying to imply that I do," you hurriedly said, eyes a tad too wide, "I'm just saying that I've heard a lot about you."

You amused her; the same way a cat finds it amusing to play with its prey. There was a ghost of a smile on Wednesday's lips; "yes, we do share a room."

The greenhouse was already partly filled with students when you walked in together, its glass walls almost entirely covered by plants, allowing only little bits of sunlight to come through as the smell of several different flowers engulfed your senses.

There were a few seats empty, but when you settled on a table at the back, Wednesday felt compelled to follow suit, making herself comfortable on the chair beside yours.

You kept surprisingly quiet during most of the class, taking notes in your notebook and occasionally tapping your pen against the paper but other than that, quiet. Wednesday felt strangely at ease in your company.

Wednesday had her hands neatly resting on the table, half listening to the new teacher's boring explanation about a poisonous plant and half counting the new species added to the greenhouse since she last came here.

She had counted twelve by the time her attention was captured, by you, no less.

There was a potted orchid resting by your side, it was a small thing, its soil a little too dry and its petals a little too pale — apparently the new teacher wasn't as attentive with her plants.

Wednesday watched the way you raised a hand to the poor flower, fingertips grazing the tip of its petals, and from each place you touched, a burst of life erupted. Slowly, the flower regained its bright colors, the leaves standing tall again in a deep shade of green at the same time that a loving smile came to your lips.

"Interesting," this time, Wednesday was the one to break the silence.

Her voice made you flinch, as if you had been in your own world for a moment. You took a deep breath before saying; "she was looking a little sad."

With her eyes still on the colorful orchid, Wednesday asked; "you make things come to life?"

"Uh, plants mostly," you shrugged, like even you didn't know the full extent of your abilities, "but yeah."

You looked up at Wednesday, not expecting to find her eyes already on you; dark as the night, if you looked closely, you could find galaxies in them to get lost in. You couldn't remember ever becoming this quickly infatuated with someone before, so much so, that it got you wondering — hoping — what if it's her?

The hairs on your arm stood up, a shiver going up and down your back. Could it be her?

"Enid always loved it," you forced out, at the same time that you forced the what-ifs out of your head — because you could almost hear your mother saying; hope is dangerous, don't ever let it overcrowd your senses. "She used to tell me that I'm lucky, that I could just conjure up any bouquet I'd want when I find my soulmate," you grinned at the memory, "and I always told her it was not that simple, that I can't make things out of thin air."

"Enid can be naive," Wednesday stated, tone a tad too tight, "she often times sees the world through rainbow lenses."

You chuckled, "do I sense some disdain?"

There's a beat before Wednesday says anything; a beat where she just looks at you, wondering when you got so comfortable with her, and why she let you.

"Quite the contrary," she tells you then, "Enid is one of the few people I tolerate here."

You smiled faintly, eyes downcast and focusing on Wednesday's hands instead of her eyes, "not for Enid."

Wednesday blinked slowly as understanding downed on her, she straightened in her seat; "most people fail to realize that having your soul linked to another is nothing short of a burden." Her words rolled off her tongue easily, that was her truth.

You nodded, not agreeing but acknowledging her view, "why would it be a burden?"

"Because no one asked for it, it's an inconvenience that's forced upon you. And people expect you to just accept it, love it, even," Wednesday told you, her eyebrows scrunched together in anger, "why would I ever want something like that?"

Your lips parted as you felt her hatred as if it was choking you, her black nails tapping against the table at the same rhythm your heart pumped blood. "What happens if you meet yours?"

"For their sake, I hope it never happens."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 3 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @ladey @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

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redclercs · 11 months

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DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

v. i gave my blood, sweat and tears for this

— the one where both of you have given everything to be where you are.

warnings: misogyny, sexual harassment, this is how monaco went btw i accept no criticism. barely proofread, sorry. 3.7k words (+ article, podcast excerpts)

masterlist ✢ next

'Have we let y/n y/ln get away with way too much?'

By Alan Gomez

Yes folks, it might be our own fault, we have created a monster in the form y/n y/ln. Mediocre actress at best and with an even worse personality, if the latest events are any indication.

But how could we let this happen? Come on, we're smarter than this!

The thing is, y/n brainwashed us into believing that her doe-eyed, no-brain characters were actually her. Don't beat yourselves up over this too much, even I was a victim of those pretty eyes. But now that the blindfold has fallen, we have come to realize we have let y/n get away with everything!

You might know y/n from Supercut, the romantic comedy that took the world by storm in 2019, where she starred alongside Aidan Kim and it lead to these two becoming one of the general public’s most cherished couples. At least until two months ago, when their breakup was announced via Inside Out. Although there haven’t been any official statements, given the circumstances, we believe it was the actress who broke it off with Kim.

→ Aidan Kim and friends at Cannes Film Festival

→ Y/N supports alleged boyfriend at charity football match

But whether she’s dating a new guy now or not, why do we keep letting her do whatever she wants?

How did she actually brainwash us into thinking she’s anything close to an “it girl”? After Supercut, all she’s done is the absolute bare minimum to keep people talking about her, it’s all RomComs and no effort. I didn’t want to be that person, and you have to believe me on this, but Aidan Kim made her.

Let’s remember Aidan built his career from the ground as a member of Star-5 the early 2010’s boyband that split in 2018. He was the ‘someone’ in the relationship. How can people even compare having the hit song “Round and Round” in your résumé to being in Scream (Netflix) and The Mist (again, Netflix)?

Aidan made us like her and the writers of Parisian Valentine, The Hating Game and Last Night In Love, did her a HUGE favor by consolidating her as the “Queen of RomComs” by what standard? Well, don’t ask me.

The truth is, we accepted y/n into our hearts and homes, thanks to Aidan Kim and an unbelievable amount of luck, and we haven’t held her accountable for anything ever.

Here’s what I’m talking about, if you’re still wondering what the point of this article is, click on every link to be taken to the whole context, you’ll thank me later:

❍Y/N yells at paparazzi to leave her alone as she walks around Beverly Hills with Victoria Presley.

❍ Y/N praises Taylor Swift while tearing down several male artists for writing songs about their personal experiences.

❍ Y/N says in interview with ELLE that not every movie has to be “profound”.

And just for fun:

❍ A collection of Y/N’s disastrous looks.

It’s time we realize y/n y/ln is talentless, has a horrible personality and feigns innocence she certainly doesn’t have. You will NOT continue to take advantage of us, y/n! It’s all over for you, so I’m glad you’re dropping your pathetic career to become a WAG. #Y/NIsOverParty.

↺ FROM ❛WE WATCH❜ PODCAST

Paul Byrnes: Can y/n really do another role now, after all she’s known for are romantic comedies?

Anna Sanchez: well, I really liked her in The Mist, she did great as character in a horror it was—

Paul Byrnes: No one cares about The Mist, Anna, just you.

Anna Sanchez: all I’m saying is she’s a good actress, she can do other things. That was your question, Paul.

Paul Byrnes: Well, in my opinion she can't and that's it.

↺ FROM ❛IT TALK❜ PODCAST

Greg Zane: Let's talk y/n y/ln and her fashion choices now that she's an F1 WAG. What do we think?

Riley Green: She's a what now? How long has it been since she broke up with Aidan Kim?

Martha Vincent: I think she's looking great, I just wish she'd let go of the ugly caps.

Riley Green: No seriously, how long did she stay single?

Greg Zane: I agree Martha, but caps are big in Formula 1, nothing we can do about that. I'm wondering if she'll go for a more glamorous look in Monaco.

Riley Green: guys? hello?

Martha Vincent: Oh Riley, we're not talking about her love life, let it go.

↺ FROM ❛HOLLYWOOD VIBES❜ PODCAST

Pauline Oscar: [cont.] I'm just so curious about the reason of their breakup, why hasn't anyone said anything?! It must be juicy.

Brenda Yim: I feel like it's bad for one of them, most likely y/n. Hello, can anyone offer one of their friends some money? Just like old times!

Pauline Oscar: [laughs] Definitely! We need to know! Can it get any worse than the fact that she's already with another guy? What's his name? Charles Le what? She soooo cheated.

liked by charles_leclerc, vicpresley, mati.bassi, carlossainz55 and others.

ynfreesia UM THE LIKES?

xxynbaby it's "monaco" of course

aidanluvs you don't even have the decency to pretend like you're alone? fuck you

ynredstar i cannot defend you if you pull this shit girl

mati.bassi great view for breakfast with my best girl!💕

ynredstar oh ynredstar nevermind thanks mati ↳ feels4aidan don't be so gullible she's obviously covering up for them

THE COMMENTS FOR THIS POST ARE DISABLED.

May 27th, Montecarlo, Monaco.

THERE are tears in your eyes, and despite your best efforts not to let them run down your cheeks, it's futile. The worst part is that you're the one doing this to yourself. There's zero need to read 'articles' from pseudo journalists on how a man gave you your career and how you're tossing it into the trash for another. Not to mention the cascade of curses you received for a picture on instagram, where everyone thought you were with the other man.

Has your life really come to this? People don't talk about you unless a guy is involved? You loathe it. Your career was never about Aidan, and it's not about Charles now. Who only makes things worse every time he shows up and yet you can't manage to bring it up to him.

It's embarrassing. You don't want to walk up to him during whatever free time he has in a hectic weekend, and ask him if it really doesn't annoy him everything the press has made up about the two of you, or if he's really that unbothered by being paired up with you in the wildest scenarios, and tell him that he can shut them down whenever he feels like it (you wish he would already), and let him know you won't mind whatever he says about not being involved with you.

But no, Mr. Leclerc is busy giving unclear answers at interviews and liking your instagram posts, as if this isn't already a wildfire.

You put down your phone and pick it back up almost immediately, Vic's ringtone fills your hotel room and you wipe away your tears before answering her FaceTime request.

"Were you crying?" it's the first thing she says, moving her sunglasses to the top of her head. There's a lot of noise in the background and you can barely make the words out, but she comes so close to the phone that all you can see is the tip of her nose. "Why were you crying?"

"It's nothing, Vic. What's up?" you sigh, rubbing your eyes only makes things worse but you don't want to worry about that now.

"I just got to Monaco, babe," the phone is at a safe distance from her nostrils again and you can see around her, the airport where you landed a few days ago. "I'm with my parents," she rolls her eyes, lowering her voice. "But if you could get me into the Ferrari Suite I can hang out with you tomorrow!"

They allowed you one guest and the spot has already been taken by Mati, so there really isn't much you can do in terms of getting her into the Ferrari Suite. "Well, let me see what I can do, okay?"

"Okay," she sounds unsure, you know Vic enough to be sure she expected a different answer. "I mean my parents have Lounge privileges but it's more fun to be with you."

Had she said something about coming to Monaco you might have been able to do something, but as far as you were concerned she planned to stay in France all week, enjoying Cannes and mingling.

"I'll do my best Vic, but you know how they are," you exhale heavily, "Plus it's a crazy-ass weekend."

"Isn't it always?" she's yawning now, "We can meet for dinner later and you can tell me what's up alright? Being with my parents is so boring."

You shake your head, "Be nice, they just want to hang out with you. I'll call you after Quali," you check the clock on top of the nightstand, it's 10 am. You have to get ready for FP3, which you don't care about attending or not but Stuart Schaffer asked to see you, so you haven't got much of a choice.

"Sure babes, love you." Vic pulls her sunglasses down again and blows a kiss to the screen.

"Love you too," it's your turn to yawn as you tap the hang up button.

You look at the special edition Ferrari cap you received as a gift yesterday on top of your suitcase and immediately discard the idea of wearing it. No caps. And then the wave of disgust invades you, are you seriously going to do what some random man said on a podcast you came across by accident?

The answer is yes, unfortunately.

─────────

You would rip your leg off if you could, at least it would mean you’d be able to get out of this chair and away from Stuart. But his palm resting on top of your knee feels like a death grip and you’re frankly afraid to move in case it goes further up.

Mati decided to skip FP3 and you’re really hoping she’ll be on time for Quali because you have no one else to talk to, Stuart is just parading you around again and keeping you way too close for comfort because he’s in a great mood since both Ferraris maintained their top spots and things are looking hopeful for Qualifying.

You know it’s your chance to ask if you can bring Victoria around tomorrow, and you know the answer will be yes, but you don’t. You don’t want to ask things from this man, he’s the type to never forget a debt.

You barely catch a glimpse of Carlos and Charles as they walk by on the way to their debrief and Charles waves at you quickly, with a single-dimpled smile. He’s wearing the same cap you refused to put on.

“I’m going to call my friend,” you blurt out once Charles is out of sight, finally moving your leg back to make Stuart’s hand drop. “She had the worst hangover, I have to check up on her.”

“Oh, you girls get wild in Monaco,” Stuart cackles as you sprint away from him, actually resisting the urge to wipe your knee clean.

"Hey y/n!" Mati's voice can barely be heard above the EDM playing wherever she is. "What's up?"

"Where are you?" you whine, looking back inside the Suite. "Help."

"What's wrong?" you picture her frowning as she tries to walk away from the noise helplessly.

You feel guilty for worrying her so you sigh. "Nothing, I just hate being here. Are you coming here for Qualifying?"

"Yep," she pops the 'p' and laughs. "Listen, why don't we have lunch here at the yacht and then go back for Quali?"

"Yes!" once again you look over your shoulder to where the Elix men are laughing at their own jokes and patting each other's backs. “I’m on my way, okay?”

“I’ll be right here, also don’t scare me like that again, please.”

“Sorry,” you chuckle, embarrassed. Maybe you’re a bit dramatic at times, but it’s really all good-natured. “See you in a minute.”

You turn to the door of the Suite, giving a short jump back when you open it at the same time as someone else.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, stepping inside as Charles moves out of the way to let you in. “Thanks.”

“Sorry I scared you,” he smiles, closing the door again once you’re fully in. Charles is once again holding a closed Elix can, tapping his fingers on the side.

You eye it suspiciously, wondering if the thing has really grown on him. After all, one of the first things he told you was how much it disgusted him.

“It’s alright. I thought you were in your debrief?” You grab a can of Elix yourself, looking good in front of the sponsors cannot hurt.

“It was a short one. Keep doing what you’re doing kind of thing,”

“Right. Well, good for both of you,” you look around for Carlos but he’s nowhere to be seen. “Would it jinx it to say ‘good luck’ for later?”

You know many sportspeople take their jinxes and rituals way seriously, and you don’t want to be the one to blame if something goes wrong for the local star.

Charles considers this for a second and then shakes his head no. “Wish me luck,” he smiles.

“Good luck, Charles.” You beam back at him, enjoying—despite yourself—the way his eyes burn into yours.

─────────

You’re back at the Suite with Mati 10 minutes before Qualifying starts. The tension that had seeped out of your body in the form of laughter and loud singing with Mati is already making its way back to your back and jaw. You’re not ready to be around the Elix people again, but you must. However, first, you make Matilde promise she won’t leave your side.

Stuart Schaffer is already patting the empty seat next to him when you make your way through the refreshment tables. You smile at him, a muscle in your cheek falters as you walk past him on your way to the balcony, to catch both Ferraris leaving the garage.

“Oh don’t drink that,” you whisper when you see Mati walk your way, two cans of Gold Elix in her hands. “Don’t.”

Matilde snorts, “You’re literally the ambassador of this thing, and you don’t like it?”

“SHHH!”

“Fine, but those guys are looking at us so we have to at least sip it.”

You groan, opening the one she offers you and then taking a huge gulp. “Yum,” you mock.

Mati laughs again before her face goes sour with the taste. “Oh my God,”

“Warned you,” yet you take another sip. You think that if it grew on Charles it might grow on you, but you don’t really see it happening.

Q1 and Q2 go by smoothly, at least for Ferrari and you’re on the edge of your seat for Q3. This is the race you’ve been more excited for, but it’s not like you’ve attended many others. Still, Monaco just hits different.

The end of Q3 almost gives you a heart attack, although you also blame your almost empty Elix. You didn’t even notice how much you drank, but the thing that really gets your heart jumping out of your chest is Victoria’s ringtone.

Begrudgingly, you turn away from the track. She has texted you a thousand times, without exaggerating, since Quali started and you know it’s because she’s bored out of her mind at the Lounge with her parents. But you’re starting to find this genuinely entertaining and you are bothered by the distraction.

“I told you I’d call you after Quali, Vic,” you singsong, looking up at the screens inside the Suite.

“Well Quali is almost over, no one cares about the last three minutes.”

You do, Max Verstappen is in first place, then Charles and Checo in P3. You’re crossing your fingers for Charles to manage to get above both Red Bulls. And for Carlos to squeeze in there too.

You don’t say anything else, too enthralled by the battle on the screen.

“Y/n?” Vic raises her voice, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes Vic, what is it?”

“We’re going to be at Ferrari together tomorrow, right?”

You wince, glad she chose a phone call instead of FaceTime this time around. You haven’t asked and you don’t intend to. Vic still has VIP Lounge access, she’ll be fine.

“They said no, Vic.” You lie, your eyes scanning the screen, it’s the last lap before they get the checkered flag out. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why? Did you tell them I can give them publicity? I have one million followers!”

“Monaco is different from Miami,” you explain gently, “But you’ll still be at the VIP, you have a great view.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she’s beyond annoyed now, as it happens every time things don’t go her way. You can’t blame her, but you also think it will be good for her to spend some time with her parents, whom she refuses to visit although they live in Malibu and pay her mortgage. “We’re still up for dinner though, right?”

“Yep! I’ll meet you at your hotel.”

“Okay see you then, babes.”

By the time your eyes return to the screen, Charles is in P1, Carlos in P3 and the Ferrari Suite is exploding in cheers.

YOU’RE up painfully early the next day. Vic and you went back to your respective hotel way past three am and you’re exhausted, but at least you had enough self-control to avoid today’s hangover.

Nevertheless, the morning goes by in a blur between breakfast with Elix people, calls with Mildred and Walter, your manager, and two casting agents that tell you that no, you don’t need to go for an in-person casting, you’re not getting the role.

By the time you get to the Suite you have a headache and the knot on your throat is progressively getting harder to swallow. You only make things worse by rage-reading tweets with your #IsOver hashtag.

People claim, with more force every day, that Aidan gave you everything and you are starting to regret ever meeting him.

You have worked your ass off for years, taking on small roles, commercials, stock-photo deals. Learning scripts and going to castings and taking classes, you have been criticized and rejected for more things than just “not fitting the role”.

You have given everything you are and everything you have, and people assure what you got in return you owe it all to some man.

“Hola y/n!” Carlos is the first one to get back to the Suite and you wish he would rub off some of his good mood on you. “How are you today?”

“Hi Carlos, I’m alright and you?”

“You definitely look it,” he says, semi-sarcastically. “Something on your mind?”

The knot is back in your throat so you shake your head no. “And yours?”

“Nada de nada.” he smiles. You’re still growing on each other, but this is the most comfortable you’ve been while sharing the same space.

Charles arrives while Carlos, Mati (who is hungover from her party at the yachts) and you are comparing workout playlists. Wearing what now seems to be like his comfort cap, and a pair of ugly ripped jeans, he smiles brightly at the three of you.

You’re happy to see both Ferrari boys so smiley after the past couple races. Miami especially. And you hope they’ll do well; but you’re particularly scared for Charles, and whatever it is that made him unlucky in his hometown, you don’t want this day to end on a sour note.

You spend about an hour talking to them about anything, your movies, their races, Mati's tour with Romeo and Juliet. Music, hobbies and quirks, Charles and Carlos have an opinion on everything and they are actually quite fun to be around. Then, a Ferrari Team member comes to get them for the Drivers Parade so you wave them goodbye, wishing them a smooth race.

"You're not going to wish me luck, y/n?" Charles asks, the smirk on his face is one you identify as mischievous, and it makes a small wave of anxiety run down your back.

Mati stops the bottle of water halfway through her mouth to ogle at the two of you, and the palpable tension that has installed itself in the space.

"Good luck, Charles," the smile you return falters in one corner, but Charles doesn't seem to mind as he adjusts his cap and says thank you before leaving behind Carlos.

Mati has forgotten about her need to hydrate and is staring at you with both eyebrows raised. "I thought you were not doing that?" she gestures with her head towards the door through which both drivers vanished.

"I'm not doing anything," you reply, defensively. "He's being—"

"y/n, you could cut the tension there for a minute," Mati finally takes a swig of water and you wait for her to continue talking. "Like I said, I don't recommend it but... you're free to do whatever you want." she isn't unkind while wording that last part, but it still stings you with annoyance.

"Thanks, Mati." you bite the inside of your cheek, leaning back into the sofa.

─────────

The Ferrari Suite explodes in cheers once the checkered flag is out. After a frankly insane race with rain, crashes and too-long pit stops, both Ferraris have crossed the finish line, and most importantly Charles has finally managed to get rid of his Monaco curse. His enlarged picture appears on every screen with P1 right in the middle. Carlos is P4, but the points are extremely important in the long run, so people celebrate nevertheless.

Before you know it, Mati and you are being dragged down to the track for the podium celebrations. You're buzzing with excitement, holding Matilde's hand as you run to one side, where the mechanics can't crush you as they jump up and down.

Even above the general screams of happiness, you can hear talks of 'Charles deserves this so much', 'It was about time' and 'His hard work is finally paying off at home'.

At least someone's blood, sweat and tears are valued.

YOU are probably not living down the Charles dating allegations this weekend. Which is not your fault, honestly, had they enlarged the picture, it would have shown Mati just as excited for Ferrari as you were. She's Italian, and she bleeds for Ferrari.

But right now, surprisingly, you're not overwhelmed with whatever it is they're saying on Twitter. Although it took Mati snatching your phone away and tossing it in her own purse before sitting you down to retouch your makeup for the celebration party.

Victoria is joining you too, because a 'the more the merrier' applies to any sort of party happening in a Monaco club, especially if it is for the unofficial prince.

It is the first time in three months you let go of your worries, even if it is for the shortest amount of time as you dance with Victoria and Mati and drink anything you please and whoop every time the DJ mentions Charles and Carlos.

You're happy to be with your friends, away from Elix and celebrating two people who can become something more than coworkers to you. Although through the night you see them on a few occasions, Carlos waves at you as he passes by a few times only stopping in the third time to let you congratulate him with a quick hug that's more of a shoulder squeeze than anything.

Charles is obviously harder to approach, and to be fair, it's not like you're even trying. He's surrounded by his hometown friends and by anyone who wants to have his attention for a minute, for a picture or a dance or to buy him a drink.

It's past three am when Victoria is beyond buzzed and you're starting to feel exhausted so you decide it's time to leave. Mati has found someone to take home so she's been gone for around forty minutes, minding her business.

"Come on, let's go," you are grabbing Victoria by the wrist as her ankle twists. "We've both had enough," you laugh, Victoria joins your laughter as you snake through the crowd of people pumping fists in the air, some of them point and wave at you and you smile back at them politely.

You hear your name being passed around a few times, but you focus on finding the exit while keeping Victoria by your side, who has started to whine about not wanting to leave.

Once you break into the outside, you take a breath of fresh air, the coolness makes your skin rise in goosebumps and you shiver, letting go of Victoria to lift the hair on the back of your neck.

"It's too early!" Victoria complains once again, her eyes are glassy and she's just as sweaty.

"It's not, plus you're drunk, we should leave," your ears still feel drowned in the sound of music. “My feet are killing me.”

The exit opens again, and a couple stumbles out laughing and they tell Vic and you goodbye in drunken French. Before the door shuts again, Charles is out on the street too.

"I heard you were leaving," he says in what you're sure it's a too loud voice. But your ears have barely stopped ringing, so you can't blame him. "Are you two okay?" he eyes Victoria, who is starting to lean down on her knees to soothe her dizziness.

"Oh we're alright, we've just partied enough," you smile at him. Charles is rosy, bright-eyed and sweaty. Is it corny to describe someone as painfully handsome?

"I didn't get to congratulate you," you add, trying to keep your attention on Charles while being aware that Victoria might start retching at any given moment. "You did amazing."

Victoria straightens immediately, her glassy stare focusing on Charles. "You're such a good driver, Charles, for real."

"Thank you," Charles nods awkwardly a few times as Victoria pokes him with her left index finger. "And thank you y/n."

"Come on, Vic," you chuckle, keeping her hand away from Charles. "Seriously though, I'm happy for you."

Charles smiles again, running a hand through his hair. "Thank you, really. I'm sorry I didn't see you earlier," he points behind him, to the club.

"It's your party, you can't be everywhere,"

Vic is yawning loudly, and you roll your eyes, amused. "We better get going."

"y/n, when are you flying to Spain?" Charles blurts out, the moment you turn to lead Vic down the street.

"I'm not sure, Wednesday probably?"

"You know, I can still show you a place or two in Monaco. If you want." He sinks his left hand in the front pocket of his dark jeans, and you wonder where the mischievous aura from what seems like ages ago went.

You pause, letting Vic put her whole weight on your shoulder as she finally gives up to the exhaustion. "Um well..."

The same tension that appeared at the Ferrari Suite is back, and the more you hesitate, the thicker it becomes.

Victoria pulls you down with her as she throws her head back, yawning again. Charles is just in time to hold you back up, his other arm pulling Vic back to a standing position.

"Only if you want," he says, he is far too close now and you can smell the mix of alcohol and cologne on him.

And maybe it's the alcohol in your own system, and you'll regret this once you sober up and realize that you told Matilde several times this is exactly what you were not going to do, but you say yes.

─── team principal radio: ❝thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. I want to say thank you to everyone who interacts with this series, it means a lot to me to know that you're enjoying it!♡❞

✰ paddock club members: @majx00

1K notes · View notes

sexy-sea-basss · 2 months

Text

Valse Royale

WC: 2431

TW/CW: Polyghouls, mentions of marijuana use (brief), dancing, throw-up (just mentions in the last few sentences), Phantom in a ballgown, fun times dancing

A/N: Projecting on the hottest new it couple, Phountain. Shoutout to @gottagho-st because without her, this wouldn’t exist. I almost scrapped it all last night, but she saved it.

@rainsbasspick @obsidianghoul my hype people <3

Playlist: Songs 1-3 are mentioned in the story, but they danced to these songs and more :)

Read below or on AO3

“Mountain, I swear, if you keep bouncing your leg, I'll chop it off. What’s up? What’s bugging you?”

Swiss says, lifting his head from Mountain's lap, pausing the movie they were watching.

“I just… I can’t think of what to do with Bug for Valentine’s day. I also really want to ask him to officially be my mate, so, y’know, it’s gotta be something special,” Mountain explains, wringing his hands.

Taking Mountain's hands into his own, Swiss chuckles at him. “Oh big man, you're such a romantic. Remember our first dates? They were the cheesiest things known to man AND ghoul. Now look at us, getting high and watching rom-coms for Valentine's day. The perfect date in my books.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but the look of defeat Mountain presented him with was enough for Swiss to cave in and help him. “Fine, I’ll help you plan something…” Mountain’s face lights up at this, “BUT, only 'cause I wanna enjoy the rest of this movie without you bouncing my head up and down. Have you thought of anything you’d like to do yet?”

“I thought about taking him to visit a museum, but I think one of the girls has already planned that. I also thought stargazing, but I’m taking Lus to do that and I don’t want to do something twice. I gotta be creative, but I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Babe, that was literally two ideas…. There’s gotta be more in that noggin’,” Swiss chuckles tapping a finger against his mate's head for emphasis. He shakes his head at the obliviousness of the smartest ghoul he’s ever come across, “Alright, what does he like? What’s his latest hyperfixation?”

Mountain pauses his fidgeting as he considers Swiss’ question, answering after a moment of silence, “Mmmm, we’ve recently been watching a lot of princess movies? I blame Rory for that, but he seems to really enjoy the big dancing scenes with all the twirling and stuff, I guess.”

“Bingo, take him dancing!” Swiss’ face splits with one of his signature grins, looking as though he’s cracked the hardest investigation.

“Where?”

“The ballroom’s… ‘open’ on Valentines Day!”

Mountain looks at him confused.

“Well, okay, not open to the public, but I have the key”

“Huh?”

“Mount, how much did you smoke? Let me remind you, I'm on the decorating committee for the abbey's Valentine’s Day ball this weekend.”

“Ooohhh yeah!”

“Mhmm, yes, glad we’re on the same page now,” Swiss laughs at his mate, “That’s why we're having our date today because I’m busy the next time you're free.” Mountain nods in understanding, “Here’s what I’ll do; I’ll make sure it’s decorated by your date, and I'll give you the key the morning of.”

“Yes! Thank you,” Mountain says, pulling Swiss into a deep kiss.

“Anytime big man, now let's finish the movie, I think she realized she left something behind in Ireland” Swiss settles back into the comfort of the earth ghouls lap as he presses play.

“‘Bout fucking time.” Mountain grumbles with a small smile on his face.

–

Feb 14. The Big Day

Mountain woke up extra early to get his chores done and prepare last minute date items. He assembled a bouquet of fresh flowers for Phantom, as well as some food trays for the ballroom. Swiss dropped off the key earlier in the day and gave him a list of instructions for when they’re done with the date.

At 6pm sharp, he knocks on Phantom’s door. Flattening his vest, wiping the sweat off his hands in the process, he stands a little taller, and waits for the door to open.

Phantom opens the door, wearing gray fitted pants, and a black button up with the sleeves rolled up. “Hi, Mountain!” He beams up at the other ghoul, before eyeing him up and down, “You look good. Like, really good.”

“So do you Phantom. I got you some flowers,” Mountain says all shyly.

Phantom takes them and places them in an empty vase, still on his desk from the last time he was given flowers.

“So, what are we doing today?” Phantom is practically bouncing in excitement as he turns his attention back to the giant on his threshold.

“It’s a surprise, but first…” Mountain bends down to give him a kiss, before pulling away and motioning for him to follow. Making small talk, Mountain grabs his hand, and they make their way towards the maze garden.

“Have you been having fun on your dates?” Phantom’s eyes brighten at the question, energy bursting at the seams.

“Yes! Lus took me to the museum! We got to see some cool statues and sculptures. Rory and I did a movie night. Cirrus took me to the planetarium, then we stargazed. Swiss took me to the beach, and Rain and Dew took me to the aquarium, and they kept poking fun at each other saying things like ‘look Rain, it's you’ and it would be like a blobfish. It was really fun,” Phantom responds, jumping around, without letting go of Mountain's hand.

“That's good my little prince, I’m glad you’ve been having fun! Are you excited for the ball this weekend?”

“I am! Swiss was telling me about the decorations and the planning! I think I want to help next year with the setup. I dunno. I want to be more involved in the abbey life.” He ponders.

“I think that’s brilliant, my flower” Mountain smiles fondly down at the smaller ghoul.

They continue to chat, and weave through the hedges, getting lost at some points. They made it to the center of the maze where a swing hung from a tree. Phantom runs and sits on the wood plank. Coming up behind him, Mountain gives him a light push. Giggling, Phantom begins to pump with his legs, gaining some height. He feels a childlike joy coursing through his body, something he’s only experienced a few times before. Once peak height has been reached he lets Mountain know he’s going to jump off.

“No! Phantom! You’re gonna get hurt!”

“No, I won't! Catch me!” Phantom screams before jumping into Mountain's arms, laughing his head off. He’s laughing so hard he completely stops making noise. He’s just waving his arms, and his tail’s thumping against the grass underneath him. With a snort, he regains some air. Mountain breaks into laughter, and soon they’re on the ground laughing.

After some time laying in the grass, Mountain sits up. “C’mon, my prince. We have somewhere to be.”

“At this hour? Where are we meant to be?” Phantom quirks an eyebrow at the sudden movement.

“You'll see soon enough darling. Here, I need to put this on you first.”Mountain gestures to a strip of fabric he had produced from his pocket.

“Uh sure, yeah,” with that, Phantom lets himself be blindfolded. Mountain guides him through the garden, but Phantom’s too curious for his own good.

“I feel like we're doing something illegal… Mountain, I'm too young to go to jail!” He exclaims, tail twitching with the combination of nerves and excitement.

“We’re not going to jail, just shh and keep walking, just a few more steps”

“Mount…are you going to kill me?! I'm too young to die!”

“Phantom stop… you're going to be okay! No one’s getting murdered tonight!”

“Promise?”

“I promise”

After a brief intermission, Mountain continues his mission to get Phantom into the ballroom. After some more bickering, Phantom walks through the doors and to the middle of the ballroom where the blindfold is removed.

He looks around bewildered, and a little awestruck.

“Wha- What is this?”

“I- mm, well, we’re going to -uh, dance together. I notice how the little gold flecks in your eyes come alive when the waltzing scenes come on during the movies. Especially during Cinderella.” Mountain reaches up to rub a hand along the back of his neck shyly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…” Phantom replies with the biggest smile on his face.

“Nooo, of course not. It’s definitely not you humming those songs, nor your body moving by itself to the rhythm of the music… must have you confused with someone else,” Mount smirks.

Phantom smiles, nodding because he’s so excited he doesn’t even have the proper words to thank Mountain.

“Oh, and I got you something. It’s that box on the table,” Mountain points to the box.

Phantom goes to the box and finds a black ball down, with gold constellations. Pulling it out, he notices the gold bodice details, the constellations shimmering under the light, the slit that runs up the right side, exposing his legs. The black tulle and fabric add volume to the gown, making it lightweight and flowy.

With teary eyes, Phantom looks up to meet Mountain’s also teary eyes, “but how did you…?”

“You talk a lot when you’re exhausted. After watching Beauty and the Beast, you told me you wanted to twirl in a gown, and you’ve told me several other times, but didn’t want anybody to know… so I figured we could dance and you could twirl in a ballgown. Just here, the two of us. ”

“Mountain..” Phantom takes two steps and jumps up to hug Mountain. “Thank you”

“Get changed, I'll be waiting,” Mountain urges him.

Carrying his ball gown, he rushes to the bathroom.

While he changes, Mountain brings out the finger food and wine glasses. Setting up the tables, just like the movies. He was determined to make this night feel like a fairy-tale for Phantom. He deserves the best.

He was pulled out of his thoughts, when he heard a small voice call for him.

“Hey Mount, can you help me?”

Without looking up, Mountain responds, “Yeah Bug, what's up?”

“I- uh, need help with the zipper.”

Mountain turns around and his jaw drops to the floor. Phantom was gorgeous on a regular basis, but this is something else entirely. He’s absolutely breathtaking . The gown fits him perfectly, hugging his shape perfectly. Remembering that he asked for help, Mountain pulls himself together and walks over to Phantom.

He helps Phantom with the zipper and kisses his shoulder tenderly, whispering You look stunning into his ear. A visible shiver runs through Phantom’s body. A shy thank you leaves his lips.

“May I have this dance, my Prince?” Mountain bends and extends his hand to Phantom.

“Why, yes, of course,” Phantom giggles as he places his hand in Mountain’s offered one.

He guides Phantom to the center of the dance floor. They stand facing each other ready to begin dancing when Phantom realizes he doesn’t know how to dance.

“Wait, I don't know how to dance!” His eyes fly to Mountains, widening in panic.

“Shh, it’s okay, just follow my lead. Feel it in your heart, don't look at your feet. Keep your eyes up. It's only you and me remember, no one's going to know if you mess up. I’ve got you, Bug, always.”

The reassurance is all he needed.

La Valse de L’amour begins to play over the speakers. Phantom's eyes light up even more, and somehow manage to widen even more. Mountain grabs Phantom's lower back and tightens his grip on it, bringing him closer. They begin to sway side to side as the music begins to build. Mountain guides Phantom through their first dance. Spinning him just like Kit spun Cinderella, twirling him, giving him the most perfect first dance. Mountain made sure to include the lift which has him laughing and demanding for more. As the song ended, Mountain crossed his arm over his chest, and Phantom curtsied. It was like a fairytale.

Phantom is breathless, amazed and oh so in love. “Mountain! Mountain! Please tell me there's more songs!” He gasps through his giggles.

Mountain can't contain his laughter, “yes, Bug there are so many songs.”

The hours pass, and the two lovebirds enjoy every minute they’re together.

Mountain guides Phantom through several more dances, and after each one, Phantom’s only response is “More!” through a fit of giggles. He’s never had this much fun.

Mountain forces the smaller ghoul to take breaks. Take a breather, and eat some food, drink some water and some wine.

I Want to Know What Love Is playing softly in the background as Mountain pulls Phantom into his chest, his hands finding the small of his waist. Phantom wraps his arms around Mount’s neck, and they softly sway side to side, exhaustion catching up to them.

“Can we dance together on Saturday night? At the gala? Please.” Mountain looks down and is met with big ol’ puppy dog eyes from Phantom.

“Of course bug” Mountain smiles down at him fondly.

“But I'm not wearing the dress… is that okay? Will you be mad?” Phantom furrows his brow in concern.

“You could wear sweats and I'll dance with you, the dress is yours to do whatever you want with. I knew this was something you wanted to experience, so I wanted to be the one to help you. I did get you a bow tie that matches the dress, though.”

“Did you really? Thank you! Thank you for understanding.”

They just keep swaying into the next song.

“There’s something I want to ask you”

“Mmm”

“Well…uhm… from the moment I met you, my life has been brighter and filled with a sweet melody that my heart dances to. Your laughter is enchanting, and I want to be the reason you laugh everyday. I look forward to seeing you everyday. Being around you brings a serenity to the chaos that is life in the abbey. When I’m with you, my world brightens. I’ve come to realize that I love you beyond all things. I love you, Phantom Aeon Ghoul. I love you with all my heart. Will you do me the honor of accepting me as your mate? I mean, officially, if you’ll have me? Will you be the harmony to my melody and dance through life with me? ”

“I thought you'd never ask! Yes Mountain, I would love nothing more!” Phantom grins cheekily, wiping tears running down his face, “Buuuut, only if I get to bite you first and if you twirl me until I throw up”

“I'll twirl you, but there will be no throwing up. One more song to dance to, your favorite.”

“Is it… is it what I think it is?”

Merry-Go-Round of Life begins playing. They dance their hearts out as they don’t know when the next time they’ll get this opportunity.

Much to Mountain's dismay, Phantom indeed throws up after changing and twirling his way out of the ballroom.

#luci writes #happy valentines day #I may hate today #but these ghouls don't #phantom ghoul #mountain ghoul #phantom x mountain #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfic #swiss ghoul #poly ghouls #phantom in dress #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #aurora ghoulette

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roxygen22 · 1 month

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Brownie

"My Little Cocoa Bean" series

Summary: A stray pup finds his fur-ever home with the Wonka family. Ben/Bean is 7, and Charlotte/Charlie is 3.

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If the weekend weather was favorable, the Wonka family could be found in the park. Today was no exception. The four of you were walking down a gravel pathway, Willy walking backward so he could talk to you, Ben, and Charlotte about his latest invention. Ever the animated talker, he was using his hands and jumping around until a shrill yelp startled him as he stepped down near a bush.

"Did that bush just...yelp?" you asked curiously and held the children back from investigating. Willy got down on all fours to peer under the limbs. There, he spied a little brown furball cowering by the trunk.

"Well, hello there, little fella. Did I accidentally step on your tail? I'm sorry," he cooed. Willy reached into the bush and pulled a trembling puppy to his chest. He sat back on his feet so the family could see and was instantly crowded by Ben and Charlotte, who wanted a better look at the tiny animal.

"A puppy!" Charlotte cheered. You chided her to lower her voice so as to not frighten him further.

"Can we keep him?" Ben pleaded as he scratched under the pup's chin.

Willy didn't say anything, but he looked up at you with the same doe eyes and pouty lip as your children. Real helpful, dear, you thought.

"We really ought to make sure he doesn't belong to someone else first. But we can keep him safe in the meantime," you replied. "When we get back to town, we'll put up a notice in the square for a week. If nobody comes for him, then he can stay with us for good."

Willy stood and handed the pup to you, and of course you fell in love immediately, especially when he snuggled up to your chest. While you had to put up a responsible front, you secretly hoped that nobody would claim him. He was adorable, with one flopped ear and patches of white on his chest and feet. He looked like he had been dipped in chocolate - a perfect fit for your family.

You all took turns holding the puppy on your route home, first making a detour by the bulletin board in the downtown square. He scurried under the sofa when you first arrived at the house but quickly warmed up to Ben and Charlotte. He even licked the girl's face when she hung down from the couch to peer underneath. Her giggles eventually drew him out to play. The kids took great delight in watching him explore the house.

"I think we should name him..." Ben started to say. You quickly interrupted.

"No, no names until he's officially ours. Otherwise, you'll get attached." Too late, you thought to yourself. You knelt down to make eye contact with both of your children. "Now, I need you to understand that taking care of an animal is a big responsibility. He's more than just a toy to play with. He will be completely dependent on us for food, water, and clean bedding. The two of you will have to pick up after him, even if he's only with us for a little while."

"Charlie and I can handle it!" Ben piped up.

"Yeah!" Charlotte agreed.

"Great. I'm going to hold you to that. Now, let's see what we can find for him to eat." You stood and walked to the kitchen. You looked through the cabinets and refrigerator before deciding to mash up last night's leftovers and soften it up with some milk. The pup scarfed it down like he hadn't eaten in days. This brought on a new burst of energy, so the children took him outside to run off his zoomies (and theirs).

Willy made lunch while you kept an eye on the trio and joined in on their game of chase. He called you all in once the food was ready. The pup quickly learned that Charlotte was the one most likely to drop crumbs, both intentionally and unintentionally, so he settled beneath her chair. You were amazed when there was nothing to sweep up after the meal was done.

The kids took the puppy to the playroom while you and Willy cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes. You heard giggling, talking, and sounds of toys clanking for a little bit, but then everything grew quiet. You looked over at Willy who had picked up on it, too. It wasn't unusual for Ben to be quiet. But Charlotte? Both of you were wary. Willy smirked. "Go check it out. I'll finish up here," he said.

You dried your hands and made your way to the playroom. You put your ear to the door but still heard nothing. You quietly opened it and drew on all your strength not to squeal over the cuteness.

Ben was leaning against the wall asleep, head lolled to the side. Charlotte looked like she passed out on the rug mid-play. The puppy was laying on his belly between the two of them, eyes closed and all four legs stretched out in a sploot. It was a precious sight.

Willy came up behind you, set a hand on your hip and his chin on your head. He took in the scene and quietly chuckled. "They sat still too long," he whispered. The pup's ears twitched at his voice, but sensing no threat, he quickly dozed back off. You gently pulled the door to so they could continue to nap in peace.

Ben awoke before Charlotte about half an hour later and snuck out of the playroom with the puppy. He found you and Willy in the study.

"Hey, Bean. Sleep well?" Willy looked up from his newspaper and teased. Ben narrowed his eyes at his father in jest before turning his focus back to the puppy in his arms. He had declared years earlier that he was too old for naps now.

"Can you take the pup outside so he can stretch and take care of business?" you asked. He nodded and made his way to the back door. With the fenced-in back yard, you were comfortable letting your son learn responsibility and take care of this task on his own.

Then you heard Charlotte cry. Willy was up and out of the room before you could even react. His long legs made quicker work of getting across the house anyway.

Willy opened the playroom door to find Charlotte sitting up on the rug. She looked disoriented, looking around wildly with her tangled hair and tear-streaked face. Willy sat down beside the girl and scooped her up into his lap.

"Shhh, baby girl. I've got you. What's wrong?" he asked while rocking her.

Sobs wracked her tiny body. "The puppy is gone! Someone t-took h-him h-home!"

"Oh, no, Charlie. He's just outside with your brother. He woke up before you."

"Pwomise?"

"I pinky promise. And that's the most solemn vow there is!" He held up his pinky for Charlotte to link with hers, then kissed her on the head. "Come on, I'll take you outside to show you."

Willy reappeared briefly in the study with Charlotte on his hip. She laid her forehead in the crook of his neck and occasionally took shuddered breath as she calmed down. "I'm going to take her outside to see the puppy."

Ah, she must have been upset about the dog. She will be devastated if someone does claim him. But doing what is right isn't always easy, you reminded yourself. Soon, you heard the girl's cheerful laughter ringing throughout the yard. All was right in her world again.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. You started dinner and called your family inside when the food was ready. The dog took up his previous station under Charlotte's chair, but this time you also provided him with his own bowls of food and water on the floor.

"I'll stop by the store on my way home tomorrow for some supplies and food for him," Willy offered. "I'll also ask around if anyone is missing a pup." Ben and Charlotte both pouted. You and Willy exchanged knowing looks.

The family finished up dinner in relative silence and set about their nightly routines to get ready for bed.

"Where will he sleep tonight?" Ben asked as he rubbed the pup's belly.

"We'll set up a box for him in the kitchen with a warm blanket," you replied.

"The kitchen?" Willy asked.

"Well, yes. That way if he makes a mess it's easier to clean up. Why?"

"No, that makes sense. I...I just think he may get a little lonely is all."

"I think some separation will be good so we don't get too attached. Not yet," you replied, mainly for your own benefit.

Willy kissed you on the forehead. "Always the voice of reason. Alright kids, time to brush teeth and go to bed. Bean, you get to pick the story tonight." His voice faded as he herded the children down the hallway.

You dug out a wooden crate out of the storage room and placed a cozy blanket inside. You picked up the pup, gave him a snuggle and a good scratch behind the ears, and laid him in the crate. You gently pet him on the head until his eyes closed, then off you went to bed.

A couple of hours later, you were awakened by pitiful whimpering. You laid in bed for a few moments in hopes that the puppy would settle on his own, but you had no such luck. You grumbled as you sat up. *Just like taking care of a baby again.*

You put on your robe and tiptoed to the kitchen so as to not wake the others. Upon turning on the light, you saw the pup looking up at you, wagging his tail and whining.

"Hey there. What's all this about, hmm?" Gently you picked him up and he licked your face in return. You suspected he was just lonesome, but you went through a mental list of all his other potential needs as well. First was a trip outside in case he needed to potty. He romped around and barked, bowing at you to get you to play.

You tsked at him. "Shh, no, this is not time for play. Go take care of your business." The pup conceded, though he got distracted a few times by sniffing around the yard. You brought him back inside and set him up with a little more soft food and water in the crate. After a few reassuring pets, you stood to exit the kitchen and go back to bed.

He instantly took up whimpering again.

"Now, now, shhh. Let's not wake the family." You sat back down by the crate and encouraged him to lay down, fluffing up the blanket around him. You got back up once you thought he was settled again, just to be rewarded with more whimpering. So you sat down again with a huff.

Willy shuffled into the kitchen in his pajamas when he discovered you were no longer in bed. He stifled a laugh when he found you in a similar state to your son earlier in the playroom.

You had fallen asleep sitting up against the kitchen cabinet beside the crate with your head lolled to the side. The puppy was asleep, too...

...in your lap.

"Separation, huh?" he playfully mocked. "She's going to be sore in the morning if she stays like that," he muttered to himself. He knelt down and gently shook your shoulder.

"Hey, my sweet. Wake up."

You blinked and squinted in response to the kitchen light you had left on. You looked around then down in your lap at the sleeping furball. You realized you caved and coddled him out of desperation.

"He finally fell asleep. The poor dear was whimpering pitifully. I gave him food and water, even let him outside, but he would whine anytime I stood to leave. You were right. He got lonely."

"He might just be sad that dogs can't have chocolate," Willy said with a deadpan face and serious tone. You cut your eyes at him and tried to act surly, as this was no time to joke, but you couldn't help but laugh softly. He broke out into a childish grin.

"I've never slept well on the first night in a new place," he continued. "Especially if it was too quiet. There was always background noise on the ship." You could tell an idea struck him when his face lit up. "I'll be right back!"

Willy scurried out of the room and returned just as quickly with a wind-up clock in hand. "I read about this once," he said with hushed excitement as he sat down in front of you and the crate. "You place it near their bed at night to comfort them. The rhythm reminds them of...of their mother's heartbeat." His excitement dimmed as he looked down at the pup, though you knew his thoughts were elsewhere. You leaned forward to squeeze his hand.

"Do you think we should bring his crate to our room?" you asked hesitantly after a few moments.

Willy nodded fervently. "He is just a baby, after all. We kept our other babies close at first."

"Willy. He's not a *human* baby. And he's not ours. Not yet."

"Maybe not. But will it hurt to treat him like family while he's here?" he asked with a pout.

"It may hurt us later if he has to leave."

"True, but we will cross that bridge if it gets here. Make the most of now. Besides, you risk closing yourself off from the world entirely if you avoid attachments to anyone or anything that may leave."

"So wise at two in the morning," you chuckled and shook your head.

"I have my moments." He smiled as he carefully picked the puppy up from your lap and offered his hand to help you up. You picked up the crate and clock and returned to your room. You sank into your bed with a sigh as Willy got the pup settled in the crate on his side. Ever the doting father, you thought happily. Soon, everyone was asleep again.

The days went by and you only received one inquiry about the pup. Sadly for them, the description of their missing dog didn't match, but it was difficult to keep the joy out of your voice. He quickly became embedded in your daily routine, as if he had been part of the family all along. He was Charlotte's shadow by day and Ben's in the evening when he returned home. Once the children went to bed, he would lay his head on your lap as you and Willy cozied up by the fire. You counted down the days until you could claim the pup. It would break your heart to see him go now, especially now that he was letting you sleep through the night again.

You and Willy called the children to the study. "Alright, kids. The puppy is officially ours! Now we can name him," you announced excitedly. Ben and Charlotte jumped up and down while the pup bounced around and barked.

"Anything but Tiddles, please," Willy supplied.

"Well, I think he looks like he's dipped in chocolate, but Fondue just doesn't sound right," you replied. "Maybe Biscuit, like the storybooks?"

"What about Brownie?" Ben asked and looked around at everyone. The puppy barked. "I think he likes it!"

"Bwowneeeeeee!" Charlotte squealed.

"That has a nice ring to it," Willy agreed as he pulled a collar out of his pocket and placed it around the puppy's neck. "Welcome to the family, Brownie!"

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Masterlist

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year

Text

The Lonely Hearts Club: Part Two

Summary: Full Story! Breaking up with Andrew Barber is hard to do. You of all people should know, considering you just tried. Now what? Read Part One.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Angst, Discussions of Break-ups, Fun with Exes, Jealousy, Andy Being a Menace, Confident Reader, Eventual Smut, Cursing, Expect Additional Future Warnings, Minors DNI

A/N: Dedicated to @atkissoflife, @that-one-anxious-mango, and @piscesmermaidprincess. This multi-part fic features a combination of requests from the likes of @writer84, @lexivass, @moejdaw, and several others. It is also, part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

___

February 15th - 12:25am - Los Angeles, CA

Wow. Just...wow.

You stare down at your phone as you wait for the bartender to bring you your check. While you had initially been prepared for Andy to be upset over your note, as well as your pretty abrupt departure, you certainly hadn't expected this.

If anything, he seemed almost...unbothered. By all of it. Granted, it was sometimes hard to gauge a person's tone via text. But you'd also been in a relationship with the man for the better part of six freaking months! At this point, one could argue that you were practically fluent in Andrew Barber and all of his fucking moods.

The guy was up to something, without a doubt. Which meant that you were now officially on high alert. Because your man - your ex - had never been the type to play fair.

Especially where you were concerned. You should've known that it was gonna take a hell of a lot more than a handwritten letter and a box of artisanal muffins to knock some sense into his stubborn ass.

"Argh! You are such a fucking ogre, Andrew!" You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Why can't you ever make things easy?"

The next time you look up it's to see the bartender returning with your credit card. She goes to hand it over, only for you to interrupt her mid-sentence.

What was her name again? You could've sworn it started with a "D".

"Sorry, I know I said I was ready to close out. But since men are stupid, I think I'm gonna need another margarita. Quite possibly two."

Delta gives you a sympathetic nod before pocketing your card once more. "You got it, sweetie. Still want sugar instead of salt?"

"Yes, please." You mumble, reminding yourself that it was okay to feel annoyed. Because you were. This was supposed to be your time, damn it. You deserved to take some space for yourself!

Even if it meant sitting alone at a hotel bar, missing the one person you loved more than anything, the day after motherfucking Valentine's Day. Cheers, bitches.

___

Two Weeks Later – Somewhere in Downtown Boston

Andrew Barber stares blankly at his computer screen, mindlessly tapping his index finger against his temple as a fresh wave of anger courses through his veins.

He’d been so good the last two weeks. So patient and understanding. He’d given you your space, just like you’d asked. Never intruding with the exception of the text he shot off that night.

Even when he’d come across your latest Instagram post from a few days ago showing off your apparent date with another man. Some pretentious looking fucker who went by Russell Cromwell. You two had looked real cozy while sharing a plate full of Birria tacos. And then you’d posed outside of the restaurant with your arms wrapped around his waist.

But the real kicker had been the last photo in the carousel. The one where you’d kissed him on the cheek – when you’d done the “knee thing” that actresses used to do in those old black and white movies you loved to watch so much.

Oh yeah. The two of you would be having a discussion about that one real soon. His wayward Baby Girl could count on that shit.

Honestly, you had no idea how hard falling back had been for him. It had been a real struggle. Because at his core, Andrew Barber was a man of action. He was well-known for his cunning and mental prowess. This was a man who had graduated at the top of his class, who had then gone on to become the youngest District Attorney in the city of Boston’s history.

And in times of crisis, he was someone you could count on to remain calm and collected while you worked towards a solution. Nothing could shake him, save for the trial and media circus that had briefly surrounded his late son.

After that particular tragedy, Andy had resigned himself to being alone. Forever. He often tried to convince himself that he preferred it that way. Andrew Barber didn’t do love. Not after what happened with his ex-wife, Laurie. He was better off living a life of no commitment.

Even if it meant a lot of lonely nights filled with a seemingly endless revolving door of meaningless one-night stands.

And then he’d met you.

Yes, you.

The woman who had somehow, against all odds, brought magic back into his life. Your laugh, your smile, your very presence – it colored his whole goddamn world. He told you that all of the time, and yet it was almost as if you didn’t believe him.

At first, he was convinced that you were too good to be true. Although he’d been quickly dispelled of that notion when you’d had the balls to walk out on him during your very first date. It’s quite possible that he’d fallen for you right then – because you were the type of woman who knew her worth.

By then, Andy had become convinced that you were a gift from the universe. The way he saw it, after everything he’d been through, he was owed you. You were the woman of his dreams – his very salvation – all wrapped up in a curvy little package. And when you ran that night, it called to the primal part of him that felt compelled to give chase.

Just like now.

But what you had yet to understand was that, once a man like Andrew Barber had deemed you his forever, there was no going back. There was no letting you go. No means of escape.

At most, he’d been granted you a temporary reprieve. You both needed time to assess the situation, survey the damage, and then calculate your next move.

And sweetness, you’d already played your hand when you’d left that little note skipped town under the pretense of taking a fucking business trip.

Fine. Now it was on him. And while you still held most of the cards, that certainly didn’t mean that Andrew Barber was walking around without an ace or two in his back pocket. And you had better believe that he was more than ready to play his own.

But first…he needed some fucking coffee. And lucky for him, he knew just where he could find the perfect cup – shot of chocolate, dash of cinnamon, hold the whip.

___

Forty Minutes Later – Monarch Media Group (20 Minutes Outside Downtown Boston)

You lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. For the life of you, you simply couldn’t seem to focus today. Or any other day for the matter.

Even though it had been almost a week since you’d returned from your trip to L.A., you still felt just as conflicted about things with Andrew Barber as you did before you’d left. And not only that, but you also found yourself feeling on edge about the entire situation.

Because after your brief text exchange the morning of February 15th, he’d left you alone. The most impatient man you’d ever encountered this side of Boston had actually found it within himself to respect your wishes.

No calls. No texts. No emails. Not even so much as a fucking smoke signal.

And while part of you was pleased with that particular development, there was no denying the fact that you missed your Big Man.

You could be woman enough to admit it. You missed the hell out the handsome, grumpy-faced district attorney who, up until recently, had been a major mainstay in your life. But after some serious soul searching and a generous amount of tequila, you’d come to the conclusion that it was important for you to get your mind right before moving forward with anything.

You owed it to yourself to figure out who you were outside of your relationship with Andy – needed it even. Because that man was a force to be reckoned with. He could be so dominant sometimes, his personality so completely all-consuming that it was easy to lose yourself in him.

To allow yourself to become so entirely eclipsed by his brilliant shadow. Which is something that could absolutely happen the moment you stopped paying attention to your own wants, and needs, and desires.

And if that ever were to happen, part of you wondered whether or not you would be able to find your way back. Honestly, you had no idea.

Because after all of this, if you chose to be with him…it would mean that you were all-in. There was no other option with him.

That beautifully stubborn man didn’t have a lower setting.

However, the last thing you’d ever expected was for Mr. Andrew “My Way or the Highway” Barber to go quietly into that good night. Well, suppose you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Because if anything he could very well be planning–

Your inner musings are interrupted by Anya, your favorite receptionist at Monarch Media Group. Granted, she was also the only receptionist at the company you’d worked for over the last several years, but that was neither here nor there.

Anya gives you a knowing look before taking a seat on the edge of your desk. “Hi, friend.” She lightly pokes your shoulder. “How ya doin?”

“I’m okay.” You blow out a breath and then decide to exit out of your Outlook. “What’s up?”

“Oh…nothing much.” You watch as your friend and coworker helps herself to a piece of chocolate sitting in a nearby dish.

“Okay.”

“I just stopped by to tell you that your coffee has arrived.” She dutifully unwraps it before popping it in her mouth.

“What?”

You hadn’t ordered any coffee. You didn’t usually even drink the stuff this late in the day. Unless…

“Yep. And just so happens, it was hand-delivered by the handsomest door-dasher I ever did see.” Anya pokes your shoulder again. “I would’ve accepted it on your behalf, but the guy insists on giving it to you himself. Probably angling for a tip if you ask me.” She throws you a conspiratorial wink for good measure.

Speak of the devil. Hello, Mr. Andrew “Check Out My Shit Timing” Barber.

“Ugh.” You bury your head in your hands to muffle your cry of frustration. “Can you please just tell him I’m not here?”

“I’m afraid I already let that cat out of the bag. But by the look on your face and the way you’re rocking back and forth like a human pinball, I take it I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No!”

“Did you and Andy like…break up…or something?” Anya pauses as she reaches for another piece of candy, her hand hovering in mid-air.

No, Anya. I always feel like jumping out the nearest window. I’m fucking squirrley like that.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” You wail. “It’s just…it’s just really fucking complicated, okay?”

“Gotcha. So…about the coffee…”

“I’m going. I’m going.” You stand up in a huff, wishing you knew where you put the ponytail holder that had been on your wrist just this morning. “But if he pisses me off, I’m dumping that shit on his shoes. Hot or not. I do not care.”

“Okay, but if it comes to that can you please try to do it off company property? I’m all for you handling your business, but I’m also thinking about all the paperwork I’m gonna have to do if you accidentally injure one of the city’s hottest attorneys.”

“Fuck you.” You grumble as you stalk towards the front of the office to confront the annoying asshole who also happened to be the love of your life.

“What can I say? I’m a selfish bitch.” She chirps, blowing you a kiss.

“Your words not mine. And stay the hell out of my chocolate, you mooch!” You call out as you turn the corner, fully intending to give the Boston D.A. a piece of your mind before you politely, and very firmly, shoved him out the door.

Because if that man thought that he could just waltz right into your place of business and act like he owned everything and everyone, then he was sorely mistaken. You were going to prove to him, and whoever the hell’s job it was to oversee this whole godforsaken cosmos, that you knew how to stand your ground.

The sight of him standing right there in the lobby is easily enough to temporarily rob you of all reasonable thought. His back is to you, giving you the brief opportunity to give him a thorough once-over. His tailored white dress shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, exposing his brawny forearms. But what really draws your attention are his slate gray slacks, which only serves to highlight his perfectly sculpted backside.

He looked good. Nobody deserved to look that damned good, least of all your ex-boyfriend.

Wait. Is that – is that what he was now? Is…is that how all of this worked? Fuck!

You note the lack of tension in his broad shoulders. All things considered, he seemed pretty relaxed. But the real question was…how long could it be expected to last?

Andy picks that moment to turn around, his bright blue eyes locking with your own as an eager grin slowly spreads its way across his handsome features. You take a steadying breath and choose to ignore it.

“Andrew.” You exhale, trying your best to appear unaffected by his presence. It was a lie, of course. But if you managed to keep this unexpected interaction short and sweet, you just might be able to pull it off. “Wh–what are you doing here?”

“Hi.” He cocks his head to the side as he drinks you in, almost as if he’s amused by your disgruntled demeanor.

“Hello.” You cross your arms over your chest, wishing that you had chosen to wear a different sweater today. Andy loved you in this color, especially because of how it paired with your particular skin tone.

“Happy Wednesday, baby.”

God, he really needed to lose that stupid smile. Otherwise, how on earth were you supposed to maintain your composure?

“Sure.”

“Brought you something.” Andy holds out one of the cups of coffee he’s carrying. “Figured you might be able to use a little pick-me-up.”

“Thanks, but I’m good.” You tell him with a shake of your head.

“What? Since when?” He rears back before offering up a playful pout. “We always get coffee together on Wednesdays. It’s our thing…our little afternoon delight.” This time you’re treated to a wink.

“Shh!” You hiss, bridging the distance between your bodies to slap a hand across his mouth. “Don’t say that!”

The last thing you needed was someone to overhear that and think you two used to sneak away sometimes in the afternoon to…to well…you know. Some of the people you worked with possessed very vivid imaginations.

And besides, that whole afternoon delight business had only happened once or twice. Okay, quite possibly four and a half times – and then one more after that.

Amusement sparkles in his gaze as he stares you down. And then you feel the faint flick of his tongue brush across your palm. When you don’t react he does it again, this time following it up with an exaggerated groan.

You immediately jerk your hand away as if you’ve just been burned. Knowing that things were only bound to get worse, you snatch one of the coffees before grabbing his arm and dragging him outside and into the unseasonably warm weather.

Thank goodness for small favors.

The smell of spring was definitely in the air these days, but all you can focus on is the sound of Andy’s laughter trailing behind you. Frankly, it’s enough to set your teeth on edge. Even still, he allows you to lead him down the street. At some point there’s a slight shift that results in your relinquishing his arm so that he can lace his fingers through yours.

But you'll allow it if it means that he’ll behave for as long as it takes to make it to your destination. Which just so happens to be an empty bench located at the edge of a nearby park.

To his credit, the attractive buttface at your side doesn’t say anything during your impromptu power walk, but he also doesn’t need to. Because after two long weeks without you, the man was probably venturing into serious touch-starved territory.

You knew it. And so did he. So part of you didn’t see the harm in giving him this one, small thing.

Relief fills you when you finally reach the bench. Of course Andy sits first before pulling you down with him – but thankfully not onto his lap. Although you’re positive that the thought was there.

Eventually he lets go of your hand. Unsure of what else to do, you finally take a sip of your coffee. The rich, slightly bitter flavor of chocolate and mocha bursts onto your tongue, followed immediately by a quick hint of cinnamon.

Mm. A perfect cup.

“I’ve missed you, baby girl.” Andy’s large, lightly calloused hand cups your face – the roughened pad of his thumb caressing the curve of your cheek. “It hasn’t been a very fun couple of weeks.”

“I know.” You whisper as you lean into his touch and your eyes flutter closed. Perhaps you were just as starved for affection as he was. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you miss me?” His tone is gruff, but there’s no mistaking the emotion behind his words. Or the pain in his eyes for that matter.

“I did, Andy.” So much.

“But you still left. Tried to break up with me before hopping on a plane and running off all the way to L.A. to share some chips and queso with good ol’ Rusty.” Your eyes fly open as Andy’s hand drops away. “Or did I read that wrong?”

How the fuck had he known where you where? You hadn’t included anything about your intended destination in your letter…

“I saw it on your Instagram, in case you were wondering. Was actually able to use that stupid account you set up for me after all.” His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he narrows his gaze, trying to read your expression. “Couldn’t really get much else, although I enjoyed those pics of you at the beach.”

“It was a work trip.” You remind him, suddenly feeling defensive. “And Russell is an old friend, nothing more.”

“Hm.” Andy quirks an annoyed brow. “Are we talking about the kind of friend who also accompanies you to the beach so you can show off your brand new bikini? Not that I’m complaining any about that gorgeous, sunkissed glow you’ve got going on, princess.”

His big body is certainly tense, but there’s no ignoring the feral gleam in his eyes. Almost as if he’s dying to undress you and spend the next several hours checking you for tan lines.

And he would, too. It’s not like it would be the first time.

“I went alone. Russell stayed behind for that one.” You roll your eyes at the sight of his nostrils flaring. “Jesus Christ, dude! I know you may not believe that I’m a big girl, but I am. And if I wanna go hang out at the beach by myself, then that’s exactly what I’m gonna do!”

Which was exactly what the fuck you’d done. And it had been positively marvelous.

“Fine.” He grunts, raising his palm towards the heavens. “God forgive me for having the sense to worry about my girl, especially since the last time I checked, she still couldn’t swim for shit.”

“Whatever, Andrew. This girl does whatever the hell she wants now, so you had better get used to it.” Your mouth is set in a thin, firm line while you silently dare him to disagree.

“I’m not quite sure how that’s different from any other day with you, but alright.” Andy tries to calm himself by playing with a stray curl that’s fallen free from your bun. “You’re still mine, sweetness. Even when you insist on being a brat. Or did you somehow forget that part?”

You swat at his hand instead of responding, hating that steady feeling of warmth that was currently pooling in your belly.

“Did you?”

You make a show of ignoring him in favor of enjoying what was left of your coffee.

“You know, they say that sometimes silence speaks louder than words, baby girl.” You find yourself resisting the urge to clench your thighs together at the sound of the dark chuckle that rumbles through his chest. “It’s alright, though. Guess I’ll just have to remind you again once we get past this little wall you’re trying to put up between us.”

He gifts you with a flash of his pearly white teeth. Andrew Barber was the type of man who would only let you get away with so much before he put his foot down. And you would do well to remember that.

“Pretty sure you meant to say “actions”, jackass.” Apparently he finds your acerbic wit funny as well.

“Eh, I’ve heard it both ways.” Andy shrugs before going back to toying with your curls. “But I think you should know that I’m not very happy with you, baby. And I’m trying to be patient here, but it’s kinda difficult when I can’t even get you to talk to me.”

“I was going to call you…” That wasn’t a lie. You had just been trying to drum up the mental fortitude you knew it would take to pick up the phone and actually dial his number. Sometimes, dealing with Andrew Barber could require some serious patience.

“Were you now?” He doesn’t believe you. You can hear it in his voice.

“I was.”

“Okay, then have dinner with me tonight.” He releases your curl, watching the way it bounces as it springs free.

“Andy.” You let out an exhausted sigh.

“Meet me at my place. I’ll swing by Imperial Wok and pick up a few of your favorites so we can eat. And then we can talk in a quiet, private setting without any interruptions. How does that sound, princess?”

“Wonderful.” The word slips out before you can catch it. “But I–I can’t.”

Andrew Barber’s excited smile dies on his lips the moment that phrase reaches his ears and registers in his brain. As much as you hated to admit it, being alone with this man wasn’t a very good idea right now – especially behind closed doors.

Because while you’d never seen the man in court, you’d definitely heard plenty of stories about his ruthlessness. And you knew firsthand just how persistent he could be when he was determined to get his way.

When Andy wanted something, he didn’t stop until he got it. Not only was he relentless, but he also wasn’t above using every tool at his disposal – including sex – if it meant having you back in his life. It wouldn’t matter all that much to him how it came about.

The same way he wouldn’t care if whether or not your desired reconciliation only happened because he’d lured you into his bed before fucking you back into submission.

“The fu–why the hell not?” He growls, his hand grips the arm of the wooden bench so hard his knuckles go white.

“Because I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” The pronounced tick in his jaw makes it clear that he’s beyond frustrated by your refusal.

Unfortunately, that was too damned bad! By the time this was all said and done, your handsome ogre was going to have mastered the art of having some goddamned patience. At least you hoped that would be the case…

“Both.” You offer your Big Man a small apologetic smile as you rise from your seat. “Let’s plan for sometime next week. Maybe we can shoot for Monday. I’ll, uh, send you a text or something and we can find a place to meet. But I really need to get back to work now.”

Andy stares at you for what feels like a full minute as his impressive brain works overtime to figure out his next move. And then he stands up before taking your empty cup and discarding them both in a nearby trash bin.

“Alright.” He mutters with a nod in your direction. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for your message then. Now, let’s get you back to your office.” A lump forms in your throat when he wraps a muscled arm around your shoulders as you two begin walking back the way you came.

Fuck, you really hated this shit. But if this relationship was ever going to have a chance of working, you had to continue standing your ground. Even though it hurt like hell.

“I, um...I know you said that we probably won’t be able to sit down and talk until next week. And I suppose I can understand where you’re coming from with that, but while I have you now…” He lightly coughs into his elbow.

You glance up at your hotshot attorney, trying to figure out where he was going with this so that you could potentially cut him off at the pass.

“I at least wanted to say “thank you” in person for still agreeing to help Lydia with the charity gala this Saturday. I’m sure that it wasn’t an easy decision for you, especially given how things have been between us lately. But I really do appreciate it. And, frankly, I’m sure the kids at St. Augustine’s do too.”

You feel the blood drain from your face as the reminder of this weekend’s event all-but smacks in the face. “Shit!” You hiss, pulling away from Andy as you reach your building. “It’s this Saturday? Are you sure?”

“I am.” He confirms, his eyes filled with surprise. “I just spoke with Lydia yesterday when I–”

“Fuck!” You exclaim as your hands fly to your hips, uncaring that you just interrupted whatever it was he was about to say.

In all of the chaos, you’d completely forgotten that you had agreed to help the wife of one of Andy’s colleagues with her annual charity ball. Starting by arriving at the hotel early Saturday morning to aid in the event setup, before heading up to your room to get ready for the evening's festivities.

A room that had been booked during a time when you and Andy were on much better terms.

“She did mention that she sent all of the volunteers an email a couple days ago with a list of instructions. Maybe it got buried in your inbox, baby.” He rests his hands on your biceps, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “But she is definitely expecting you and I’m afraid it’s probably too late for you to back out at this point.”

Deep down you knew he was right. And quite honestly, you wouldn’t even dream of doing something like this close to the actual date of the gala. But there was still the issue of having to share a hotel room with your ex.

Closing your eyes, you force yourself to take a deep breath. “I–I wouldn’t do that. I’m not that big of an asshole. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to share a room…” You trail off, hoping that he would at least be somewhat understanding of your current plight.

“Ahh.” You can see the moment when realization finally dawns. “Right. Almost forgot about that.”

No, he actually hadn’t. But since Andy didn’t feel as though there was any real need for you to know that, he was going to keep that particular tidbit to himself. Even he was capable of showing some restraint every now and again.

“Like I said…” You find yourself anxiously bouncing on your toes. “I don’t think –”

“I get it, sweetheart.”

Wait. He did? Just like that?

“You do?”

“I do.” His words are accompanied by a lopsided grin.

He didn’t. But then again, you didn’t need to know that either.

Andy’s hands leave your arms so that he can tenderly cup the sides of your face instead. “You just leave it all to me, baby girl. I’ll call the hotel and change the reservations.”

“You will?” You place your smaller hands overtop of his own. “You…you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Andy leans down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. “And I promise to be on my best behavior Saturday night.” He gives you another kiss, which you allow. “If you want, I’ll even send over the updated confirmation info.”

“Thank you.” You murmur, wishing that you could give-in just a little more and offer up your lips for a kiss. A real one this time.

But you couldn’t afford to do that. Not even when Mr. Andrew “Give Me A Gold Star For Being Helpful” Barber was acting sweet. That would only throw everything off balance all over again.

Andy’s heated gaze drops to your mouth before he slowly pulls away. “Don’t work too hard, okay?” His husky voice sends one last tiny flutter through your belly.

“Same goes for you.” You tell him as you begin to head into the building.

“Goodbye, baby girl.”

“Goodbye, Andrew. See you Saturday.”

He waits until you’re safely inside and out of sight before turning on his heel and proceeding in the direction of his car. Oh, you’d be seeing him on Saturday alright. And he would be on his best behavior – depending on just how much patience he could muster.

You two would be sorting this shit out then, whether you liked it or not. When it was over, you’d both spend the rest of the weekend making up for lost time. And Andrew was going to do everything in his power to ensure you enjoyed every fucking second of it. Just like he planned to enjoy getting reacquainted with that delicate sweetness between those luscious thighs. But first…

He needed to go make a call.

END

*Part Three Coming Soon...*

___

Unofficial tag list -

@blueraspberryreader

@openup-yourmind

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umitsy · 2 months

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Hihi so something just really brings out another side in me when I see a really high status attractive girl (like peach Salinger in you) finds a medium ugly Person attractive

Hello! I'm so glad to announce you're my first request on this account! thank you so much!

I hope I'm getting it correctly, if not, please let me know as well!

warnings: gaslighting, stalking, minor nsfw refferences, threats, love obsession

reader's female

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who didn't care for dating ever since entering medium school were theyd notice girls would even cringe by looking at them, so they'd keep all to themselves.

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who'd meet you one of their many days spent scrolling on social media. Falling immediately for you. Following every and any account you may have and why not, these days work's been really stressfull, so they'd give themselves a little treat while looking at your photos.

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who'd see you from afar, dressed up as royalty, getting all the fame you so deserve by all your hard work for the past years.

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who'd crave to see you in person one day, who'd follow you every step hoping they'll someday get the chance to.

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who'd, after almost going broke for how much you traveled, finally got to meet you in a public interview you manager had arranged for all your fans to ask about your latest work.

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who'd catch your attention when they get to ask you a question; "Would you go out in a date with me?". Now, even they don't know where ddi they gather the courage to ask that in front of hundreds (if not, thousands) of people, but was beyond happy at your nervous smile and chuckle in response, followed by a quiet yes. Which everyone could've sworn you didn't say, but the way you waited for your camera mans to go and get in contact with them told them otherwise.

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who'd let you choose your date's place, not caring about the money at all (even when they almost go bankrupt in another country). Their heart swelling when you said you wanted something simple to not make them pay too much, or offered to pay for both, and go to somewhere quiet to do not be disrupted.

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who'd definetly ask for a next date and when you agree, hugs you tightly to make clear their content.

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who enters in a killer mood when they start seeing with different eyes (their obsession growing by the second) the way people get close to you, ask for pictures, etc. they know it's because of you pyshique, you're basically built by gods, and they can admit they fell for it first too, but as they get to know you more personally, your day by day when stalking coincidentaly bumping into you following you to your house; they get mad at the other people with their rude and mindless behavior.

Somewhat attractive Yandere! who when being officially a couple, and moving in with you, would ask "subtly" for reassurance of your love for them. And since your work keeps up most of your together time, all your nights most be focused on them if you don't want any changes on your reputation from high status attractive girl to heartless crazy bitch with one simple headline on the newspapers done by tomorrow…

"𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯? 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶! 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦".

There's now a new character to write about ♡ ～('▽^人)

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dailydragon08 · 9 days

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hi! if it's ok I'd love to request a scenario for the star wars gang please :) I'd love to see how they all react to a genderfluid s/o (if you have any questions plz dm me :D)

thank you!

Thanks so much for the ask! Sorry this took so long, I was on a bit of a semi-hiatus, but am back now and working on the other asks in my box! Also, thank you to @kaleidoscope1967eyes for some of the suggestions in here!

I think everyone would kind of be in the realm of similar reactions here, but with a few small differences. Everyone is very accepting about you being gender fluid and doesn’t make a huge deal of it, but are very protective of you in different ways. Eventually, they all get a knack for being able to tell whether you’re leaning more masc, fem, or somewhere in between for the day just by your clothes and hairstyle and will adjust pronouns accordingly if necessary.

Growing up as royalty and a major player in both the imperial senate and the New Republic, Leia is always on top of the latest fashions (which I wish they explored more in other media, but I digress). I think she’d be so interested in helping you adapt different clothing and hairstyles to how you were feeling that particular day and loves finding an outfit that either matches or sort of rhymes what you’re wearing to any events—or even just day-to-day wear. Being royalty and a politician, she’s traveled a lot, so this isn’t a new concept to her at all, and she thanks you for telling her with a warm smile and shoulder squeeze before getting down to business for the day. She’s very adamant that you not only have all the gender-affirming things you need day to day, but also that your preferred pronouns are written correctly in all official documents.

And if someone tries to misgender you or discriminate against you in any way whatsoever, Leia will give them the biggest dressing down of their life – no matter the time, place, or audience – and make sure they know to never pull anything like that ever again. By the time she’s done, they’re standing there like a chastised, guilty toddler as they apologize to you. If she had to, Leia would glare down and lecture the entire senate until they not only got it right, but didn’t even think about forgetting or getting it wrong ever again.

Luke is very accepting and wants you to feel safe and welcome with him above all else. He would make sure to give you a soft smile and thank you for telling him before opening up a discussion to make sure he was doing everything he could to support you and learn how he could improve. He does research on his own as well and if you’re also Force-sensitive, he will get you as many custom-made Jedi robes as you want so you have options for whatever you’re feeling day to day. He checks in with you frequently, both verbally and through the Force, to make sure you’re feeling okay and check if you’re using different pronouns from the day before. If you’re comfortable, he starts doing a daily check in via telepathic connection each morning so that even if you don’t have time to talk or are several rooms away, he’s still well informed.

The way he defends you differs a bit from his sister. If someone misgenders you or makes any sort of unnecessary comment, he’ll immediately interrupt and correct them. His face and tone stay as calm and serene as ever thanks to his Jedi training, but you can feel the irritation flowing off of him if it’s anything more than an innocent mistake. If this person continues with their behavior, he’ll correct them again and ask them to be respectful and make it clear in no uncertain terms that he sees any disrespect to you as disrespect to him and that the two of you will be walking away until they can conduct themselves better. Afterwards, he’s checking in on you and apologizing for the experience so gently and doing whatever it takes to make you feel better.

Han being Han of course makes some harmless, playful remark the first time your style drastically changes in front of him. But once you explain you’re gender fluid, he takes it in stride with a “good to know; so what are we doing for lunch?” He tends to be more observant than people give him credit for – especially with those he cares about – and although he gets good at knowing what you’re feeling that day with a glance, still decides to make a “Gender of the Day” game. Traveling around on the Falcon with him puts you in constant proximity and you find yourself stealing his shirts and jackets quite often on more masc-leaning days (which never hesitates to pull a cocky compliment or pickup line from him).

Anyone who dares to make a snide comment gets Captain Solo in full force, with a low “listen here, pal” as he leans across the table and makes sure they know if it happens again, they’ll not only have an angry sharpshooter on their hands, but also a pissed off Wookiee.

To follow up, Chewie (platonic) also is immediately accepting and although you can’t understand his language, you overhear Han keeping him up to date with your pronouns every day. Eventually, you learn from C-3PO’s translation that Chewie goes out of his way to ask someone in the OT gang every morning (and sometimes directly comes to you with the protocol droid’s help) just to make sure he’s got it right. He’s more than happy to help Han defend you as well and even when it’s just the two of you, he gives an ominous growl as he stands up to his full seven feet if anyone gives you trouble.

Similar to Leia, Lando is also well-traveled and an avid lover of fashion. This isn’t a new concept to him at all and in fact, when the two of you meet, he’s already asking what your preferred pronouns are. Like the princess, he’s also always elated to help you adapt your fashion choices and has many things custom-made for you – you can hardly say you like something or wish an aspect of a piece of clothing was a little different before he’s already buying it or having his tailors work on it. He even gifts you some articles of clothing that are a two (or even three!) in one via folding a flap a certain way, zipping something, etc. so that one shirt or pair of pants can double as either more masc, fem, or in between.

He's extremely protective of you, no matter who is giving you problems, and will always insert himself between you and the perpetrator with a hey before correcting them in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Especially with his higher rank in the rebellion, he can easily have someone removed from the room if needed and if Chewie’s nearby, employs the Wookiee’s help as well.

R2-D2 (platonic) chirps and beeps while wobbling on his outer legs to let you know he understands and is more than happy to support you. Although you can’t typically understand his noises, he still will sneakily change code in official documents or computer systems to reflect correct pronouns and if someone’s giving you a hard time, he’ll use one of his little retractable arms to give them a little shock.

C-3PO (platonic) of course is aware of gender fluidity, but has never met someone like you – at least, not that he remembers before his memory was wiped. Ever since then, he’s been glued either to Leia or Luke’s side, so hasn’t had a chance to experience much outside of the chaotic workload the rebellion usually requires. But he’s so interested and excited to ask you questions if you’ll allow, but also makes sure to educate himself on his own. You have to hold back your laughter sometimes when he excitedly comes to you about some new piece of information he found as if you didn’t know it yourself – but of course, halfway through his excited ramble, he remembers who he’s talking to and goes “oh, I’m so terribly sorry” before offering to help you in any way he can, always interrupting and correcting people when needed, and if they don’t back down, telling them point blank “well, I think you’re rather rude.”

Taglist: @kaleidoscope1967eyes @masterlukessaber @coffeeorsomething-irl @eveningserenityyy @victorian-nymph @lxstfathier @rogue-kenobi @lavandula-ipsum @sonofthedunes @pomplalamoose @lex-the-flex @ilovemarkhamill

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ludi-ling · 25 days

Text

Maison Romy

So last summer I was hanging out with @narwhallove in Seattle, and she challenged me to write something that married my love of Romy with my love of historical fashion. She seemed to be really into it, and I was like, nah, it's not possible, but then she started throwing ideas -ahemdemandsahem - at me, and somehow something took hold and started sprouting.

This is as far as I got.

Will it ever be finished? I don't know. It's such a niche interest, I might continue writing it just for me. 😉

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Maison Hoareau was in decline.

For more than fifty years it had dressed queens and princesses and duchesses and debutantes, and they had done so with flair and panache. Now, in 1910, they still dressed the wealthy and the famous; but their clientele had grown as old and distinguished as they had. Very rarely did a pretty and winsome young lady cross their threshold.

Across the busy New York city street that separated them was the House of Burford. The House of Burford was only five years old, and had no distinguished lineage at all; but it was there that the pretty and winsome young ladies entered, and left with dainty parcels and smiles on their faces.

“What do they have that we do not?” Monsieur Hoareau asked from the head of his boardroom table. “We have beauty and taste and the finest fabrics from across the world; and what’s more, we have pedigree! Three generations at the forefront of fashion! How could they possibly compete?”

There were murmurings of assent around the table.

Remy LeBeau, however, stood at the window, and looked silently across the street to their rival.

A pretty young redhead was alighting from a motorcar, dressed in a startingly avantgarde concoction of furs and elegantly-arranged silk drapery. A returning customer – he had seen her before. With the exuberant stride of every fashionable young woman about to shop, she stepped past the very officious doorman and into the as-yet uncharted stronghold of the House of Burford.

“Young women do not care for pedigree,” he muttered to himself. “They only care to look beautiful, and more beautiful than anyone else around them.”

“What do you say, LeBeau?” Monsieur Hoareau demanded waspishly. “Speak louder, man!”

LeBeau turned away from the window.

“I say that if we want to appeal to young women, we must move with the times.”

He walked back over to the table, opened his portfolio, and pulled out his latest designs.

“If we want to expand our clientele again,” he said, handing out the drawings around the table, “we need to be bold, innovative, forward-thinking. But most of all, we need to be unique.”

There were hmm-ings and hah-ings as they took in his designs; but Monsieur Hoareau was shaking his head, saying:

“Monsieur LeBeau, this will not do!” He looked at one drawing, then another. “No, indeed, it will not! These are… why, they are tubes! Women do not like to wear tubes! They like tiny waists! And the drape of this one is quite ugly! Women like to show how slender they are! This coat swathes the figure, and does not show it off to advantage at all!”

LeBeau was used to this. He merely raised an eyebrow.

“I thought it quite fetching,” he noted. “And modern.”

Monsieur Hoareau drew his eyebrows together disapprovingly.

“Monsieur LeBeau,” he began testily, “can you imagine Lady Carruthers wearing such a garment? Or our dear First Lady?”

LeBeau said nothing. Far better to say nothing, than to confess he could not.

“Of course, our most esteemed clientele could not bear to be seen in such clothing,” M. Hoareau declared as if to put an end to the matter. “We would lose their custom, and that would be insupportable to Le Maison Hoareau! And so, Monsieur LeBeau, you will go back to the drawing board, and re-design these veritable monstrosities!”

LeBeau did as he was told, picked up the drawings, and walked back to his studio.

He sat at his desk, and laid out his designs. He stared at them a very long time.

Monsieur Hoareau, you see, was a businessman, and not a fashion designer.

Unlike his father and grandfather before him, he had no interest in the creative aspects of Maison Hoareau. He left that to LeBeau; and LeBeau had willingly and enthusiastically taken on the thankless task of being the creative lead of the world’s foremost fashion house. Thankless, as Monsieur Hoareau the Third had made it his life’s work to thwart every idea LeBeau had to turn the waning fortunes of his employer. Indeed, some of his best work had seen rejection after rejection. Today was no exception.

With a sigh, he ripped up his designs, one by one, screwed them up into a ball, and pitched them into the nearby wastepaper basket.

He lounged in his swing chair for a bit and stared at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the graceful Victorian plasterwork, intricate whorls and loops that were now thoroughly out of fashion.

An idea was forming in his head.

He got up and walked over to the window.

Across the road he saw the pretty redhead leaving the House of Burford, a pile of parcels precariously positioned in the arms of her driver, a broad smile on her pink lips. This was rarely a scene one saw at the Maison Hoareau.

What was their secret, he wondered? What was their magic? It had scarcely been a year since the House of Burford had set up shop across the way, yet the beached whale called Mr. Burford (which was what M. Hoareau insisted on calling him) had managed to exert some sort of magnetic pull on any young woman worth her salt throughout the neighbourhood. And, LeBeau thought with a lop-sided grimace, Mr. Burford was as much a businessman as his dear M. Hoareau was. There was not a creative bone in the man’s body, none at all.

He was out on the steps now, waving off his latest customer with an avuncular officiousness.

No – there was certainly no mysterious magic about Mr. Burford. Whatever the source of his house’s mystique, it did not lie in him.

A little smile crossed LeBeau’s face.

He walked back to his chair and began to grin.

Yes.

A little idea was forming in his head.

-oOo-

Sometime over the past hundred years or so men’s fashion had become dull, almost utilitarian. Rich fabrics, scintillating colours, and any flamboyance of form, had died under the mighty shadow Beau Brummel had cast. Taste could no longer compel a man to wear frills or ruffles, nor any shade of pink.

No – female dress had continued to hold the torch of glorious ostentation. Sometimes it seemed that no outrageous look was off limits – from crinolines to bustles, from panniers to the now thoroughly modish hobble skirt – women could indulge without abandon, and men like LeBeau were quite happy to do the service of indulging. Others, like M. Hoareau and his rival, Mr. Burford, were quite happy to make money out of said impulse to indulge. Women played; and men felt fortunate to referee. They could admire, but never wear.

They were not, however, immune to the desire to look good; and Remy LeBeau was no exception. Unlike most, he had the power to design and tailor his own personal clothing to best effect, and he did not skimp on this fact. Of course, Mr. LeBeau had been known to turn a head or two in his time.

The motorcar stopped outside Maison Hoareau; and LeBeau, dressed in his sharp grey suit and double-breasted overcoat, clattered down the front steps to meet its occupant. Out stepped a beautiful blonde wearing a vertically striped hobble skirt, and an impossibly wide-brimmed hat festooned with feathers. She, of course, did not shop at Maison Hoareau.

“Monsieur LeBeau,” she greeted him as he greeted her – with a kiss; one planted, featherlight, on each cheek.

“Mam’selle Boudreaux,” he replied, with a sparkle in his eye. He offered her his arm and she took it.

“I got your call. You said you wanted my acting skills,” she said in French, as the car pulled away.

“That I do,” he responded, also in French, “but only if you don’t mind a little improvisation.”

Contrary to expectation, he was leading her away from the building, and towards the street. She stopped before they could cross.

“Well, you do know how I like to hone my skills, mon cher,” she replied, “but you must at least give me something to work with.”

“Oh, well, that is quite easy,” he smiled complacently. “You are my wife; and I am buying you a suitable gift.”

He cast his eye at the House of Burford across the road; and, following his gaze, she instantly got an idea of what he had in mind.

“Monsieur LeBeau, am I to be an accomplice in your corporate espionage?”

“Ma chere,” he answered breezily, “scruples are not quite your style.”

“No indeed!” she half-laughed. “But I thought this kind of perfidy rather below you!”

“Mam’selle,” he said, serious now, “will you play at being my wife? You almost were once, if you remember.”

“Good grief!” She pushed him slightly away with affectionate ire. “You only say such things because you know I hate arranged marriages as much as you do! Otherwise, your words would have severely wounded me.”

“Ma chere, Belle,” he murmured gallantly. “You were always my friend before all else. If it doesn’t pain you to pretend at something we almost were, please would you humour me, at least for the hour?”

She scoffed and pushed him away again – but she was fonder of him than she was bitter at the impromptu dissolution of their betrothal – and so she said:

“Well, all right. But only for the hour!”

It was half-past five, and far too late for any shop to be anything but closed; but Mr. Burford could hardly ignore a visit from the beautiful and freshly-feted young actress named Belladonna Boudreaux. The portly fashion designer was thrilled to have such an eminent guest enter his establishment, and took every pain to be exuberantly officious.

“This is quite the surprise!” he greeted them in the hallway. “If I had known you were coming, I would have arranged a private viewing for you, Mademoiselle Boudreaux. Alas, all but myself and a few of my staff have already gone home for the day.”

“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Burford,” she waved him off imperiously. “I had only just heard of your glittering reputation from a friend of mine, and I was curious to see for myself what all the fuss is about. But no matter – I can come again another day.”

LeBeau knew what working with Maison Hoareau had long taught him, and that was that a customer in your doors during inconvenient hours was better than a customer who might never come back – especially one as eminent as a newly-famous actress. It was generally advisable that a man in the business of fashion kept a lady preoccupied with silks and satins and velvets for as long as it took for their spell to be cast upon her, if at all possible.

“Oh no, no, no,” Mr. Burford insisted firmly. “It is no trouble to give you a quick little tour of our workrooms, Mademoiselle! Your friend is quite in the right – and I would be honoured to prove it to you, if I may. Perhaps there is a bolt of fabric, a fragment of lace, a pretty button that you might fancy for your next ensemble?”

Belle pretended to think about it a moment.

“Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. We do have an hour before we must arrive at the Goodwin’s; and it would never do to be on time anyhow!” She tugged at LeBeau’s arm. “Come, dearest, let us see whether Mercy is right!”

For the first time Mr. Burford cast Remy a look – the kind of bemused yet comradely look only a man can pass to another man in the presence of a powerful woman. LeBeau smiled back, faintly, pleased that his former-fiancée’s force of character had bypassed any need for introduction on his part.

He let himself be led hither and thither throughout the building’s salons, where this or that garment, or bolt of fabric, had been left out for previous clients, and were in the process of being packed away. Where Maison Hoareau’s interior decorations were staid and sedate and imminently dignified, the House of Burford’s were light and fresh and bright – and mirrors were everywhere, mirrors that women of a certain age preferred not to see.

As for Mr. Burford – well, he was impressive, though not out of the common way for a businessman. The more LeBeau listened to him, the more he felt certain that this was not a man of great creative taste or impulses.

He picked up a piece of finely-wrought lace from a side table and examined it for a moment or two. Fine work, indeed! Fastidious in execution, if not at all in style. He put it back where he had found it, and noticed that Belle and Mr. Burford had moved on to the next room without him, their animated conversation already trailing behind them.

Taking this as his cue, LeBeau turned and went back into the hallway. From experience he knew exactly where the workrooms were likely to be, and that was where he went.

The embroiderer’s workroom was quiet, empty apart from the glow of a single electric light. LeBeau stepped up between the frames, peering down now and then to see what was being worked on. There were no floral sprays or pretty little bows. Arabesque spirals and orientalist clouds unfolded across the fabric with seemingly effortless grace. Here was a little Hokusai; and here a little Greek Geometric; and there a little Alhambra.

His innate eye for beauty could only appreciate such artistry.

He turned when he reached the end of the row; and that was when he saw her.

She was sitting quietly in a corner, engrossed in her embroidery; and as soon as he had become aware of her presence, it seemed that she had become aware of his; and both started and stared, one at the other.

“Apologies, mam’selle,” he murmured. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Her eyes were green. They were greener than any woman’s he’d yet seen, than any emerald he’d had the pleasure of handling.

“No offence taken, sir,” she replied, after a moment. Her accent was at some intersection between New York and the deep South. She dipped her head and turned back to her work.

He’d often done this – wandered through the workrooms, watching the girls go about the business of bringing his creations to life. It was this force of routine that allowed him to walk so freely to her side, to look over her shoulder to see what she was doing.

He was unconsciously certain this was a position she had encountered a thousand times before in her daily life; so he was a little surprised when she stiffened slightly, as if acutely aware of his proximity to her, and her to him. Defensiveness oozed from her pores.

He stared at her a moment, then at her work. She was putting the finishing touches to a cascading border of peacock feathers, her fingers moving deftly back and forth, leaving sparkling gold flourishes in their wake. Her movements held an almost careless rhythm that belied the talent inherent in them.

“That is very fine work,” he praised her, pitching his tone low and inoffensive, knowing instinctively that she would not tolerate anything more enthusiastic.

“Thank you,” she said. The words were standoffish.

She would offer nothing more; and so, he turned away.

He stopped.

He was standing before a dress form, on which was mounted a nearly-finished evening dress. Almost translucent white silk shimmered under the lamplight, shot through with tiny beads of teal and turquoise and gold which, by some almost magical sleight of hand, had come together to coalesce into peacock feathers. He held his breath a little at the mastery of it; and he knew this was the work of the little seamstress behind him.

“Do you like it?” he heard her ask behind him.

He turned and saw her swivelled in her chair to face him, her fingers now still in her lap.

“This is all your work?” he asked her, pointing to the embroidery.

She nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

He looked back at her work, then at her.

“It’s some of the best work I’ve ever seen.”

It was no lie.

The girl gave a modest though pleased little smile. She had the complexion of a redhead, with pale skin and a sprinkling of very unfashionable freckles; and of course, there were those brilliant green eyes of hers. But she was a brunette, her long, wavy locks tied up in a silk kerchief that was chicer than her simple white shirtwaist and plaid skirt implied. A single lock of pure white hair had come free of the kerchief and had fallen to her shoulder.

“I didn’t do it all myself,” she admitted, her smile becoming a little more genuine. She picked up the piece she had been working on, and stood. When she moved to join him at the dress form, he was surprised to see that what he had first thought she was wearing was a skirt was actually trousers.

“This section is for the sleeves,” she explained to him. “Here.” She held up the piece of embroidery to the appropriate place. “I wanted to have it done for tomorrow – it was so close to being finished.”

She admired her handiwork for a moment, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“The cut is very simple,” he noted, half to himself. The waistline was high, and the lines were almost Grecian. He was used to nipped-in waists and structured bodices, the kind of look that was Maison Hoareau’s bread and butter.

She looked at him a moment, perhaps surprised that a man should know anything about the cut of a woman’s dress.

“Yes,” she said at last. “Very simple. And liberating.”

“Such a cut promotes freedom of movement,” he agreed.

“And no need for a corset,” she finished. She smiled a little slyly at him. “Do you generally approve of the woman’s right to free and untrammelled movement, sir?”

There was something a little impish in the question, something that he hadn’t yet had the pleasure of encountering from a woman so below his current social standing. He smiled.

“Miss, I have a keen eye for things of beauty. If free and untrammelled movement can promote beauty, I can only approve of it.”

She screwed up her freckled nose, half-amused, half-offended.

“That is a thought only a man could express!” she declared in a strange blend of Southern and New York. He laughed.

“Alas! I am but a man. But if you will permit me, Miss? This piece you have embroidered for the sleeves? I think it would also do very well here – coming up from the skirt’s hem, up towards the waist, to draw one’s attention back up the dress.”

She looked startled at the suggestion, and he realised, stupidly, how much he had given away. He cleared his throat added.

“But of course, Mr. Burford would not agree to having his design altered, especially not at the suggestion of a stranger whose only qualification is as a connoisseur of beauty.”

He did not know what she would have said, for at that very moment they were interrupted by Belle and Mr. Burford stepping into the room.

“There you are, darling,” Belle declared in that flippant way she did so well. “Mr. Burford was worried you’d gotten lost!”

Burford looked none too pleased that one of his private workshops had been invaded. With an eagle eye he glanced over the place, as if to make certain that nothing was stolen or had been left out of place.

“My apologies,” LeBeau said with a polite smile. “I became distracted and lost you. I found myself here somehow.” He turned a little, intending to indicate that he had been left in the capable hands of Burford’s seamstress; but she had gone back to her table, and was once again busying herself with her work as if nothing had happened.

“I am afraid,” Burford was saying in a rather harassed tone, “that it is getting rather late Miss. Boudreaux. My staff should really be leaving. Perhaps, with all the little samples I have given you, you will be tempted to return in the coming days?”

“But of course,” Belle was all smiles. “Perhaps at the end of the week, when I am not engaged.”

LeBeau knew when to retreat. He let Belle do the business of thanking their host, and of taking their leave; and when he looked back at the seamstress, he saw her eyeing his beautiful companion out of the corner of her eye; though her fingers were busily working as she did so.

#Romy fic #Romy #Rogue #Gambit #Rogue and Gambit #Remy LeBeau #Anna Marie LeBeau #writing process

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nicoline1998enilocin · 7 months

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Have you ever seen the photos of RDJ at the premiere of the first avengers film where he is wearing a sexy purple suit? And he's wearing a very nice glasses, his hair is perfect, he's so f*cking hot and delicious and omg my brain melts just imagining... If it's okay with you, I'd like to request a one shot where the reader is his wife and when she sees him dressed in that suit, she goes crazy and very very very horny and when they get home after the premiere, she takes that suit off his delicious body very sensually and teasing him a lot, so he takes control and f*cks his beloved wife senseless... with aftercare please and reader pulling that perfect hair and scratching his back 🖤❤️‍🔥 maybe even a babymaking

Passion wrapped in purple

Pairing | Husband!Robert Downey Jr. x Wife!Female!Reader

Word count | 4K

Summary | Robert has taken you to a movie premiere, but you two couldn't keep your hands off one another the entire night. You two go home early, and after some more teasing, something inside Robert snaps. He's determined to pull as much pleasure from your body as possible, and you're not one to deny him that.

Warning(s) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. RPF, established relationship (husband and wife), unspecified age gap, porn with minimal plot, use of pet names (Kitten, Daddy), smut (daddy kink, breeding kink, lots of praise/praise kink, teasing, hair pulling, dry humping, oral (F&M receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), aftercare), multiple mentions of pregnancy.

A/n | Thank you for this amazing request, Nonnie! I had not seen it before your request, but after doing some research, I can totally see what you mean 🤤 I feel like this is one of the hottest, smuttiest pieces I've written for Robert so far, so I hope you enjoy the route I took with this one 🔥🖤

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💚

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics | GIF-credit goes to @duckbuttt

Main Masterlist | Robert Downey Jr. Masterlist

You're at the premiere of Robert's latest movie, and he's wearing a purple suit that takes your breath away while you're dressed in a perfectly fitting long black dress.

You haven't been able to keep your hands off him for the entire evening, though the same goes for him. The whole time you two were posing for photos, his hand rested on your hip or your ass.

''Are you having fun so far, Kitten?'' Robert asks, and your breath hitches as you realize what he's doing right now. He only calls you Kitten during sex, and you can feel the arousal pooling in your panties.

''Of course, Daddy,'' you say to get him back for his comment, though it doesn't seem to faze him. You couldn't be more wrong in this, however, because he can feel his dick twitch in his pants, and he has to try his hardest not to get hard right now.

During the rest of the premiere, you two keep teasing each other like that, but as soon as every interview is done, you two are on your way home and just about ready to rip each other's clothes off.

The drive to your home is way too long for both of your likings, so you have found your way onto Robert's lap in the back of his car. You're glad that your chauffeur is driving you two home because you can't keep your hands off each other, even if you want to.

''Hmm, you like riding me like this, don't you, Kitten? Yeah? Already so desperate for this cock you can't until we're home, huh? Such a gorgeous cockslut for me,'' Robert whispers in your ear as you keep grinding on his lap, his hard cock feeling delicious against your soaked cunt.

''Yes, Daddy, 'm your cockslut,'' you moan out as his hands squeeze your ass, your head thrown back as his lips find your neck and leave a trail of kisses until he effortlessly finds your sweet spot.

''Oh, Daddy!'' you can't control yourself as you moan uncontrollably, entirely under his spell of pleasure while his hands wander over your body, leaving goosebumps everywhere.

You've always had a thing for older, more experienced men, and when you met Robert, you were absolutely over the moon. Over the years, he taught you everything you know about your body, and he can play you like an instrument to make you feel nothing but intense pleasure.

When you two finally arrived home, he wanted to make you wait. Make you work for everything he's planning on giving to you.

He starts by undressing you ever so slowly, making you go crazy because he would not touch you anywhere you needed him so badly, but instead teasing you to no end.

''Patience, Kitten. Otherwise, I won't let you cum at all this evening,'' he said warningly when you let out one of many soft whines, hoping he would just give you what you so desperately wanted.

''Sorry, Daddy,'' you said, and you turned your gaze away from him, not wanting to look at him after he scolded you. You couldn't help but lean into his touch when you felt his hand on your cheek.

''It's okay, Kitten. I know you get a little impatient sometimes,'' he says in a low whisper, and all you can do is nod while you let Robert's touch glide over your body again, and goosebumps form everywhere; his fingers move delicately over your soft skin.

When every last piece of fabric adorning your body has met its faith on the floor, he turns you around and places his index finger under your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet his dark brown ones.

''Good girl,'' he whispers before leaning in for a kiss, and your thighs are clenching together to give yourself a little friction at the words. Robert knows you and your body like the back of his hand and knows exactly what to say at the right moments to get you aroused beyond belief.

His tongue slips past your lips effortlessly, and your hands wander over your husband's abdomen and chest, feeling every ridge and muscle underneath you've known and loved over the years.

Your long, slender fingers slide to the knot on this tie, and you undo it in a single, swift motion before pulling it off his neck and letting it fall to the floor while not leaving his lips for even a second.

Next is the purple suit jacket, and your hands glide underneath the fabric before sliding down his shoulders and arms, letting your nails rake softly over his biceps as they meet their inevitable faith on the floor.

When your fingers move to the buttons of his matching purple vest, you can tell he's getting a little impatient, but if you had to be patient for him, he would have to be patient with you as well.

''Don't tease me, Kitten,'' he growls lowly, and you can't help but let out a little smile.

''But Daddy, you said you wanted me to take control occasionally, right? That's precisely what I'm doing. I had to be patient for you, so now I'm doing the same with you until you can fuck me into the mattress like I know you so desperately want to do,'' you say with an innocent smile, and Robert feels his cock twitch in his pants.

He nods in response, and you move to undo the buttons of his vest before taking it off and letting it land on the floor alongside his suit jacket; you could always pick them up later.

When your fingers unbuttoned every button on his shirt, your lips moved after each one that opened, kissing the skin you had just exposed as you were on your way down.

You softly groan when you see his chest and the dark hair covering it that has you going feral each time. If there's one thing about your husband that you love, it's that he's a hairy man, and you love running your fingers over and through his hair.

As soon as all the buttons are open, you pull the shirt off his shoulders, and your hands glide over his biceps, chuckling softly when he flexes them for you.

Next are his pants, and you undo the belt with ease before pulling it out of the loops, your fingers opening his button and zipper slowly, letting your fingers rub over the fabric that protects his very hard bulge.

''Fuck, feels so good, Kitten,'' Robert groans after you've pulled down his pants, now palming him through his extremely tight boxer briefs.

''Can I have a taste, Daddy?'' you ask as you look up at him, and the smirk plastered on Robert's face is all you need to know before pulling his underwear down and out the way, letting him step out of them before tossing it aside as well.

You're admiring your husband's naked body for a few seconds as your gaze rakes over every dip, curve, and ridge, but not too long.

His thick, veiny cock is standing at attention for you, and he's already leaking pre-cum, which you happily lap up before wrapping your hand around the base of him, your other hand cupping his balls and squeezing ever so gently.

The moan leaving his lips is near pornographic, and you can't help but feel a flood of arousal between your legs, and your cunt is throbbing with need for your husband.

You decide not to tease him any longer, and your mouth envelops his tip as you suckle softly, and his fingers weave into your hair to ground himself a little bit.

''Hmm, you enjoy sucking my cock, don't you? My little cockslut,'' Robert says, and you moan softly around him before taking more of his length into your mouth and sucking your cheeks in, and your tongue lays flat against the underside of his cock.

When you find a steady rhythm, you keep bobbing your head back and forth, doing everything Robert loves until his groans and grunts get louder, and you keep playing with his balls until you feel he's about to cum.

''Cum in my throat, Daddy, wanna swallow it all,'' you say after you pop off, but your hand keeps pumping him slowly to keep him on the edge.

''Like I was planning on doing anything else,'' he says. You take him into your mouth again, taking him as far as you can, repeating this process a few times until Robert takes over the pace and starts fucking your face until he shoots his cum deep in your throat, making you swallow every last drop.

''Oh god, Kitten, just like that. Swallow it all for Daddy!'' he shouts out as he cums, trembling from the force of his orgasm, making you nothing but proud as he praises you like this.

Robert has you sitting on your hands and knees in the middle of the bed as he's eating you out from behind with such passion that you'd think he hasn't eaten anything in weeks.

Your face is smushed into the bed sheets; your arms have given out a while ago, somewhere around when he pulled your second orgasm from you.

''D-Daddy! Gonna cum!'' you mewl out; his mouth attaches to your clit, which is puffy and drenched in your slick, but Robert is still licking every single drop you give him.

Your thighs and legs are trembling beyond belief, but the pleasure you feel is so incredible that you don't want him to stop, and it appears that he isn't planning on stopping any time soon, either.

As soon as your third orgasm washes over you with even more power than the last, Robert has to hold you up by your hips; otherwise, you will collapse, and the moans leaving your chest will be out of control, just like Robert wants you to be.

You and Robert have explored the feeling of giving up control of your pleasure like this many times over the years, and you two have perfected it exactly to both your tastes.

''D-Daddy, please,'' you choke out as his fingers find your entrance again, setting a brutal pace until your cunt is sore from all the stimulation, but it feels too good to make him stop, and you let him drag one last orgasm out of you with his fingers.

''You're doing so well for me, Kitten. Just look at how well this sweet pussy is taking everything I give her,'' Robert says as you're coming down from your high, but there isn't much time to come down.

Before you can even comprehend what's happening, Robert has you lying on your back, your body almost folded in half as he slides his cock into your tight cunt, after growing back to total hardness again.

You gasp as he breaches your entrance, and despite having the amount of sex that the two of you have, it's still a stretch each time, which is precisely why Robert wants to see your face. Something about how your face contorts with pure pleasure makes him feel soaring, especially when he's making love to you.

''Fucking hell, Kitten, such a tight pussy for me to love, huh? She always takes me perfectly,'' Robert whispers as he leans down, your hands sliding over his neck and into his hair.

When he's slid in up to the hilt, he lets you adjust for a bit because hurting you would be the last thing on his mind.

''Ready, Kitten?'' he asks so softly that it feels like you're melting into the mattress, and when you nod, he places his lips on yours as he starts pulling out and thrusting back in, his tip hitting your sweet spot deliciously.

After a few more slow thrusts, he picks up the pace just enough to have your back arching off the bed, and the grip on his hair tightens as you're taken over by nothing but pure pleasure.

''Daddy!'' is all you can say as he chases both your highs, and when you're getting close, you let go of his hair, opting to wrap your arms and legs around him instead of pulling him as close to your body as possible.

Robert grunts and groans as he looks at the way pleasure takes over your face, and a loud fuck escapes his lips as your long nails press into his shoulder blades and rake down, leaving a long trail of red marks that only spur Robert on further.

''Can't wait to fill up this sweet cunt with my cum, Kitten. Going to get you so fucking pregnant for me; going to be a real Daddy soon,'' he tells you between groans and pants, and he's getting impossibly hard as he gets closer to his orgasm.

''D-Daddy, need to cum!'' you say, but he doesn't let you just yet.

''Hold on, Kitten, 'm almost there. Want you to cum with me,'' he says, and you nod, though you're not sure you can with the way he keeps pounding into you, hitting your sweet spot repeatedly.

It doesn't take long for Robert to reach his high, and his thumb has found its place on your clit, making you fall apart as you're clawing along his back, only adding to the ridiculous amount of scratches you've left, but Robert doesn't mind in the slightest.

''My good fuckin' girl 's what you are, Kitten, making me cum so much it's leaking out of you,'' he says as he pulls out, but instead of leaving it, he pushes it back in with his fingers to ensure it'll stay in.

''Can't wait 'til you pregnant for me, Kitten. All round and perfect, letting me drink from your tits as they drip with milk for me,'' Robert says, and all you can do is lay there with a dopey smile on your face.

''I'll clean you up, get you some fruit and water, okay? Don't want you to slip into a bad headspace after all,'' he whispers between soft kisses all over your body, soft grazings of his fingers on the inches of skin his mouth can't reach.

''Y-yes,'' you whisper, and Robert gets up to get a warm washcloth to clean both of you up, making sure to be careful with your sensitive cunt after everything he did to pull the orgasms from your body.

Then he walks to the kitchen to grab some grapes and two bottles of water before heading back to you, and you're still lying in the same position where he left you. You're too tired to move and too sore as well.

''Let me grab you a shirt and some underwear, Gorgeous,'' he says, and you didn't miss the switch of nicknames just now. It notified you that the ''atmosphere'' you two were just in is over, and he will take the best care of you.

He grabs one of his shirts that's always way too big for you and a pair of comfortable cotton panties since that's what you usually prefer after an intense session like you just had.

''Can you sit up for me, Gorgeous?'' he asks, and with Robert's help, you manage to sit up despite your body still feeling like cooked noodles.

The shirt is slid over your head and body with minimal effort, and your panties are also on within no time; when Robert has changed into a pair of sweatpants, he takes his place on the bed.

With his help, you get situated sideways on his lap, your legs stretched in front of you and your head against his shoulder, his left arm protectively wrapped around your waist.

''Here, have a grape or two,'' he says, and you let him feed you the grape, the flavor exploding in your mouth as you pierce the skin with your teeth. They're fresh from the fridge, so the cold feeling contrasts Robert's warmth enveloping you.

''Can I have some water?'' you ask, and Robert screws the top off the water bottle before handing you the bottle, and you take a few sips to hydrate yourself. You're slowly getting some of your strength back, and the cuddles with your husband are always an excellent addition.

''I love you so much,'' you say as you hand the now half-empty bottle back, and he closes it before putting it on the nightstand for later.

''I love you too, Gorgeous,'' he says as he places a few soft, loving kisses on your lips that set your insides on fire. The sweet, gentle side of Robert is the part you fell for years ago, and it still manages to warm you from the inside out.

About five months later, you find out you're pregnant after taking a test. Your cycle is like clockwork, so when you were late, it spiked some confusion, though your mind immediately went to the possibility of being pregnant.

You and Robert haven't been actively trying to conceive, but you two have also decided that if it ever does happen, you would welcome the little one into your lives.

And now here you are, on the toilet of your home, but your husband is away to film for yet another Marvel movie. Your first instinct is to call him, but you decide against it instead of going to a doctor first to ensure it's true.

That's exactly how you found yourself in a gynecologist's office in your usual hospital, waiting for the test results. The outcome wasn't a surprise, and they confirmed that you're about 1.5 months pregnant, so it's still very early.

''Do you have anyone who we can call about this? Your partner or a family member?'' the gynecologist asks, but you shake your head.

''My husband is away to film a movie for a few more months, so I am going to tell him the news in person, it's not something I want to do over the phone,'' you say with a small smile.

A week later, you're getting ready to see your husband and tell him the good news about your pregnancy. You're dressed in a casual outfit to not attract too much attention to yourself.

You may not be an actor yourself, but as the wife of someone with a high-profile life like Robert's, most people still know who you are. The drive to the movie set is pretty decent, but you're getting increasingly nervous when you park your car.

You rest your hand on your belly, although you won't show for another few months. You know there's a little life growing inside you, and you can't wait to tell Robert about it so you don't have to carry this secret alone.

After a few deep breaths, you decide to get out of your car and go onto set after getting a visitor's pass, and before you even get to set, you happen to run into Gwyneth Paltrow, who plays Robert's love interest on screen.

''Gwyneth, hi! How are you?'' you say as she approaches you and greets you with a big hug. You tell her you're visiting Robert after exchanging some pleasantries and small talk because she has to go, but she points you in his direction before walking off with a last goodbye.

When you walk onto the set, you spot Robert as he's in the middle of a scene, and you try to stand back a little not to distract him from his work, but it's hard because you love seeing how he works.

The scene was done soon after, and that's when you walked forward, and the smile spreading on Robert's face was unmistakable. He only smiles like that when you're nearby, and his co-stars couldn't help but chuckle.

''Hi, Gorgeous! What are you doing here? Is everything okay?'' Robert asks as he's enveloping you in a hug, and you let yourself melt into his touch. Typically, it wasn't a problem when he was gone for long periods to film, but now it's different.

''Can we talk somewhere in private?'' is all you say, and he quickly looks around before deciding to take you to his trailer, saying he'll need some time alone with you and be back as soon as possible.

When you're in his trailer, he pulls you close and captures your lips in a sweet kiss that has your mind going crazy, and you can't help but kiss him back just as passionately, though you still need to tell him the good news.

''Robert, we- I'm here to talk, actually,'' you say, and the nerves are now taking over your body as you see the worry etched onto your husband's face.

''Okay, let's sit down,'' he says and guides you to the couch where you take your seat next to him, as close as possible to him as you're about to tell him that he's going to be a father.

''Robert, do you remember our talks about potentially starting a family? Well, I think it's time to have some different ones now because I found out last week that I'm pregnant,'' you say, trying not to cry and failing miserably.

''Are you serious?'' he says with a nervous laugh, and you nod furiously as you're letting the tears fall now, not caring about your make-up or anything else.

''I'm going to be a father...'' he whispers, and you kiss him feverishly, not knowing what to do with yourself, though Robert pulls you into a hug. This has been his dream for as long as he can remember, and now that it's about to come true, he couldn't be happier.

''I'll be coming home as soon as possible to take care of you and our little Pumpkin, okay?'' he says after doing some quick math, concluding that it'll be born around Halloween.

''I'd like that, Robert,'' you say, and after a few more kisses, he pulls you into his lap and holds you close for as long as he can. Not wanting to let you go after the news you've just told him.

''I still can't believe we're officially expanding our family,'' he says, rubbing your back in soothing motions as your head lies on his shoulder. Though you aren't crying anymore, you're still feeling a little overwhelmed.

''Thank you for telling me this in person, Gorgeous,'' he says before slotting his lips together with yours again, until the door of his trailer swings open, and his assistant comes barging in.

''Oh shit! I-I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here,'' his assistant says, and you can't help but smile.

''It's okay; I wasn't supposed to be here, but I just had something important to tell that couldn't wait until he was home,'' you say to him, and he nods.

You look over to Robert to ask him silently if it's okay to share with his assistant, and he doesn't have to tell you it's okay because you can see it on his face.

''I'm pregnant, been for about a month and a half, in fact,'' you say, and you and Robert can't contain your excitement.

''Don't tell anyone, we want to tell the rest of the world at our own pace, but for now, I just want to live in our own little bubble, with just the three of us,'' you tell Robert's assistant and he understands.

And that's how you find yourself in your husband's arms five months later when he's home, and you're a little over six months pregnant with your baby girl.

''She's growing so fast, it's unbelievable,'' Robert says as you're both laying in bed. You're lying on your back with both hands on your tummy, and Robert is rubbing softly, calming you down immensely.

''I love you, Gorgeous. And I love you too, Pumpkin,'' he says to your belly before placing a soft kiss, followed by one on your mouth. This is the first time since you're pregnant that you're falling asleep in your husband's arms, and it feels like heaven.

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randomfoggytiger · 12 days

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The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XIII): The Erosion of Scully’s Security, on Tape

Scully’s abduction is split into many mini arcs. Season 2 scratched the surface of her trauma with allusions to her and Mulder’s recovering stability (One Breath, Firewalker, Red Museum, Irresistible, Our Town, Anasazi); Season 3 taps into the loss of Scully’s family and innocence; Season 4 will dig deeper into her denial and loss of faith; Season 5 will twist her burgeoning confidence into a weapon against herself; Fight the Future will find her center; Season 6 will show her determination and growth; and Season 7 will shed the last of her self-consciousness with resolution.

Each of these arcs showcase the impact of the wrongs done to her and the women (and people) by the Consortium, as well as her strength of character, righteous conviction, and unbreakable spirit and will. While Mulder initially crumbles under loss and heartache, Scully battles against it; and, once finally exhausted, leans against her partner for strength to move forward. Both of them fight hard in the coming years; and on the heels of Paper Clip, their reliance on each other is so unbreakable that Mulder and Scully never question their reciprocal loyalty, despite the allure of pretty faces or treachery of madness. The show may hinge on Mulder’s childhood trauma, but it takes equal (if not more) time to explore Scully’s pain and emotional turmoil properly-- which is fair and right.

EVIDENCE OF THINGS ONCE SEEN

Season 3 continues its focus on Scully’s losses, bookending the arc with the Syndicate and their video tapes, ala Nisei and Wetwired.

OH, NISEI CAN YOU SEE IN THE CAR OF 731

Scully and Mulder get in trouble (again) when Mulder’s magazine alien autopsy video tape leads them straight to shifty activity and a suspicious Japanese diplomat. After further (officially discouraged) investigation, Scully stumbles upon a MUFON group where the women claim to know her. Here, the seeds are planted for her cancer arc in Memento Mori, complete with an introduction of Penny Northern.

One of the women asks Scully: “Did you have an unexplained event in your life last year? Were you missing for a period of time that can��t be accounted for?”

This implies that Scully was part of the latest round of abductions; and that no one has been taken since their return last November (post here.)

“You may not remember-- you’ve only had one experience. Most of us here were taken many times.”

“Taken where?” Scully asks.

Their answer-- “The bright, white Place”-- unlocks a flash from her experiments.

At her reaction, another member asserts, “You remember it, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” she responds, shakily.

“There are men there, performing tests,” the member continues.

“What men?”

“They don’t reveal themselves. They take our memories away; but somehow, they start to seep back.”

“Some may have come back to you, but they don’t make sense,” Penny adds; an unintentional foreshadowing to her and Scully’s interactions in Memento Mori.

When asked if she knows about regression hypnosis, Scully looks down, closing her eyes and answering, “Yes.” This is the first of several reminders of Melissa's impact on Scully-- it was Missy, after all, who'd urged her into hypnosis therapy; and Scully who'd bailed from the session right before her sister’s death.

“Have you ever considered it?” the women press; and Scully backs away from the subject as fast as she can, regaining her scientific skepticism in the face of their probing: “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m ready to discuss this.”

“You’re afraid to remember, aren’t you?” the member from before questions, moving closer to Scully in understanding. “It’s okay. We were all afraid at first.”

Scully takes in the women seated around her-- all different ages and stages of life-- trying to fit herself into a group so disparate yet united under one common tragedy. She doesn’t yet know these women have prepared to fight for their freedom and lives; and will all, in a matter of months, die before her own battle against cancer begins.

“I don’t know: when I opened that door and saw you standing there, it was like a revelation-- the image your face was so clear to me,” the first MUFON women expounds.

The dialogue here is filled with biblical language, likely on purpose: image and revelation hand-in-hand-- a nod, perhaps, to the fated and religious undertones Chris Carter often works into his scripts. Scully and Mulder are often painted with allegorical higher callings and fated purpose, creating a contradiction between the mytharc fate versus stand-alone freewill episodes. Scully, in this case, seems fated to be abducted and returned, to meet these dying women, and to get cancer; but she turns out to be the only one to beat this fate, and survive. This could play into my hypothesis on breaking the soulmate curse inflicted on her, Mulder, and Melissa Rydell in The Field Where I Died, (post here), or fall in line with fate ala the Navajo’s White Buffalo prophecy (post here.) I think that topic requires more in-depth discussion than would fit here; and suggest we press on with Season 3 for now.

“But why is it I don’t remember you?” Scully prods, shaken.

“All you remember in the beginning is the light,” Penny consoles. “And then sometimes the faces of the men that performed the tests.”

This triggers another memory Scully forgot-- the stomach air pump-- and she scrambles for a different explanation other than the simple truth. “How do you know you’re a not mistaking me for somebody else?”

“You have the mark, don’t you?” the other MUFON woman says, drawing Scully’s attention and showing her the recent scar on the back of her neck.

Scully closes her eyes again, fearfully.

The women then show their extracted implants, proving their words as one.

Afraid to believe, Scully tries to flee, (her go-to trauma response, post here): “I have to go. I just came--"

“--to see Betsy,” the women chime in.

“Yes-- to see Besty Hagopian. Why are you all at her house? Where is she?” Scully raises her arms, surprised she hadn’t questioned this fact before.

The MUFON spokeswoman and Penny then take her to Betsy’s oncology treatment center, explaining she is in "the advanced stages of full-body tumors"-- a different type of cancer than Scully had.

“They’d been taking Betsy since she was in her teens,” Penny reveals. “This is what’s going to happen to all of us.”

“What do you mean,” Scully softly questions.

“I don’t know if you understand this or not, Dana,” the spokeswoman spells out, “but we’re all going to end up like Betsy."

“We’re all dying,” Penny confirms, “because of what they do to us.”

It’s especially heartbreaking because this scene confirms two things:

Scully is the only MUFON woman to be abducted once-- confirming that she wasn’t an intended target, only collateral decided upon on Sleepless because her expertise; and only returned alive because of CSM’s intervention. Meaning she, unlike the MUFON women, was intended to die in captivity. It’s a testament to her knowledge and skill that Scully was such a threat to the Consortium so early on: still green; and barely on the field before being yanked off of it.

The MUFON women never realized their chips were the cures to their cancers. Each woman still had their chips intact-- only Scully’s had been damaged due to Pendrell’s tampering-- and could, probably, have had them reinserted. But would they have done so? Would these women have wanted their chips reinserted, allowing nefarious abductive forces to easily find and recapture them for test after test after test? Regardless, they were never given the opportunity to choose.

When Scully reunites with Mulder, she’s both stunned by her experience and stunned that Mulder isn't curious about her discoveries (at first):

“Why is the door locked?"

“I’ve got something to show you.”

“Do you have any idea where I’ve been?”

“Allentown.”

“I went to go see those MUFON members to find out about that woman-- Betsy Hagopian?”

Now intrigued: “What’d you find?”

“I found out that she’s dying.” Scully looks down-- an instinctive response when facing information that is personally implicative, “along with a lot of other women who claim to be dying, too. All of them who say they have these implanted in them,” she adds, handing over one of their chips to Mulder.

When Scully adds, “It’s the same thing that I had removed from my own neck,” Mulder’s head immediately snaps up, worried; and he quickly asks, “But you’re fine, aren’t you, Scully?”

“Am I?” she parries, seeking as much assurance from him as he is from her. “I don’t know, Mulder. They, they said that they know me, that they’ve seen me before.”

It’s a trigger response Scully has when lacking security, latching onto Mulder or “other fathers” or illusory footholds when science offers little clear-cut answers for her-- i.e. Beyond the Sea, Fresh Bones, Never Again, all things, etc. Scully largely expunges all outward traces of this behavior from Season 4 onward, thinking she must become what her mother calls “the strong one” in the face of Mulder’s fragility post Herrenvolk, The Field Where I Died, Paper Hearts, and Memento Mori.

“They know things about me, about my disappearance,” she rambles, watching Mulder scrupulously zero in on the chip in hand.

This interaction also shows a parallel aspect of Mulder’s: when Scully faces a personal crisis-- her panic over glowing bugs, her fears, her cancer, her daughter’s illness-- he puts up a front of strength, grounding her focus with logical, provable facts, even if (and when) he suspects the worst.

“That is disturbing,” he quietly agrees. “But I don’t think you should freak out until we find out what this is.”

Scully is hindered from a clearer admittance when the phone rings; and the conversation takes a turn away from the MUFON trip.

As Mulder fills in Scully on his findings about Dr. Ishimaru’s ghastly experiments, she recognizes one of the men in the faxed photo; but is dissuaded (“I don’t think so, not unless you’ve been in Japan in the last fifty years”-- which she was, in 1966. Post here.) Four of the doctors in the photo were recently murdered; but Scully isn’t yet ready to draw ties between their and the Nazis' experiments to alien-human hybrids; and neither have connected the dots between these inhuman experiments and her recent disappearance.

When she begins to discredit his theory, Mulder cuts in reproachfully-- “Scully, after all you’ve seen”-- before softening-- “after all you’ve told me you’ve seen, tunnel filled with medical files, the beings moving past you, the implant in your neck-- why do you refuse to believe?”

At Mulder’s question, Scully looks down to hide her fear, continuing the pattern of avoidance begun in Beyond the Sea and The Blessing Way. “Believing’s the easy part, Mulder,” she insists. “I just need more than you-- I need proof.” Proof allows her something to cling to when the foundations of her beliefs are shaken. Scully eventually comes to term with that realization, shifting away from strict reliance on proof as learns to trust her instincts (all things.)

“You think that belief is easy?” he retorts, a window into his naturally cynical, pessimistic view of life. That cynicism is eventually addressed in Amor Fati, and fully (or mostly) resolved in Closure.

Scully can’t rebut his statement; and with nothing else to say, she sighs and hangs her head.

“Well, we have proof,” Mulder reassures, switching topics to comfortable ground and revealing his ace: a picture of a secret government train car. When asked where he got it, he discloses “From someone like you who wants proof.” Weighing the cost of his next words, he decides to mildly confront her once more. “Who’s also willing to believe.”

Scully remains silent, both aware she’s not ready to take that next step.

Scully takes the chip to Pendrell, who raves about its sophistication and other scary technological advancements (and coming off a tad creepy.) The full weight of the government using computer chips to possibly monitor their test subjects appalls Scully, spurring her to take a more active role in the current investigation.

Back in the office, she reviews the video Mulder bought, realizing her recollection of Ishimaru stems from her abduction.

After Mulder jumps on the train car, Scully is contacted by a Syndicate shadow man (for the second time) and reiterates the (half) truth sold to her: government experiments, yes; but not alien government experiments. “It all makes sense, Mulder-- Ishimaru Zama, he was using the secret railroad to conduct his tests across the country….”

The conclusion of the Nisei and 731 mini arc is the deepening of Scully’s denial. Without Melissa there to push her, and with Mulder (who is supposed to fill-in for her sister, post here) focused on the bigger mystery, her abduction trauma is shoved aside and minimized.

As we will learn in Piper Maru and Apocrypha, Scully has yet to make peace with her sister’s loss; and those open wounds spur her burning desire for revenge-- becoming more and more apparent the more turmoil is piled on her plate.

STEERING THE SHIP OF MEMORIES

Scully’s childhood is the backbone for these two episodes, from the first conversation with A.D. Skinner to her reminiscence on the base with her father’s friend.

Skinner calls Scully into his office, informing her that the investigation into Melissa Scully’s death has bellied up. Stung and indignant, she confronts the FBI’s obvious oversight and his placatory platitudes.

“It’s strange,” she bites, furious tears in her eyes, “Men can blow up buildings; and they can be nowhere near the crime scene but we can piece together the evidence and convict them beyond a doubt. Our labs here can recreate out of the most microscopic detail the motivation and circumstance to almost any murder-- right down to a killer’s attitude towards his mother and if he was a bedwetter. But in the case of a woman-- my sister-- who was gunned down in cold blood in a well-lit apartment building by a shooter who left the weapon at the crime scene, we can’t even put together enough to keep anybody interested.”

“I don’t think this has anything to do with interest,” Skinner begins.

“If I may say so, Sir,” she cuts in, unwavering, “it has everything to do with interest. Just not yours. And not mine.”

When Mulder asks after Scully’s mood, she deflects his concerns back to their newest case, later impressing him by recognizing a submerged North American P 51 Mustang aircraft. She explains: “It’s the shape of the canopy. I watched my father and brothers build World War II model planes as a kid.”

As we know, little Dana Scully was a tomboy; but it’s interesting to learn which activities she did and didn’t think were worth her time-- the Dana who shot air guns but didn’t play baseball, who memorized plane models but didn’t build them; and who learned Latin in college and always loved The Exorcist.

While pursuing a new lead, Scully momentarily relives a happy memory with her and Melissa playing on a familiar military base sidewalk.

Young Dana is triumphantly swung around by an exuberant young Melissa, both overjoyed by her unbroken hopscotch; and modern Scully’s smile slips back and forth between the somber present and nostalgic past as she slowly drives on.

Meeting up with her father’s old colleague, she introduces herself with a delighted, self-conscious smile. “I’m Dana Scully-- I used to live three doors down. My father was Captain William Scully. I, I went to school with your son.”

The past is a haven for Scully, even now (for now): a place to become at home and centered in. Her father died suddenly, with words unsaid; her sister died tragically, with justice delayed; but still they bring a smile to her face in reminiscence. But more than that, Scully beams with pride at meeting a man so like her father in age and familiarity-- her Starbuck nature bobs to the surface, putting her best foot forward in her efforts to please.

“I’m sorry, my memory isn’t what it used to be,” Commander Johanson says, a mirror of Teena Mulder’s pretend amnesia (post here.) At first, he assumes-- or pretends to assume-- Scully is asking after his son; but when questioned about his past with the Piper Maru, he again pleads forgetfulness.

“Say hello to your father for me,” the Commander suggests as they shake hands goodbye.

“I wish I could,” Scully remarks, her smile dropping a shade and (again) looking down out of discomfort. “He’s passed away.” In response to his “I’m… very sorry,” she gives a tight-lipped smile and walks away without comment-- fleeing the moment (again) as quickly as possible.

An interesting thing happens next: Commander Johanson changes his mind, having his visitor’s car pulled over so he can quietly fill her in on the coverup courtesy of CSM, Bill Mulder, and other Consortium men. Captain Scully’s death hit him hard: it connects him to Scully, the fact that they have both lost a loved one to the dead; and it itches and itches at Johanson, driving him from the house and after his friend’s daughter for atonement and peace.

Scully, when commanded to pull over by Johanson, immediately obeys, surprised but not suspicious. Loyalty to her father and his associates runs deep, even after three years, a murder, and a Conspiracy.

“I can’t give your regards to my son, Scully,” Joe wobbles, addressing her by name not only for the first time but also as an equal. “He was killed in a training accident.”

It’s here that Johanson passes on a statement that rings true as it sinks and settles into Scully’s mind: “We bury our dead alive, don’t we? We hear them everyday-- they talk to us, they haunt us, they beg us for meaning. Conscience. It’s just the voices of the dead, trying to save us....”

He tells her his tragic, paid-off history, concluding with: “Whatever killed them, I was allowed to live: to raise a family, to grow old. None of us ever got an explanation why.”

Skinner is shot and Scully rushes to his side, bouncing from Mulder’s room to his while advocating for his interests. When he admits the shooting might be a coverup to permanently halt Melissa’s murder investigation, Scully flares up: “You’re saying that they closed down my sister’s case not because of lack of evidence but because they didn’t want us to catch the killer.”

In the last twenty-four hours, Scully’s trust in her country’s higher ups has eroded so rapidly she now concludes, rightfully, that Melissa is disposable collateral in their latest coverup.

Ignoring Skinner’s warning, she presses for more details, fuming over Krycek’s involvement.

“Listen to me,” Skinner warns, “anger is not a luxury you can afford right now. If you’re angry, you’re gonna make a mistake-- and these people will take advantage of that. …Scully, if you can’t keep your head, it’s all right to step away.”

“That’s exactly what they want.” Scully’s anger is fueling her thirst for vengeance, driving her to more dangerous potentialities.

After returning on Mulder's hunch, she finds Skinner mid-relocation to another hospital; and quickly hops on the ambulance in time to counteract another attempt, intercepting the gunmen and forcing him to give her answers at gunpoint.

“Are you Luis Cardinale! Are you the man that shot my sister! You shot my sister! TELL ME!” she screams over his pleas, weapon drawn with lethal intent. Her motions are erratic, aggressive, and unhinged, tears building as her voice climbs higher and higher.

Cardinale bargains for his life and Scully wavers, hunched over her prey while an inner voice screams shoot him, shoot him repeatedly in her head. She is so unstable, so unsure, that she looks like her younger, greener self watching the fabric of her world fall apart in Luther Lee Boggs’s cell (post here.) But the cops appear, yelling at them both before she can decide; and, with one final struggle, she lowers the weapon in anguish and retrieves her FBI badge.

Luis is toted away in handcuffs, leaving Scully alone with the equal horror of her loss of control and opportunity.

She calls Mulder, confessing his instincts had been right and relating that they’d caught Melissa’s killer; but immediately cuts off his potential sympathy by turning his attention back to the mission.

In the end, it’s all in vain: Scully and Mulder lose the salvaged UFO and Krycek, nullifying future leads for the case. Grateful to at least have Luis behind bars, she visits Melissa’s grave with flowers, taking a moment to commune in the language of the dead: with her conscience, in silence.

Mulder arrives with a bouquet of his own; and she bites her lip, moved by his gesture and frustrated with her surfacing emotions. Pulling herself together, Scully smoothly stands, accepting his consideration and shoulder touch with a genuine though fleeting smile.

“I was just thinking about what a man said to me. That the… that the dead speak to us from beyond the grave. That that’s what conscience is.”

“It’s interesting. I never thought of it that way,” Mulder considers.

“You know, I thought-- when we found him, this man that killed Melissa-- that, that when we brought him to justice, I would feel kind of closure. But the truth is, no court, no punishment is ever enough,” Scully confesses-- a follow-through to her Paper Clip closing line: “I’ve seen the truth, Mulder. Now what I want are the answers.”

And Scully is denied even that, having to listen to another victim of these men in power admit that justice was derailed, that Luis Cardinale was murdered in his cell before he could face trial. To Mulder, the end of Cardinale’s existence is a form of justice; but to Scully, it is a cruel circumvention of the system she believes in and fights for.

“I think the dead are speaking to us, Mulder. Demanding justice. Maybe that man was right-- maybe we bury the dead alive.”

Mulder considers this, too; and is silent.

In this episode, the darkness infesting Scully’s life stained backwards to her childhood: her brother and father building WWII planes that were sunk by the Consortium, her father’s friend a bought-and-paid-for Syndicate witness, her hopscotching sister murdered by a hired gun. Those incidents may not have directly touched the Scullys’ lives as they were then, but the innocence she was able to escape to is no longer afforded to her without darker shadows crying out from the corners.

HERE BE MONSTERS

Wetwired is the last straw.

During her investigation into malevolent mass hysteria, Scully thoroughly watches each and every infected tape she and Mulder recover from the crime scene. Slowly, it eats away at her security, eroding the last shred of credibility the infested, corrupted system had to offer her: the valor of moral individuals. And the last moral individual she could trust-- the man in the trenches with her, who lost and fought and continues to fight for a brighter day-- was Mulder.

Hallucinating Mulder feeding intel to CSM, she spends the next morning, afternoon, and evening harboring heightening paranoia against her partner; and finally snaps when he ignores her command to stay away, shooting at him through the door of her ruined motel room and running away.

Mulder calls Maggie after the sun is up and the investigation is already in full swing, having probably put it off until the last second in hopes of recovering Scully first. Maggie, still in bed at 6:01 AM, picks up the phone the phone, giving us an opportunity to scope out the family pictures displayed on her bedroom table.

An interesting revelation: Melissa’s photo is placed most prominently, perhaps to honor her death; then Dana’s; then her and a mystery baby… which leaves one of her children off of the table.

My guess? Charlie is missing, as he is likely absent from his mother’s life at this point. If this is true, Maggie seems to use her photos as an indication of her children’s interest in her life, not as a showcase of her favorites.

How can we prove this?

Melissa is dead; but while her eldest daughter was alive, Maggie was constantly rubbed the wrong way by her insistent, unmoderated proclamations at the tensest moments (posts here and here.) Yet, her picture takes center-stage.

Bill Scully is often the Scully child most likely to cater to her whims or speak in a language she understands (to be explored in Seasons 4 and 5.) Yet, his picture is placed at the back. We know he is often at sea during this period, pointing to infrequent contact between himself and his mother; and probably even less contact than that, because he would more likely call his wife Tara instead.

Scully’s picture is of second “importance” on the table, despite Maggie’s reliance on and openness with her daughter (acting as her comforter in the following scene and calling her “the strong one” in Memento Mori.) There is often a loving side she reserves for her baby girl, sensing that Dana needs it more than Bill does, or Melissa did.

Which leaves Charlie. Scully doesn’t mention him after Roland-- except for a slight mention in Piper Maru-- until Home (stating she babysat her nephew for the weekend.) Very little is known about Charlie other than the brief glimpse we see of him in Beyond the Sea (post here) and One Breath (post here); and it’s Maggie’s fond flashback of him we are privy to in the latter episode. So, what’s Charlie’s deal? Is he estranged by his own choice; or does Maggie keep him at arm’s length, only remembering him in childhood when he fit her expectations?

From what we know of Maggie Scully thus far, it seems unlikely she would cut a child off for a personal decision they made-- in fact, her actions prove the opposite (i.e. reconciling Dana to Captain Scully in Beyond the Sea, putting up with Melissa’s New Age speeches, trusting a Navajo medicine man to watch over her dying daughter, and celebrating the anti-Church conceptions of both Bill’s and Dana’s sons.) It seems out-of-character for her to isolate the youngest Scully from her affection, no matter his choices.

Or an alternate theory presents itself: the baby is an old picture of Maggie's only grandson-- the nephew Scully babysits in Home. That would mean only one of the two boys flanking Charlie in Beyond the Sea is biologically his... which makes an interesting other implication about his possibly older wife and her own son. Theories, theories.

“Mrs. Scully? Hi, it’s Fox Mulder.”

Maggie immediately knows something’s wrong, her voice dropping an octave. “What is it, what’s the matter?”

“I was hoping that you’d heard from Dana,” Mulder responds. It would seem Mulder calls Scully “Dana” to Maggie, either for Mrs. Scully's comfort's sake or because he and she communicate so rarely he's yet to fully define his and Scully's partnership.

“No, something happened?”

“I’m not exactly sure there’s… there’s some confusion here.” Mulder hunches slightly, pursing his lips and looking down ashamedly-- a posture he's exhibited on a larger scale to his father (post here.) At Maggie’s “What do you mean ‘missing’?”, he stumbles over his words-- “Well, she ran off last night-- screws up his face, and beats at his thigh, anticipating a disappointed or angry reaction-- “We, we’re looking for her as best we can, but we are a little concerned.”

Skinner arrives, and Mulder knows it’s time to go. “Look, Mrs. Scully, I hate to do this to you, but I’ve got to hang up on you right now.”

“Fox, would you please just tell me what’s going on?” Maggie asks, respect and civility barely keeping her from demanding an immediate reply.

“Hang by the phone, I’ll call you as soon as I know something,” he answers, disconnecting the call immediately after.

It’s only after hours of frantic search and heartache that it dawns on him where Scully might have gone.

Where does Dana Scully run to feel safe whenever her life spirals out of control? Home.

Sure enough, Maggie opens her door strung out: jumpy and tense, unwilling to let Mulder in.

“Is she here?” he asks, hopeful.

“Uh, no,” she refutes.

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” Mulder prods, not unconvinced but still suspicious.

It’s Maggie’s exit-- “Well, I’ll call you when I hear from her, okay?”-- that gives her away, too smooth and too quick to slam the door in his face with a daughter missing for the second time.

“I need to see her,” he insists in desperation; and when she still refuses, Mulder ignores her pleas and barges through, halting only when met with the barrel of Scully’s gun.

Maggie isn’t afraid, only scared for him: getting into his face as he carefully pushes past, then shutting the door behind him to prevent someone else from walking in.

“Dana, put down the gun!” Maggie shouts, only drawing Scully’s attention momentarily from Mulder.

“I’m here to help you, Scully,” Mulder announces quietly.

“I told you, Mom-- he’s here to kill me,” she warns, quivering and shifting her stance for a surer shot.

“I’m on your side, you know that,” he replies.

“Put the gun down, Dana,” Maggie repeats, more calmly.

Scully’s eyes, wide and panicked, lessen only slightly when they glance toward her mother, growing wilder when Mulder tries to advance. She warns him back while cocking the trigger.

Maggie, sensing Dana has reached the end of her rope, backs him up: “Dana, he’s telling you the truth.”

“It’s not the truth, Mom,” Scully wobbles, betrayed. “He’s lied to me from the beginning. He never trusted me” Despite Mulder’s heartfelt, “Scully, you’re the only one I trust,” she rebukes, “You’re in on it. You’re one of them.”

Pausing, she gears up for her most wrenching accusations: “You’re one of the ones that abducted me. You put that thing in my neck! You shot my sister!”

“That’s not true, Dana,” Maggie repeats.

“It is,” Scully insists, voice weakening in heartbreak.

Maggie steps forward in spite of her daughter's escalating cries, beginning her attempts to talk Dana down.

“You trust me, don’t you? You know that I would never hurt you. That I would never let anybody hurt you.”

Scully begins to sweat, wavering between fear for her life and belief in her mother.

“That’s why you came here, isn’t it? You’re safe here. Put the gun down, Dana.”

Scully slowly points it up and away, but doesn't relinquish it even as she collapses, sobbing, in her Maggie's arms.

Later, Mulder joins both happy ladies in recovery, sticking up his arms in comedic effect for their (vague) amusement.

Mrs. Scully, sensing they need space to reestablish their equilibrium, soon after leaves the room.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

And in expected Starbuck fashion, her first response is: “Ashamed.” He waits, letting her fill in the silence at her speed. “I was so sure, Mulder. I saw things, and I heard things. It was just like the world was turned upside down. Everybody was out to get me.”

“Now you know how I feel most of the time,” he jokes-- a balm of understanding.

She smiles, continuing her train of thought with less discouragement. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

“I’m not surprised,” he nods, leaning forward to summarize his theory on paranoid mind control: “...a virtual reality of their own worst nightmares.”

“Like me thinking you were going to kill me.”

The knowledge that any action of his holds that much weight in Scully’s life is a fearful realization in itself; and Mulder tries to ward off the power of it (and the last twenty-four hours) by leaning on his shaking, folded hands.

“I was so far gone, Mulder, I thought that you had gone to the other side.”

Sinking further into his posture, he asks, “What do you mean?”

“That Cancer Man-- the man that smokes all those cigarettes-- I was sure I saw the two of you sitting in your car in the motel parking lot. You were reporting to him. You handed him a video tape.”

And while Mulder runs off to check out that lead, we conclude where we began: the video paus de deux, a rectangular reel that bookends the beginning and end of Scully’s media madness.

CONCLUSION

Scully concludes her erosion arc with Mulder's steadfast loyalty, the one stable variable in her insane, topsy-turvy world. The past may be lost, the present may be shifting, and the future may be uncertain; but Mulder is her assurance.

Season 4 then shifts that upends that assurance by turning dependable into dependent.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

22 notes · View notes

thelifeofplums · 2 years

Text

Own Worst Enemy Part 3

Trigger Warning - Verbal abuse, feeling lonely, negative thoughts, feeling unworthy, replaced MC, unfair treatment towards MC

How long had it been? Ever since that newly cloned version of you had appeared, you, the original Y/N, had become forgotten. You saw the way the brothers clung to your doppelganger, having begun doing things with them that they would’ve done with you.

Like playing video games with Leviathan. Or going to a cat cafe in the human world with Satan.

The many little things that you once enjoyed with the demon brothers were now being done with your replacement.

It made you wonder if you were living a different life or if you were dreaming up an illusion. You wouldn’t be surprised if this was really all just in your head, after all you knew the demon brothers. You knew they wouldn’t hurt you like this.

And so why did the dream never end? Why did this nightmare continue with no end in sight?

“Y/N dear.” Asmo wasn’t talking to you.

“Hey Y/N, you wanna hear of my latest money scheme?” Mammon wasn’t asking you.

“Y/N, Lord Diavolo would like you to have tea at the castle tomorrow.” And that definitely wasn’t for you.

It was as if you were no longer Y/N, you’re identity having been stolen by your identical and perfect self. And that could only mean that the brothers had started to refer to you differently.

They’d say “that one” when talking about you.

Or they’d just say “human”, as if that hadn’t been your nickname since the time you had arrived in the Devildom. Only now it was official.

Even at school, nobody spoke to you anymore. Everyone was always too preoccupied with the all too perfect Y/N who could do anything without a complaint. You had become nonexistent, your school friends no longer hung out with you and you always sat alone.

You were the faulty one. The Y/N who couldn’t do anything right and who only ever disappointed. Of course they’d replace you with a better version. Why wouldn’t they want to hang out with a better version of you who never took no for an answer.

Ugh, what were you thinking? How could you let that cheap copy of you run around thinking they were better than the real version?

Everybody knew that a sequel could never best the original and it was about time people realized that.

You had to start showing that you couldn’t be replaced. Even if your clone could do so much more than you....like getting straight A’s consecutively or acing magic without a hitch....you were so much better, right?

Either way, you needed to do something about this.

“Hey Mammon and Asmodeus!” You had managed to gather the courage to come up to the two demons, having taken all of first period to talk to them.

It had been difficult to get ahold of them as the two of the most popular RAD students were always surrounded by friends and peers. Normally, you would’ve been in the center with them but of course this was no time to linger on those memories.

So it had to have been during class, after the lecture and a few minutes before the bell rang for third period. Lucky for you, both Asmodeus and Mammon had third period with you and the two brothers sat together. It would’ve been a lot harder to talk to them separately, at least that’s what you had previously thought.

“Ugh, I hear this fly buzzing around me, Mammon, it’s so annoying,” Asmodeus said, swiping through Devilgram without a care.

Grinning as if you heard nothing, you continued, “So, I was thinking it’d be nice to go out to the Fall tonight. We haven’t gone together for a while now like we used to, we should get back into it.”

Mammon folded his arms across his chest and looked up at you with exasperation, “Ya got some nerve to ask the Great Mammon to go clubbing with you.”

You took a deep breath to settle the anger rising within you, “It didn’t usually take much asking to get you to come with me, Mammon. What changed?”

Asmodeus scoffed at that, “I’m sure you know the answer to that, unless you really are dumb and need me to spell it out for you.”

It was two against one. And these two were possibly the worst pair, now that you thought about it.

Two of the most popular students, rulers of hell, and of course the center of all the gossip and rumors. And you were no longer the beloved Y/N. No, that was the clone.

You were just...you. And no one wanted to bother with the now average and unpopular human. So of course it made it so much worse when standing in front of Mammon and Asmodeus knowing that fact.

“I’m still Y/N, it’s not like-”

“Y/N!” Asmodeus interrupted you. You would’ve said he had lost interest in you but he never really had any from the start of the conversation. The demon practically skipped over to your clone, “You wanna go to the Fall tonight?”

You heard him giggling and chatting with the other Y/N from across the room. It made you want to cry and scream at him, though you knew it would do you know good. If anything, it would only make your situation worse.

I was the one who asked, Asmo!

Doing your best to remain strong, you straightened your shoulders out but you didn’t dare look at Mammon. You knew where your limits stood.

“It’d be nice to spend some time with my first demon, we haven’t been able to hang out anymore,” you mentioned softly, remembering the good times you had had with Mammon.

You missed it. Missed him.

You heard the chair scratch against the floor, making you aware of the fact that Mammon was now standing. Was he looking at you? Did he care to even spare you a glance?

You took a little peak at him.

A look of adoration decorated his visage, one that you knew all too well. That look of your first man telling you how much he loved you and how you were perfect and beautiful and everything he could possibly want. Even when it wasn’t for you, your heart fluttered the same way it always did you saw that expression.

He was looking at them.

And that was all you needed to know that you didn’t stand a chance. It didn’t take Mammon’s walking around to get to the other Y/N. And it didn’t take Mammon’s blushing face to tell you it was over for you.

No. It was the way he spoke. The joy in his voice, the warmth and silliness that came with being an idiotic lover. So in love with the other person that it changed his whole tone.

You had lost the battle before you even knew it. But you knew when you were defeated and when to give up.

You wouldn’t grovel at his feet for his attention. You wouldn’t beg for him to forget about the other Y/N. You were better than that so you would simply just walk away and hope your heart wouldn’t tear to pieces.

And that was exactly what you did. Only now a hole the size of two demons remained in your once full heart.

*****

“Hey, Levi!”

As if the pain from Asmo and Mammon’s silent rejection wasn’t enough, it felt like you were now looking for more. Which was definitely not the case. It was just that you couldn’t have been so easily replaced by all seven of the demon brothers. You couldn’t allow that clone to have your demons.

It was nearly impossible, you knew. Even Mammon had deserted you so how could you keep going. Only pain waited for you at the end of the road, you could almost sense it. And still you were willing to hope for the chance that not all the brothers could give up on you just like that. If you could even get one brother on your side, maybe you could somehow convince the others that the clone they played around with would never match compared to you.

Which was now what led to you chasing after the third eldest brother. Having returned from school, you needed your best friend on your side. And you had a plan...well not really a plan but it was certainly something.

“Levi!” You called out.

The demon hardly paused as he headed for his room and you hurried to catch up to him as he was surprisingly fast for a shut-in otaku.

“Levi, stop!” You ordered, hoping to see him freeze as usually a command from you would get him to obey.

But it didn’t work. You couldn’t even feel your pact activate as it normally would.

That’s odd.

Maybe if you had more time, you would’ve thought more about why your pact wasn’t working. But you needed to catch up to Levi.

“I want to play a game with you!” You finally said, practically jogging to keep up with him. That made the demon pause.

He turned around to look at you with a bit of a sneer on his face, “Are you trying to get me to let you into my room, normie? I’ve already got Y/N to play games with so don’t bother.”

You grimaced at the sound of your name.

“Well...I don’t see Y/N anywhere so you’ve got no choice but to play with me.” You felt sick with the words you spoke. If it had been anyone else who had the same name as you, you wouldn’t care. But you were talking about your own replacement, a person who was exactly like you in physicality. Probably not mentally as the clone had proved to be smarter than you were, something that you were more than irked about.

“I heard you were looking for someone to play a new multiplayer game with you,” you explained.

Levi groaned in annoyance, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you. It’s a strategy game and I don’t think you’d be a good team member for this one. So I’d rather wait for Y/N to finish whatever the hell their doing so that they can play than lose ten battles in a span of a minute with you.”

A flash of anger sparked inside you. For him to say that to your face....the fucking audacity.

“Oh, so you really don’t think I can play, huh? Then how about we play 1v1 first and then we’ll see who’s so bad at your new game.”

“No.”

You folded your arms and smugly grinned before saying, “Are you scared, Levi?”

His orange eyes lit with that competitive fury you knew all too well.

“Hah? Scared?” Levi scoffed, “so you’re not just stupid but also delusional.”

“Hmph, say all you want but it doesn’t hide the fact that you’re running away from me like a chicken.”

The demon looked at you in silence before sighing.

“Fine, we’ll play one round. But don’t be so sure about yourself, normie.”

*****

You could think of the many times you had made a bad call. One time having involved a locked up demon with a grudge against humans. And now, you had made a bad call about playing against Levi.

Levi had gotten his hands on a Devildom version of Era of Kingdoms, a real-time strategy game and one you had never played. Sure you figured the new game wasn’t something you’d be able to play amazing at instantly, but you thought that the mechanics wouldn’t be too hard to get a grasp at. Oh how wrong you were.

So to say you were beat was an understatement, Levi had fucking demolished you in the span of three minutes.

“I knew it,” Leviathan sighed beside you, “You’ve got nothing to prove, human. You’re just like every stupid normie who thinks they can just randomly play with me.”

You were still staring at the screen. At Levi’s victory and your defeat, feeling as if it were mocking you. Telling you that you could never match against the demon brothers and that you were nowhere near good enough to be with them.

“This is why I only play with Y/N, my best friend. We’d actually have a decent battle and I wouldn’t have wasted my time with them,” the demon went on, “You know, I could be catching up on all my episodes of Stress makes Saduharu bald ,but it’s stressful to avoid stress, so he ends up stressed out anyway, so in the end there’s nothing he can do.”

Your grip on the controller tightened, taking deep breaths to calm yourself.

“This is why Y/N is so much better than you. You really are useless.”

That’s it!

You threw the controller aside and stood up, looking down at Levi who was sitting on one of the bean bags in his room. He didn’t spare you a glance.

“Fine,” you said, “Fine, if you want to replace me with that better and so much smarter version of me, than go ahead. I’m sure you two will have an absolute amazing time and you’ll just completely forget about me. But know I was the first person who actually bothered to care about your stupid games and anime.”

With that, you spun on your heel and marched right out of his room. On the way out, you passed by the other Y/N and you glared at them.

Of course they didn’t pay any attention to you, acting as if you didn’t exist.

It pissed you off so much more than you thought it would. But what could you do? Nobody would listen to how you feel because nobody cared.

You walked down the hallway, the surroundings blurring as you felt your eyes water with angry tears.

Stupid clone. Stupid demon brothers. Stupid everything!

In the heat of your emotions, you had lost all sense of where you were going. Which was what led you to collide directly into a wall, causing you to fall back on your butt.

“Ow!” You exclaimed, shocked at the sudden impact.

A familiar grumble sounded in reply and you gasped.

“You should be paying attention to where you’re going.”

Beel!

You looked up and that was on wall you had run into. You nearly flinched at the large demon standing over you, his size only seeming to double now that you were sitting on the floor.

“Are you on your way to the kitchen?” You wondered, noticing that hungry look in his eyes.

Beel nodded, “Y/N was going to make me something from the new cookbook I got just yesterday.”

“You bought a cookbook?”

“Yeah,” Beel replied, “And I was hoping that Y/N would be free to cook but now they’re hanging out with Levi. So I have to try and make it myself...”

You frowned at that. You could already predict that Beel would eat the ingredients before he even opened the cookbook. It would be bad if he didn’t have anything to eat and seeing that the clone was occupied with Levi...

“I can help, Beel. I used to always cook for you, you know.” You got back up onto your feet, ignoring the pain in your heart at the fact that Beel wasn’t asking you.

The demon shrugged, “Not sure about that, it’s more complicated than the meals you used to make me.”

You highly doubted that. You had made meals that had tried to eat you before so how difficult could this one be?

And maybe Beel would finally see you and not the clone. That would be a good start for you.

All you needed to do was convince Beelzebub to let you cook for him.

“Well, I just passed by Y/N and they just got to Levi’s room so I can say for certain they’re not gonna be able to help you out anytime soon,” you told Beel, “But I’m sure you can hold out until then, right? It’s not like Levi has played games with them until the next morning...”

You stepped closer to the large demon, “You must be starving Beel. And you were probably looking forward to that dish for a while now, right? Well, I’m free so I could make it for you and you wouldn’t have to wait. How about it?”

Beel’s stomach grumbled and you could practically feel the walls of the house tremor. He looked down at his tummy with a sullen look before finally nodding.

“Alright.”

*****

Why...Why did it taste like Solomon’s food.

You would’ve never known from smelling the dish as it smelled delicious. But one little taste test had proved you so wrong.

Could it be you had mistaken an ingredient for something else? That couldn’t be possible, you were certain you had read each ingredient and had done every measurement right. It didn’t make sense.

“Is it done yet? It smells so good...I can’t wait to eat it.”

Oh no. Oh no no no. If Beel ate this you were certain people would think you’d committed an assassination on one of the Seven Rulers of Hell.

“Um...Beel. It needs a bit more time so...uh...but it’s almost done, kay?” You said over your shoulder before you stared down at the substance in the pan.

It looked fine! It looked cooked! And it smelled like food!

Why didn’t it taste like food?!

You looked at the cooking book again, reading over the instructions which you had followed to a tee. It was as if fate just wanted to screw you over. As if the entire world was against you and just wanted you to suffer.

“What’s that smell?”

A familiar voice, not Beel’s, brought an unspeakable amount of relief. Who better to ask about this dish than the all knowledgeable Satan!

You turned to him to ask for help only to immediately remember your relationship was no longer what it used to be. And Satan made it perfectly clear at what your relationship was, what with the look of clear annoyance on his face.

“Beel, you won’t want to eat what the human just made,” Satan said, looking over your shoulder at the food you knew tasted awful.

Beel tilted his head in confusion, “But it smells delicious.”

The fourth born shook his head, “Trust me, you won’t like it. I don’t know how but the human just took a page out of Solomon’s cooking book and made a perfect Solomon specialty.”

You winced, your shoulders curling in with shame.

You looked to Beel, “I-I don’t know how it happened, B-Beel. I mean I did exactly what the recipe told me to do a-and it just turned out like this.”

Apparently Beel just didn’t believe you or Satan, either that or he was just too hungry to actually listen. Either way he took a fork full of food and shoved it into his mouth.

“No-!” Both Satan and you cried out.

But it was too late. Beel’s fork was frozen in his mouth and you could swear he wasn’t breathing anymore.

“Beel, I’m so sorry,” you managed to say, though it came out as a small whisper.

“Beel, can you spit it out?” Satan asked, speaking in the same volume as you as if talking any louder would disturb Beel.

The kitchen was silent as if to pay respect to the death of Beel’s taste buds.

Damn that cookbook! You knew you had done everything perfectly. So why was it so bad?

“Hey guys!”

You knew that voice.

Both Satan and you turned to see the clone standing at the entrance to the kitchen. And in their hands was a plate of cookies.

Where the hell did they get that?

Hadn’t they been with Leviathan? How did they manage to arrive at the perfect time with the perfect solution so perfectly?

“Y/N! Perfect timing, Beel just ate something bad, can you give him those cookies?” Satan said, jumping into action to save his younger brother.

The other Y/N gasped, “Alright!”

In a matter of seconds and a few dozen cookies, Beel no longer looked as if he were about to be sick.

“What did you eat, Beel? I don’t remember you getting this sick since the time Solomon cooked those devil spring rolls for us,” the other Y/N asked, putting a hand on Beel’s arm.

The casual gesture made you stiffen with annoyance.

Beel pointed his finger at you.

Oh.

Why? You had only been trying to help. Why did things have to turn out like this? Would anyone believe you if you said you had made the dish perfectly? And that you had done exactly what the recipe told you to?

How could it have gone so wrong? Bitterly, you thought maybe the other Y/N would’ve made the dish and it’d actually taste good. After all, it seemed the world was making the way for the clone and a recipe like this would have turned out amazing.

It might just be you. Just your bad luck and whatever was happening to your life now.

A sigh came from Satan, “That’s it, human. I’m taking you out of the kitchen, clearly you’re not fit for this.”

The demon grabbed your arm and dragged you out like a rag doll.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, just leave us alone and you can go back to your regular life,” Satan said as he pulled you down the hallways.

“You mean to a life without you.”

Satan eyed you before pausing suddenly. You didn’t know why he had stopped and you certainly didn’t expect him to pull you closer to him.

It was like the world had stopped. And...for a second you forgot what your situation was like. Forgot that for the past week, you had been cast aside like a broken toy...abandoned and left to collect dust.

His eyes that you knew to be so gentle and warm stared at you with a cold sharpness. It was easy to ignore that detail when Satan was so close to you, so close you could smell that scent of books and ink and that soothing hint of vanilla.

You wanted to kiss him. To hold him close and forget about the pain you had been dealing with. The hurt and loneliness which made you wonder how you used to feel loved. You wanted him. Wanted him to fill that growing hole in your heart that once was filled by the demon brothers. Ironically, it was the demon brothers who had caused that hole.

I just want you back.

The time spent away from the demon brothers was cold and it only made you think of how lonely you were.

Just come back to me.

“Satan,” you whispered, your voice cracking from the sob you had buried deep within to hide your vulnerability.

“What made you think you'd ever have a life with us?”

And there it was. The finger to the trigger, the final crack in the dam, the last piece of hope you had held for him.

It took everything in you to step back.

But you did so and you turned away from him.

A humorless laugh slipped past your lips and you shook your head, “You know, I just want to know one thing.”

You imagined the other Y/N, doing what you used to do with the demon brothers, and you felt something dark inside of you bloom. Was it hatred that you felt?

“Is this all just a horrible nightmare?” You asked, your aching heart wishing that it were, “It just doesn’t make sense that this is all happening...like it’s all orchestrated by somebody else.”

Silence.

You glanced at Satan.

But then he scoffed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, this is real.”

And you believed him.

To be continued~

Part 4

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tieronecrush · 11 months

Note

HELLO CONGRATS ON YOUR MILESTONE ILY <3

obviously I am sending you a smut prompt 🛍️ this one makes my brain go fuzzy

“can you look at me? please?”

and I would love that with literally any Pedro boy you like but I'm feeling either Dieter (bc this man is observed constantly but rarely ever seen I think) or Frankie (bc he do be beggin)

TYSM HANNY BANANNY ILY TOO BESTIE

the idea of dieter asking to be seen just overcame me when i sat down to write this so it is him <3

dieter bravo x f!reader

18+ ONLY, MDNI - no other warnings on my drabbles

After midnight on this random Saturday night, or technically Sunday morning, you find yourself in the bed of your latest match off of your new dating app — Dieter.

Academy Award-Winning actor Dieter fucking Bravo.

To be fair, you hadn’t seen the film he won for, Hunger Strike, and only saw stuff about his featured role in Cliff Beasts 6 and the documentary that was made out of the behind-the-scenes shitshow that was creating that movie.

To you, it had been a fluke that you’d been accepted onto Raya, the app you’d matched with him through. You garnered a generous amount of Instagram followers for posting your art, and have ended up having an extremely successful career selling your originals and prints. During a wine night with your friends, you’d been drunkenly convinced to apply for an invitation onto the app — one of your friends had been accepted a few months before and had been basically a reference for you. It was all very official, and it had gotten you some pretty good matches: actors, YouTubers, photographers, agents, and more.

This was new for you though — it was normally one dinner or drinks, or heading straight to the hookup. You’d done minimal chatting before all of these meetups, but things were different with Dieter. He’d messaged you first, and you’ve been talking for at least two weeks and FaceTiming while he’s been finishing up filming in Canada.

He was actually kind of…sweet.

There was no pressure in your conversations, and no awkward silences when you FaceTimed. His messages made you laugh, made you smile, even gave you butterflies when he complimented your work or called you “a spectacularly arresting genius.”

And after all of those days and nights spent getting to know each other and exchanging spiraling ideas from your chaotic minds, you have ended up here in his California king with the softest linen sheets you’ve ever felt — currently straddling him after he made you come with his fingers and his mouth.

He fills you up completely when you’re fully seated on his hips, soft whimpers echoing through his massive primary bedroom. His fingertips are gripping tight to your hips, surely leaving bruises under their wake when he moves them to your thighs to give you full mobility of your hips.

“Fuck, babygirl, you’re a fucking vision over me right now.”

He sits up, one arm wrapping around your back as a moan of your name leaves his lips at the feeling of you finally starting to ride him, lifting and grinding your hips around his cock. His mouth latches onto one of your breasts, kissing the velvety skin and sucking at your nipple. The pleasure stutters your movements, a gasp projecting from your lungs when Dieter fucks up into you, his slapdash pace shaking your thighs as his hit against you.

“Oh my god, Dieter…” Your breathy call to him is punctuated with a high-pitched whine, your head rolling back and eyes screwed shut. All you can manage to reciprocate is circling your hips while his cock drives hard against your walls, the tip of him nailing that spongy spot in you with every thrust. A vice grip is taut through your forearms and hands, digging your nails into the skin of his broad shoulders.

“Can you look at me? Please?” The sincerity in his tone snaps your head forward and your eyes blink open, finding him less than a foot away from you. Steamy air spills from both of your ajar mouths, the tenderness — no, the vulnerability in his eyes is palpable. The intensity of his stare glues yours to his, the only exchanges besides flashes of pleasure in irises being sultry exhales that you both swallow from the other.

“Tell me how it feels for you, babygirl. Wanna hear your voice, please.”

You struggle at first to find any words for this moment, finally clearing all the jumbled thoughts about him to give you something to say.

“I feel so…connected to you. Hasn’t ever felt like this before. Like, a whole ‘nother level…”

“I feel it too, babygirl. Can’t even describe it, really. You fit me like a puzzle piece — your sweet pussy, your curves against me, even your fucking wildly brilliant brain. Could do this all day and night with you, baby, if it always feels like this.”

“Fuck, Dieter, ‘m close, I-I—”

“Let go, beautiful girl, come for me. Wanna feel you all over me, squeezing me.”

It’s a fall from grace — if you could call what you were doing graceful. Blinding hot pleasure radiates all over your skin, vibrating at every point he is connected to you. His name falls from your lips over and over, even a soft thank you thrown in the midst of your visions of heaven. Dieter was guiding you through the winding orgasm, his own hips continuing to hit up against your thighs before they stutter, his warm release coating your walls and extending your euphoria while you watch him come undone under you.

Chests rise and fall at an exponentially slower rate while you both float down, coming back into your bodies and locking into that same intense eye contact from before. It’s a silent transfer of energy until Dieter breaks the quiet first, his palms skating up your thighs with a trail of goosebumps.

“Is it too soon to ask to see you again?”

#tieronecrushcandy #dieter #writing #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x female reader

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avatarmerida · 11 months

Text

Sorry it’s been a month since the last update! But life has been crazy but rest assured, we shall keep advancing the friendship! Hunter is searching for the perfect way to ask Willow out, but of course he must encounter obstacles. Read on AO3 or under the cut!

“I don’t know what to do!” Willow exclaimed as she frantically started pacing the room once she was sure Hunter had left. “This whole time, this whole entire time I thought he was my boyfriend! But apparently not? I mean, I guess we never said it officially or anything but still! Oh my Titan he must’ve thought I was crazy!”

“I mean, he couldn’t have been that upset right?” Amity pointed out. “I mean, he did confess to you eventually.”

“Yeah I guess,” Willow said as she flopped on the bed. “And then I basically slammed the door in his face!”

“Yeah, maybe not your best move?” Said Amity, sucking her teeth.

“I guess just… I dunno. I thought kissing him at Grom was a pretty obvious sign that I liked him. But I guess he thought it was just a Grom thing.”

“Aw Willow, he’s so stupid,” Amity said as endearingly as she could.

“I know!” Willow groaned, covering her face with a pillow. “He’s so cute it makes me furious!”

“I mean, in your defense, it definitely seemed like you were dating. I mean,just look at what he posted right before the game!’ said Amity, taking out her scroll to pull up Hunter’s latest penstagram post. “It’s a picture of you two and he wrote: ‘She’s amazing #wcw always.’ He literally just called you his crush. That’s a pretty public declaration of feelings.”

“No, he thinks it stands for ‘Willow can win.’” Willow explained with a smile as she traced the pattern on her pillowcase with her finger. “I just thought it was cute so I didn’t correct him.”

“But just look at this picture,” said Amity, turning her scroll around to show Willow. “He can’t take his eyes off you. Even with the face paint you can tell how red his face is. It’s the same goofy face he had at Grom.”

“Hmm yeah, it is pretty goofy,” Willow chuckled as her face adopted a goofy grin of its own to match. She let out an aggravated sigh as she leaned back to hide beneath the pillow again. “Ergh, but now he thinks I’m upset about the kiss,” groaned Willow. “Which of course I’m not! It was a great kiss! It was a really great kiss.”

She felt tense and relaxed at the same time thinking about the total euphoria of Hunter spinning her around in the sunshine,laughing and smiling before pulling her in and pulling away far too soon. She had been riding that high the whole night up until what she thought a spontaneous romantic rendezvous had turned into an apology. He had apologized! Did that mean the kiss didn’t make him feel the same way? He said he had done it because he liked her but what if kissing her made him realize-

“Amity, what if he didn’t think it was a great kiss?” Willow asked in a panic, shooting up from the bed. “And that’s why he came over? W-what if I didn’t let him finish and he was going to say ‘I kissed you because I liked you but now I realize I don’t anymore, sorry.’”

“Uh…”

“I should’ve just told him I liked him back,” groaned Willow. “Then we could’ve just started over but I was just so caught off guard that I just left! Ahhhh!”

Amity watched her friend scream into her pillow and knew the feeling all too well. It seemed like just yesterday she was hyperventilating about kissing Luz on the cheek outside her house. Willow had been there for her then, even though they were still on shaky terms. But now their friendship was stronger than ever and Amity was determined to be the amazing friend that Willow deserved and had always been to her.

Amity gently lifted the pillow off her friend’s face so she could hear her better. “The other day Hunter and Luz came over and we were hanging up all the photos my mom never let us display because they weren’t ‘perfect’ enough. We were going through the photos from when we were little and he found a bunch of you and I from when I wasn’t terrible yet. And he just like… stared at this one photo of you in the garden like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in his life. I’m pretty sure he only hung up photos that had you in them.”

“Well I was a very cute child,” Willow replied with a sly smile. She had caught him doing the very same thing at her house many times, her fathers teased her about making him copies. She wished she had a photo of baby Hunter to fawn over. She knew none existed, she had pestered Darius about it and while he was able to confirm that while Hunter had indeed been a child wreaking havoc in the castle, Belos had chosen not document this (much to Willow’s dismay.) Hunter’s lack of memories to offer any additional insight had driven Willow to imagine what them meeting earlier would be like. She imagined he always had his gap tooth, growing up with a lisp that forced him to practice his vocabulary in the mirror until he-

But why was she thinking about this when she was trying to figure out how she was supposed to be feeling about Hunter now?

“What I’m trying to say is,” continued Amity, once she was sure Willow had left the mini daydream the story had inspired. “Hunter is crazy about you and has been for a long time. He knows you and cares about you and it would take alot more than a bad kiss for him to stop feeling that way.”

Willow sat up and squinted skeptically at Amity. “Are you saying I’m a bad kisser?”

----

At school the next day, Willow was doing everything she could to fight off the vines that tried to form around her feet. She knew that their interaction would be different today; she just didn’t know how. After his confessions and her apparent confusion, she didn't know if they were on the same page about what they were. Would he be shy? Embarrassed? Would he make the assumption she had made a month ago and act like she had? Regardless, she decided that no matter how things changed, they could talk this out. Sure, it might be a tad bit awkward to tell someone you thought you were dating for the past month while they thought they were secretly pining for you, but maybe it could be something they laughed about together?

“Hey, it’s no big deal!” Amity assured her as Willow tried to summon the strength to walk into school. “Just act like you used to act around Hunter.”

“I don’t remember how I used to act around Hunter!” Said Willow in a hushed panic. “I liked getting to act like his girlfriend, I don’t know how to go back!”

“Okay, then act like his girlfriend.”

“But I don’t know if I’m his girlfriend!”

“Okay then stop asking me for advice!” Said Amity in a panic. “Sorry! I just… I don’t know what to say here.”

“Well how did you act around Luz after you kissed her?”

“Uh, not great?” Amity winced, remembering the utter mess she had been. “Maybe just follow Hunter’s lead? I mean, I don’t think you can act weirder than him.”

“Yeah, okay.” said Willow, doing the signature Park breathing technique to calm her nerves. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just see how Hunter feels and go from there.”

But Hunter never came.

At first, Willow was worried that he was avoiding her, that he had taken her reaction to his confession the wrong way. But then she found out he wasn’t in school at all, which seemed too extreme for Hunter, so she knew something else must’ve been up. He didn’t respond to her messages. Then Gus said he wasn’t responding to him either. Willow began to worry.

“Oh no, he’s at my house,” Luz said casually as she greeted them outside the school when Willow shared her concern.“Darius brought him over in a panic because he didn’t know what to do and then mama called Eda because she kind of knew what to do but it was a demon realm thing and when I left for school this morning they were all making him soup. It was very sweet.”

“But he’s okay?”

“Oh yeah he’s fine, he’s just a little sick is all,” said Luz. “He’s been sleeping all day, Stringbean cuddled with him while I was at school. Mama sent me a picture, see?”

Luz showed them the photo on her phone and Willow felt her heart flip. Was it weird that she missed him? She had just seen him and was so worried about seeing him again today but darn it when she didn’t she really missed him. He looked so peaceful and she was thrilled anytime he got extra rest, but she wished she had known he wasn’t feeling well. She wondered if things weren’t potentially awkward between them right now if he would’ve told her.

“Oh, well since he’s at your house did you wanna take his homework to him?” Willow asked, slightly downtrodden. “I know he’ll be panicking all weekend worrying he’d fall behind without it.”

“Very true but uh actually, I don’t know if I can,” said Luz, sensing Willow’s sadness. “Amity and I have plans and I might… forget the books somewhere? Sure, but if you wanna stop by… well he’s been out cold most of the day but I’m sure just knowing you came would make him feel much better.”

Willow smiled, grateful for the excuse to see him. Luz knew she would be and thought about asking the details of last night after everything that happened but felt it best to wait until Hunter was conscious so she could hear both sides. She had to assume Willow wanting to see him was a sign that things were improving and maybe the not so subtle mumbling of her name that Hunter did in his sleep meant he would be waking up in a world where he was less anxious about his future with the plant girl. Either way, it was one less task for Luz.

---

When Willow arrived at the Noceda household, she was very surprised when Darius answered the door. She knew Luz had mentioned he had brought Hunter over but she didn’t realize he had stayed. She smiled as the look on his face suggested he had slept very little, most likely in favor of ensuring Hunter’s comfort.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before you showed up,” he said with a smirk. It was the same smirk he wore when Willow would come pick him up from Darius’ house, a smirk that suggested her name often came up and he had been instructed to not mention how.

“Hello Darius,” said Willow, clutching Hunter’s books to her chest. “How are you?”

“Hmm, are you sure I’m the person whose health you came to inquire about?” he teased.

Willow couldn’t help but blush. “So… how is Hunter?”

“Oh he’s doing much better, dear,” said Camila, appearing in the doorway beside Darius. “Please come in, Willow. Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” she said, following them down the familiar hallway. The walls were covered in newly framed photos, most of which she had taken. As saddened as she was about Hunter’s condition, she was glad she was in this house surrounded by so much love. “So what happened? He’s not hurt is he?”

“He was out late last night without his jacket and caught the common mold,” said Darius as he checked his cuticles. “Nothing overly serious, but for now he’s quarantined in the dungeon.”

“Basement,” Camila corrected him for what was obviously not the first time. “He’s doing fine, cariña, he’s just a little… loopy when he’s awake.”

“Yes, but between my knowledge of demon realm ailments and Ms. Camila’s natural nurturing abilities, he couldn’t be in better hands.” Darius said proudly, having declared himself a master of co-parenting on more than one occasion. “Plus Eda came by with a potion to ensure he’s very comfortable.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Willow. “I just wanted to bring him his homework and see how he was doing.”

“Of course dear, he will be so happy to see you,” said Camila as she got something out of the drawer. “Just wear a mask when you go down, okay? He still might be a little contagious.”

“And no matter how many times he asks, I will not tell him where the sewing machine is hidden,” Darius said sternly. “Not until his fever breaks.”

“Of course,” Willow said as she slipped on the mask as she turned to head down to the basement, just as she used to do daily not too long ago.

“Okay, now can you tell me how your hair does that thing?” Willow heard Camila whisper to Darius when they thought she was out of earshot.

Willow chuckled to herself, eager to talk about this new friendship developing upstairs with Hunter as soon as he was well enough to. She caught sight of him from the staircase and felt her heart melt. He was resting, a small snore whistled from the gap in his teeth as he clung to the oversized pillow Camila had given him. He looked utterly adorable and Willow did not want to disturb him. She tiptoed down the stairs to place his books on the end table beside but she couldn’t help but linger beside him to admire the unfiltered smile on his face up close.

She noticed during his tossing and turning, his blanket had fallen to the ground. She bent down to pick it up and place it back on him, but despite her best efforts, the action disturbed his slumber as his eyes slowly flickered open to find her.

“Sorry! Sorry!” She harshly whispered. “I was just getting your blanket, you can go back to sleep I-.”

“Doctor! Oh my Titan!” Hunter exclaimed as his eyes shot open, his voice bouncing and snuffy. “Did you know you have the most beautiful eyes?”

“I’m not a doctor, Hunter,” she chuckled. “It’s Willow.”

“Willow! Oh, Willow!” Hunter said it was the lyric of his favorite song. “You do have eyes like Willow! Willow has such soft eyes. They’re green. A soft green. Like a periiiidot. But those are not a soft things, they are rocks. And they’re juuuust like her eyes. Ah!” He turned his head dramatically as though the very thought of Willow’s eyes was just too much for him.

“How are you feeling?” Willow asked, her aforementioned eyes sparkling.

“I’m fiiiiine,” he sang, moving his arms in the air like noodles. “I was just out seeing Willow and then I left and forgot to remember to wear a jacket and I walked around too long. But it’s a common mold. How much can it even?”

She finished piling his blanket over him and looked down at him, concerned. She could tell the combos toon of the common mold and Eda’s ailment had done quite a number on him. He had no filter or real grasp of how to say what he was trying to say, but at least he wasn’t in any pain.

“You didn’t go right home after seeing me?”

“The healer said they didn’t know how it would affect a grimwalker but we came home after,” said Hunter, referring to Darius’ taking him to the healer to be checked out before seeking Camila’s wisdom. “But when I saw Willow I couldn’t go home because I was too much thinking.”

“Thinking about Willow?”

“Mhm-Hmm.”

She hesitated to ask specifics. “Was it good or bad?”

“She is always good,” he said, making sure to emphasize each word. “I’ve always thought that. But I just said the thing and then I was like in unbelieving of it.”

Camila was right, he was loopy.

“Is that what you were thinking about? About what you… told her?” She hoped he hadn’t been in too much distress. Hopefully not in regret.

“I was thought about … how? How is what’s next, you know? Like where do I take her?”

Willow just smiled, able to put enough pieces together to understand the gist of Hunter’s mumbles. It certainly wasn’t regret.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine going anywhere with you.”

“It’s like, I told her now I have to ask her but then my head got fuzzy and it’s been so many time since then,” he sighed dramatically, trying to focus on the ceiling. “And I’ll feel fine once the room stops moving!”

“So you weren’t… upset?”

“About liking Willow? Noooope!” he popped his “p” dramatically and chuckled to himself like it was the silliest question he had ever heard. “I mean I know I hide it pretty well, so don’t be surprised, doctor, but I like her like a lot. And I don’t wanna keep it secret ‘nymore.”

Willow was glad she was wearing a mask because she was sure the smile on her face was embarrassingly wide and she didn’t want Hunter to think she was happy he was ill, but how many girls got to say they got more than one heartfelt confession from their crush?

“She is just so…” Hunter started to say but his brain couldn’t seem to focus long enough to find the perfect word to finish his sentence. Instead he let out a dramatic sigh as his eyes fluttered, like the very thought of her made him closer to entering a dream. She remembered he had said the same incomplete wonderment that day on the flyer derby field with that same goofy grin.

Willow carefully sat on the couch’s arm, knowing she should be keeping her distance from him in his state, but she just didn’t see how she could do that. She wanted nothing more than to sit on the couch with his head on her lap and play with his hair and tell him all the things about him that made her feel goofy and dreamy as they watched human movies they didn’t really understand but she knew that would have to wait. Hopefully it wouldn’t have to wait too long.

“Oh, it seems so silly that you were walking home without a jacket when I still have your suit jacket from Grom in my room,” Willow sighed, sad she could’ve prevented this from happening as she readjusted his blanket on his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to give it back to you.”

“Whaaaat? No! Don’t be sorry,” Hunter slurred, looking up at her with soft assuring eyes. “Darius says all the suave gentlemen give their dates their jacket. Plus he does not want to see that back in the house he says. He said ‘Little prince, you want her to see you as a competent suitor, not a silly clown covered in flowers.”

Willow giggled. “Well, I’ll be sure to let him know how very not silly I thought you looked,” she assured him, remembering how her heart absolutely fluttered when she first saw him in his suit, a suit she knew he had lovingly made with her in mind. How could she be anything other than impressed?

“Okay, wait, you know what is actually silly though?” Hunter said as though he was a stand up comic entering a well known bit, propping himself up on his elbows to see her better. “Is how I kissed her.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” Hunter chuckled at the joke only he understood. “Because like what even happened? I wanted to kiss her? And then I did? Whaat?!”

“Yeah it was uh preeeettty silly.” She said, trying to see how that was silly exactly.

“Cause like I’ve wanted to kiss her tons of other times but I didn’t, so like how did I even know how to, ya know?” He said as he rested his head back on his pillow, barely able to keep his puffy eyes open.

Her face lit up. “What?”

“Like I wanted to kiss Willow soooo many times before but I didn’t but like that’s the time I did? That’s crazy. It’s banana crazy. I wanted to kiss her that time we got bananas but I didn’t even know why. Who kisses in the banana aisle? No way!” He chuckled at his ramblings as though unaware they were occurring aloud with an audience. The audience in question was elated as these thoughts were not exclusive to the loopy boy looking up at her.

“Hmmm, why didn’t you?” She couldn’t resist asking as she leaned over the back of the couch and rested her cheek on her hand.

“I would’ve messed it up,” he said with a large sigh, sad that he was certain of it. “Luz said people are always falling over bananas, I couldn’t risk it.”

“I see.”

“Ya know we used to message all the time and I was gonna kiss her hand did you know?”

“No, I didn’t actually.”

“Yeah, it’s true,” he said with an air of cocky confidence she had not seen from him in awhile. “I was gonna. I was gonna run into her accidentally on purpose and then take off my mask helmet and kiss her hand and say something cool.”

He had never told her this before. Depending on the day he had intended on following through on this, there was a very good chance Willow would have combusted.

“What would you have said?”

“I’d say ‘oh hello’ like I was surprised and not even a little bit sweaty and walk her home or wherever she wanted and then before I’d leave I would say like ‘what a plant you are” his voice got deeper as he misquoted himself. “But I don’t know what I’d say between that, I didn’t get to practice that part.”

Willow scrunched her nose as she tried to connect why Hunter’s words sounded so familiar. Then it clicked: in his sickly state he had rearranged the words a bit,but it was like he was attempting to reenact a scene from a book they had talked about. She remembered how he was telling her his Ruler’s Reach theories and she was recommending other books he could read while he waited for the sequel.

She had briefly mentioned (mostly as a joke) one of her guilty pleasures she had read countless times when she was younger. It was a cheesy young adult book about a botanist and a cursed young noble that Willow liked mostly because of the accuracy of how rare plant care was depicted. But she’d be lying if it hadn’t formulated most of her notions about what romance was. Probably the most famous scene was when the monarch comes to the greenhouse looking for a plant that could possibly lift their curse that only the botanist could manage to grow.

“Please be careful with them,” the botanist says as he gently places the pot in the noble’s arms. “They’re very precious to me.”

The young noble pulls down their scarf that they wear to hide the effects of the curse to respond to him in a low, cool voice: “I shall, you have my word.”

The botanist looks up to them with wide, shimmering eyes. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”

They pause (this story had a lot of dramatic pauses and Willow didn’t understand them until much later when she was the one waiting on the other end) and steps closer to him, both of their fingertips lingering on the pot’s edges as they barely touched.

“It’s a beautiful flower,” the royal says quietly.

“It’s the most beautiful flower I have,” he responds, his voice quiet and raspy as his finger lovingly strokes one of the petals. “I hope it will be enough.”

“That’s not the flower I was referring to.” They slowly remove his gardening glove from one of his hands and bring it to their lips and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles, never removing their eyes from his matching gaze. “Thank you for allowing me to be the presence of such a lovely flower.”

Was it cheesey? Yes. Did she read that passage over and over again every night before bed? Yes.

She didn’t realize Hunter had taken her request, she certainly didn’t suspect he had been planning on using it to woo her. It would’ve worked too. Titan, it would’ve worked very well. Willow was thankful her mask hid her blush. She had suspected for awhile that Hunter returned her crush but she didn’t think he had liked her for that long.

“But I never got to because then I got trapped in a mind and then I saw her but it wasn’t her and then when I did I wasn’t in the mask so it wouldn’t be as cool.” Hunter continued to explain, acting as though the poorly summarized series of events was more of an inconvenience when it came to flirting with her and not a major source of trauma. Willow remembered mentioning how seeing him wearing his mask in posters around town reminded her of the noble concealing their identity. She saw now he had taken that small comment as indication that his plan had even more romantic potential.

“Ah! But then I skipped so much! I did it out of order!” groaned Hunter, flopping back onto the couch as his mind reminded him how he had arrived at this tangent.

“What do you mean?”

“Doctor, I kissed her,” Hunter explained with wide panicky eyes. “Like… a real kiss.”

“So? What’s wrong with that?”

“Doctor, you can’t just go around kissing people, what will they think of you? If I kiss Willow and Willow and I aren’t dating then she will think I kissed her because I like winning and she won. I do! I do like winning but I also like… her facccce.” He hissed the soft c on the word as though just mentioning her face hypnotized him. “But I don’t even know if she wanted me to kiss her! And also there might be a curse about kissing your captain! And then I just…ahh! How could I?!”

“But what about when Willow kissed you at Grom?”

“Pssssh, that’s just a Grom thing!” Hunter said as though it was no big deal. “That can’t count because she didn’t even know that I liked her!”

“What if… she kind of did?”

“Wha?”

“What if she did know that you liked her when she kissed you? Would it count then?”

“Well, theeeeen it would uh…” he stopped, clearly speaking before he knew the answer. He considered it, what such an action would mean if Willow knew what he knew. “Well, then that would mean that she… uh… hehehe.” He couldn’t even finish now as he began to laugh hysterically. It was nervous and loud and full, as if it was unsure what it stemmed from, only knowing it was too bostorius to contain. “I mean if she… then we could… I mean… hehehe…”

He lulled himself into a fit of giggles as he indulged himself in the very true hypothetical. Willow had her answer, she had more than enough to reassure her. Nothing was weird between them, well no weirder than it was before their series of misunderstandings. He was still a dork who wanted to be her dork, and he was still planning on striving for that goal. She smiled wide beneath her mask, his giddiness contagious. Then she remembered that was not the only potentially contagious thing about him.

“Well, you should get back to sleep,” she said, seeing him fighting the urge to yawn. She hopped up and made haste of tucking him back in, wanting him to get better as soon as possible. “I should probably get going anyway. Message me if you need anything, okay?”

“Oh I can't, Darius took away my scroll.” Replied Hunter as he buried himself in his vast collection of pillows.

“Really? Why?” She laughed.

“Uh, because he wants Camila to think he’s a good dad,” said Hunter. “She found out how much sugar he lets me eat and she was nooot happy. No feliz.”

“Okay then, just get better soon okay?”

“Yeah, I gotta go get better so I can gotta go and talk to Willow.” He said as he tried to fight back the sleep he so desperately needed. “Goodbye, beautiful eyes. I’ll beam you up, okay… you and your eyes and your dimples and your…” sleep took hold in the middle of his sentence.

“Sweet dreams you dork,” she whispered, blowing him a kiss before heading back up the stairs.

“... who said I was bald? I’m definitely not bald,” Darius finished telling Camila as he sipped his cup of tea as she sat across from him at the kitchen table trying to surpress her smile.

“Hunter said you took away his scroll,” Willow said as she went to cover her ears beneath her hair before heading back out. “How come?”

“He kept writing novels beneath your photos on penstagram,” said Darius, summoning Hunter’s scroll to show her. “Normally, I’d try to help him save face but the little prince ratted me out to Camila and now no one is allowed to have espresso so he’s on my bad side.”

“And here I thought you didn’t have a bad side,” teased Willow as she went to see Hunter’s fever driven words.

Darius smirked. “Ah, I knew there was a reason I liked you, flyer derby girl,” he said. “Hopefully your wisdom will continue to rub off on him.”

“Darius! ¿Qué estás haciendo? You can’t show her those!” Scolded Camila, wiping the smirk clear off Darius’ face. “Ah, why must you embarrass the boy more?”

“What? You were the one who said you’d wanna see the look on her face when she saw them!” Darius countered, angrily sipping his unfortunately non caffeinated beverage.

Camila shook her head in disapproval before revealing a small grin meant only for Willow to see. She giggled. “Oh, but look! He even tried typing some in Spanish!” Camila pointed out excitedly, Willow spotted the words “bonita” and “hermosa” among a collection of usual Hunter misspellings and ramblings.

She looked at the photo he had chosen, it was one he had taken of just the two of them after he had been made lieutenant. Hunter smiled so wide his eyes were closed, his gap tooth on full display. She had her arm around his shoulder, their cheeks pressed together as her eyes were focused on him, captivated by his joy. She remembered she was fighting the overwhelming urge to kiss him and she wondered if he would ever look back and realize that. They were so happy. Regardless of what came next, Willow was certain that wouldn’t change.

—-

“So how are things going with our little plant girl?” Dell asked Hunter as he walked up the hill to his makeshift workshop.

“I mean they’re… going, I guess,” Hunter sighed as a collection of paliman hopped onto his lap, happy to see him after he had been away for so long. “I… told her how I feel.”

“There we go! That’s my boy!” said Dell with vigor and pride. “So when’s the wedding?”

Hunter chuckled nervously as his ears turned crimson. “Well I… told her how I feel but I haven’t asked her anything yet. I got sick so I haven’t been able to plan how to do it so it’s perfect and special and-.”

He was cut off by Dell laughing as he went over to water another palistrom tree. “Oh, we should start a club, you and I,”

“Really? Why?”

“We both fell for strong, vibrant women,” he said fondly. “Why, when I met Gwen I didn’t know which way was up I’d get so nervous around her. But her? Oh, she was always this bright outgoing thing, I thought there’s no way she’d go for someone like me. So one day, we spent the whole day together doing all our favorite things and I walked her home and I’m so nervous I’m sweating through my new dress shirt. I was determined to tell her how I felt if it killed me, and with the way my heart was beating I thought it just might. I’m rambling and saying too much and nothing at the same time and she just stands there, not opening the door. I know she has a curfew so I’m rushing but she doesn’t seem in any kind of hurry. And so I ask her ‘did you forget your keys?’ Thinking she left them somewhere and I’m gonna go retrace our steps and see where they might be. And she says ‘no, I’m waiting for you to stop talking to I can kiss you.’”

“So what did you do?”

“I’ve never shut up quicker in my life,” he said with a grin. “My point is: I understand wanting to do it right and make it perfect but at the end of the day, the important thing is that it happens. That’s what she really cares about.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” smirked Dell. “I’ve heard her talk about you when you’re not here, the way she asks about you, she’s quite taken with you.”

“Oh, well I don’t know about that…”

“While you’ve been away, she’s been coming by and singing to the trees,” Dell recalled, “There’s a new spring in her step, and given what you’ve told me I think I know why.”

Hunter’s face turned totally crimson. He had been told Willow had come to see him a few times, but his symptoms went strong for a solid three days and those days were very much a blur. Luz confirmed she had stopped by but said he had slept the entire time, but the new plant that would appear beside his bedside confirmed that she had been there. He wanted to see her now that he was well, but he didn’t want to delay this next step. When he saw her next, he wanted to be ready.

“I just… don’t know what to ask her.”

“What do you mean? You just ask her if she wants to go out with you, don’t you?”

“Okay, but do I ask her out or to go out?”

“Uh… what’s the difference?”

“Well, she knows I like her so the next logical step would be to advance the friendship past simply being just friends,” explained Hunter. “But, do we need a trial field experience before officially labeling it?”

“What?”

“Okay, do I ask Willow out on a date to see if she would be able to return my feelings or do I simply skip that and jump right into asking her to be my girlfriend?” Said Hunter as he stood up and began to pace, the paliman following closely behind. “Because if I ask her to skip too many steps too soon it may come off the wrong way. Like, if I ask her to be my girlfriend and she’d rather go on a date first, she might feel rushed but if I ask her on the date and she’d rather skip that part she might think I’m not confident in our future together.”

“Courting certainly has changed since my day,”chuckled Dell as he saw the confusion spread amongst the palisman that rested on his shoulders. “I’m sure she’ll say yes to whatever you ask her.”

“But I wanna ask her the right thing,” said Hunter in a low voice, as he sunk back into his stump.

“Ya know, you remind me of another teenager I knew who agonized over the same thing with another headstrong, mischievous witch.”

“Really? What did they do?”

---

Hunter frantically pounded the front door of the Owl House. “Hello?” he called as though it was an emergency. “HELLO!

“Hellooooooo.” said Hooty as he entered his window twisting and singing as his energy directly contrasted Hunter’s.

“Hooty!” said Hunter, trying to see past him. “Is Raine home?”

“Whyyyyyy?”

“I was hoping they could help me with something.” Hunter said, knowing it was always best to give Hooty as little information as possible.

“Tell me more, tell me more,” sang Hooty. “Knowledge is power!”

“I want their help with a song,” said Hunter, not wanting to waste any more time. “Dell told me that’s how they asked Eda out when they were younger because they didn’t know what to say and I thought that maybe they could-.”

“Oh! Are you trying to learn how to play the violin?”

“No! I want to ask Willow out!”

“Willoooooow! Hoot hoot! Bout time you two made it official, huh?” Hooty asked, raising his eyebrows and making Hunter blush in frustration. “This is a big moment! Can I sing at your wedding?”

What was it with everyone jumping to marriage so suddenly? “Look, is Raine home or not?”

“No! Sorry! Oh! But Lulu is here! I can get her! She knows eeeeverything!”

“What! No! I- er!”

A few moments later, Lilith arrived at the door.

“Oh, hello Hunter,” she said, still adjusting to using his name and not his title with clear disdain in her voice. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Raine because I need help asking Willow something,” summarized Hunter.

“Oh, yes Hooty mentioned you held romantic feelings for her,” said Lillith, adjusting her glasses. “When he found me he was crying about how adorable your children will look.”

“Listen, I can come back later if you can just tell Raine that I stopped by or better yet let me know where they-.”

“Well, are you two compatible?”

“What?”

“Well, I know you have some… hormone thing occurring,” said Lilith, gesturing vaguely to all of him. “Which, based on her pupil dilation when you’re around each other and the giggly suggestion of your peers I can assume is somewhat mutual. But a relationship of any sort requires structure. Romance can only last so long, I assume. But is there a base for a solid partnership between the two of you?”

“Yes? I mean, we’re good friends and I really like her-.”

“Are you aware of any allergies she may have?”

“Um… shellfish?”

“Do you happen to know the prescription for her glasses?”

“Um not off the top of my head but I have her old pair in my flyer derby bag in case the gold ones break if-.”

“And who would be her primary emergency contact?”

“Um her dads, I think I have Harvey’s- wait, what is this for?” Hunter demanded, realizing she was writing his answers down.

“Oh, for Hooty to better compose your course, of course.”

“What?”

“Well, when Luz and Amity first became a couple, Hootsipher wrote to me and explained how he was an integral part in the occurrence,” said Lilith with utter delight. “So it stands to reason that he would be the best one to assist you and Willow as well!”

“What? No! I didn’t want Hooty’s help. I came here for Raine!”

“Oh, well Raine’s not home.”

“I know that, I just-

“Well if you knew that then why did you fill out our questionnaire?”

“I didn’t want to fill out any questionnaire! I didn’t want Hooty’s help at all!”

“Oh…” said Lilltih, looking behind Hunter with a worried face. “Well, I’m afraid it may be too late for that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s just arrived with Willow.”

“WHAT? HOW DID HE-.” but before Hunter could finish his question, he was swept off his feet by an overwhelming force. Everything went black.

When he came to, the first thing Hunter realized was that he had no idea where he was. The walls were tall and dark as though he was in a cave. The ground where he sat was cold and hard, and he could not locate a breeze which suggested they were deep under the ground. He remembered Hooty was involved so he didn’t feel as though he was in imminent danger, but he still felt uneasy.

The second thing he realized was that he was not alone.

“Ugh, what happened?” said the disoriented voice beside him. Directly beside him.

“Captain!” exclaimed Hunter in a panic, rising to his feet when he realized how close they were. When Hooty had so unceremoniously dumped them on the ground, he had placed Willow atop his chest. Hunter had no idea how long they had been here. “Willow! Hey! Hi! You’re here!”

“Hi,” she chuckled, reaching up to take his hand as he offered to help her off the ground. “So where is ‘here,’ exactly?”

“HIIIIIIII!” echoed a high pitch yet menacing voice that seemed to come from the very walls themselves.

“Oh no,” Hunter whispered. “Willow, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For this!” replied the bird tube thing, emerging from the shadows to capture them once more. He quickly ran a circle around them to wrap himself around the pair, trapping their arms at their sides and them beside each other.

“Hooty?” said Willow, his presence always offering some form of confusion.

“That’s riiight! Hooty and Hunter! Call us the H-Team!”

“Please do not call us that,” whispered Hunter.

“Hooty, what is this? Where are we?” Willow asked.

“You’re at the first day of the rest of your lives!” Hooty said with delight as he proceeded to move forward. Still holding onto the confused pair, they only became closer in Hooty’s grasp as he transported them to their destination at full speed.

“That didn’t answer my question,” said Willow, the side of her face smushed against Hunter’s. His eyes were wide in horror and his cheeks were flushed at the close proximity to Willow. He became more confused by the second.

“Oh I think you’re the one who will be answering a question hoot hoot!” Hooty said, trying to suppress his giggles.

“What? What do you- woah!”

Suddenly, Willow and Hunter were sailing back to the ground. It was just as hard and cold, but the air was different somehow. Instinctively, Willow and Hunter rose to their feet and delved into a fighting stance, ready for anything. Willow summoned a vine to guard her and Hunter as Hooty sunk away into the darkness. Suddenly, the darkness vanished into a sea of green and gold neon all around them.

CAPTAIN OF MY HEART

WILL-OW YOU BEE MINE?

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL FLOWER IN THE GARDEN

“Hooty! Take us back to the Owl House, please!” Hunter called into the void, panicking at his inability to hide the drafts of his confessions from Willow’s view, unaware that she was absolutely captivated. “Now! Haha, or better yet back in time!”

“Love eternal or your money back guaranteed, hoot!” Hooty said happily from somewhere unknown, ignoring Hunter’s frustration.

“I didn’t give you any money!” Hunter insisted before turning to Willow. “I didn’t give him any money, I swear I had nothing to do with this… whatever this is.”

“Hooty’s tunnel of love has a 100% success rate,” said the bird tube, his voice moving from one side of the room to the other. “And it’s about to have 200%, hoot hoot!”

“That’s not how percentages work!” Hunter exclaimed, his face reddening.

Willow could tell Hunter’s latest attempt at a grand gesture had been hijacked by Hooty. She took it as a good sign. Not the hijacking, the fact that there was something to hijack. It meant he was ready, that she hadn’t been rushing him. He wanted the moment to be memorable, private, unique. Two out of three wasn’t bad.

As far as Willow was concerned, it didn’t have to be perfect. It would be perfect so long as it happened.

“Hunter, you don’t need to be-.”

But before Willow could finish, the ground shifted beneath their feet. It slanted, quickly launching them both down as they attempted to steady themselves and regain their balance. It was then Willow realized Clover was not with her and she could not simply fly her and Hunter to safety. She adjusted her footing and reached out to find Hunter’s hand as they helped steady themselves preparing for the impact of the incline ending.

“Well,” breathed Willow with a smile once they reached level ground again. She gave his hand a gentle squad e, as though to prompt him to do the talking before Hooty reentered the scene. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Right,” chuckled Hunter, finding the strength to squeeze her hand back. “I uh, I don’t really know what’s going on.”

Willow laced her fingers through his, pulling him closer to her. “I think I do.”

He took a deep breath. He could just say it right now. Things were quiet, and peaceful. There was no reason to keep prolonging it, there was no reason not to seize this moment with just the two of them, there was no-.”

“There’s fire?” Willow said, both horrified and intrigued. Hunter turned his head and saw that she was right as a ring of fire formed around them and began to rise.

“The fires of love!” Hooty exclaimed in a dented laugh and the flames grew higher. Didn’t Amity and Luz get a boat ride? The fire was a step up, Willow had to admit.

Before she could summon a flower to carry them away or remember a spell for something to douse them, Hunter leapt forward and teleported her outside the fire wall. She heard a collection of explosions echo around them, suggesting Hooty had planted several fire pits throughout the void as she felt Hunter dodge and run between them to secure a safe spot. He stopped for a moment to check on the plant girl residing in his arms, attempting to continue shielding her from the rapidly random dangers around them as he held her in a small but secure dip.

“Are you okay?” He panted.

“Uh huh,” she said so faintly it was almost inaudible. The blaze of the fire traveling behind him made his brown eyes shine like amber embers. He held up mere inches above the ground, one hand securing her waist and the other cradled her head. Despite the chaos occurring around them, Willow felt safe in Hunter’s arms. She couldn’t help but think that if he just leaned down a little more they would be close enough to-

“Hold on, I’ll get us out of here,” said Hunter effortlessly scooping her into his arms. It wasn’t the first time he had done this but it made her heart race all the same. They way he held her like she was something precious, like he wanted her close but was afraid of holding her too tightly. She remained there in stunned silence for a moment, taking in his profile up close. She had always found his sharp jawline so incredibly handsome, and under the circumstances he was too distracted to see her swoon. There was no other word for it, his determination shone so brightly in his face and features the same way it did when he was focused on a book or match. Willow could see no higher honor than being something Hunter focused on.

She knew that despite Hooty’s… hootiness, they were most likely not in real danger. They had definitely been in deadlier situations. Or maybe that was her brain making excuses so she could ogle him without being interrupted. Or maybe this was part of Hooty’s plan. Either way, she was gonna do it.

Just as they were certain they had escaped the fire portion of it all, Hooty sent a collection of spheres hurtling towards the pair. Hunter dodge them but they seemed to come from every direction and he couldn’t focus on dodging them and looking for an exit simultaneously. Willow recognized them as grudgby balls and figured they were probably Eda’s from when she used to play. Willow had plenty of experience dodging these and leapt from Hunter's arm to summon a large flower to catch the first one before it could hit them. The balls came quicker and in larger quantities as Willow skillfully surrounded them with a garden of protection, the flowers catching them and spitting them out toward an unseen attacker. She was too focused on protecting Hunter to see him staring at her with wide, adoring eyes.

“Look for a way out!” She called, having no difficulty capturing balls but having a feeling that this could go on for hours.

“Right!” Hunter said with a nod as he tried to see past the lights of neon and fire for something that looked out of place in the unique collection of chaos. Above them, he saw a glimmer of dull light. It seemed unfitting of Hooty’s aesthetic and Hunter knew that must be the way out. He leapt forward and grabbed Willow’s waist as he laughed them into the air towards the freckle of light.

They found themselves safe and sound outside the Owl House, collapsing to the ground as they tried to catch their breath.

Willow thought this would be a funny story they told the way Amity and Luz did, a jump start

“I’m sorry Willow, this was a disaster,” groaned Hunter, much to her surprise and dismay. “I ruined everything. I had one shot and I blew it. Luz was right, I do overcomplicate things.”

“Hey,” said Willow as she say up, placing her hand atop his. “You didn’t ruin anything. I know how Hooty can be and we’re okay and I mean, it was at least interesting, right? It was a good training regime, maybe we can incorporate it into practice.”

He smiled in spite of himself. She always had a way of making him smile even when he had no right to. She was too good and she deserved the world, and he couldn’t even give her a decent confession.

“It’s just that I… wanted to ask you something and I thought that if I made a big enough display it might impress you so you would-.”

He stopped himself when he looked up and saw how close her face was to his as she clung to his words with wide eyes and baited breath. “So I would …what?” She asked softly.

“So you would… nevermind.” but just as he was gaining momentum, he lost his nerve. How could he possibly confess his adoration in the shadow of his failure? He swore the next time he saw her, he would sweep her off her feet. Instead, his feelings had nearly gotten her killed. Surely if she didn’t turn him down now it would be out of pity. Hunter stood up, fists clenched as he tried to shake his frustration enough to continue talking before he went to teleport away. “Clearly that wasn’t the way either. Maybe there just isn’t… I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Captain.”

No! He was so close! How could he not see how totally crazy she was about him? That she didn’t care what they did or where they were as long as they got to be together. But it didn’t matter how many times she said she was having a great time becuse he wasn’t listening to her, he was trapped in his own head. He was so stuck on his high expectations that he couldn’t see that she didn’t care about the bells and whistles, she only wanted him. She didn’t care if it was awkward or rushed or messy so long as it was real. So long as it happened.

She knew that getting this right was important to him. But she wouldn’t let that happen at the expense of his self worth. She wouldn’t hold her tongue a minute longer, not when the sweetest person she knew felt like he wasn’t good enough for her.

He had tried doing it in so many different ways, asking other people for advice. But at the end of the day, there was only one side-fire way to assure him this was the right time.

“Hey, you!” She called before a Hunter could get too far away. He stopped to look down at her but before he could respond, he was captured mid- teleport by a mighty vine. It wrapped around him, trapping his arms to the sides before pulling him down to earth and dragging him through the dirt before landing a few feet in front of Willow.

She had her head down, which allowed her eyes to be hidden and the light glared in the lenses making her face unreadable. Hunter prepared himself for the worst. Would she call him a fool? Would she tell him to give up?

Hunter held his breath as she slowly lifted her head, bracing himself for a swift rejection.

“Do you wanna be my boyfriend?”

#huntlow #huntlow fanfiction #toh #the owl house #winter toh #Willow park #Hunter toh

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