#and also how it's stayed the same in some ways

[voidwelt]

The mispronunciation of Welt's name used to bother me (as it is canonically meant to be based on the German word, so it should be spoken with a harder V sound). I studied German in school, so I had to work myself out of pronouncing it correctly, just so the game pronunciation would stop bothering me.

But as time passes, I sort of come to think, the way the reason for this mispronunciation IRL is the intent being lost in translation (CN doesn't quite have the right syllables for the German pronunciation and EN direction carried this along in HSR), the reason for its mispronunciation in-game could, if you like, also be chalked up to something being lost in translation (in a different way).

I like to imagine Welt Joyce's name is 100% pronounced correctly. (No EN dub exists to prove me wrong). He got the name right from its source, given to him by a German, and mentions as such when he dies, "Welt" for "World" in German. There's no way it's not meant to be pronounced correctly.

When it gets passed down to Yang, the meaning is still there, but the interpretation is muddied through the inherent perception filter of a young person (as is his interpretation of the duty as a whole). He sees Joyce bleed out against the concrete to save a city and he internalises this as the legacy and the "burden" of Welt. The German word becomes a gifted Title that represents protecting the World first and foremost, and then as its bearer takes off to the stars, off of that original world, in an attempt to save others, it's even further divorced from its original language context.

When Welt describes the meaning of his name to Sunday, he's come up with his own, adjusted and extended definition for it. He's expanded onto it with his own thoughts, influenced by the Trailblaze and how many lives he's come into contact with. "Each person is a world unto themselves, with as many possibilities as the distant stars." (paraphrased)

(He also says some stuff about how the Trailblaze doesn't end when you leave the Express, so it really makes me think of how he might think of... Ahem. Anyway, back to topic.)

Ultimately, Welt Joyce and Welt Yang have the same first name/title in text and in writing, but...

If they're pronounced differently, it just goes to show, that no matter how hard Welt (Yang) attempts to personally embody his hero in all that he does, how hard he tries to carry this legacy in its purest form, they're ultimately still different people, with different experiences, with different souls.

Or, I could just be looking too much into a minor flaw in the translation process! Isn't that the fun of thinking too hard about things? Should we run Mr. Yang over with our shared car? We have to do something about this

[tsukkomicoder]

I'm a STRONG believer of this theory.

I saw a theory that Ralsei is Kris's horn headband, and also one that Ralsei is Kris's knife. The one problem with both of those theories that didn't make sense to me is - how could Ralsei be in Castle Town all the time if Kris isn't there? I assume neither Toriel nor Kris would leave a horn headband in a school closet, that would be quite peculiar. Also, Kris does consistently carry that knife around as shown in chapters 2 and 4 (also I think keeping such a sharp object in a school closet would bring up serious safety concerns).

The theory of Ralsei being a drawing of Kris's monster-sona (goat-sona? Lol) makes perfect sense - Kris could've made multiple drawings of Ralsei, and Toriel might've brought some of those drawings to the school since she teaches there (I've had some teachers hang up little crafts and arts from their children in the classroom, maybe Toriel did the same with things that Kris and Asriel made). Perhaps one of those drawings of Ralsei that Toriel theoretically brought ended up in that closet in the school, and that's how Ralsei is able to stay in Castle Town all the time.

ALSO - if Ralsei is the name of Kris's sona, that would make perfect sense since (if Ralsei really is made in Asriel's likeness) Ralsei is an anagram of Asriel. What a perfect and subtle (and honestly quite clever) way to hint at your character being created in your older brother's likeness!! Maybe this is why Kris felt a bit odd around Ralsei in chapters 1 and 2, like "I know this person, but it's weird I can talk to him!!"

And if we wanna go even further (and more unhinged!!!!) - Ralsei seems to know some information about Kris without being told. If Kris has multiple drawings of Ralsei... maybe there's just this... Ralsei... network... thing? Maybe the other Ralsei drawings are a part of Ralsei that he can use? Has he been watching the Dreemurr family this whole time? DOES HE REALLY KNOW WHO ASRIEL IS???? (It is hinted that Ralsei does know about Asriel if you choose to say to him that you've seen his face before)

Okay that actually got a bit crazy, that's enough theorising for now 😭

What item Ralsei is theory

So, the most popular takes we've got right now are red horn headband or Asriel's fur (or dust, if you want random angst). But what if he's not tied to Asriel at all?

Ralsei is a drawing Kris made of themself as a monster. They were desperate to fit in with their family, so they drew their monstersona using green crayon and adding details of themselves to the design.

-Ch 3 between the rounds you can leave Susie to talk to Tenna alone, and you can talk to Ralsei in the meantime. If you talk about "his face", he looks away sadly, noting that he knows he "looks like someone". But Kris starts laughing at it.

-Ch 4 while hanging out with Susie in town, you can show her a photo of Asriel. She thinks it's Ralsei photoshoped into the picture and then is put off by how adamantly Kris starts pointing out the differences, even though she doesn't really care.

Ralsei looks like Asriel, because obviously siblings would look similar. That's why Kris drew their sona similar to their brother. If you want to go there, Ralsei has feminine features despite being a guy bc Kris was struggling with their gender identity at the time while drawing the sona.

Ralsei has pink horns and pink eyes. Kris has red eyes and used to wear the red horn headband to fit in with their family. Those traits would be transferred onto their sona. Red color fading into pink with time, as drawings tend to do.

Green crayon is missing bc they used it up to draw the sona a long time ago. Their sweater is green, their sona would wear green too.

(Patpro8-blog in comments added that this could be the reason why the drawer in Kris' dark world room is filled with green crayons, Ralsei wanting them to draw him again)

Also that would explain why Ralsei always walks with his hands behind his back, even in dangerous situations. You know the good old hack of not drawing hands by hiding them behind the character's back that every child uses? It's not him being nonchalant or whatever, he was just drawn that way, it's probably what feels most natural.

And he lives in the school supply closet dark world. In the next room over and in Toriel's classroom there are other drawings that very much feel like Kris-made too. It explains why Ralsei is SO attached to Kris, beyond "player is here". Kris created him, was attached to this drawing of what they'd like to be. And then things happened and the drawing was left in the closet to wither and fade. Waiting for when Kris comes back. Of course Ralsei wants to spend all the time with them now.

It's very likely Kris knows what Ralsei is, and that's why they're laughing, why they're pointing out the differences between him and Asriel. It's not supposed to be "Asriel but darkener", it's supposed to be them as the same monster type their family is.

UPDATE: I am going to make this thing into a proper video soon so i'll turn off reblogs when it comes out

[rafeslvbug]

introducing…nba!rafe

back to basics!! (physical)

height: 6”6/6”7 (power forward) second tallest player on his team, uses his height for intimidation over the ball, and in other ways too - outside the court.

build: 220lbs. built, but needs to be agile at the same time. 6”8 wingspan. back muscles you could honestly die for. probably always has some bruises/scratches up his arms and back that no one knows if it’s from training or from you.

age: early to mid twenties. considered one of the most significant power forwards currently in the nba.

looks!! (specific)

tattoos/piercings: has a small tally on his upper arm for nba championship wins. currently set to two. doesn’t wear earrings, though he’s got one piercing from a bet he made. nothing other than that.

signatures: always wearing sports shorts. around the house, out and about in summer, training, etc. unless you actually have to go somewhere, in which case he knows how to dress up. he’d have a thin chain around his neck. silver. small. plain. about the only jewellery he lets himself wear.

personality

jealous: on a scale of 1-10? 11. he can’t help it, if i’m honest. with your popularity, you’ve dated other men who you still see often in your industry. and he knows your quick with relationships, finding something stable is hard. but he wants to be stable. he doesn’t need other people getting in the way of that. arm around your waist at any of your events, showing up to every concert. wouldn’t hide under a hat in the vip section, probably glare down every man who’s staring at you on stage. i’d hate to think of what he’s like with the male dancers.

straightforward: rafe’s clear about what he wants. you. to win. stability. there’s no questioning him, or his intentions. it’s refreshing in a way, no guessing, no wondering if your partner loves you as much as you do. it’s what you need. in other ways it’s often the cause of his stress. when he knows what he wants, and how to get it, and it doesn’t work out for him. he’s too rigid at times, not as flexible or fun as he should be. on the brightside, it fixes arguments quickly.

charismatic: out of a line of men, no doubt wanting to date you, he got you. his biggest brag, but in the end it was how he did it. irresistible charm, didn’t pretend even for a minute that he was only trying to befriend you. made it clear, took what he wanted. flirtiest idiot alive.

supportive: would be at every concert, every show, every event. whenever he can make it, he’s there. no excuses. expects you to do the same, could cause arguments. biggest fan, though. online, in person. never ashamed to say your his, loves when he gets to talk about you.

dislikes

arrogant players. people who think it’s pure talent that got them here. that they’re untouchable. he’ll straighten them out, show them on the pitch that no one is undefeated.

exes. your exes, specifically. hates that you still work with them on occasion. hates how the media is always raving about you and them. always comparing him and them. also hates how people compare you to his exes, when you & him know full well you’re the best gf he’s ever had and vice versa.

small doorways. can’t fit himself through, has to duck his head, will bang it anyways. and if they’re narrow? might just stay outside, doesn’t want to do the awkward sideways step through.

time wasters. in matches, in life. hates doing things without purpose unless it’s actually comforting. walking around aimlessly? unless it’s supposed to be a relaxing walk, it’s just dumb. hates boredom. restless af.

likes

analysing plays. it’s all he does really, studying how to improve himself and get better at the game. if someone is doing better than he is? fine, he’ll learn from them. improve himself. believes he needs to learn from the greats rather than mope around and envy them - that’s how he becomes them.

emotionally intelligent people. people who can understand him, those he can have deep conversations with while still bantering.

someone who has their priorities straight. wants to be with someone who’s resilient. when they set goals, they meet them. where they can support each other.

listening to you talk. at night, when he’s tired, he can lie down on the bed, and just listen to you talk. about anything. your day, stories, song ideas/lyrics and album concepts. he could do it all day long, that is not purposeless.

family & people-specific hcs

nicknames for you: star, pretty girl, baby, missy

nicknames you have for him: baller, my man, cutiepie (as a joke)

- his jersey number is your favourite number

- you guys are most likely engaged. he’d put the biggest rock on your hand and you wouldn’t be private per say. you’re always at his matches, he at your concerts, always out and about together. you’ll record tts from time to time with him in them, or he might post photo dumps with you in them.

- he’d want kids. definitely. all these basketball players he’s surrounded by have the cutest families. he wants it. wants a little boy/girl to take to all his matches, have on his lap during after match conferences, hold on his hip during concerts.

- he’ll do anything you want. star in a music video? sign him up! attend your concert on stage? yes yes. be part of a tiktok? of course.

[xiao-come-home]

Alphabet headcanons with Amphoreous men;

✰ Characters: Anaxa, Mydei, Phainon.

✰ Words: 4,8k+

✰ SFW ;

Warnings: none, gn!reader.

A/N: I hope i wrote anaxa at least okayish.. i like to think hes pretty extra with his so. lol. sobs. still confused ;w; some of Phainon stuff is assumed, since he isn’t out yet! Just a heads up!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

A = Affection (How affectionate are they with an s/o?)

Anaxa is quite moderate when it comes to affection, but does not want to deprive you of it. He values having private space for himself and would more often than not share affection with you behind closed doors; though, he does have a soft spot for you and some subtle touches here and there, like having his hand over yours hidden by his desk while he lectures his students, or giving you a quick hug when greeting you.

Mydei, on the other hand, has no problem with showing you affection anywhere, but has a reputation to uphold - that being said, he's absolutely proud to have you as his partner and his ways of showing you affection are graceful. He's fond of having his arm around your waist, holding your hand, and giving you tender kisses once in a while, but behind closed doors, the prince is all over you.

Phainon wants to drown you in affection anywhere, anytime, but unfortunately, he's an adult in the adult world, so he tries to control himself. He's very open about having a significant other and also wants to show that he too, is already taken. He's also very excited to be on the receiving end. Phainon cradles your face when you share your first kiss of the day, hugs you from behind when you least expect it, and loves when you take him by the hand. He just wants you close to him all the time.

B = Breath (What could their s/o do to take their breath away?)

If you manage to outsmart Anaxa, he'll be honestly frozen in shock for a good moment. Quite shocked that once he recovers, he lets himself laugh like a maniac, and then pulls you to dance in the middle of the room. He's proud. That's why he chose you out of everyone else, after all.

For the immortal warrior like Mydei - the more you fight him, the more he respects you, and the same includes you, even as his significant other. In fact, the more you beat his ass, the more he loves you. Once you manage to seriously wound him, better yet! Kill him! He'll be popping the question as soon as he's back.

You take Phainon's breath away by existing. In all seriousness, your compassion, courage, and empathy are what usually make Phainon stop in his tracks and admire you. Whether it is towards the citizens or his close friends, it matters not; his heart swells with pride when you fight for a good cause.

C = Cuddling (Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?)

Anaxa, again, is quite neutral about cuddling - he doesn't initiate it very often unless he notices your sour mood or if you had a bad day in general, but also doesn't push your clinging form away from him if and lets you do your thing if you're the one initiating cuddles. He prefers to cuddle whenever you both have some free time or when he grades (fails) his students' papers. Usually, he's fine by just having your body near each other - shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh; he might also sling his arm around your neck. As long as you keep him busy conversing about various topics, he's able to cuddle for quite a while.

The lion wants his mate safe, and so does Mydei. He's fond of cuddling, especially on his throne. He pulls you close on his lap and pushes you against his chest - and so, he's content staying just like that. His arm often finds itself around your waist, occasionally going all the way down to your thigh and back up - and if you turn your head around to look at him, Mydei will sneak in a kiss on your cheek. You're also welcome to sit a little bit to the side on his lap - allowing you to wrap your hands around his neck. For Mydei, cuddle time also means a long, nice make-out session - he wants you to remember who you belong to.

Phainon views cuddling as a ritual - and so, everything must be intact. Usually, he goes a little overboard - candles, sharing a bath together, while enjoying some light food. It's a bit cliche, but Phainon's enthusiasm matches the energy. He also likes to have you on his lap, but facing him instead; his hand will massage your hips, only to tickle you. His azure eyes gaze into yours once you're done laughing; his so intense, as if he was counting the sea of stars hidden in your eyes. He follows with a delicate kiss on your chin, moving to your shoulder and leaving a brief, warm mark of his lips there as well. As his forehead leans on your shoulder, he needs no other salvation, closing his eyes and taking in your presence.

D = Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)

Anaxa would love to pursue the knowledge about the world with you, Mydei wants to fight by your side, and Phainon dreams of simply spending the rest of his life with you - in the end, they desire the same thing - to keep you by their side and to remain by yours, but just how much mercy does fate truly have for their only wish?

E = Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?)

Anaxa believes that in order for a relationship to work, one hundred percent should be split between the two of you. Of course, he does put effort into it, otherwise both of you would waste each other's precious time, but also expects you to do the same. For Anaxa, putting effort into communication and understanding from your side is the most important - he shall return the favor accordingly.

Mydei too, believes that both halves make a whole - and does everything in his power to make you the happiest, while also hoping for you to pull your weight. The prince shoulders a formidable burden - and so, he wants you to understand the price of accepting this responsibility by entering a relationship with him. Nonetheless, if agree to do so - he'll make sure to make your smile shine brighter than ever until his final breath.

Phainon - a man who's probably putting in effort for 3 more people than necessary. As the part of Chrysos Heir, he tries his best to be there for you, along with bearing the weight of the world; as long as you trust him, that's all he needs to repay for your kindness twice as much.

F = Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?)

Anaxa's first thought is to fight your fear with logic, though, not always - when his explanations are in vain, he brings you close, embracing you gently, rubbing his hand up and down your back in a soothing manner. Usually, he handles it adequately - he means well with his words, but perhaps too much logic is also not good; still, he's open to learn - and later on, his words include a tinge of comfort, while also distracting you.

„There’s no need for you to fear, I won’t let you go that easily - not even death is saving you from this relationship.” (He’s trying)

Mydei takes your fears seriously, no matter how insignificant they might be. He takes you in his arms first in order to check your condition - once he ensures you're safe, whatever dared to scare his beloved is bound to suffer as horribly. It's a no-brainer that Mydei's go-to comfort is physical touch - he'll be there for you until you feel better, caging you in his arms comfortably and offering you solace with his calm voice.

„Shh, my love, I’m right here. I’ll bring the whole world to your feet at your wish. Save your tears for the beautiful moments that await us.”

Phainon on the other hand, jumps immediately to reassure you with speech - not with logic, but with a rather soothing lecture, letting you know that he's here for you. He kneels before you and takes your hands in his, smiling gently at you, familiar warmth in his eyes that no one else can see - his gaze softens as he guides you back to your cheerful you. He presses a single kiss on the knuckles of your right hand before standing up and opening his arms.

„Ah! There you are! I know you’re scared, but I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you. Just listen to me - you’re already doing so good. The world is scary, so I’ll be your knight - ha, ha! I only lack white armor now… Either way, as silly as it sounds, I mean every word. And I’ll try doing everything, everything… so that you no longer remember what it’s like to feel fear. I promise.”

G = Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?)

Anaxa finds himself gifting you mostly books - their contents vary, some of them simply piqued his interest enough that he wants to share them with you, some are deliberately harder to understand - so he’s able to explain them to you. If he finds a book of your favorite genre or author, this one is also landing on your desk. He doesn’t expect to get a gift back - „you don’t give others gifts to get one back,” or at least that’s what he always says. Also… dromases merch…

Mydei is a simple man - you’ll always see him with flowers in one hand, and a basket in another. The said basket is usually full of baked goods from the prince himself - after all, he’s put his whole heart into it, so it surely is going to taste even better. Mydei’s undeniable skill in cooking is truly something else, but the true reward is in your overjoyed expression once your tastebuds get hit with the intense combination of flavors. There aren’t many things that make Mydei flush red, except for your ecstatic praises about his gifts.

Phainon is a man of handmade gifts too! He loves commemorating your relationship through crafts such as albums, scrapbooks, or your favorite paper animals. He has once attempted to paint you, unfortunately it ended up horribly, but you still put it on your wall. What's even more unfortunate is that he has to see it every day. Due to his busy schedule, he prepares them slowly, nervously checking their contents to verify their quality. Phainon will never admit it, but would love to get a gift in return.

H = Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)

Anaxa’s hugs are brief, but meaningful - at least in the beginning. As time passes, he grows to like them, but will deny it when confronted - such is the nature of a stubborn man. Nonetheless, as your relationship progresses, Anaxa begins to think of them as a routine; at some point, his body automatically goes out to hug you. Sometimes he lingers longer than usual - but you never complain. His favorite hug is the classic one, where your arms wrap around his neck, while his embrace your waist. Psst, do it the other way around and he'll yelp. 

Mydei is rather comfortable with physical contact, so hugs for him are an inseparable part of the relationship; even if the world forces him to bathe in blood, he still knows how to handle a fragile rose. He'll never get enough of how perfectly you fit in his arms, your scent, and radiating warmth. Usually, he holds you just right, with one exception - when he comes back post-battle; he holds you tightly, one arm around your lower back, the other tangling itself in your hair - while Mydei buries his face in your neck for a moment. His favorite casual hugs are side hugs and any allowing him to see your face.

Phainon is all about hugs! Your hugs remind him of a sanctuary that only he is allowed to enter; most of the time it's him who actually feels safer when you two hug - and due to this, he truly has no preference on which hugs are his favorite. Every single one is his favorite! As long as they're from you. When it's Phainon who hugs you first, it's usually from behind you - accompanied with his hands covering your eyes, his excited voice asking, “Guess who?” What a silly guy.

I = Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)

Anaxa is a biiit constipated when it comes to romance, but knows and treasures the importance of intimacy, not necessarily the physical one, but emotional and intellectual. He wants to provide you with closeness and connection, but by the end of the day, Anaxa wants to see you grow and thrive.

Mydei is romantic. HE IS THE ROMANCE ITSELF. And this is the hill I'll die on. He expresses all the passion, love, and affection to you with no occasion needed; that's just how he is. In his eyes, you're far higher than a queen or king, a person unmatched that tends to his heart, and he pampers yours in return. Mydei is also on board with intimacy - of any kind. Anything that brings you closer to him, he'll want to cherish and try it out with you.

Phainon is a mix of both, trying to balance out the romance and intimacy. In his eyes, there's no romance without being truly intimate; romance is important as it nourishes further your relationship, but intimacy keeps it in check. He might keep a very good happy facade, but it's only a matter of time before it crumbles - and he's not going to vent that out to just anyone. Emotional intimacy matters to him quite a lot.

J = Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?)

Ha! Do you truly think Anaxa would fall that low? Welll, maybe. He doesn't get jealous that easily, he trusts you - so it'd truly take a lot until he snaps. Depending on his mood, Anaxa either sends them an icy glare or begins his dramatic performance to humiliate them until they're crying from embarrassment. Who in the right mind dares to flirt with Professor Anaxagoras’ partner?! They shall regret their actions. Afterwards, he acts like nothing happened.

Mydei is probably least likely to be jealous - again, trust is vital for him. When he's jealous, well… all he has to do is stand behind you and silently glare at that person. I mean, look at him. I don't think anyone wants to mess with the Prince of Kremnos… either way, please give Mydei a reassuring hug. He'll be pouting until you do so. And probably make Phainon's food taste even worse.

Phainon tends to be the most jealous out of everyone, but it stems from him being worried he isn't enough for you. Someone truly has to break a boundary to make him jealous and thus, somewhat mad - but most of the time, his jealousy is just an annoying thing in his head that stays until that person goes away. He keeps stealing nervous glances at you, sighing in shame when he gets caught. Phainon obviously doesn't act up on it further than that, he knows it's irrational.

K = Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss you? Where do they like to kiss you/be kissed?)

Anaxa is…surprisingly a very good kisser. He does like to kiss (duh), but mostly prefers to do it somewhere alone with you. In public, if he actually kisses you - he purposely leaves you on edge, wanting more. You definitely catch him giving you kisses more than hugging - it’s just more efficient and satisfying. Anaxa’s favorite place to kiss you is on the corners of your mouth - just to tease you a bit more, while he enjoys having his fingers kissed.

Mydei is a natural at kissing, and his kisses switch depending on the mood he currently has. Once they’re so tender, reminiscent of a falling feather, letting you know he’s there, embracing you like a warm blanket, or hungrily marking your neck, while your swollen lips are taking a break. He does enjoy when YOU mark him too, or at least attempt to - since they don’t stay on him very long; but if you dare, kiss all over his scarlet marks. Mydei likes to kiss your forehead and eyelids the most, but on himself - probably his collarbones.

Phainon too, is pretty good at kissing and does it quite everywhere, while adhering to the setting’s etiquette. He needs no occasion to do that, just seeing you is enough. He kisses you passionately, even if they don’t last long - he’s pouring all the love he has through them, accompanied by cradling one of your cheeks. His favorite places to kiss you are the apples of your cheeks and your chin, Phainon on the other hand - melts when you kiss him on his forehead (you probably have to stand on your tiptoes to reach him, which makes him like it even more. It’s just adorable). What a simp.

L = Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say or show it?)

Anaxa prefers to show his love rather than express it through words. He's very perceptive and it doesn't take him very long to figure out your favorite things, in fact - he actually likes showering you with gifts, even if some of them are as small as (dromas) keychains every day. But when things get serious and you end up injured - the words “I love you” roll off Anaxa’s tongue as soon as he has you in his arms.

Mydei reminds you of it pretty often, be it when you part ways for a few hours - he says a quick “love you” after giving you a kiss on the cheek, or before leaving for a longer mission - this time, he says the full phrase and seals it with a passionate kiss on your lips. He also does show it through gifts - probably something you've wanted for a while!

If Phainon could, he'd glue a piece of paper saying “I love you” to his forehead. He doesn't really need any occasion to do so, literally - he might be just watching you gulp down food like a hellish creature and sigh dreamily before saying “I love you so much.” Most of the time you insist that his verbal proof is just enough, but Phainon still shows up even with a flower in his hand anyway.

M = Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?)

Sure, Anaxa doesn’t mind getting married, if that’s what you want… except no one knows it even happened. Someone dares to ask a question about the ring on his finger like 5 years later and he straight-up answers like it’s common knowledge. He’d probably want a small ceremony with the most important people to you, the rest is for you to decide - not that he’s absent, he does participate, but only in the most important parts, like choosing vows. Probably writes them himself. Unless you want a wedding with 100 dromases, don't let him choose anything regarding decorations.

Mydei too would like to get married - it’s basically sealing a deal - he loves you, you love him. While it may not change that much on paper, there's a significant change in his psyche - he doesn't come back to his partner. He comes back home to see his spouse. The Kremnoan prince loves being referred to as your husband. The ceremony itself would most likely include all the Chrysos Heir (important: do not let anaxa be the priest) and people closest to you. Surprisingly, Mydei feels nervous waiting for you at the altar, but once he sees you walking down the aisle, glowing and almost tearing up - all the worries fade away; he can't wait any longer. 

If you think Phainon wouldn't want to marry you, then you need to read it all over again. He's absolutely overjoyed when you accepted his proposal, and is very active when it comes to preparing for the wedding. Your wedding bands have each other's names on them, and there's a very high chance Phainon was present during the creation of the said rings. The ceremony would be pretty small, but very extravagant - and he's DEFINITELY ugly crying before it even starts. Mydei is his best man. And also probably holds a box of tissues for Phainon to blow his nose into. While it's true that the Chrysos Heir is his only family, if you decided to commemorate the people from Aedes Elysiae - the poor thing is genuinely sobbing from happiness and heartbreak in a separate room.

N = Night out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?)

If you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, Anaxa would invite you to tinker with various things; it brings him back to his childhood, but it’s also the reason that brought him to the present day. If you’re in a hurry - a simple dinner is enough to satisfy him.

Mydei loves going on walks with you, his beloved by his side, while taking in the happiness of people around him, especially at night. When most sleep, he breathes in your beauty illuminated by the moon.

Phainon needs a little bit of rest from the important stuff once in a while - and honestly, anything domestic would be a good date for him. A shopping date, picking out new furniture, or giving him a massage. Yeah, a massage would be good…

O = Out of the Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do with/for their s/o?)

Anaxa is truly ready to sacrifice himself - he'd read romance books and recommend the best ones for you.

Mydei would attempt to make you something involving arts and crafts, but… maybe he should just stick to cooking…

Phainon would probably agree to a horror movie marathon. Unfortunately, that also includes him yelping and moving closer to you until he's clinging to your arm the whole night.

P = Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?)

Anaxa likes to banter with you - and the more clever your comebacks are, the more determined he is to make his own even better. If you manage to shut him up, he'll probably take you on that god-damned desk and no one will stop him.

“Haha.. Ahahaha! You rendered me speechless! Finally, there is hope for this world! MORE!”

Mydei never turns down your special game of hide and seek - you've mentioned it once before for fun and offered that the winner can wish for anything, but the idea of chasing his little prey piqued his interest more than the reward. Ever since then, when time allows him to - he chases you around Castrum Kremnos, but you always end up with his shadow looming over you.

“Ah… the lion caught you once again.”

Curse Phainon and his long limbs! His tickling is ruthless and he knows it - by the time he's done with you, he has you in tears on the couch. But… you also have a weapon against him - faking your pain and getting your revenge. Did I mention he's ABSURDLY ticklish?

“Haha, look at you! I won't let you get away now! Hey, are you alright? Why are you holding your stomach like this? Hey, hey, answer me, did I hu— HAHAHAHA! No, I— hahaha, FELL FOR THIS AG-HAHAHAIN!” You only touched his knee..

Q = Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?)

YES. Anaxa wants to know what's on your mind and how your mind works (for science of course) ((he's the science)). Especially if he finds something controversial - he's immediately sending you a text, unless it's something so intriguing that he needs to see your reaction. Conversations are probably the most important and impressive parts of your relationship.

Mydei also values your opinion! He often asks you about the quality of his cooking, but doesn't limit himself only to that. He's very open to discussions - it allows him to possibly change his trajectory of thinking and pondering about his other options, especially if your opinions differ.

Once you unleash Phainon's curiosity, he'll keep questioning you until your mouth becomes dry. He wants to know everything! Your favorite color, flowers, the color of that flower! This serial yapper shares his opinions and hopes you're going to further expand on the topic. 

R = Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?)

Considering they're all Chrysos Heir, their life is almost all the time spontaneous and they don't plan that much ahead in the future. But if they could choose: Anaxa would love to plan things more than let fate decide. Mydei - is fine with both planning and letting things happen by themselves. Phainon would plan things - but usually end up completing them spontaneously.

S = Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)

Done here by accident lol

T = Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?)

I’d love to write them separately, but all three trust you with their own life. Entering a relationship with them means helping them shoulder their burden, but they offer you unconditional trust in return. They have no other choice.

U = Unique (What makes them unique as an s/o?)

You and Anaxa complement each other like yin and yang - what’s his weakness, it’s your strength, and the opposite. While it may seem like a flaw, Anaxa strives to understand the world from your eyes, only to realize that beauty too, lies in things perceived as illogical. Likewise, he tests your limits and boundaries, but solely because he wants you to be prepared for many outcomes; perhaps, when one day he’s reduced to ash, having to watch over you in a form of spirit, he wants you to live on, succeed and surpass him. He shall be the guiding star in the vast, clouded sky.

Mydei is a gentle giant, whose heart is destined to bleed; even if death was his companion longer than anybody else, he’s still willing to let you put a protective bandaid on it and nurture it back to health. In return, Mydei serves as a shield around your heart, not allowing anyone past his unbreakable barrier, preserving your devotion. Bloodied his hands may be, but his love is that of the purest, reminiscent of a pearl lost long ago, yet glimmering just the same beyond the damaged shell.

Phainon as your significant other becomes the driving force to change the world; when you fall, he’s offering you his hand to help you stand back up. His unwavering loyalty transcends the shadows, the touch of his fingertips brings back the colors and patterns to the world painted in black and white. If your body dares to fall numb to the reaper’s scythe, his tears shall act as sprouts leading for a better tomorrow, granting him your warm embrace yet again.

V = Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)

Anaxa takes the most time out of them all to be vulnerable; there's nothing personal here - he's just aware of all people having their own agendas. Slowly but steadily, his trust for you grows, and his walls disappear one by one - it's a long process, but worth it. During that state, he's speaking in a monotone voice, avoiding eye contact and by the end, he offers you only a bittersweet smile.

Mydei is a tough cookie. He handles being vulnerable well, but it takes him a bit until he says what's on his mind - everything depends on how much he's able to trust you in this moment; pretty much as soon as he breaks the ice for the first time, he won't hesitate to speak what's on his mind next time. During that state, he's face falls, eyebrows draw together in heartache and occasionally, tears well up in his golden eyes.

I feel like Phainon is very emotionally available,  so it's only a matter of time before he says what's inside his head; he doesn't need any more time nor proof. During that state, Phainon's hands curl into fists, his jaw tightens, and his cerulean eyes become glossy - only for his lips to quiver, letting the first tear run down his cheek.

W = Wild Card (Get a random domestic headcanon of the character of your choice)

Anaxa is surprisingly a very good housewife. Actually, he kinda likes cleaning, changing the bedsheets, dusting, watering the plants, all that jazz. For some reason, he also looks very ethereal doing it? You know, the sun rays hugging his face like he owns it, sparkling with beauty. And then he kicks you off the bed along with the sheet…

Most of the time Mydei has no other choice to wake up very early, which means you're still asleep - but ever since both of you share a home together, he hasn't failed to not give you a sweet kiss on your temples on your sleeping form. He cooks up a quick breakfast if possible before leaving, but ideally, he'd want to serve you breakfast in bed.

Phainon is the most groggy person in the morning that exists. He also refuses to talk, and answers you by whining in a different tone. He thinks of himself as a good person, but… maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that he won't get up until you pepper his face in kisses…

X = X-Ray (What would they do if their s/o got injured?)

Anaxa is not a fool - he brings you to a doctor as soon as possible, unless the situation doesn't allow him to - resorting to alchemy if that’s his last option.

Mydei uses parts of his clothing to tame your bleeding, defending your body from taking even more damage while waiting for healers - he wishes he could do more than that.

Phainon’s emotions get the best of him at the worst time - leaving him with doing the necessary things before wanting to break down, but knowing he can’t let that happen until help arrives.

Y = Yuck (Do they have any pet peeves about their s/o? Are there any habits that might bother their s/o?)

It's A-NAK-SA-GO-RAS. 

Mydei can't stand dirty dishes on the kitchen counter. Please put them in the sink! Poor wife.

Phainon and you both share the same pet peeve for each other: sacrificing yourself.

Z = Zzz (What’s a sleeping habit of theirs?)

Not really a sleeping habit I think? But Anaxa will NOT sleep in a bed with crumbs and nasty bedsheets. 

Mydei puts on silly pajamas you buy for him… and still looks like he was carved by Michaelangelo himself...

Phainon is a terrible snorer, but stops when you kick him. It’s okay, he doesn’t mind. Would probably thank you, even.

[vigilantekisser]

Let It Be Done Unto Me

pairing: matt murdock x f!reader (wc: 7.5k | ao3 mirror)

summary: some dreams have always felt beyond reach for matt, including having a family of his own. but post-party, three drinks in—well, turns out all he had to do was ask.

cw: husband!matt, breeding kink (mentions of impregnation & pregnancy – both matt and reader want kids here), dom!matt, rough sex, oral!f receiving, doggy, mating press, light bondage, choking, biting, use of “good girl” “my wife” during sex, slight dacryphilia, possessive behavior, classic daredevil guilt, allusions to religious devotion, fluff

note: foggy and marci are married and have a kid here! also matt holds a baby in this one, so obv it’s totally self-indulgent : )

A/N: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to the dilfest lawyer on earth!!! i started this completely intending for it to be just filth but my nine year delusionship with this man means everything i write about him WILL grow feelings. also I’VE BEEN SO BUSY WITH SCHOOL but i alw read everyone’s sweet sweet messages in my inbox and thank you so much for them, i’ll get through everything eventually!! dex again next

The bustling warmth of Foggy’s apartment hits you the moment you step in the door. Every inch of the space is alive with the sound of chatting adults and shrieking children, not to mention the same incongruously happy verse of “We Did It!”—the Bluetooth speaker cutting out the Dora playlist over and over. Bright balloons cling to the backs of chairs, paper plates and half-eaten cupcakes cluttering every surface. To put it simply, it’s utter domestic chaos.

So obviously, it’s hard not to smile.

“Wow,” Matt says beside you, his lips twitching upward faintly as his head tilts to take in the scene. “This place is alive.”

“Alive,” you snort, swatting him gently on the arm as you guide him through the threshold. “It’s a full-on circus. Foggy must be in hell.”

“Can confirm,” Foggy interjects. He’s appeared behind you as if summoned by the mere mention of his name. There’s a smear of frosting on his button-down, and there’s a crazy light in his eyes you haven’t seen since college. “Thank God, cavalry’s here. I was this close to drinking Scotch out a sippy cup.”

You laugh, leaning in to hug him as Matt claps him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday to the big guy!” you grin as Foggy pulls back. “Officially one! How’s it feel?”

“Haven’t heard, huh? We’re auctioning him off later,” Foggy deadpans, though the affection peeks through. “Which reminds me—mind if I pawn off your husband for a bit?” He turns to Matt, gesturing toward the kitchen where a battalion of Nelson women’s engaged mid-conversation, holding plastic cups and talking animatedly. “Dude, do me a solid and work your lawyerly magic on the aunties, please. They’ve been talking about SNTs all afternoon and frankly, I cannot feign interest anymore.” 

“Oh, Fog, I don’t know if I’m the guy for that—” Matt starts, but Foggy’s already steering him toward the fray. “You’re exactly the guy, go make them cry with one of your blind crusader stories. Right this way, ladies,” Foggy urges, as Matt’s protests are drowned out, swallowed by the chattering mass of Nelson aunts. 

You stay back, still laughing, and duck toward the table of snacks. From the few remaining drinks, you grab a can of Yoo-Hoo and your finger along its sweaty condensation—until the sharp wail of the baby cuts through the din. 

You turn. 

Across the room, the birthday boy’s squirming in his frazzled aunt’s arms, flushed and clearly seconds away from a full-blown meltdown. Without thinking, you slip over to them (Yoo-Hoo forgotten), holding out your hands with a soft, “Here, let me.”

Teddy comes to you easily, his weight settling against your hip as he lets out one last cursory wail before quieting. His chubby fists tangle in the fabric of your dress, his head falling against your chest as his breathing hitches. You rock him gently, murmuring soft nonsense under your breath until his cries subside entirely. It doesn’t take long before he’s calm, little body relaxing against yours as he smacks his lips softly, his stubby fingers patting at your collarbone. 

Across the room, the Nelson women chatter on around Matt.

“You poor dear,” one of them coos, clutching his elbow, “how’s work? Foggy says the firm’s doing very well. You boys must be rolling in clients.”

“It’s steady,” Matt says mildly, “we’ve been lucky.”

“And her?” someone else asks. “That sweet girl of yours still hasn’t run away screaming?”

A small smile curves his mouth. “Still here, thankfully.” A chuckle goes around the circle. 

“Oh honey,” Foggy’s mom cuts in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, when do you think you’ll have one of your own?”

Matt raises his eyebrows, amused and a little cornered.

One of the great-aunts is squinting across the room. “Hmph, looks like she’s halfway there already.”

He tilts his head slightly, tuning in—adjusting the direction of his senses—then stops. His heart stutters. The space between you—the constant hum of your heartbeat, the soft lilt of your voice as you soothe the baby—it’s all amplified in his head, pulling his attention like a magnet. 

“Must be nice,” another jokes. “You can always tell who’s gonna be a good mom. Poor Foggy looked like he was going to pass out.”

Matt smiles faintly, his usual charm just barely masking how his throat has tightened. “Ah, she’s good with kids. Always has been,” he says, deliberately keeping his tone light.

The mention of children is a trap he’s navigated before, typically with casual deflections that fall back on vague hopes of someday. But this time, the words are harder to shake off, and when one of the aunties has so pointed it out—the way you’re holding Foggy’s baby, calm and radiant and perfectly at ease—it feels less hypothetical and more, well, inevitable.

“Well, you’re doing well for yourselves now,” one of the women says, her tone pointed but kind. “Don’t wait too long. You’ve got a good thing going—and if you ask me, you could use one of those little ones running around.” 

“We’ve got some time,” Matt laughs offhandedly. “Haven’t really sat down and talked it through in depth. Maybe soon.”

Mercifully, the conversation shifts, but Matt’s distracted now. Every word buzzes in the background as he hones in on the sound of you: the soft rise and fall of your breathing, your voice swaying upward as you coo at Teddy, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift your weight to keep him secure on your hip.

Before he knows what’s happening, you’ve made your way across the room to him, oblivious to the swirl of tension beneath his skin as you’re saying something lighthearted about how “it’s about time Uncle Matty took a turn.” He doesn’t even have time to protest before the toddler’s being nestled against him, pudgy fingers pawing at his tie.

“Careful,” he says, a little alarmed. “I could drop him.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Couns,” you say breezily, smoothing a hand over Matt’s arm. “You’ve done this before. Plus he’s pretty sturdy, you know. Babies are tougher than they look.”

Matt falls silent, holding the baby cautiously, keeping completely still so that not even his breathing will disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Teddy squirms briefly before miraculously—horrifyingly—settling into his chest, and Matt’s heartbeat jumps, but the baby’s doesn’t. There’s just the faintness against his sternum, the rise and fall of milky breath; he can feel the pulse in his tiny wrist. The echo of a hiccup in his ribs. He finds himself cataloguing every flicker of life beneath the fragile skin. 

It’s overwhelming.

“Matt,” you say softly, “you okay?”

He nods, handing Teddy back to you a little too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—he’s warm.”

“He didn’t pee on you, did he?”

“No—no,” Matt chuckles faintly. “Not that kind of warm.”

You lift a brow at him, but say nothing more. The baby yawns, then burrows into you again. Matt can hear everything. The low, involuntary sound you make when the baby nestles just right under your chin. The shift in your skin temperature: your whole body warmer than usual. And that scent—he’d missed it before, but God here it is, subtle but unmistakable under the usual fare of your perfume. Sweet earth, clean sweat, and something deeper, headier. His heightened senses tell him what his mind has tried to ignore; it makes his chest tighten and imagination run rampant. He tries to shake away the thought, wresting his focus from the way you smell so right, so perfect, but it’s hurtling like a tidal wave.

Later, by the time you’re on the train ride home, the realization has planted itself in the hollow of his chest, refusing to be moved. You sit beside him, scrolling idly through your phone, humming some barely-there melody under your breath.

He’s silent the whole time, thoughts turning over in slow, endless waves.

It’s already dark outside when you arrive at the apartment. Matt’s still unusually quiet, his mind somewhere else entirely. You shrug off your coat by the door and toss it onto the hook with a bit of flair. Trying to fill the silence, you busy yourself with telling him about the Nelson family dog—a story you picked up about the ratty little mop of a thing getting passed around from household to household like a fuzzy hot potato.

“It’s probably because it’s so ugly,” you grumble lightly, shooting him a grin as you kick your shoes off toward the mat. “Swear, if you could just see it, it really is so ugly it’s insane.”

Matt is usually one to tease, grinning back in that sly, devil-may-care way, but tonight he doesn’t even give you a huff of amusement. Your brows draw together in concern: could someone have said something earlier? He wasn’t one to let offhanded comments get to him, but there had been exceptions… Or maybe the party was too much? Its noise and chaos and endless stimulation, well— you could see this silence as an aftermath.

“Matt?” you finally ask, your tone gentle as you cross the small space to him. He hasn’t moved from where he’s standing near the door, barely out of his coat. “Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet since we left. Did something happen at the party?”

The longer he stays silent, the more determined you become to shake an answer out of him. Whatever storm is brewing in his mind, you’ll be damned if he keeps it locked away, as he tends to do. It triggers your instinct to soothe. Or at the very least, poke fun at it to take the edge off. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging here. Whose ass do I have to beat? Was it Uncle Tommy? Was it something I–”

“Sweetheart,” Matt cuts through your ridiculous coaxing. Though his tone is steady with concerted effort, there’s a flush creeping up the column of his neck, coloring the edge of his ears.

You step back half a pace, blinking. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Please.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Matt, tell me what’s going on with you.” In truth, you greatly dislike all this unceremonious pushing and goading, but the last time he’d gone quiet like this it turned out he’d been hiding a broken rib and a tender side from late night patrol. You frown, stepping closer. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m not. Honestly.” The shift is almost imperceptible, but you notice the way his body tenses further, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He drags a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, “Forget it.”

“Forget it?!” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. That at least earns you the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, but he smothers it so fast you wonder if it was a figment of your imagination. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” You wag a halfhearted finger at him. “You absolutely do not get to brood like that then ‘forget it’ me! You’re going to tell me, Matthew”—the way you enunciate his name is pointed—“because you at least owe it to me to tell me if you’re hurt, or I swear to God I’m—”

“Fine,” he snaps, putting an end to your mock dramatics. The tension in him pulls tight enough that the words tumble out unguarded. “Let’s have a baby.”

You blink.

The air around you seems to still, as if the apartment itself is holding its breath, having followed his bidding for silence.  “What?”

“I want a baby with you,” he confesses slowly, sounding pained. It sounds almost like loathing, the derision with which he views how badly he means it. 

You laugh before you can stop it, strangled and half-scandalized. “Matt, Jesus! What the hell…”

But your startled amusement is already tapering off as it clicks into place. Oh. His quietness, his strange mood during the ride home—it was now making perfect sense. Earlier, you were utterly at ease with Teddy, and maybe he’d been, too. The situation now glaringly obvious, your heart starts to race and Matt’s expression darkens when he picks up on it, his lips twitching with that slow, devilish smile you know all too well.

“Oh,” you begin, blinking up at him as you straighten.

That smile. Christ.

“Yes, oh,” he says, already closing the distance between you. “I mean it.”

His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer to him with deliberate pressure.

“Let’s make one,” he murmurs. “Right now.”

Your heart hammering violently in your chest, you tip your head back slightly to meet the wine-dark mirrors of his glasses. In the reflection, all you can see is yourself. His next step seals the last inch of space between you, and when his mouth finds yours, whatever resistance you had left dissolves like sugar on the tongue.

His kiss is needy, and you feel his every hot exhale fanning your cheeks as a hand slips to your waist—guiding you, pushing you back, back until your spine hits the wall. His other hand curls around your nape gently, cushioning the press of your head against the panel. You gasp into him, grabbing at the tense muscles of his shoulders through his shirt. He’s so close, pressing so close now that you can feel the heated hardness through his slacks. Well, he seems to not mind. If anything, he wants you to feel it, grinding himself against your stomach.

“Somebody’s eager,” you tease playfully, never mind that you’re growing lightheaded from the delicious burn of his stubble scratching your face. “Christ, this is a lot of intensity for a lady who just inhaled too many cupcakes. Mmf, ow!”

His teeth catch your bottom lip, nipping at it lightly before letting it free.

“Not now, honey,” he rasps against your mouth. You know it well enough to be a warning, but you don’t know if it’s more terrifying or thrilling. The hand at your waist slips upward, finding the curve of your breast over the flimsy material of your dress. Your face grows embarrassingly hot, and Matt’s breath hitches, groping you a little harder, more possessively, and the thought crosses his mind: the sensation of your tits rounding out for him, growing swollen, heavy with milk… Fuck, the thought makes his cock jerk hard in his pants, and the guttural moan that tears from his chest seems to surprise even him.

Fuck, Matt, get it together.

Shaking his head, he dips down to the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. You smell so damn good—milky and earthy and uniquely you—it’s a shame you’re oblivious to it. What you aren’t oblivious to, though, is the way he’s trembling slightly. From restraint or the desperate undercurrent of his desire, you can’t tell.

“Is this really you?” you ask, breathless now, trying to wriggle just enough to make him loosen his grip. This isn’t like him—not Matt the charming husband, the overzealous lawyer. But you do recognize him. This voice, it belongs to the man who comes home late at night beaten within an inch of his life, collapsing on the floor as you scramble for the medkit. But that part of him has been quieter, gentler lately, less frequent with the overly suicidal excursions—a promise he’d offered you when he asked you to marry him. 

And yet here he is now, returned with that fire reignited, directed solely at you.

“You smell so good I can’t think straight,” Matt murmurs, his nose dragging along your throat, pausing to press a hot, deliberate kiss behind your ear. “You wanna know something?”

You nod, the unbearable heat trickling between your thighs.

“You were holding him,” he begins, voice rasping like he can barely get the words out, “and all I could think about was my baby. Our baby. You’re ovulating right now, and Christ, sweetheart—I can smell it on you.”

That stops your breath cold. You’re reeling, your internal voice screaming for decorum, coolness, anything that might save face—but it’s impossible to, not when hot nerves are zinging traitorously through your body at his words. Not when his hands are on you, hot as brands. Not when he’s put words to the question you’d been hoping he’d bring up again for the past year.

It’s so embarrassing how easily he unravels you. Case in point–

His hand cups your sex through your soaked underwear, pressing the heel of his palm into you hard.

“Matt—!” It’s more of a plea than anything else, but you barely manage to say anything else before his hands slide down your weakened thighs, broad palms curling under them, and he lifts you effortlessly. He hikes you up further against the wall, grinding his hips into you and fuck, you can feel him pulsing—he’s like iron, a fact you’re darkly aware of even through the unconscionably selfish layers of his clothes hiding his hardness from view. The sheer force of his want makes you gasp, hands to his chest as if to push him away—though you clearly have no intention of doing so.

But seemingly, he does.

He pulls back from the kiss, and for the first time all night, you catch a flicker of hesitation cross his face. A crack in the mask of breathless certainty, the very same that had carried you across the room and into his arms just minutes ago.

“Are you sure you want this?” 

You almost laugh. He’s asking you? When he’s the one tearing you out of your clothes, talking filth? “Are you?” 

“I… Well–” The vibrations of his voice tickle your collarbone as Matt rests his head against your shoulder, unceremoniously snapped from the trance of his arousal. Visibly, achingly, he’s searching for words that won’t come. You take it upon yourself to help him out.

“I am.” It’s unsatisfactory; his silence tells you this. For a moment there’s only his measured breathing. But you know what he’s not saying, and he doesn’t have to tell you. It’s there again—the old voice in his head, convincing him he doesn’t deserve any of this, much less the privilege of asking for anything more. The quickly vining doubt in him dictates it: allowing himself this is the most selfish thing he can do. 

You cup his face in your hands so he can’t turn away from you.

“Matt, I know what you’re thinking,” you say gently. “I want this, alright?”

For a split second, you wonder what it’ll take to pull him back from his misery. You swallow, rubbing the sides of your thumbs along his cheeks soothingly. “I want it. Not in spite of your life; because of it. Yes, you bleed and lie and you flake out and… keep going on these fucking suicide missions and yes, yes they scare the shit out of me… But even if I’m scared, I believe you’ll come home, because you always do; that’s who you are. You keep getting back up even if the world’s given you so much reason to be unkind to it.” 

Wordlessly, you reach up and remove his glasses gingerly, tossing them toward the table. They land somewhere with a dull clatter. In the half-light of the living room, you can only make out parts of him, the cut of his cheekbone, the impressionistic slopes of definition on his face. This must be just a fraction of how he sees you, defined solely by blunt form and sensation.

“And that’s why I’m here, too. It’s just my choice as it is yours.” You press your forehead to his, finding him scorching against your clammy skin, before pulling back again. “Your night patrols, all that… If you believe that people deserve all the chances they can get, that there’s always a future for them no matter what came before, then have faith that it includes you, Matt. Everything you fight for is why I believe we could do this. What’s ahead could be dangerous, but what if it’s worth it a—what’s that word you like?” Your lips quirk slightly. “A thousandfold more. We can still bring good into the world, in all the ways we can, can’t we?”

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He closes his eyes. He does want it, all of it, more than anything in the world and he’s being the greediest man in the world right now, taking and taking and you’re letting him. Have faith that it includes you.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Well, it is. It’s no question if it’s with you.” You pause for a bit, before leaning back in, eyebrows wiggling playfully. “And you know, I haven’t refilled my prescription… So if we do this, it’s real. So ask me again.”

An incredulous, lighthearted scoff finally breaks through him. “Unbelievable. Are you sure you’re not the lawyer between us, sweetheart? That was one hell of an argument,” he says, chuckling boyishly through the pecks you’ve started to nip on his cheeks. “Fine. Last chance—are you sure about this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ha, ha, Mr. Murdock. Please. As if you believe in last chances.” 

He grins, can’t help it, can’t hide it; it’s crooked and a little desperate. But it’s impossible to skirt around it, your body betraying every rational thought. “Yes,” you whisper, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms sliding around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before Matt presses his hips into yours again, his groan muffled against your neck. The conversation has quelled the worst of his fears—but not the hunger. If anything, your unshakeable trust in him has unleashed something deeper within, darker and older than guilt. Something he can’t say aloud.

But God knows it. And he knows it.

The knowledge threatens to unmake him: he could fill you now, right now with your heated body primed and the timing perfect, let nature take its course. Your cunt is soft and warm and open, ripe and ready for him. And fuck, it hits him like a train.

Fucking you full to knock you up, marking you with proof of your unwavering faith— 

The thought makes his cock ache so hard it’s a mercy he’s still clothed.

Conversely you’re a mess, dress bunched up and panties soaked, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure it’s deafening him. Matt locks your thighs over his forearms and carries you down the hall in steady steps, kiss never breaking until your back finally hits the bed. He’s over you in seconds, broad and solid and trembling with restraint that’s quickly breaking.

He looms above you, working deftly on the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other braced beside you on the mattress to keep you where he wants you. His lips—rosy and pouted, kiss-swollen—curl into a knowing half-smirk.

“You have no idea,” his voice is rich with the thickness of his lust, “the way you taste and smell right now. If you could feel what I feel standing this close to you, you’d lose your mind.”

The shirt finally slips free, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail over his chest, marked by two long scars like uneven wings taking flight. Then his broad shoulders, the planes and valleys of muscle. Oh, Christ. He leans down, his hands already finding the material of your dress.

“Up,” he coaxes, warm but unyielding. You obey instinctively, helpless to raise your arms up and shimmy a little so he can peel the dress up and toss it aside in one smooth motion. His lips descend to your collarbone, stubble grazing the sensitive skin there as he kisses you with maddening patience. Every sensation of his tickling, hot breath sends sparks rushing through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough. You squirm, desperate for more, but he’s already working his way down—kisses tracing paths between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your panties.

Nose nudging against the soaked fabric, Matt inhales deep, a shameless groan rumbling from his chest as his hands grip your thighs, keeping them spread. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “you’re dripping for me, honey. Been like this since the train home, haven’t you?”

You flush but don’t deny it. The damp feel of the delicate lace between your thighs is proof enough. He chuckles softly at your silence, a finger twisting under the waistband to peel the damp fabric down, sliding it off the smooth skin of your legs to toss it aside. And suddenly, the room seems to be completely saturated by your arousal, steeping into every inch of air he pulls into his lungs.

Still, Matt doesn’t seem to be in any rush. His lips return to your inner thighs, tracing sultry kisses to burning flesh. Thighs pressed to his ears, the sound of your arteries reverberates like a drumline inside his skull. Femoral, uterine, iliac —he can name every one he hears. A symphony thrumming for him, hot and rhythmic. He kisses the spot where it sings beneath your skin.

(What an asshole, you’re thinking, knowing his every peck is deliberate; every drag of his tongue is just close enough to where you need him that it makes you squeal with frustration.)

“Matt,” you snip, tugging at his locks to guide him where you want him. “Stop teasing and just fuck me already!”

He pulls back from between your legs, lips curved into a cocky grin. “Be patient,” he chides, shaking his head like you’re a child spoiled rotten. “I gotta take care of you first, don’t I?”

You open your mouth to argue, but he isn’t done.

“I heard, it’ll take better if you come first,” he says evenly, using that court voice, the one he uses to explain the facts of a case and win over the jury without fail. “So… I’m gonna make you come again…” a kiss on the inner side of your knee, “…and again….” on your inner thigh, “…and again…” on your pubic mound, “…until your body has no choice but to take me.”

The filthy promise pulls you taut as his nose bumps against your clit. “Oh? And just where did you hear this news from, Counselor– Oh Christ–!” You gasp, hands tightening in his hair as his tongue darts out, tasting you lightly before pulling back just long enough to smirk at how you tremble under him.

“See?” Matt says, voice positively dripping with smugness. “You’re already so wet, sweetheart. Let me handle it, alright?”

And then he buries himself between your thighs, his tongue delving into your folds with ravenous precision. Fuck, he could die happy right then, the sour-sweet taste of your slickness robust and vividly ripe on his tongue, incomparable to its scent he’d only enjoyed since before that point. You cry out, your head falling back to the mattress as he pulls you higher with every stroke of his tongue, every flick and flat press against your clit, mouth working generously to kiss your needy cunt open.

Determined to see you come undone, he dives his rough fingers into you, his tongue maintaining pressure upon your clit. Your walls clench at the sensation of being breached, nerves going haywire with excitement as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. When you call out his name, he brushes at that sensitive spot, conditioning you by the whimpers and cries falling out of your mouth. Training you like an animal to associate the heightened pleasure with his name, though really he has no need to. No one has ever touched you with such precise devotion as him. 

Your heels dig into his back, hips canting to demand more. Matt grunts against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you can feel the mattress dipping slightly as he ruts against it, his own desperation spilling over.

“Matty—fuck—” you pant, hands clutching at the sheets. He only growls in response, his free hand curling against your legs to hold you in place, barring any attempt at escape. He’s eating you like a man starved, shamelessly groaning and fucking the mattress at your taste—and with the pressure in your stomach threatening to snap, you fold and unfold, instinctively trying to get away.

But Matt, all-knowing and bent on denying you the privilege of holding back, presses down harder inside you, rubbing while he sucks at your clit. You curse uncontrollably and the white-hot high finally, finally washes over you violently, downwards, down then up with your thighs clamped around his head, clenching around his thick, thrusting fingers. Matt refuses to slow down or let up, working you through every spasm until you’re left a panting, boneless mess beneath him.

“Christ,” you mutter weakly, when you can get it together enough to speak. The world’s still spinning around you, folded inwards to just the sight of him sitting back on his heels. His mouth and jaw are obscenely glistening with your wetness. Matt, sensing your hitched breath, correctly infers that you’re staring shamelessly at him, and at the bulge that’s tented angrily between his legs.

Smug little shit that he is, he brings his hand up to his mouth. The pretty-pink petals of his lips purse around his fingers as he revels in your taste. Matt hums his praise low in his throat, but you don’t get to enjoy the show as much as you want. The mattress shifts, and his hands close tight around your waist, turning you over onto your arms and knees.

Bent over for him, the anticipation is electric, your body still oversensitive from your high. But you can’t help it, that errant need to reassert yourself.

“Jesus, finally,” you muse, smirking above your shoulder. “I was starting to think you were all talk, Counselor.”

That earns a snap.

You hear the leathery rasp of his belt sliding through the loops of his pants, a sound that makes your toes curl.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, pushing your head forward. He leans down to press a hard, claiming kiss to your shoulder blade. The cold metal of the belt buckle kisses your wrists a moment later, and he binds them behind your back in a practiced knot, giving the binding a perfunctory tug to test its hold. 

Oh. Fuck.

Every inch of your arched posture has you laid bare for him in surrender. Your shoulders are sunken into the mattress, having lost the arms to brace yourself with. Ever the gentleman, he holds you steady with a firm grip while the other hand touches between your thighs, trailing all the way to your wet slit. He inhales sharply at the mess waiting for him, your arousal clinging sticky up to his knuckles. 

Matt huffs a laugh under his breath.

“So fucking ready for me,” he murmurs. 

Fisting his cock, he gives it a few rough tugs, precum slicking over his palm as he aligns his hips behind you, pushing forward. You feel the fat, hot head of his cock notch between your folds, and your cunt clenches on instinct, greedy for the stretch about to come. But Matt’s cruel with his patience, and his pace is leisurely slow.

One of his hands finds the knot of your bound wrists and tightens his grip, using the tension to anchor himself. 

He’s soaking in every detail. How your heat radiates off every cell of your skin; the fertile slick seeping out of you, perfuming the air so thickly he can taste it on his tongue. He can hear your heartbeat in your cunt, veins rushing with blood and fuck, he wants to ruin it, claim you with a violence that will leave no doubt in your body, least not in your womb. But even completely soaked, he knows your body needs time to adjust to him.

You whimper, pushing back to take control, but Matt holds you rooted in place. “Ah,” he tuts, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not getting it that easy, sweetheart. Patience, remember?”

“I literally just fucking came!”

He grits his teeth. The blunt crest of his cock presses into you, splitting you open and it knocks any trace of defiance from your mouth, bordering on too much but your pussy’s welcoming it, spasming around the overwhelming sensation as he fills you to the hilt.

“Oh fuck—” you gasp, “you’re so deep, Matt– Matt—”

“Yeah?” Voice almost cracking as he draws his hips back, only to thrust forward again with a punishing roll that has you keening. “I told you. So fucking tight. Jesus. Your pussy’s just pulling me in.”

Your body jolts with every thrust, each one driving deeper, testing the limits of what you can take. Every time he slams in, your cunt makes a wet humiliating sound and then the hand gripping your wrists slides up, pushing between your shoulder blades to shove you down hard into the mattress as his movements pick up. Fucking you in earnest, his cock drilling into your heat with a brutal, single-minded rhythm that has you whimpering, crying out his name.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he snarls, grabbing the round swell of your ass, “you want it as bad as I do. You smelled so fucking good all day, d’you know how hard it was for me? It was torture. So good with that baby— Gonna let me give you that? Make you mine? Do you want that, honey?”

“Yes–fuck–yes,” you’re panting, thighs trembling as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens, “want it so bad, Matt, don’t stop–”

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” Matt growls, his chest pressing flush against your back. His breath is hot and wet in your ear. “How many kids d’you want, honey? I’ll give you as many as you’ll let me. I’ll put one in you right now. Not gonna stop til I fill you up.”

The shift in angle forces a sob from you as he sinks even deeper, his cock grinding up deeper than before, hitting that unbearable bundle of nerves with a dense pressure that makes your vision blur at the edges. Your arms are still trapped between your bodies, they’re numb and aching but it feels so so good, getting fucked by your husband with abandon. Matt doesn’t falter; he’s fully over you, pinning you down with his full weight as his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping the tender skin before biting down hard.

You cry out, pain-blinded. The sharpness slices clean through you and with the overwhelming heat, the stretch of him inside you—there it is, you come undone with a fractured sob, violent and searing. Your bound hands writhe uselessly, the bite on your shoulder singing as your vision whites out. Your ears ring, barely registering Matt’s voice swimming in and out of focus, calling you Good girl good girl… his hand petting your head, stroking your hair as your body shakes for him.

Then he’s pushing himself upright again, pulling out and rising to his knees behind you. His praises are still trailing out of him in soft whispers. One hand reaches for the belt at your wrists, tugging—your spine pulled upright by the motion. You whimper a breathy protest as your limbs stretch from disuse.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, voice buttery and low. He sounds so sweet it makes your bruised core flutter, even now. His hands work at the leather binding behind you and finally, mercifully, you’re freed. But your body’s limp, shaking from the aftermath, and without the belt holding you up, you collapse forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Matt chuckles. “Easy, baby.”

He eases you over onto your back carefully, slipping a pillow under your spine to support your sore back. He’s pressing kisses all over your cheeks— and his cock, still swollen and slick with your release, twitches at the salt clinging to his mouth. You’ve been crying.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “So sweet for me. Is my girl tired?”

You can barely say anything; you nod shakily. Your arms are tingling from the blood finally returning.

“And does she want to stop, hm?” A kiss to your cheek. “Does my sweet girl want to stop?”

You manage a small shake of your head.

A rough, pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

The pins and needles in your arms are buzzing unpleasantly, but your cunt clenches at his voice anyway. You whine pitifully, and of course he hears.

“One more, alright, honey? Will you give me one more?”

Then he’s shifting, settling himself between your legs again. His hands wrap under your knees–thumbs pressing into the tender divots beneath the joints—and he presses them forward, toward your shoulders. Folded in half, you gasp at the stretch. Completely open beneath him, pinned by nothing but his weight, you shiver under the totality of his presence over you.

“This,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over your lower belly, “this is where our baby’s gonna grow, sweetheart. Right here.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges at your entrance and you’re so wet it slides through the mess of your arousal, teasing but not entering, just enough to make you sob.

“Matt—please—”

“Shh,” he soothes, lining himself up, pressing in. “There we go. So good for me, you’re taking it so well.”

This angle—God, it’s worse than before; better than it. Deeper, impossibly so, hitting places inside you you’ve never felt before, spots that send your nerves screaming. You sob helplessly as your body struggles to accommodate him, every thrust dragging against your walls, each ridge and vein of his cock felt completely. 

“C’mon,” he pants as his movements pick up the pace, thrusts growing fast and erratic. “Gimme this one, sweetheart. Just one more for me, I promise.”

The bed protests beneath you, the frame rattling against the wall. The wet slap of skin fills the room, and just as you start to feel that sharpness creeping up again, something stupid occurs to you: you’re loud. Your screams, the creak of the bed, the sound of your cunt around him– the neighbors—

You turn your head, trying to muffle yourself against your arm.

Matt growls, yanking your arm down and at the same time, he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with bruising force, hard enough to knock all the breath from your lungs. You can’t stop the scream of his name torn from your throat.

“Matt— please, the neighbors—”

“No,” he snarls. “I’m your husband. I get to fuck you as loud as I want. You want this?” 

You nod frantically, too breathless to answer.

His hand finds your throat, grasping firmly around the delicate column. He feels the hammer of your pulse against his palm, heavy and turbulent like a rushing flood. He tightens his grip just enough to feel it catch beneath his thumb. To him, it seems unmistakably perverse—this power to still you if he wanted. And yet your trust is entire, your faith in him unshaken. 

“Then let them hear,” he says. “Let them hear what I do to my wife. Let them know how good I’m fucking her.”

A generous god, a present one. That’s what you’ve made him.

“Say my name,” he demands, voice rough. “I want to feel it in your throat.”

“Matthew,” you choke out, completely helpless to his touch. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…

It’s slipping. That darker thing inside him rising, coaxed loose by the mess of needy wetness where you’re connected. It wants to claim you and mark you, become His peer, one worthy of your devotion. 

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He licks the salt from your neck. “Can feel how close you are.”

His hand leaves your throat and presses flat against your stomach, right above where his cock punches deep. The pressure of his cock bulging under his palm sends another wave through your body. The feeling at the pit of your gut’s starting to rapidly swell, acute and compounding by the second as he fucks you with the whole length of his cock. 

“Feel that?” he rasps, pressing down harder. “That’s where m’gonna fill you. Right into your womb. And if it doesn’t take this time— I’ll fucking make sure it does the next. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

Then his hand drops lower, to your cunt, gathering your creamy slick with his thumb to rub the swollen nub of your clit with. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, the words strangled. “Come while I fuck my baby into you.”

You look down where you’re connected, where his cock sinks in and out of you, coated in slick and so much need and you break. Your walls seize around his length, body convulsing as your climax tears through you. You cry out, legs twitching and nails raking across the sheets. Above you, Matt groans with a guttural, broken sound. His hips drive forward once, twice—the head of his cock kissing the ripe seal of your womb, and then he’s coming, thick and hot, filling you with so much it leaks around his cock even as he keeps pumping deep as he can go. His sweat’s dripping onto you as he holds you tightly, arms trembling with the effort of staying upright. You twitch beneath him, aftershocks rolling still and he collapses onto you, pulsing with the last desperate pulses of cum from his cock.

Your body’s completely pliant, legs trembling even when he finally stills. 

“Let gravity help,” he says, easing out gently. He slips the pillow from beneath your back and tucks it under your hips, before slumping beside you. You giggle weakly, nuzzling into his neck. Your sweet husband’s back, placing soft lingering kisses all over your face as his chest heaves from the earlier exertion.

“So,” you start, the haze starting to set, “can you really tell?”

“...Yes,” Matt admits. His voice is husky, warm with affection. “You smell different. And you’re warmer, just a little–”

“Smell different?! Do I stink or something?”

He laughs into your hair, arm pulling you in tight. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve established well enough that you smell absolutely beguiling to me.”

You roll your eyes, your finger tracing absent shapes on his chest. Heart, triangle, star—he hums at each one.

Smiley face. That earns a chuckle. 

“Anyway, you weren’t half bad with Teddy either,” you muse thoughtfully. “I think you’d make an amazing dad.”

You opt not to tease him about the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Matt.” You clear your throat. “You know, I really do want it, but… I just want you to know that I’m happy, even just now. And I’m not stupid, I know you could…” you try not to say die, “...well, the worst could happen. Even then, I’d still want this life with you, whatever I can get. When we got married, I knew that would come with it, and– And if we do have a kid, if the future holds that for us, then it won’t just be us. We have Foggy and Karen and Marci, and my family, too. Takes a village and all that, y’know?”

You pause to catch your breath, Matt nodding you on.

“Point is, we’ll never be left alone, no matter what. I know that’s something you worry about a lot. So if– if something ever did happen to you…” You force yourself to say it, “we’d survive. We can keep living. But between surviving with you and without you, I’ll always choose with. So I’m asking you to let yourself have this. If you really want it. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Have faith that it includes you.

He’s silent for a moment, his hand stroking gently at the slope of your arm.

“I promise,” he says at last, “I really do want it.”

He knows you know the rest. That’s all he can say, pressing a kiss to your temple. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but it buzzes in his pulse anyway. Smiling faintly into your hair, he lets it stretch just long enough… Before the gravity of the moment slips from his shoulders, not all the way but just enough to let in that familiar, crooked grin.

“Oh, but you know, honey,” he murmurs, lips on your cheek, “you’re not pregnant yet.”

The laugh bubbles from your throat, and he can feel the sound against his skin.

“That was just round one.” His hand slides down to grip your thigh, and he feels you shiver. Perfect. “Let’s get to work then, Counselor.”

tryna get a load from of this guy

[eddiedi-ass]

Call me insane but I want Buck trying to buy the Bathena house and Athena saying “NO—” and Buck yelling back “YES!” Then Athena is rubbing her eyes in despair like “You don’t even have the right credit score to buy it, Buck.” And Buck being all “Watch me buy it.”

And he buys it! Pulls some weird strings from people from past calls that have offered favors in thanks for saving them (bank people, I’ve never gotten a mortgage loan don’t ask me anything)

Except now he lives in the house of a ghost, still trying to feel a presence, to see a sign, but it’s all gone now. Bobby didn’t even get to live in this house. Didn’t get to see it finished. But Buck knows he won’t be able to sleep anywhere else, no other apartment felt right, and the Diaz house is not his anymore, this is a familiar place. Familiar enough, at least. It’s been lived in. It has character.

Not this exact house, but the memories are still there, somewhere. And Buck couldn’t let them go to a stranger that wouldn’t understand.

Athena starts showing up to check on him every so often, and that becomes Buck going to check on her every other night too. Before they realize it, they have a scheduled meeting every night in alternating houses, cooking dinner together every night Buck is off shift, and for a second there—Buck feels like he’s going to be alright.

And one night, months later, when Athena is over at Buck’s and they’re having wine, she says, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“About what?” Buck asks, mouth full with some steak they cooked together, laughing about the time Bobby taught him how to prepare it. Sharing stories about him is part of their ritual—makes it feel like he’s just in the other room, like maybe this time they’re cooking for him and not the other way around.

“Selling it,” Athena twists her glass, motioning toward the kitchen. The place is different than whatever she planned to decorate it when it was hers, but it still feels like home. It does have Buck written all over it though. Athena starts wondering if it’s the place or if it’s just the company that makes her feel so warm. “I’m not ready to let him go, yet.”

And Buck nods, because he understands. Hell, he bought the house. If anyone else understands it’s him.

“You don’t have to.” He says and puts down his fork. “I know I haven’t.

“I’m glad it went to you.” Athena has more wine, and by the end of the night, she’s a little too buzzed to drive back to her house, so she takes the guest bedroom.

In no time, that bedroom has Athena written all over it.

They don’t live together, but she will stay every other night. When the missing him gets particularly hard. When her apartment feels a little too empty. When she needs someone to be there. She knows the boy also feels like her, she loves the boy enough to know that he feels the same.

May starts coming over too. Then Harry. Then the three of them have dinner every Thursday night in a house that once was theirs, with the man who owns it now. “It’s still family dinner,” May says, when she grabs her keys to call it a night. Buck kisses her forehead and Athena gives her a hug, then they watch her drive to her home.

So they just sit in silence in the living room, they cook dinner, they bake sometimes. They remember Bobby and most importantly, they take care of each other.

It’s what he would’ve wanted.

I don't want them to live together or anything crazy. But I am really hoping for more Buck and Athena moments I'm s9. I want a vibe of like her husband has died and now she's left with his mutt that chews the furniture, and she's unfortunately devoted to caring for it now to honor her husband's memory because he loved that dog so much. But she's still not a dog person.

[selunefae]

Hello! I read your Sylus fanfic and WHAT WAS THAT? WOW 🫦🫦🫦 need to ask, can you write something spicy between Rafayel and the MC/reader please? I beg you 🙉🙉🙉🙉

Be my reliever (+18) - Sick!Rafayel (Love and deepspace) x Reader

Rafayel is sick again. You're tired of him not taking care of his health, but you visit him nonetheless. Maybe he can do something to compensate you.

masterlist

rating: +18, MDNI

word count: 2,126

tags: rafayel (lads) x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader

cw: smut, fluff, oral sex (female receiving), v fingering, breasts fondling, nipple licking, use of insults in a loving way, use of petnames (babe)

notes: Inspired by the fact that I'm currently sick. xD This is my first time writing for Rafayel, he's also the character that I least interacted with (along with Xavier), so I hope I captured his personality correctly. Sorry if he seems too OOC. :') All my notions of Rafayel are from the main story and some facts I read about him to help me with this fic. (English is not my first languages, the work is neither proofread nor betaread, sorry for any mistakes).

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” 

You say it without looking up, arms crossed as you sit in the chair beside Rafayel’s bed. 

He groans. “I’m dying and all I get is abuse…”

You finally glance over at him. He’s half-buried under a pile of blankets, purple hair sticking out in tangled waves, flushed cheeks covered by a light sheen of sweat - hell, why does he still look attractive even in his worst state? His eyes crack open, barely, and you catch the faint shimmer of amusement.

"You're supposed to feel bad for me. Take care of me. Maybe even lie down with me.” He pats the pillow beside him. “Look, right here." 

You narrow your eyes.

"This wouldn't have happened if you weren’t so damn reckless!" You lean forward, voice sharper now, letting your annoyance break through the surface. "Who told you to stay out in the rain like that!? You could’ve ducked into a store and waited for the storm to pass!”

He shrinks under the blanket like a kicked puppy, eyes glassy with fever but still defiant in the most pathetic way imaginable.

“The sky was this perfect shade of grey,” he argues, voice raspy and congested.

“Cool tones bleeding into the city lights, the reflection on the wet pavement… I had to capture it.”

You glare daggers at him. Not this again…

“You stopped to paint .”

“Mentally.” He sniffs. “I didn't have my sketchbook.”

You pause, blinking.

“Wait – let me get this straight.” You can't stop the incredulous smile on your face. “You stood out in a thunderstorm, like an idiot, to paint , and you didn’t even have your sketchbook?!”

He offers a weak shrug. “The light was excellent.”

You throw your hands up with an exasperated sigh and push off the chair. You don’t know what to say anymore. You want to scream, shake him, maybe even strangle him. It’s always the same damn thing with him: forgetting meals, skipping sleep, losing himself in work until his body gives out. You genuinely don’t understand how he’s still alive. 

“Rafayel I –”

He must have noticed the shift in your voice because he sits up straighter. "If it bothers you so much," he snaps, "then why did you even come?”

…

That’s it. Rafayel has finally pushed your strings too far. Without looking at him, you snatch up your bag from the nightstand and turn on your heel, ready to walk out. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating him, but this ? This is a new level of nonsense. You took time off work to come and take care of him because – surprise! – he’s sick again, and this is how he thanks you?

“Hey, wait!”

Before you can storm off, his hand reaches out and gently wraps around yours. You freeze. With a gentle tug, he pulls you towards him. You stumble forward, landing half on the bed, half on him, your face just inches from his.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” he says, voice lower. His hand rises to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing down your cheek before retreating. “I know I’m an idiot. And an ungrateful bastard. And that I take you for granted all the time.” His eyes meet yours. The usual glimmer of mischief is gone, replaced by something more sincere. “But… I’m really glad you came.”

And that’s all it takes for the anger in your chest to go away.

You wrap your arms around him, careful not to jostle him too much, and bury your face into his shoulder with a soft sigh. “Dummy…” You mumble against his skin, trying to sound annoyed. But he knows better.

He chuckles, warm and weak. His arms tighten around you. “I love you.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. You’re pouting, and his smile grows when he sees it. “I love you too…” You whisper, barely a breath between your lips and his. His eyes drop to your mouth. He licks his lips, and you know he’s dying to kiss you, but he doesn’t. So you take the lead. Without thinking twice, you close the distance and press your lips together.

The kiss is sweet and innocent, just your mouths moving together. His lips are softer than you remember, and you relish the feeling.  You gently caress his cheek as he hugs you tighter, trying to get you closer.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this…” he mutters against your lips, his once cloudy eyes now staring at you with desire. He couldn’t care less about being sick. He kisses you again, deeper and with more confidence. His fingers slide down your waist, guiding you gently as he shifts, rolling the two of you so you’re now lying beneath him. You gasp when he settles between your legs, one knee pressing in the center as his weight shifts forward. The sound spurs him on. He tilts his head, and his tongue finds yours. Desire clouds your reason. In the heat of the moment, nothing exists but the warmth of his mouth, the feel of his hands. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him with the same intensity.

You only part for air, both of you breathing hard, lips kiss-bitten and flushed a deep crimson. His pupils are blown wide with lust, dark and unfocused, no trace of their usual color left. You’re not doing much better. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, heart hammering like it’s trying to escape your ribs. A sheen of sweat is starting to coat your skin, and your fingers twitch with the need to touch him more.

Rafayel smiles and lowers his head again, this time trailing kisses along the soft skin of your neck. His lips find the spot he knows drives you crazy, and he lingers there, pressing a gentle kiss, then grazing it with a teasing nibble.

“R-Rafayel…” you whimper, and he lifts his head for a second, eyes scanning your face, as if to make sure everything’s okay. 

You nod silently, but your hands slide down his back to tell him all he needs to know.

Taking the invitation, he returns to your neck with renewed purpose, his mouth eager against your skin. He sucks gently, then nips, lips dragging over sensitive spots in a way that makes your back arch off the mattress.

“Don’t leave visible marks…” You mumble between shallow breaths, even if your body betrays your protest by pressing closer.

“I think you look the prettiest with them,” he replies as he mouths along your collarbone. His hands are everywhere now – grabbing the plush of your skin, caressing, teasing – and his kisses travel lower. When he reaches the hem of your shirt, he pulls it up, eyes locked on yours. And when he sees you wearing nothing underneath, his breath catches, eyes going wide. 

“You're not…?”

You shake your head with the smallest smirk. It’s not the first time he’s seen your breasts, but he’s always mesmerized by them.

“Holy shit…” he echales, completely awestruck. His hands come up, cupping them as he takes in every inch of exposed skin. And then, like gravity is pulling him, he lowers his head again, lips brushing the top of your breast in a kiss so soft it sends a full-body shiver through you. He does this again and again, placing feather-light kisses over the periphery, circling closer each time. You writhe beneath him, nails digging into his back, half a second from begging. 

And then, finally, his mouth closes around your nipple.

A sharp gasp tears from your throat as his lips wrap around it, tongue flicking softly at first before lapping more firmly. He sucks, licks and bites, sending waves of heat straight to your core. His free hand doesn’t neglect the other breast – he palms it, thumb circling your nipple, teasing until it’s just as sensitive, then gently pinching, just enough to make you arch into him with a breathless moan.

“You’re beautiful…” he says while still savouring you. 

His hands cradle your breasts as his lips travel lower, kissing the underside of one, then the other, dipping down further. His mouth trails down your torso, warm and wet kisses brushing the curve of your ribs, down the slope of your stomach. When he reaches your lower belly, just above your waistband, he pauses. His hands slide down, fingers curling playfully at the edge of your jeans. He presses one final kiss just below your navel, then looks up at you through his lashes

“Should I keep going?” he asks, thumbs toying with the denim.

The question hangs there for only a moment before your answer spills out, needier than you intended. “Yes. Please.”

His smile is wicked now, pleased and predatory, and you swear he’s never looked more beautiful than in that moment. His fingers start to work, undoing the button, then sliding the zipper down. All the while, his lips stay busy, kissing the curve of your hip, just above where the fabric clings to your body. When he finally pulls them down, he grabs your now bare thighs, squeezing the soft skin. He throws the fabric somewhere on the floor, and then settles between your legs again, eyes drinking you in like he’s never seen anything so worth worshiping. He starts leaving open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thigh, making you tremble. His hands anchor you in place, fingers splayed wide on your hips. He continues kissing up until he finds your underwear, then he pulls it aside to take a look at your bare cunt.

“Look at you…” he murmurs, voice hoarse with awe and something darker. “Every part of you is art.”

Spreading your wet folds, he lowers his mouth to the center of your desire. You let out a broken whimper when his lips close around your clit and suck. You try to buckle up your hips, but his firm hand holds you in place. He continues to suck your clit as one of his fingers finds your hole, easing its way inside. He moves patiently at first, giving you time to adjust, and then begins to pump, syncing the motion with the rhythm of his mouth. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling at the roots, and with every lap of his tongue and thrust of his hand, your grip tightens. He groans, and the vibrations only make you dizzier.

Rafayel adds a second finger, picking up the pace along with it. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up – hips rolling, legs trembling, toes curling. This time, when you push your hips forward, he lets you chase the rhythm. The movements of his tongue become messier, tongue and lips working in perfect harmony with the thrust of his hand. You squirm in his arms, moans getting louder as he manages to hit the spot that sends you over the edge.

“A-ah – !”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures. “Come for me.”

The orgasm hits like a crashing wave, stealing the air from your lungs. Your back arches off the bed as a cry tears from your throat, every nerve lighting up with pleasure. He doesn’t stop just yet, working you through your orgasm and tasting your release. 

Finally, when your muscles relax and the tension drains from your body, he eases back. Sitting on his knees, Rafayel just looks at you. You’re sweating, your hair’s a mess, and your chest is still rising and falling like you just ran a marathon…but he still stares at you with the most loving gaze, like you’re the most beautiful piece of art.

You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss when suddenly –

“ACHOOO!!!!”

He freezes above you, wide-eyed and completely still.

You blink at him.

Your expression changes in an instant, brows drawing together in a deadly glare.

“Rafayeeeeeel… I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!!”

He lets out a nervous laugh and scrambles toward the edge of the bed. “W-would you look at that! I feel so much better out of a sudden!”

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING!? YOU GOT ME SICK!!!”

You grab the front of his shirt before he can escape and yank him back down into the bed with a thud. He winces and throws his hands up, surrendering.

“Come on, babe, don’t be mad…” he pleads, switching to his softest, most charming voice.

You cross your arms and turn your back on him with exaggerated annoyance. He tries again.

“Look on the bright side… now we can watch a movie together.”

…

Silence.

“...and order takeout?”

You glance over your shoulder, interested.

“Only if you’re paying.”

He lets out a sigh, but smiles nonetheless. “As if you ever pay…”

[butchrgoth]

Can you stop...?

Spencer Reid x Female!Reader,,

summary: Spencer's been stuck doing Derek and Emily's paperwork since he lost a bet and has been staying late everyday. One day you decided to ditch your plans with Emily, JJ and Garcia to bother him and keep him company.

(A/N: im so sorry ive been dead. I am going to post more once im fully done exams...)

Spencer gave a pout as Derek gave him a cocky grin plopping a few files of paperwork onto his desk, Emily snickering and doing the same. Derek grins and grabs his jacket, shrugging it on as he looked back at Spencer, "Have fun pretty boy."

Spencer gives a small glare before opening the first file. JJ, Emily and Garcia were getting ready to leave all chatting about some new bar. Then you joined in, immediately being invited along. "Oh my goshness yes! Are we actually about to have a girls night!" Penelope squealed making a few late night workers look up as they either packed up or were getting through the last of their work... Emily snorts and gives Penelope's arm a squeeze, "Quiet down and yes..." JJ laughed grabbing her coat.

But all you could do was notice how frustrated Spencer looked doing those extra files of work. You sighed and gave the girls a look, "Actually I just remembered I gotta talk to Hotch about my case reports. Maybe i'll meet up with you guys later?" Whatever to make the lie believable. Emily sighed, Penelope giving a louder groan, "Fine! But don't take too long..." Penelope gave you a quick cheek kiss and the three girls made their way to the elevators. Once out of sight you walked over to Spencers desk, sliding into a rolling chair and sliding up to his desk. Spencer just looked at you giving an unamused look. "Not now-" Spencer started before being cut off by you taking one of his sticky notes, doodling on it. It wasn't very good...

You lifted the sticky note, "Good right." Spencer gave a blank stare but couldn't help but feel the corners of his mouth twitch up in a smile. "Not really..." Spencer mumbles. You just give an offended look and put the sticky note on his desk so he can look at it everyday. How great. Spencer sighs and gives her a look before continuing to fill out the files. You huff and start playing with his hair. You just wanted to annoy him.

Spencer glares "Can you stop??" He pulls his head away. You grin and grab his tie, pulling him closer, "nah.." Spencer huffs and tries to pull away while keeping his tie unwrinkled. "Stop it you're being annoying!" He whines. You roll your eyes and huff, "Make me. Make me-" Spencer huffed and cut her off with a sharp kiss before realizing what happened she kissed him back. Spencer pulled away and stuttered and tripped over his words, "I-.. Uhm.." You just swallow and feel the heat in your cheeks before you both hear someone clearing their throat.

The both of you look over to see Hotch and Rossi. Rossi grinning and Hotch giving a blank stare. Busted. "Finally you two stopped dancing around got tiring for me." Rossi speaks. Spencer flushes and opens his mouth to speak before Hotch cuts him off, "You two can come fill out the paperwork tomorrow."

Spencer and You looked at each other before you gave him a cheeky grin. God he hates you. But also really likes you.

heh.. hope you guys enjoyed that.. if not uhm oops..?

[writing-mlm]

I love Mark, plain old Mainstream Mark

Since you wanted request I'd like to give you one

Mark x male reader that got save by him, like the old lady in season one, but the reader survives, but with scars. They keep in contact and actually build a close relationship, the reader helps Makr every time he's down and reminds him that he always tries his best etc.

Just some fluff, lots of physical contact if that's alright with you

Please

Untitled headcanons

Summary: After an alien invasion, Mark gets close to one of the victims Pairing: Mark Grayson x Male Reader Word count: 1.1k Tags/warnings: mentions of attack, being paralyzed, allusions to not having good parents, not proof-read a/n: I might turn this into a full fic once I’m done with getting through the others and have the time

He could remember that invasion in vivid detail, picking apart everything he’d done wrong— what he could’ve done better

He’d seen the tank falling on you and he was just a second too slow, barely even a second; his fingers had grazed the side of it just as it fell on top of your leg

Mark didn’t know what was worse, the sound of your leg being crushed or the fact that you barely showed signs of being in pain; you just stared up at him with red, wet eyes and a busted lip you were chewing on

He rushed you to the GDA, demanding they help you and later found out that you’d damaged your spinal cord long before the tank fell, one of the lasers had shot straight through the nerves that connected to your legs; it’s how why you didn’t move out of the way of the tank

along with that, you’d gotten quite a number of other injuries that it took nearly a month for you to start seeing progress 

You’d asked your doctor to thank Invincible for saving you during your physical therapy and were surprised when the hero showed up an hour later

Unknown to you, he’d been beating himself up over it since he found you. Staying updated with your treatments— so he wasn’t surprised when he saw you standing with the help of the balance bars.

They had put something in your spine along with some gnarly leg braces to keep you upright; you were slowly getting the muscles to move your legs like you used to, so you still used a wheelchair

He kept apologizing while you were transferred into the wheelchair, taking in every scar on your visible skin

“I’m alive, though,” You laughed, rolling over to him. “They also got me an internship here, so I’m employed now, too.” 

He thought you couldn’t be much older than he was and you agreed, you were the same age but you’d dropped out and gotten your GED, you’d been on your way to an interview when the whole thing went down

That’s how he found out that your parents weren’t exactly in the picture, considering they didn’t even know where you lived. 

It made him feel worse so you backtracked and focused on the fact that you were in a better place now— employed and in an apartment that didn’t have mold on the walls

Every so often you’d see him, lingering around during your PT sessions or while you were working and eventually you had enough and started a conversation with him

Slowly, he started talking more and outside of your time in the GDA— eventually getting to the point where he told you who he really was

He started getting feelings for you around the time that the whole Titan thing was going on— Amber had gotten with Eve, surprisingly

He wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it, wouldn’t it be weird to date the guy that you kinda sorta let get paralyzed? And then your guilt made you get close to him? 

But you’d become genuine friends in that time, you hung out every week, you helped him with his homework (you did his homework while he was out being Invincible so he wouldn’t falls behind), he’d fly across the world to bring you your favorite foods and once to see your favorite artist perform— you’d met his mom for crying out loud!

Sometimes, when he got too much in his head, he’d either call you or head to your apartment because you always know the right things to say

Now, he didn’t know he was into guys so when he started asking William those questions, William immediately knew. He had his suspicions, the way Mark’s eyes would light up when you were mentioned, when you texted, when he saw something that reminded him of you

But when he asked William “How did you know you liked guys?” William sighed and gripped his shoulders, staring Mark in the eyes to make sure the idiot got it through his head “You’re into (Y/n), yes.” 

Okay, with that out in the open, he sat with it for a while until Eve accidentally dropped the bomb when she visited the GDA, you were helping one of the techs with something and she’d come to chat— it’s not uncommon for his friends to visit you 

“You and Mark are getting close,” She smiled and he caught the way you looked almost bashful. “Y’know, I think he likes you?”

“Really?” The way your head whipped to hers was all it took for him. Now, Mark might not be able to read women but he knew how to read men and that— that was solid proof

He asked you out like ten minutes later with a bouquet he’d rushed to make 

Needless to say, word spread around the GDA and some people (Cecil) were not happy with the development and kept calling your relationship a conflict of interest 

You were worried he was going to fire you or wipe your mind, something and told Mark, and for some strange reason after you told him, Cecil stopped making those comments 

With the two of you being in a full-on relationship, he definitely would just hold you whenever he could

Aw man, the prosthetics died and your wheelchair is at home? Guess I gotta carry you, can’t just fly and grab it SIGH

You’re home and there’s nothing to do? Well, you gotta sit on his lap— he wants to make sure it’s implanted in your spine, not that he wants to hold you, whatttt that’s crazy

Hanging out with friends? Wouldn’t it just be soo annoying if you sat on his lap like those annoying couples? It would be sooo funny right, you should totally do it. 

Your hands hurt from pushing the wheelchair? Aw man, guess he needs to carry you now

The wheelchair has a motor? Aw man, well, this road is really bumpy and he’d hate for your very expensive wheelchair to get messed up— don’t worry, he’ll just carry you across no big deal

Eating with his mother? Hand on your leg 

Just hanging out and you don’t want to sit on his lap, hand on your leg. 

It’s like he recharges with physical contact and he absolutely loves being the little spoon at night, it’s like his favorite cuddle position aside from just absolutely lying on top of you like a blanket

Every now and again, you’d have days or weeks where you couldn’t bother to wear your prosthetic— too tired and too drained to do anything but stare at the ceiling and he’d help you just like how you helped him when he gets into ruts

When he goes to college, you decide to give long distance a shot— and then he goes missing for a couple of months and you move in with Debbie to make sure she’s fine

After he came back and found that out, oh god, if he wasn’t in love before he surely was now— he goes to find a ring the very next day

[bueckersbitch]

i stayed there, dust collected on my pinned up hair.

right where you left me. — chapter two

characters : paige bueckers x anika malik

warnings : injury

word count : 3.1k

authors note : chapter two !! i’m so excited for the small sprinkles that i’ve been putting in these chapters that are gonna matter A LOT in the future ;)

Paige’s POV

Well, at least I knew what my future held for me now. I hated it.

And I hated getting injured. Of course, because I wouldn’t be able to be out on the court, sharing handshakes with teammates, or looking at each other funny when Coach said something questionable. But also because, when you get injured, it turns into your whole life.

People you haven’t talked to in years reaching out “because they care”, people trying to baby you, acting like you can’t do anything for yourself, and suddenly, all the sports accounts I follow posting about how I would miss the rest of this season, and some of the following season. 

It’s like you can’t escape it, I’ve gone through it before, people telling me to do something to get my mind off of it, pick up a new hobby, watch a new show, and visit new places I haven’t been.

But all those things that I would do to avoid it would just remind me of how I was injured more because I wasn’t doing those things for me, I was doing it because I couldn’t do the thing I loved.

I know the real reason why they want me to go to Minnesota so badly, they think being around somewhere I “knew” would help me through it. But I didn’t know Minnesota the way I used to. Everyone who I loved there has left, careers taking off, my Dad moving to Maryland, nothing is there for me anymore.

Dallas wasn’t “home” either though, sure, I made a life here, with lifelong friends, and the small encounters at the local coffee shop by my apartment where the manager knows my order off the top of her head. But something was missing, a feeling of longing, I missed Connecticut, still, after all these years, but even then, Connecticut wasn’t the same anymore either. Now, the team was filled with all new faces, people I hadn’t met, hadn’t giggled with over stupid inside jokes and fought with over things that seemed so small now. It was all gone, a thing of the past.

Maybe I’d never feel grounded anywhere, it was something I had to deal with, you can think you’re finally starting to settle somewhere and then it gets ripped away from you because you get traded. Even though it hasn’t happened yet, that thought is always in the back of my mind, and it’s probably why I didn’t let myself make Dallas feel like home.

My body hurts. I was back in my apartment, and I felt caged. I had taken that Uber driver's advice eventually though, getting back to people somehow, my brain on autopilot while I typed responses I couldn’t remember. 

I did tell the team I was being sent off to Minnesota -the group chat without Coach- they were mad, said it was bullshit, and kept ringing me on the group face time, I didn’t say anything after that, didn’t pick up their calls. I didn’t want to believe it either.

But it was the truth. I couldn’t avoid it. And I can’t avoid my surgery tomorrow either. 

It would cement my absence from basketball for a year.

Anika’s POV

I feel dumb.

I stared at my phone all day.

In the early morning when I was walking Koda, when I got my Matcha, during the 2-second breaks we get during practice to get water.

It was because of her.

I couldn’t escape her, didn’t want to.

Everywhere I looked it was about Paige.

Her injury update.

The replay of the exact moment it happened.

People’s think pieces whether or not she would be able to come back from this.

But I also was staring because I was contemplating.

Contemplating whether I should reach out or not.

It was unlikely she thought about me, I’m sure that she had made friends to fill that hole we had left in each other when we went to different colleges.

But I hadn’t.

I never realized until now, the impact she had on me.

I bite at my fingernails, excess skin on the sides turning into something I could pick at to fidget with.

I think I'm overreacting. I was only missing her so badly because she’s something from my childhood I can still grasp onto, reach for when the life I once knew has been demolished, warped in a way I couldn’t recognize.

My heart beats harshly, moving faster than my head, I scramble with shaking hands to Paige’s old contact, the one I had kept the same since we knew each other in high school, a blue heart nestled next to her name, one I told her I wouldn’t have to change since UConn’s colors had blue too.

I started typing,

Hi Paige!

I deleted it, tried again,

Hiiiii!

Deleted it again. I felt like I was putting up a front. The absolute opposite of what it was like between us.

hey paige, i know it’s been a while, i saw what happened, i know you’re not okay, call me if you can?

I read it over and over. Like it was a final assignment I was submitting that cost 50% of my grade, which was ironic, because I hadn’t been in school in over four years.

I rewrote it in my notes, looked at it, did it seem like I was telling her it had to be bad? That what people were saying was true?

I was overthinking again, something she told me not to do with her all those years ago. 

I stopped thinking about it. 

I hit send.

-

I left my phone on my kitchen counter, and let my couch cushions consume me. The fluffy white pillows cocooned me while I stared at my phone in silence. 

I waited,

And waited.

Until I heard it.

The special ringtone I had set for her, well, the one she set for herself, “milestone” She picked it because she told me we had reached the milestone of going D-1 together, and we would continue to reach milestones together. 

Together. 

Somewhere along the way we drifted apart.

I jumped out of my seat on the couch, the rug set in my living room slipping under my feet slightly, I could hear Koda’s collar clinking together because she had looked up, wondering what all the fuss was about.

I flip my phone over, and press on the message.

Hey! Sorry, I think you have the wrong number, maybe she changed it?

My heart drops,

Because of course, she would’ve changed it.

Of-fucking-course.

I reread the message over and over, burning it into my memory.

Maybe I was being overdramatic again, but why would she change her number, and not give her new one to me?

Maybe this was wrong, I should accept that things change, life changes, people change.

Maybe I valued our friendship more than she had.

I felt a chill rush through me, the kind I would get on a bone-chilling day in December. I bit my bottom lip to stop it from quivering.

Because I couldn’t hold on to the one person I thought I could, and it stings.

Paige’s POV

I woke up in the hospital bed. “Get well soon” and heart balloons tied to the foot of it.

My mouth felt dry, sure enough, a water bottle was set on the table next to me, along with my phone and a card.

I reached for the card before anything else,

“Dear Paige, we know how resilient you are, and will flourish wherever you go. Best of luck in Minnesota!

With love, Curt, and the Coaches of the Dallas Wings.”

I toss the card back onto the table, grabbing my phone instead,

A notification,

“Dallas Wings posted a photo.”

I click on the notification, it brings me to a photo edit of myself,

“Paige Bueckers has gone through surgery on her right ACL and will miss the remainder of the 2028 season.”

I shut off my phone.

I itch the back of my head, finally snatching the water bottle.

Anika’s POV

I read the post.

“Paige Bueckers has gone through surgery on her right ACL and will miss the remainder of the 2028 season.”

“Yo, what’re you staring at your phone for?” Courtney asked, she had practically forced me to be her regular running partner, I only accepted because it was always easier to run with someone rather than alone.

I flipped my phone to show her, my eyes flicking to her and then my phone. Her eyes squinted to read the caption.

“Sucks, but it’s not like she’s the first person to go through it.” She says after she finishes reading. I roll my eyes at her lack of empathy.

“What? It’s the truth. Now come on and let's finish this mile.”

I tuck my phone back into the waistband of my shorts, taking out my other airpod and putting it in my ear too, my friendly front slowly dissolving as I grew more irate.

Paige’s POV

It was weird, I was back home -at my apartment- now, and I had grown so much since the summer before I left for UConn, and I knew that.

But a part of me still felt like the girl who was packing her room up for college, getting her roommate assignment for her freshman college season.

I glanced around my apartment, I’d still have the lease, paying it while I was away, so I didn’t have to pack everything up.

But when you don’t let yourself put down roots, there's not much to pack up anyway.

I start with the big things, my framed UConn jersey, posters, and the clock on the wall, wrapping each in bubble wrap, and stacking them in a big box.

I look down at my wrist, the five hair ties I had worn my last game still on my wrist, I take one of them and use it to tie my hair up into a low bun, the pieces that managed to get loose tickling my face uncomfortably.

I needed something to occupy my mind while I packed, I leaned against my couch, sitting on the floor with my legs stretched out in front of me while I flicked through Netflix.

Nothing seemed interesting enough.

I unlocked my iPad, hesitantly scrolling through my messages for someone to call.

I should be mature, call my teammates who have shown concern.

So I did.

I opened the group chat by hitting the button in the upper right corner to Facetime them,

Slowly, small dings of people joining rang through my ears, Nai, Arike, and Maddy joining, everyone's faces in frame, I squeezed my lips into a tight line, tilting my head slightly.

-

I was wrapping my mugs now, the call was good, lighthearted jokes commencing after the explanation on why I hadn't responded after dropping the bomb of me moving.

“Make sure you wrap the handles too, I learned the hard way when I moved to Dallas.”

Nai said, I hummed, ripping off some bubble wrap to do so.

I placed the last mug into a box, looking around at the almost empty space,

“Feels so surreal, looks like when I moved in for the first time,” I said, flipping the camera to show everyone.

“We’ll all miss you, Paige, I still don’t understand why they’re making you do this.” Arike said, I sat my iPad down on my counter, my palms pressing against the granite, my head pulled back to look up at the kitchen light, “Yeah, whatever keeps the image up I guess, thought I meant more than that.” Finishing my sentence with a hard swallow.

“You do mean more than that Paige, some image to keep up when everyone already knows how it really is,” Maddy said, breaking through my thoughts.

“I think everybody knew from Nai’s reaction to Coach that game against Vegas y’all’s first year here.” Arike followed up with.

They all laughed, Nai telling Arike to shut up within the laughter.

I let myself laugh too, the first laugh that had been pulled from me in a while, I pulled my head down to look at them while it happened, bringing my hand up to slick my hair down as I saw it in the camera.

No matter what I thought about Dallas, the Coaches, the fights, I would miss them.

“Imma miss you guys, promise me you’ll tell me about all your problems even though I’m away.” My voice cracking up at the end,

“Hey hey hey, none of that, okay? You’re our sister, no matter where you are.” Nai said. “Yeah, and don’t think we won’t visit when we play the lynx, you’ll be sick of us.” Maddy continued.

I know I was pushing them, to reach out, and keep talking to me even though I’d be far.

It was because I knew how I would be, trying to pull away from people who care, it’s what I was used to, shutting people out when I knew they were there for me. It was what I did with my best friend from high school, even if I promised her we would continue our basketball careers together.

I was an asshole. And I knew that.

taglist : @pboogerswbb @sierrale8ne @lupinqs @vamptizm @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @ohmybueckers @flipthepaige

[visualtaehyun]

TNP EP.7 CharanKhanin NC scene

For reference, I recommend my EP.1 annotations to understand what ราชาศัพท์ /raa-chaa-sap/ (=royal language) is plus the video further down in my EP.4 annotations (or direct link to the clip here) since EP.4 and 7 both reference duty (หน้าที่ /naa-thee/) and status (ฐานะ /thaa-na/).

Some explanations:

color coding: Nin, Ran, recurring/important; ราชาศัพท์ /raa-chaa-sap/

my translations are intentionally more literal and thus more inelegant than the iQIYI subs

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏

- ไม่ต้องอยู่เฝ้าในฐานะองครักษ์แล้ว /mai dtaawng yuu fao nai thaa-na ohng-kha-rak laaeo/ = There's no need to stay keeping watch [over me] in the capacity of a royal guard anymore. - แต่อยู่ด้วยกันในฐานะอื่น... ได้มั้ย /dtaae yuu duay gan nai thaa-na euun... dai mai?/ = But staying together in a different capacity... can [you/we]?

Nin initiates a pronoun switch, calling both Ran and himself by what he wants them to call each other. พี่ /phi/ is still polite and respects age hierarchy but it's also a lot more familiar. And referring to himself as นิน Nin is cute and more familiar as well:

- นินอยากให้พี่จับตรงนี้ /Nin yaak hai phi jap dtrohng-nee/ = I want you to touch [me] here. - ตรงนี้ /dtrohng-nee/ = Here... - ตรงนี้ด้วย /dtrohng-nee duay/ = Here as well. - แล้วก็... /laaeo gaaw.../ = And also...

พี่จะให้นินเป็นคนพูดเองหรอ ว่าตรงไหน /phi ja hai Nin bpen khohn phuut eng, raaw? waa dtrohng nai/ = Are you gonna have me be the one to say it [my]self? Where [else]?

Nin explicitly gives him permission:

- นินอนุญาตให้พี่ทำเกินหน้าที่ /Nin a-nu-yaat hai phi tham geern naa-thee/ = I allow you to go beyond [your] duty. - ถ้ากระหม่อมจะทำเกินหน้าที่-- /thaa gra-maawm ja tham geern naa-thee--/ = If I shall go beyond [my] duty--

Since Ran didn't yet switch from ราชาศัพท์ /raa-chaa-sap/ to what Nin wants them to call each other, Nin makes himself more clear - no class difference, no duty, no holding back, just P'Ran and Nin:

- ตรงนี้มีแค่เรา /dtrohng-nee mee khaae rao/ = Here, there's only us. - มีแค่พี่รัณ... กับนิน /mee khaae P'Ran… gap Nin/ = There's only [you,] P'Ran... and [me,] Nin.

ครับ พี่กับนิน /khrap. Phi gap Nin/ = Yes. Phi and Nin./Me and you.

- นินจำตำนานจูบของเอมมาลีได้ไหมอะ /Nin jam dtam-naan juup khaawng Emmaly dai mai a?/ = Do you remember the tale of the Emmalian kiss? - ไม่เคยลืม /mai khoei leuum/ = [I] never forgot. / [I'll] never forget.

กระหม่อมข��อาจเอื้อม /gra-maawm khaaw aat-euuam/ = May I be [so] presumptuous...? -> อาจเอื้อม /aat-euuam/ = lit. 'dare to reach (out for)'; (be) presumptuous, audacious

And can we talk about the insanity of including a foot kiss in a royalty-themed romance!!

The pronouns a man uses when speaking to royalty (even royals speaking to higher-up royals) and thus how Charan speaks when he's using ราชาศัพท์ /raa-chaa-sap/ with Khanin:

กระหม่อม/ฝ่าบาท /gra-maawm, faa-baat/ -> กระหม่อม /gra-maawm/ = lit. 'highest point at the crown of the head'; I (male 1st pers. pronoun) -> ฝ่าบาท /faa-baat/ = lit. 'underside/sole of the foot'; Your Royal Highness

I brought this up once in my EP.3 annotations but speaking to royalty this way implies the speaker is basically addressing only the lowest part of a royal('s body) while placing himself (and the highest part of his own body) lower than that still.

So I cannot for the life of me think of anything more submissive than a prince's royal guard on his knees in front of the prince, kissing said prince's foot in devotion:

But then also kissing his way up, shedding the layers of clothes and propriety that separate them, and coming together as equals!

Official English translation of that same excerpt from Ch.36:

"Then I'll go harder..." "Ah... P'Ran," the sound of skin slapping echoed throughout the bedroom. Khanin's hips rose to meet the thrusts, his mind scattered, losing control as the overwhelming pleasure made him forget to breathe. "Breathe." "Ah..." His bright lips parted, gasping for air. The sweet passage squeezed, making the older man groan low in his ear. "Good boy," the praise came with a light bite on Khanin's shoulder, making his body shiver, tense, and tingle down to his toes. He clung tightly to the man above. "Ah..." The younger one cried as he released, his nails digging into Charan's back, his face buried in the broad shoulder, moaning with pleasure.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Carlos-in-Glasses goes to Paris: The Sequel

This past weekend, I went to the First Responders Reunion Part 5 run by Dream It Conventions in Paris with @eclectic-sassycoweyes! You can read my 2023 write up here if you want! I was going to try to process it all before writing this but it turns out that writing is how I process things!

I’m categorising the below into the ceremonies, panels, selfies, photoshoots, autographs and Tarlos meeting rooms – a little breakdown of my personal experience for each:

Opening and closing ceremonies:

The opening ceremony contains singing and screaming. I have never heard screaming in my life quite like that dealt by the lovely Station 19 fans. (Good on you! Have it. It’s fucking terrifying. I love you, and I think the people you came to see are amazing too. Hope you had a great time!) After some housekeeping stuff by the compere who is insanely brilliant and competent at his job, the actors came bouncing out onto the stage to rev up the crowd a bit more. It’s surreal and wonderful to see them in front of you. I tried just really hard to take it in – same with the closing ceremony. For 911 Lone Star, the closing ceremony was really emotional but maybe the most special thing for the entire fandom. When Sierra started to cry and couldn’t stop, she was comforted and held by Ronen, Jim and Rafa. They wrapped around her so lovingly in a group hug and stayed holding on to each other when they parted. You could feel their chemistry. You can tell they’ve been through something major together and that it was a big thing for them to reunite. Everyone was applauding and cheering them on. It was the most beautiful and moving way to end it. The atmosphere in the room is hard to put into words. It was some kind of human electric magic. It was like watching the best ever sunset.

Panels:

Quick note: I didn’t get to see Jim and Sierra outside of panels and one group photo, which I feel a bit bad about, but they were announced after I’d already done my budgeting and frankly already blown it... I will say though that I was so lucky to meet Sierra at the 2023 convention and she is absolutely divine in every way.

I had a clash during Jim and Sierra’s panel so only caught the end of it, but luckily what I caught was good. Sierra said that it was deeply painful not to come back, but emphasized that the cast are all friends. She was happy to be in Paris and back interacting with fans and her castmates. She’s soooo nice. Gosh. (Also…I accidentally made eye contact with Jim while he was smoking on the terrace. It was oddly intense! He doesn’t to me read as tall as you’d think in real life! He’s a tall guy but it’s not like an 8ft giant. Which for some reason I was expecting.)

The Tarlos panel was fun! Rafa arrived for it first and had to begin on his own. Ronen showed up a couple of minutes late with an espresso in a lil glass mug. Rafa gave him playfully mocking looks and patted the chair beside him for Ronen to sit his ass down. I’ve already linked to it when answering an ask, but they were like this tweet suggests and it’s sending me. Whenever the French translation was happening, they’d start chatting and laughing with each other or posing goofily for photos. My words for them during the panels are: Sweet, sassy, mischievous and magnetic. You just can’t take your eyes off them.

I tried to write down what I could. A lot has been shared on Twitter so I don’t want to be too repetitive, but my main takeaways are:

When asked if TK and Carlos would ever take each other’s last names, Rafa said a very clear YES. I don’t think I caught which way around though (sorry!)

Ronen and Rafa are obsessed with the ol’ police station scene bless them. AS THEY SHOULD BE. BECAUSE SAME!!!

Ronen also loves the wedding – that’s his other fave.

Ronen said (I think…still in regards to the police station scene) it’s when he realised they were doing something bigger than just being actors on a TV show. To paraphrase: He’ll cherish it forever and it means the world that there’s a community behind it; he hopes more people will connect with the show and find that community.

Rafa said Carlos would be into Linkin Park and Blink 182 because of his pent up anger. I love Rafa so much.

Rafa spoke a lot about how finding Gabriel’s killer didn’t bring him real closure and healing – it was being able to move on with TK and them adopting Jonah that was going to be the healing thing. He said that by trying to find the killer he was slowly losing his husband; it would be the worst thing to lose another important person a second time.

Ronen wishes they could have filmed the scene where they talk about the adoption, but they were impacted by such a short season and couldn’t tell the story in full on screen.

Ronen said Carlos must be the most understanding and selfless partner ever. It’s not surprising that Carlos came around and they got their happy ending.

Someone asked what Tarlos’ road trip songs would be. Ronen and Rafa agreed they should make one (I think they will not haha, but it would be so much fun if they suddenly dropped a cheesy playlist as a duo!) It would be sing along songs they could belt. Rafa said for Carlos he’d want some Selena, Soul Train, Beyonce, party music. No Linkin Park anymore because it’s happy fun times. They laughed about not being able to give a better answer, but I think it was a great answer! Super endearing.

911 Lone Star Group Panel

I didn’t write anything down for this because I was lucky enough to get to ask a question – too busy standing in line feeling very nervous. I’m going to be a bit lazy here and link to the video if you want to hear my terrible voice. In essence: I asked what TK and Carlos’ parenting styles would be and what parenting advice Judd and Grace would give.

Ronen said he thinks TK would be more wild and Carlos would provide more structure, and that Judd and Grace would probably be the first friends they spoke to. (Then he dropped his microphone! And Rafa was all ‘girl, get it together!’ It’s so often the random and accidental little moments that provide so much joy.)

Rafa said he’d turn to his mom for help. He’d want to find out about parenting in a deeper way. He said Ronen would answer better because he is a parent now, but overwhelm is normal and Carlos’ life wouldn’t be about him anymore, it’s about the child, and if he’s going to do it correctly and wholeheartedly he needs to understand on a true and deep level. But he also agreed they’d want to turn to Judd and Grace too.

Sierra said it would have been fun to play. Her advice would be along the lines of the instincts you would follow with raising one child would be different to your next child – so her point was around seeing the kids as individuals with their own personalities and needs.

Jim said Judd’s advice would be “Don’t let your son ride his bike in the road.” Sage wisdom. Poor Judd!

I’m really struggling to remember anything else because I was floating to the ceiling on helium balloons at this point. But it was a good panel!!!

Selfies

I loved getting the selfies. They’re more relaxed than the photoshoots. It’s the actor taking the photo, so they are doing it at their own pace and it’s more cosy/friendly. With the photoshoots, there are photographers waiting for you to get on with it. I was very conscious of that. If I were to do this again, I’d consider getting a few selfies rather than an individual photoshoot again.

Due to the cosier nature of the selfies, I actually have a secret that I cannot share! Because Ronen asked me not to 🤭 But I had a hilarious moment with him and I loved how my selfie turned out.

Rafa is the biggest cutie pie sweetheart. He’s so warm and open and cuddly. He brought me in close for the first selfie I got with him. In 2023, he was sitting at the autograph table so I had to crouch, but this time we were both standing – a much less awkward way to interact. For the second selfie with Rafa, Mar and I decided to do it on a whim. He’d just left the room when we arrived, so his handler had to bring him back! We were laughing and apologising and he was SO generous. He laughed about it too and told us not to worry.

The best thing ever then proceeded to happen: Rafa told me he liked my shirt! He didn’t have to say anything!!!! But he said that!!! I told him the shirt reminded me of something both TK and Carlos would wear. He was like “Yeah! They would!” and then I told him it was thrifted, so even better! He was like “Oh that’s really cool” Then he steered me because he’d decided he’d found the right light for our selfie, although I’m not sure he did 😂 It’s still a good selfie – but bloody hell, it’s the little chat we had that made me so happy. I can’t even explain it. But when you get that extra moment of being affable and having a tiny connection, in this case just over a shirt, it makes everything shine. I felt like I started shining because of his warmth. It was just amazing. It warmed my core.

Photoshoots

I did individual photoshoots with Ronen and Rafa and two Tarlo duo shoots. I was most nervous about this because I didn’t love how they came out last time – I don’t think the lighting is good, and the witchy-faced among us do rely on good lighting. However! I’m very happy with how they came out this time. I feel like I had short conversations with them during the individual shoots but lord only knows what was said. I mainly remember the duo shoots. I asked for a hug both times because why in the name of all that is good and pure would I want anything else?! I wasn’t brave enough to ask for a hug last time, but this time I went for it and it turns out they dgaf and are happy to do it because loads of people want a hug. Hugging is their bread and butter. Because of how they were standing, I ended up hugging Rafa both times with Ronen behind me. I did not orchestrate it like that!!! I swear! I hereby confirm that Rafa is a cuddle-ball. I love how they came out. It looks like my two dads are very proud of me on graduation day or something.

Autographs

While I was waiting for my Rafa autograph, Ronen and Rafa were sitting at tables next to each other and kept teasing each other. When waiting for my Ronen autograph, there was a table between them – but that did not stop them! Rafa joked about having an Only Fans because someone asked him to sign a shirtless photo of him. Ronen stood up with interest 🥲

There are prints sold at the convention that you can buy for them to sign, but you can ask for them to sign anything (except tits and ass I guess?). I decided to buy just the one print of them kissing at the wedding and asked them both to sign it. I gave them both a card with a design on it by @thisbuildinghasfeelings from her cross stitch – I was so happy to be able to do that and bring her with me in some way! I told them I’m better at saying things through writing than through talking. They were both all “I totally get it!” I told Ronen I appreciated him doing the conventions because it made the show live beyond the show itself. He said that meant a lot and he wrote a cute message on the photo. I told Rafa that every time I see him I just keep saying thank you, but I also felt that it could never be said enough. I have no idea what he said back because I think I died? I do remember that he asked where I was from. I said London, to which he replied ‘born and raised?’ I was not expecting to be asked a question so I hesitated for what felt like an entire minute before saying yes. I got stuck wondering what level of detail he needed before remembering he did not request my life story or the history of urban sprawl. Although, with more time, I believe he would listen with interest. It was great! I loved it. Once again it felt very warm.

Meeting Rooms

I went to both the Tarlos duo meeting rooms – I think this must be the absolute peak for me, other than chatting a bit with Rafa about my shirt. The meeting room on Saturday was a lot smaller than the one on Sunday. I didn’t say anything in the Saturday one other than joining in with other Brits in telling them to come to London. They were amenable to this. It’s a funny thing when they enter the room, because everyone goes silent. They sit down and there’s a moment of just staring until Ronen breaks the ice. I didn’t feel like I could write anything down in the meetings, but they were recorded so perhaps there will be a chance to see them…I hope so! I’d love to relive it. I do remember someone asking if TK and Carlos would have more kids. Rafa replied with a very certain yes. I love him. Ronen talked a lot about being a dad. At the end of the meeting he showed Rafa a video of his baby boy (and he showed some nearby fans! I caught a short glimpse – very cute!) I feel bad that I don’t remember more of what was said. I was trying to absorb it, but what I remember is the feeling. The vibe was really nice. It’s incredible to have a small audience with them. We were sitting so close to them, and it wasn’t like a super quick photoshoot where you get all nervous lining up and then in seconds it’s over. It was half an hour of just being with them casually, and them answering questions that become more conversational.

On Sunday, I was feeling more confident – I’d had such lovely interactions with them, I’d felt brave enough to ask a question at the panel, I’d had a brandy – so in a moment of quietness I asked what they would tell their previous selves around the time they got cast in Lone Star. I then told them that their future selves will be proud of them right now. The compliment landed well but then I had to repeat the question. Rafa answered very beautifully about how he wouldn’t say anything because it would steer things off course. Again, paraphrasing, but his past self needed to stumble through the dark and illuminate rooms when he found the switch, and he can’t be guided to those switches. But one day all the rooms will be lit. Essentially, it’s okay not to know things, because we can’t. I found this to be a really helpful answer – I didn’t know it’s what I needed, but I’m so terrified on behalf of my future self, all of the time, of the unknowns. The fear of all the things that could go wrong, and how you don’t know until it happens. And because I’m so scared of things going wrong, often I don’t even try. So it was a good reminder to not beat myself up for not knowing all the things I can’t possibly know anyway.

I could feel myself going bright fucking red when I was speaking so I HAD TO ACTUALLY FAN MYSELF while Rafa was answering!!! It was kind of the best of times and the worst of times. Just as Charles Dickens himself predicted.

They were asked how they pictured TK and Carlos in 20 years. Rafa said hopefully retired. Ronen agreed and quipped about a big pension. Ronen said they’d be somewhere tropical with Jonah. Rafa looked at him like he was bonkers and jumped in with “Not with Jonah – let the guy live his life!” and Ronen realised that Jonah would be a grown man lol. It was very sweet to imagine them trying to drag Jonah to their retirement property. I may need to write a Golden Girls-eqsue fic along these lines…

Then!!! At the end, we all posed for a group shot! Rafa started off crouching down next to me! Ahh!! He was about to put his arm around me but then he was told to move to the back! So an extra squish was not had. Never mind! I’d already had plenty. I felt completely fulfilled. I felt like I’d got back what I put in. I have some wishes but no regrets.

Massive, dramatic thank you to @eclectic-sassycoweyes, who I went with. You made me so much braver than I would have been if I’d gone on my own. You made it what it was. We had an amazing time exploring a bit of Paris. It was hot. We got a drink by the Seine. Montmartre is so beautiful. I had a nostalgic mint diabolo. Perfect. We found a roof terrace where we could drink back at the hotel. Even more perfect. Thank you for becoming my 2pm brandy buddy. Thank you for drinking Champagne with me. We are at once old men and glamorous spinsters. I love this for us. I love that our new reality contains these memories. So much fun. So funny. So many revelations. If I could tell my past-self one thing, it would be to give you a tighter hug/kram before I left. And also…unplug the TV at the wall instead of building a tower out of snacks to block out the standby light 😅

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

You do your best not to let anyone else die, are given a tour of your new homeship, and see a grown ass man eat pizza for the first time.

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

[Part one]  [Ao3] [22] [Outfit ref here]

23 * Champagne [12.1k]

"Yeah, I don't know if you like me, Sometimes I think you might hate me, Sometimes I think I might hate you, Maybe you just wanna be me."

Girl, So Confusing - Charli xcx

        You bolted upright, sleepiness gone in your newfound panic. You and Gray watched in abject terror as a familiar face in an unfamiliar outfit strode into the room. You knew which Mark it was instantly, but it was strange to see Mohawk in anything but his torn body suit. Now he wore something more formal, befitting an alien emperor. It was still skintight, clinging to every muscle, mostly dark gray with lighter gray accents on his cuffs and down his chest, sporting a sigil you didn't recognize. Around his waist, a skirt began, blooming out from under one of the lighter accents belt. That same dark teal you associated with him flowed behind his moving legs, in the same color tights that disappeared into thigh high almost cowboy style boots. You didn't judge the outfit or how strange it was because he was going to fucking murder Gray.

        You leaned over Gray, caging him under your body. It was an unfamiliar feeling, being protective over someone who wasn’t yourself. Suppose you felt it for your cat, now in another universe being spoiled by Cecil Stedman. But Caligula was an animal, Gray was, well, not entirely human but still. You were not letting another person you'd come to care about in the vaguest of terms (you told yourself) die. 

        "Stay back." You hissed. Hesitant to use your powers right away. Wondering if they'd even come. 

        "It's okay," Gray said as he gently but firmly pushed you off. Pride was important to a Viltrumite. Having a human protect him bruised it severely. He was not so weak to be unable to defend himself. Plus he could sense no animosity from the man, not even sparing him a glance, only watching you. 

        You kneeled back on the bed, unsure of what to be more surprised by, Gray or Mohawk's actions. The emperor stopped in the middle of the room with a smirk and a gleam in his eyes. "I come in peace. Good to see you up and active." He said, not sounding threatened in the slightest. His eyes slid over to Gray. "Nice job there, bud." 

        Oh fuck, he did have cameras. 

        Yet Mohawk made no move to liberate Gray's head from his shoulders. He went on looking back to you, "Little rude not letting ya'know thee Emperor get some first but I get it- you felt like you owed him." He nodded to himself, "We'll have to have a chat about boundaries later."

        Your brow eased tension. You'd gotten to know Mohawk in the desert, not the best, but still. You hadn't expected him to be so relaxed about this. This had to be a bait and switch. The second you let your guard down, he was going to rush forward and kill Gray. Except, he didn't have to wait, he was faster than you and your words, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. By all logic, he wouldn’t do it at all.

        Still, you stayed kneeling on Gray's bed protectively much to his humiliation, especially when the Viltrumite doctor shuffled in behind Mohawk.

         "What is this?" You spit, watching the doctor pause next to Mohawk, waiting for approval to approach.

        Your venom was expected. You'd always been overly defensive, even if it was a little annoying. "Jeez, getting all their wounds healed has made somebody cranky. You're welcome, by the way." 

        You visibly relax at this. Remembering whose medbay you were in. Good, Mohawk thinks, maybe we do have something to work with here.

        "If you two are done fuckin', doc's gotta check on your vitals."

        You stayed in place a moment longer. Giving Gray a look to check if he was okay with this. He was, but he was also very much against you, a weak human, trying to be the strong one for him- in front of the emperor of Viltrum- even if it was himself. Deciding his face isn't too horrified, you slipped off the bed. Mohawk nodded, the doctor moved forward, going for you first. 

        He did the exam right there, with you standing in the middle of the medbay. Had you do some minor physical tests you remembered doing in elementary school. Then he pulled the disc out of your arm which apparently was full of a cocktail of Viltrumite-made medicine. Instead of telling you the all clear, he told Mohawk who grinned at your obvious annoyance. 

        The doctor moved on to Gray, whose elevated temperature and heart rate were an alarm. "You shouldn't be experiencing a fever, even if it’s low grade," the doctor said, checking and rechecking the disc in his gut, "it's not possible with your-"

        "It's not a fever," Mohawk said. "He just blew a load, did some physical activity, that's all."

        The doctor went ramrod straight, hands flying off Gray like he'd been burned. "Oh yes, of course. Other than the hm... elevated levels of serotonin and his temperature, he can leave the medbay after I do some more checks, but I suggest leaving the healing cache in another day or two."

        "Cool, cool," but what Mohawk really cared about was, "how about that guy?" 

        You didn't expect him to want an update on Gray, let alone Phantom. But there he was patiently listening to the doctor as he translated the digitized chart that was all Greek to you. "He's nearly stable. The lab team has informed me they're almost done with the prosthetics. They should be ready for connection within a day or two. I say we keep him intubated until then."

        "Whatever gets him working faster," Mohawk said. 

        Both of their backs were to you, watching Phantom float mindlessly in the chamber. You could walk out right now but you knew it was a fool's errand. You were on an alien spaceship with no way to get home- you kind of had to watch and see what would happen. Once you figured things out, you'd use your powers to get the fuck out of dodge. Getting nursed back to health was cool and all but being kidnapped wasn't. 

        "So are you going to tell me what the fuck's going on or what?" You asked.

        The doctor spun around, looking ready to clutch his pearls. He opened his mustachioed lip to spit an insult but Mohawk's cackling stopped him. Mohawk spun, skirt-cape swaying behind his legs. "I know it hasn't even been a day since last time we talked but God babe, I missed you." He laughed a few more moments until the sound petered off into jumpy breaths. He met your glare and said to the doctor, "Call the council if you need anything, I'm gonna be busy a few hours."

        "Yes sir." You barely heard the Viltrumite say as Mohawk stalked toward you. You stepped back, once, twice. Wondering if now was a good time to attack. Mohawk disappeared from your view in a flash. Your stomach dropped.

        Then, you felt a thick arm wrap around your elbow like you were his hot date down Hollywood Boulevard. You jumped at the contact and tried to snake your arm away, but Mohawk only pinned your elbow between his arm and side. "You wanted to know what the fuck was going on, yeah?"

        You stopped fighting. He smiled, "Good." He moved then, walking fast out of the room making you trip over your bare feet to keep up. You shot a look back at Gray who was watching you go with a level expression. "He'll be fine." Mohawk said as the door automatically slid open. "Won't even be worrying 'bout you long, he'll be sleepin' like a baby in five minutes. But enough about him," he stepped into the hall, taking you with him, "I've got a few surprises for you."

        "Everything is a surprise because I don't know what's going on." You looked up and down the hall. Slate gray and smooth both ways down. The hall was hexagonal, rectangular slits of windows evenly interspersed every few yards. Doors are so flush to the wall you wouldn't know they were there if not for their mechanical outline. 

        Mohawk watched your eyes. "You get used to how sci-fi it is after awhile." He tugged you along, "Come on, I can tell you more while you stretch out your knees a lil more."     

        The hall was never-ending. There were plenty of doors to go into, some bigger than others but Mohawk never took you through them. He talked on and on; explaining the bare face of his plan. Fix the damage his absence had done. Use the other Mark's to stop the leak of power. You had a similar reaction to Markus about Scars and Lensless state of still living- which he expected and explained why. There simply weren't enough officers left to fix the empire while they waited for their half-human children back on Earth to finally get their powers. 

        "But don't worry, I've got some of my best shadowing them, babe, you're completely safe."

        "I don't feel very safe." You said despite being in the safest place in the universe- on the Emperor's arm. You just didn't know it yet, Mohawk couldn't wait to prove it to you. 

         "Don't make that face." He pinched your cheek. You jerked your head away. Playing hard to get only made him want to chase harder. "I'm working on fallbacks if they lose Thula and Lucan. Plus, when we're done fixing shit, you can kill them yourself."

        Finally, the scowl was wiped from your face, you sweet, bloodthirsty thing. "I thought you said-"

        "The empire has a problem but it'll be fixed and when it's fixed, I'll let you choose how they die. I've got a few ideas but I'm sure by then you'll have way more than me." He laughed, "I'm looking forward to seeing what you'll do."

        On one hand, he was implying your future survival. On the other, Scars and Lensless being alive was directly paramount to that survival. "I want them as far away from me as possible. Shouldn't be hard, this place is fucking huge." You were sure you'd walked a mile by now. Your knees were starting to get creaky. 

        "Last I checked, the ship's three miles long, half a mile wide." The ship was filled with near identical halls like this one. Running up and down the hull like airy veins.

        "You're kidding." It'd be easier to avoid them than you thought.

        "What? Poor little baby can't handle walking?" Before you could reply, your knees were swept out from under you. Secured in the crook of his elbow. Again he holds you like a princess, though this time you aren't passing out. "Lemme help us both out and stop you from complaining."

        You hadn't been complaining but he'd been waiting for an excuse to pick you up. Out in the desert, he had to be careful with his affections for survival reasons, here he could do as much gross PDA as he wanted. Being the emperor had its perks. 

        Now you complained. Telling him to put you down, saying you could walk, but he knew your body needed to rest. Unfortunately, you did too. 

        It was a miracle when the hall took a turn. Opening up into a wider space where other halls converged. Blue banners, the same shade as Mohawk's skirts hung high from the ceiling. Partly covering the roof windows showing off the darkness of space. Again, you were relieved to see stars. This universe was alive, filled with stars and planets, not circling the drain like the place you had been stuck. Just the blinking stars you were used to on Earth would have impressed you, but up here in orbit, there was no smog or light pollution to gray the colors and hide distant planets. You could stare at it for hours, but Mohawk kept moving. 

        "This is where I hold bigger public council meetings and where I record stuff to send to agents or colonies or whoever's stupid enough to rebel." He said. You followed his eyes to the crux of the room, a slightly elevated platform with a stark white background with that same sigil on his chest, outlined in gray. You saw no camera or screens. "Viltrumites are suuuuper against anything not being like, sleek or aerodynamic or whatever. Everything's tucked up in the walls. You'll definitely see me use it soon. Gotta tell the whole universe I'm back somehow." 

        You weren't entirely sure if the universe was waiting for that announcement. Maybe they'd hoped the empire would stay quiet, fizzle out. Maybe they'd rejoice. On TV Omni Man had said the empire were the good guys, as long as no one fought back. "Think people will be relieved?"

        He huffed a laugh as he passed the room by. "No. They think we're totally corrupt but we're the ones with literally all the solutions to their problems. Their fault so many of them fought back. Imagine, having the easy way out handed to you on a silver platter and you spit at the server." He looked down at you, "That's just plain stupid, right? Only makes sense we correct 'em until they learn to listen."

        You had a feeling he was talking about more than rebellious alien planets. Submitting to this, to him, would be easier. You had done it for Machine Head, had become a background character in your own life, but Mohawk wanted more from you than Machine Head had ever wanted.

        You changed the subject, "Where are we going?" He'd left the room, took another hall much larger than the last. Shorter too, you could see a large door at the end. 

        "Told you it was a surprise but-" he paused in front of the door. Something in the walls vibrated and you felt a tingle go over your skin. The system sensed the Emperor's DNA and one of the few with access- you- and let the door smoothly slide open. "This is our room."

        The walls and floor matched the colors of the outer halls. Smooth and polished, thick windows faced the outside to the left and right. In the room's center was a king size bed, made up with fresh blue and gray sheets. Either side it the outline of unopened doors.

        Shoved against one of the windowed walls was a long desk and comfy looking chair. A stack of reports and further empire updates sat in its center, waiting to be gone through. Mohawk rolled his eyes at the sight. He hadn't told Kregg not to drop off the reports, but this was obnoxiously efficient. He'd almost forgotten how fast things were expected to be turned around in the empire. Whatever, they could wait until after takeoff. He could sit you in his lap, make the chore go by faster one way or another.

        The rest of the room was plain. He never spent much time in here, always out on some mission or dealing with some political whatever. The Viltrumite side of him never saw fit to decorate beyond what was needed. Dad had kept this place well furnished. Mohawk threw everything out. Replaced the bed, got a new desk. He didn't want to breathe a molecule of his dad's weakness. Yet here he was, sleeping in his room. He liked the view, liked how close it was to the important parts of the ship, but he still despised that it was Dad's and now it was his like the whole empire.

        "You like it?" He asked even though it's clear to him, you think it looks empty- un emperor-like.

        "It's a room." That gave him pause because the first time he brought you here, the dead you, you'd said the exact same thing. It settles into him now- you were back in his bedroom, in his arms, hovering over the same spot by the door he killed you in. 

        He set you down fast, like you burned him and was instantly at the other side of the room. Pressing a button so expertly flush to the wall, it was near invisible. A chamber opened but he didn't see what was inside, his eyes gone glassy, his heart hammering in his chest. What if he put you down so fast he shattered your legs? What if he killed you again? What if he-

        "The surprise is clothes?" You said behind him, sounding very much alive. Sounding snippy and rude and not soft and fawning like the other you had been- that traitorous bitch he loved so much. You wouldn't get the chance to betray him. He'd groom you not to and if that failed... well. He needn't think of those plans now, not when things seemed to be on track.

        "Not just some clothes, a walk-in closet full of 'em." He hovered deeper into the new room. The walls were rife with fabric hung off hangers. One was populated by a shoe rack that went so high there was a rolling ladder next to it. A bench sat in the very middle. He'd seen you sat there a million times, trying on another shoe and sock combination when you were already late to whatever meeting he was dragging you to. He should've left you there, fussing over clothes instead of taking you along, but he could never bring himself to leave you. 

        You, the dead version of you, loved clothes. He was unsure if you held the same interest or style. It had been a mild shock to see you again for the first time in such a bummy outfit.

        You followed him inside. Eyes never staying in one place long. There was always a piece of clothing shinier and gaudier than the next. Some you could maybe see yourself wearing. Some were so out there, they had to be from another planet, most likely they were. 

        It was surreal. Walking into her closet, smelling her in the air- it smelled like your own apartment. You felt a pang of homesickness but this place wasn't yours. There was no cat hair sticking to every soft surface, no gross stain in the ceiling. You walked forward until you caught yourself reflected in a full-body mirror set into the one ungarmented slit in the wall. You wondered if she looked the same or if she was as different as Mohawk had been to your Mark. You wondered how she looked in these clothes, so fine and well tailored you could never hope to afford a single one. Yet here you were, inheriting it all. 

        Mohawk was eerily quiet for some odd minutes. You were too. Not knowing what to say but feeling oddly close to tears. You held them back. It felt weird to mourn for a dead version of yourself. Dressed Barbie-doll pretty at the Emperor's side. She must've been so scared all of the time, must've cared so much about the people the Empire was oppressing, Mohawk had said she betrayed him, but you didn't know what that entailed. Just that you were none of those things.

        You couldn't wear any of this. It was too much.

        "So where's your closet?" You asked.

        Mohawk was stiff when he turned around. "Don't have one. My section's right here." He reached an arm out, touching a small array of clothes. A fraction compared to everything else. It was all deep grays and blues. Variations of Viltrumite uniforms you assumed. "She always wanted to get me more clothes but there's only so much Kregg will let me wear without laying into me. Like yeah, I'm the Emperor but that guy lectures me about culture like nobody else." Kregg hadn't ever had to tell Nolan any that. Nolan had fit right in like a perfect puzzle piece where Mohawk was more irregular. He'd always sensed the older man liked his father much, much more than himself but it was never a problem, so he never brought it up.

        You went to inspect it, to see if you'd fit into any of them.

        You saw it then, it stopped you dead in your tracks, the very same outfit you'd worn to prom. The prom Mark skipped and left you alone at, only to show up at your stoop hours later. Except she'd had it tailored better, somehow prettier. You wanted to burn the thing, to burn this whole fucking walk in. Instead you said, "You were together awhile?"

        He followed your gaze, eyes going soft, his own memories clouding his vision, "On and off since high school." He shows you his belly, his weakness. 

        "Were you friends before?" You remembered it so vividly. Meeting Mark in middle school after you were moved again. New state, new city, new people looking after you. He was your hallway crush a long time before you ever spoke. You could vaguely remember reading a borrowed, torn-up copy of the first issue of Seance Dog in study hall.

        He leaned over from his seat right next to yours and said, "This first issue totally sucks but stick with it. It gets really good." From there, it turned into a simple school friendship. You never had enough classes together to talk. He offered you his number to keep in touch but you didn't have a phone. You missed that connection as middle school turned to highschool. Then he started coming into your work. It'd been too long since you've talked to start things where you'd left off plus, he'd gotten way hotter. You'd both changed, he hadn't even remembered you were from middle school until you told him. 

        The second time he gave you his number, you had a phone. Things snowballed quickly. You remembered falling hard, fast. Remember the emotional fallout more vividly.

        "Neighbors." He said. "We were always around each other in school and stuff but I didn't notice her till, you know," he held his hands in front of his chest. Of course. "You?"

        She really was different from you. She got to live suburban. You were shooed from place to place. Only made sense after what you did but still. Part of you hated her a little for having such a good life- then living it with Mark like a fucking idiot. 

        "He came into my work."

        "That coffee shop, right?" His eyes light up at the memory. You can almost see her, seventeen, in uniform with all sorts of accessories your boss would hate. You were too scared to go against dress code like that, couldn't lose your job no matter what. You were angry at your imaginary version of a dead girl.

        You knew it was a bad idea. You shouldn't ask, but you did anyways. "She live with her parents?" 

        "Oh yeah. Man, your pops hated me. Always was tellin' you to break up with my ass and date William instead even though he was super not interested. Shit, and your mom-"

        "Don't act like I'm her." You said quietly, staring at the outfit that seemed so ugly in retrospect. His face fell a degree, confused, you could smell the blood in the water and blindly bit. "I wasn't some rich bitch who lived with their parents in a hundred-thousand dollar house."

        Mohawk's chin goes back, as if struck. He thought you had a good thing going, where had this aggression come from? "Are you good, babe?"

        "No." You snapped. "I'm in some stupid dead bitch's closet! I'm not wearing any of this shit." Even if some of it looked comfortable or nice or cool. "Just give me a generic uniform or something. If you don't, I'll just wear this." You gestured down to the hospital gown. Really not wanting to do as you said but willing to- just to not wear any of this.

        He blinked, processing. Suppose he should've expected some lashing out. Still, he didn't appreciate your tone, didn't like the way you talked about her.

        "You really are different." He said, reaching out into his small section of the closet. "She was never stupid enough to talk to me like that." He pulled out a suit similar to his own, but with much less markings and no skirt at all. He threw it at you. You caught it no problem but the fabric hit you hard. "It'll morph to your body." He moved past you toward the door. "I'll be out here. Let me know when you're changed and feeling like less of a bitch."

        You glared at him as the door slid open. "Fuck you." 

        He cracked a nasty grin. Sliding easy back into his old antagonizing role. "Oh, you will." The door slid shut and you were alone. 

        As it turned out, Viltrumites really didn't wear underwear. That dead bitch had plenty of lacy sets but you avoided them. So you stepped naked into Mohawk's suit. The fabric loose until you zipped the thing up the middle. The fibers tightened then until it clung to your skin. Huh, so that's how they did that. 

        You stayed in the closet awhile. Simmering in your own angst, surrounded by overindulgence. You hated every pretty outfit you wished you could've grown up wearing. Hated that you were so jealous it hurt. Hated that you hated her because she was murdered and was literally you.

        You exited the closet to find Mohawk sitting hunched on the bed. Back to you, going straight soon as he heard the door whoosh. He turned, impatience on his tongue that fell away as soon as he saw you in his clothes.

        He's up, in front of y ou, hands hovering by your side because in this room- he was scared to touch you. Still, he couldn't help himself, "Why did I never think of this? God damn, you look good."

        "Because you don't think." You said.

        He was expecting your ire now. Took it gracefully with a grin. "Ah, so you left the closet still feeling like a bitch. Think I can help with that," he leaned onto his desk, gesturing for you to, "bend over. We can be a few minutes late to the lab."

        You walked past him. He lingered, watching your ass. Holy fuck. You stood in front of the door as it slid open, having no idea where you were going. "I want my own room."

        "Not happening." He stood, pleased that you waited for him at the door, that you wanted to be led like a good bitch. "Don't trust the others not to try something while you're sleeping." The validity of that statement was worrying. You don't argue to his delight.

        "Fine. What's in the lab?"

        "Angstrom, obviously."

        You didn't know what you expected. A clear wall with a bedroom, Hannibal style. Maybe a goo chamber like Phantom. You weren't however, expecting Angstrom Levy restrained in thick machinery centered around his head. Tubes were attached to nearly every naked rib and to every visible fold of his engorged brain, ending in needles so fat they pushed away surrounding skin in a dimple. Where there wasn't tubing, there were chains, blood, or both. A single Viltrumite oversaw a buzzing group of green-skinned alien scientists. 

        The Martians were the second planet behind Earth to feel the closing fist of the Viltrum regime under the new Emperor. At first they resisted but quickly, within minutes, surrendered. Most of the population was killed as punishment. The rest onboarded to the empire for their scientifically minded brains and shapeshifting abilities. The empire didn't often employ spies but they had their uses.         

        Mohawk didn't use them to spy. After you died, he had them shift into you just so he could hold and talk to you again. But it was never right, they didn't understand human turns of phrase, didn't move like you. He tried filling the void with a harem of them trained to act like you but it never did a thing for him. One of the first things he did upon returning to the empire was send them back to the labs to work so you wouldn't see. You couldn't fathom how deeply desperate he was for you to love him back, and he knew the display wouldn't help.

        Mohawk leaned on the railing that overlooked the room, wondering idly which of the identical aliens he'd slept with before. "You can really tell these little fuckers were bored without me cuz look at 'em go. Like, I told 'em to be rough with the guy but hah, this is worse than what I was thinking." At those last words, a scientist looked up, face morphing into terror at being watched by the Emperor. The same man who killed much of Mars' population despite their surrender. Mohawk yelled down at him, "Nice job, dickheads!" This didn't reassure the Martians at all, but the Viltrumite nodded in thanks. 

        "What are you doing to him?" You asked.

        "Makin' sure he can't back outta the deal we made. Guy promised me other dimensions and I'm gonna get 'em. Just gotta cut whatever power he's got outta him then kill him. Easy." 

        There were so many things you could ask but you only cared about, "You're not letting me go home, are you?"

        "What home?" He huffed, "Said it yourself, you didn't have one."

        You reared on him, shoving a finger into his hard chest, "I had an apartment before you fucking destroyed it." 

        "Still don't have a home then." He lifted his arms to the high ceiling, twisted with piping, pumping whatever chemicals into Angstrom Levy's limp body. "Just accept it babe, this is your home now."

        "You kidnapped me."

        "I'm giving you a better life because the one you talked about having? Sucked." His brows press together when you don't fall to your knees and start graciously sucking him off. "Seriously, what're you so mad about? You were powerless there and now you get to fucking rule the universe with me." 

        Your face slackened at the mention of power. Before this mess, you'd mulled over the idea of climbing the ladder, getting more power. Had never gone after it seriously but now it was just... there for the taking. You didn't have to work for it. You were suddenly skyrocketed to the top. No more street or desert scrapping. 

        Mohawk saw the cogs turning in your head. Goes right for your vulnerable heart, putting hands softly on your shoulders, "I know it's a lot to take in at once. I was in your shoes a few years ago too. I just went with the flow and let it happen. I like it here, you will too."

        It felt too easy to fall into complacency, you didn't have to fight. You almost didn't want to and that scared you. 

        "Did she like it here?" You said meanly.

        Mohawk's grip tightened, then loosened so much his touch was nearly undetectable. "I think so, sometimes."

        Except she betrayed him in the end. Hated what he was doing so much she planned on letting the Coalition get at him. Either imprison him or kill him. Some part of her loved him, smiled with him, but another deeper, truer part of her- of you- hated what the empire, what he, stood for. But not the luxuries it brought or the planets you explored or the stars you saw. He hoped that'd be enough for you. That you and your killer tendencies wouldn't try and get in his way. Maybe, one day, you could really get involved in the politics. Go over reports and battle strategy with him. He wanted it more than you could know.

        While he's in his head, you contemplated using your powers. But there were too many people, too many factors. You didn't even know if Angstrom was awake enough to listen to you. You'd have to come back when the place was nearly empty. Sure, Mohawk was offering a dream but it wasn't what you wanted. You just wanted to be normal and have enough to survive not this crazy space opera bullshit. 

        "Are you that sure I'll like it here?" 

        No, and that scared him but he had something he knew you wanted.

        "I have something else to show you." He took you again by the arm and led you out of the room. 

        He led you down into the bowels of the ship. You passed through door after door, each with a DNA scanner set behind the wall. There was a hard faced guard blocking the last door, the only door in the narrow hallway. Blue-skinned and standing well over seven feet tall. He stepped out of the way as soon as he saw Mohawk.

        Viltrumites weren't a traitor race. Backstabbing was never expected, still, this one single cell was made for the sole purpose of containing a Viltrumite completely. There was another cell block on the other side of the ship, spacious, near identical to the ones on the asteroid, but nothing as secure as this. He needed to be secured, without the chance to ever escape, so together, you could torture him to death without worry.

        The door slid open into a small square room. The walls bare, without vent nor nick. The ceiling gave all the light needed, which was little. Prisoners didn't need to see. You could make out his form well enough. Forced onto his knees, bent forward with his arms trapped in massive cuffs that came up from the floor. His ankles were in the same state. 

        His suit was gone, replaced by an outfit that made your breath catch. The very same Mark, the one who killed himself on your whim, wore. From multiple places blood has seeped through the white fabric. Wounds left to scab over on their own. One of his eyes shone purple in the dim light, swollen as his bottom lip. 

        You hadn't thought about his whereabouts. Hadn't thought about him other than in vague, bitter terms. If you had thought about him, you'd assume he was dead but there he was, alive and looking up at you, horrified. "You're... keeping him alive?"

        Mark's lips and throat worked to find words but nothing came out. Seconds after you passed out, Mohawk ordered Thula onto him, not to kill but to hurt and contain. He didn't stand a chance. Was knocked out when she was done playing with him. Woke up down here. Screamed for help that never came, until now, in the shape of you.

        Mohawk smiled as he leaned into your back. Arms idly coming around your waist. You didn't push them off, too entranced by the sight In front of you to care. "Look babe, I know I can be a real dick. So I thought, whenever you're mad at me, you can come down here and torture him."

        You'd wanted to kill Mark so badly for so long but now that it was in front of you, so plain and easy, it felt different. Wrong? Bad? Good? You didn't know. You'd always assumed you'd never actually get the chance.

        Mohawk assumes your silence is about your human weakness. "Oh, don't worry, just point and I'll punch or stab or break. I didn't just get him for you, ya'know. Thought he could help bring us together." He nuzzled his smooth chin into your neck. Fingers pulse on your sides. "Get the blood flowin', if you know what I mean." His nose pressed to your skin.

        Mark's eyes were set on you, pleading better than you'd ever imagined. He takes it all in, mind reeling. Putting together quickly that you just might be his one and only chance to escape. Mohawk was all over you and you clearly weren't a prisoner. You had sway. 

        "You know this isn't right." Mark finally said, voice scratchy from how hard Thula had punched him in the throat. Mohawk paused sniffing you to look at him. Mark knows it's a fools errand to reason with a bad guy but he had to try. "This isn't us."

        Mohawk's laugh made your ears pop. "Yes, it is asshole. God, this guy really thinks he's a superhero, hm?"

        "He is a superhero." You said blankly. The shock starting to wear. Suppose this was what Mark deserved, you think, he threw you in prison. He abandoned you not once, but twice. Back as teenagers, then again as adults. He left the whole planet to burn for some dumb ginger bitch. He deserved this and worse. 

        "Not here, looks like a Viltrumite prisoner to me!" Mohawk chirped.

        Mark's heart dropped when you smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, he does."

        "He helped destroy the planet." Mark said, "He killed hundreds of thousands of people. He-"

        "And who let that happen?" You replied.

        "He did it!" Mark cried, "He literally killed them!"

        "I asked you for help and you wouldn't even look at me." The memory makes you want to kick him, so you do, in the chin with the inlined steel toe of the suit's boot. It does nothing to him but it made you feel better. "I could've died. I almost did trapped in that fucking desert. You know who helped me stay alive?" You jut your thumb back toward a grinning Mohawk. "He did. I don't give a fuck who he killed. All that matters is I'm alive. Too bad we couldn't grab your bitch girlfriend too, then maybe you'd care about what you've done." If only you knew how much Eve wanted to help. It didn't matter though, she never got the chance. 

        Mark's face twitched between a sneer and open mouthed horror. "What happened to you (Y/n)?" During your relationship, you'd been so normal. In retrospect, there were some things about you that were strange, the fact you lived alone so young, that you were cagey about where you'd come from before middle school. Eve said you probably had a bad life. She thought that's why you ended up working for Machine Head for money, because you didn't know what else to do- so desperate to hang onto the relationship. But he didn't know for sure, you were just another one of Mark's mistakes, coming back to bite him in the ass.

        "You did." It had always been your explanation. He had changed you for the worse. 

        "No." Mark says, "Whatever happened, you did it to yourself."

        You kicked him again because you knew in some ways, he was right. But what else were you supposed to do? You hadn't known he was a superhero, you thought his interest was slipping away, that the dates he missed were because you were lacking. You wanted to go to college together to try and fix it. He'd made you feel the most normal you had in a long, long time. How were you supposed to easily let that go?

        Mohawk's grip on you tightens, pulling you from your thoughts. "Is it bad I wanna fuck the shit outta you right here, right now?" He said it low into the shell of your ear, grinding himself into your ass where you could feel the start of a hard-on. Mark recoiled as much as he could in his bindings. Disgust clearly written across his face. You'd already done the same thing once to spite Phantom, but that was because you'd forgotten he was there with Mohawk inside of you. Phantom loved you, it felt good to hurt him. Mark didn't, he already hated you. That just felt... excessive.

        "It is." You said, trying to ignore the stirrings of arousal in your gut. You were still very much mad at Mohawk for kidnapping you. But taking Mark along with him was a big plus in his favor.

        "Come on, babe." His hands traveled slowly up your sides, sending a jolt down your spine. "Let's show him what he's missing." 

        "Stop it." You slapped at him but his hands still roamed. Moving to the front of your body to your chest where he took you up in his palms, kneading the flesh idly. Even through the suit, he caught your nipples between his knuckles, rolling them sharply and making you gasp. You tried to stop yourself but they both had already heard it. Mohawk delighted in it and you could feel his hum, while Marks dark eyes widened, almost in fear. 

        "Doesn't sound like you want me to." His breath wafted hot over your neck. Hips rolling into your ass, sending heat pooling faster, faster to your gut. 

        "I do." But the more he worked at you, the less you feel that's true. It would be fun to make Mark suffer through the sight. A version of himself that loved you- fucking you in front of him.

        "No, you don't." Mark could only watch as Mohawk's hand lowered to the blue fabric that formed a point between your thighs. Watching as you gasped as Mohawk pressed his fingers in, rubbing you through it. Watched as you melted back into Mohawk.

         You moaned a non-convincing, "Stop."

         Mohawk pulled more sounds out of you, sucking on your neck, rubbing at you. You should stop this for real. Use your powers. But you couldn't. It felt so good rubbing Mark's nose into despair and being played with by Mohawk. You didn't stop him as his finger moved, gripping the fabric to pull away a hole to fuck you through.

        "There's not a zipper there, dumbass." You sounded somewhat composed without fingers rubbing on your clit.

        "Don't worry, I've got a spare in my closet." He said.

        "Stop it." Mark said, it was tinged with hysteria, with disbelief. "Stop!"

         Mohawk went still. Not because he'd listen to Mark but because Kregg was in his earpiece, telling him the preparations were ready and they'd be taking off any minute. "Ah shit, we gotta go." His hot touch was gone from you all at once. You nearly stumbled without the support, legs turned to jelly. He caught your hand and led you out of the room.

        You looked back and caught Mark's slack jaw. Shame floods in, but not as much as the satisfaction of traumatizing him. "See you later."

        ***

         You couldn't believe your eyes. 

        Mohawk had said there was one last surprise. At first, you thought it was seeing the other Marks, even Gray released from the hospital in the time since you'd last seen him. Though Phantom was nowhere to be found, presumably up in his goo tank healing.

        Mohawk had already filled you in, but it was still shocking to see them again. Free of desert dust and hair grease. Changed from their ruined suits to Viltrum style bodysuits comprised of grays and slightly darker grays. All of them with that same skirt Gray wore, except Lenless who either tore it off or picked the one suit where you could see a hardon if he got one- as he so often did. 

        They were gathered in a long, narrow room. Nowhere near big as the galactic announcement room, but big enough for the massive table they were hovering around, talking amongst themselves. Surely enough, there was Markus and Gray by the tables end, lowly talking about the differences from the empires they knew to this one. Lensless and Scars leaned against the thick glass wall that showed off the curve of the Earth. Laughing to each other like they hadn't tried killing each other multiple times. Seb sat at the opposite window, alone, hunched over looking at his gray boots. Wishing for a friend who was normal and not up the empire's ass. You wondered where Maskless was, he hadn't been in the medbay. You couldn't remember seeing him come through the portals with the others, but you had been delirious with bloodloss. 

        At the room's other entrance stood Thula and Lucan. Arms folded behind their backs, waiting for their charges to cause trouble.

        You and Mohawk stood at the room's threshold. His arm again forced through yours. You didn't much care, honestly, because laid out on that table was real fucking food. Some you'd dreamed about for months in the desert, some you hadn't had in years. But mostly there was pizza. All of it fatty and mouth-watering and you wanted it in your mouth- yesterday. 

        You couldn't give two shits about Mohawk's dramatic entrance. You surged forward, trying to drag him behind you, but he pulled you back. Intent only on walking in when everyone turned to look at him. So far, only Markus and Gray had. Markus knew you'd pull through, your injuries had been bad for a human but not fatal, seeing you healthier looking already was a relief. Gray had only seen you less than an hour ago but he flushed and tried to focus on something monotonous so he didn't get a boner at the flash of memories. 

        You scowled at Mohawk, "Come on already." 

        Scars, Lensless, and Seb's heads collectively turning. 

        Mohawk laughed not bitterly, he expected this, and stalled to see what you'd do. "Just had to ruin my entrance, didn't you?"

        "I haven't eaten anything but-" Mark. Mark isn't here. His jerky remains still sit in that dug-out campsite in a sack. That's no burial at all. You should've known things were coming to a head but you hadn't. Now he'd never really be at peace. You swallowed the sorrow you were determined not to show, "That in months. Come on." You tug at him and he relented, walking you toward the table. Closer to Lensless who smiled- his mask finally peeled off his cheeks revealing a harsh tan line. Like everyone else, he'd shaved but his shave job was patchy, leaving little dots of stubble over his jaw.

        "They really do got crazy medicine if you're already walking again." He said.

        Mohawk agreed to keep the fucker alive but man, he really didn't enjoy it. "If you get a boner at my dinner table, I'm kicking you out."

        Lensless saluted, "I promise I won't get a boner, boss." 

        "I totally believe you." Mohawk reached for the chair at the table head. 

        Gray was faster, pulling the chair out. His father always taught him to respect Viltrum's leader, Thragg. While Viltrumites weren't big on little social gestures, humans, like his mother, were. She taught him manners when nobody would. 

        Mohawk eyed him, surprised before sitting in the chair, saying a slightly pleased, "Thanks." Gray moved to push the chair in but Mohawk held up his hand. stopping him, "She hasn't sat yet." He looked up at you, thighs spreading, giving you the choice of left or right. 

        "Uhm." You dry swallow, thinking how mintues ago you were ready or him to fuck you. Your embarrassment is written hot all over your face to his delight. Mohawk stretched his legs a little wider in suggestive invitation. "I can just-" Your leg moved back to pull out the closest chair. Foot gently kicking into Scars' leg, who'd sat himself in the closest chair when you were turned.

        "Go right ahead." He said. 

        You snarled down at him, "I'm not even sure why you're alive right now." 

        "Cuz the Emperor said so." His smile, long toothed with his exposing scar, made you sick. You had to remember he was just a pawn Mohawk plans to kill.

        "I'd rather not be anywhere near the guy who bit a fucking chunk out of me. Thanks for the scar, by the way." You'd looked in the mirror in that closet. The doctors had given you alien steroids that advanced the healing process, nearly grew the piece entirely back. But the flesh remembered, left you marked where his teeth first sunk in. Leaving imprints of his teeth forever in your shoulder. 

        His brows went up and you think his dick. "Scar?" He reached up for you but Mohawk reeled you back, forced you onto his knee.

        "Don't make me kill you at the pizza party." He said, "Also? We talked about this shit, move down." Mohawk pointed like he was a bad dog at the chair furthest from you.

        You watched Scars face twitch through a few different emotions before he stood up abruptly and moved seats. Teeth grinding. Fists twitching. He tells himself he'd make Mohawk pay one day, just keep playing along.

        Mohawk made no acknowledgement, only looking to the others who stood tersely to watch how Scars would react. "The rest of you, sit."

        Chairs smoothly pull out and push in. Asses are in seats all at once. Except Seb who lingered behind the last empty chair, directly across from Scars. He eyed Scars dangerously but Scars only smiled. "You can try me again if you'd like but we both know I'd win. Why don't you listen to our beloved Emperor and sit your pathetic ass down."

        Seb scoffed, not taking the bait, "Yeah, you sure do love listening to him, huh?"

        He sat without looking at Scars who was still bristling from having to follow directions. The table was full but there was nowhere for you to go. 

        "You didn't even get enough chairs, I'm not sitting on your lap to eat," You looked to Seb, "and where's Maskless? Why isn't he here?"

        Scars laughed, hard and harsh, "Yeah, where is he?" Before you could say anything, Seb flew across the table for him. Only to be grabbed by both ankles, one by Markus, the other by Gray.

        "Sit." Gray said.

        While Markus said, "Don't be a fool."

        "He killed him." Seb pulled against their hold to no avail. Scars watched, unbothered. You felt your stomach drop out your ass, he really hadn't made it through the portal. "He fucking killed him for no reason and you guys are cool with that?" 

        "He was trying to kill me." Scars said evenly. "You all were, but I won't hold a grudge." It was a lie, an obvious one that made Seb stretch out his arms to try and grab the man. He couldn't.

        Thula looked to Mohawk if she should intervene. He shook his head.

        "Yeah, and that's why we're alive and you shouldn't be!" Seb tried pulling his feet up, kicking back at his captors but they were too strong. He turned to Mohawk, trying to appeal to politics, "You can't trust this fucker with your empire, dude!"

        "I don't trust any of you," Mohawk said, though he was starting to warm to the idea of Gray in a higher position. "Sit your ass down."

        Seb, in fact, did not sit his ass down. He kept reaching, stretching his body against the others to try and get to Scars who just said, "You heard the Emperor." Seb saw red. Seb wanted to kill him so bad but he was too weak to break free. Too slow to surprise. Scars had been right about him. And if Maskless hadn't swooped in, he'd be the dead one.

        He looked at your face, startled by the revelation, hand pressed to your chest watching him, and he knew he needed to sit down. He wasn't the only one hurt by his death. Seb stopped pulling but the grips on his ankles didn't fall for some seconds. When they did, he sat back in his seat. Sour faced, though his stomach was roaring at the idea of a meat-lovers pizza pie. 

        "You done?" Mohawk asked. Seb stiffly nodded. "Good. Cool. Well, fellas, consider this and me not killing you my token of thanks for everything you did for me in the desert. I know we didn't always get along and honestly-" In lieu of something wedding reception sweet, he said, "I still think most of you are bitches, but alive bitches." He reached out and grabbed a crystal flute filled nearly to the rim with sizzling champagne. "To fixing the empire my general fucked up in my absence." He lifted the glass and waited. 

        Gray would've done it first but he was unfamiliar with this beverage lifting practice. Markus was first, then Lensless so fast most of his drink sloshed down and landed on his lap, then Scars, you, Gray copied everyone else, last was Seb, weakly holding the glass up halfway. He fucking hated champagne.

       "To the empire." Markus echoed before kissing his glass to Mohawk's then yours. 

        "To the empire." Everyone but you, Seb, and the guards followed. Glasses tinked. You brought the flute down to your lips, fizz bit at your skin as you tilted your head back. You'd never had the chance to have nice champagne. When you got drunk it was on a tight budget. You expect it to taste like cardboard and Wall Street. It does, at first, but there's a sweetness when it hits the back of your throat. The headiness of the alcohol going straight to your dome. You couldn't remember the last time you got drunk. 

        The first flute was emptied. You set it down, gasping in air. Mohawk set his own down, a third gone. "It used to be her favorite too." 

        "I don't like it." You lied, "I just like being drunk." 

        He smiled knowingly and pushed the rest of his flute toward you. So many eyes were on you, sat on the Emperor's lap, one of his hands snaked around your waist, gripping your hip not unpleasantly. You couldn't deal with the shame and arousal. You took the flute and downed it. Soon as you set it down, Mohawk made you regret it by announcing with a grin, "Good girl."

        Drink already swirled in your head, you knew in five minutes you'll be content and dozy. You bit while you still had teeth, "Can we eat or what?"

        "Ah halheady ham." Lensless said through a mouthful of pineapple dotted pizza. Orange grease dribbled down his chin. Gray looked horrified. 

        Mohawk snickered, "Wouldn't recommend that. Hold onto your glasses everybody." 

        Before anyone could ask why, the ship shuddered. Something deep in its bowels groaned then the whole room lurched. Everything stayed in place but you felt the air push down on your shoulders as the view outside the windows morphed. Earth and its simple night sky was gone. Replaced by blackness streaked through by flashing stripes. 

        Lensless choked on a piece of pineapple. Your head stirred, mind playing to catch up. 

        "Turbulence should be stopping right... about..." The weight lifted, the ship stopped twitching, the stripes flashed with less intensity, "Now." 

        Everyone but Mohawk, Gray, and the guards looked a little rattled. Unused to the feel of a spaceship going warp speed.

        "What the fuck, man?" Seb gripped the table's edge. 

        "I told you, we've gotta fix things up in the western edge of the galaxy. We're almost east as it gets. Even at this speed, it's gonna be a few days before we're at the closest rebel planet." Mohawk picked up a slice, "I should've warned you guys but..." Lensless coughed out the slimy chunk of pineapple onto his plate. "This is way funnier. Dig in, I promise there's no more surprises."

        With mild hesitation, hands and forks reached out to fill their own plates. Alien servants came and went, pouring more pale champagne into glasses and taking empty plates. The first few minutes were filled with the sounds of desperate eating. All of you viciously shoving food into your mouths like you'd never get another chance. Markus and Gray were a little more put together. Gray stuck to the least greasy food he could. Nothing at the table seemed appetizing to him in the slightest. It was all so... shiny.

        He made no complaints but avoided the pizza. Instead watching you eat it looking like you were about to sob. He broke the silence with a, "Is that... a delicacy on your planet?"

        You looked at him, cheeks puffed-out full. Mohawk answered for you, "No, but it's good dude, try some." He pushed a silver tray toward Gray. Some yellow disc poxxed with red meat dots. He hid his cringe well but not enough, Mohawk knew his own micro expressions. "This one's like, my favorite dude, you're gonna cum in your pants when you try it." 

        "I don't think I should eat it then." He said dryly.

        Mohawk rolled his eyes, "Not literally, dipshit." He pushed the tray until it bumped against Gray's scarce plate. "Eat it, that's an order."

        Gray couldn't tell if he was joking so he carefully, as not to drip grease on his pristine clothes, picked up a slice. You watched with attention wrapt as he brought it to his open mouth and bit down. Chewed once, twice, and paused, eyes going wide. 

        Viltrum was a Utopia, yes, but a utilitarian one where creature comforts didn't matter, only the survival of the whole. Food had never been about taste to him, only fuel. He'd had some things that tasted okay, many things that tasted like rubber, but nothing like this. So sinfully salty and oozing with grease it took him a moment to process. 

        He ate it fast as he would let himself without making a mess. He had another slice in his hands before he'd swallowed the last bite of the first.

        "Told ya." Mohawk said with a chuckle, and you couldn't keep the smile off your face. 

        The meal went on. Slowly, slowly, the mood shifted with your increasing un-sobriety. Plus all of you had finally eaten a good meal. You laughed openly without malice for the first time in a long time when Mohawk called out Gray for eating an entire pie by himself. Despite his carefulness, specs of crumbs sat on the corners of his lips. Grease shiny on his cheeks.

        "Excuse me." He said politely when you pointed it out. Somehow more embarrassed about being messy than fucking the Emperor's mate. 

        You got a particularly good laugh at Scars when he openly cringed at the offering of garlic bread from Lensless. Who just asked, "You don't like garlic? What are you, five?"

        Scars kicked him harshly under the table. "I'd rather be eating meat is all."

        He rolled his good eye, "Look bro, I liked cannibalism just as much as you did but I think this tastes better."

        "No, it doesn't."

        Lensless huffed, "I know we're both like, a lil out there, but come on, you don't have to be a tough guy all the time." He made the bread sway back and forth, saying, "Here comes the airplane!” 

        "If you put that nasty shit even an inch closer to me, I will eat you."

        You pointed at him, deeply drunk, talking to him for the first time tonight. "He's serious, stupid bastard tried to eat me."

        Seb rolled his eyes, "We get it, he's all over you."

        "No like actually eat me, he bit a chunk out of me, dude." You zipped down the front of the suit, exposing the valley of your chest. Eyes glue to the skin but you paid no mind, all warm and fuzzy. You pulled the fabric to the side, exposing the scar. "Look!"

        They did.

        Markus was enjoying himself watching you wine-drunk like his wife so often used to get. You were the same, silly and light. He hoped soon you'd be this way with him sober, with all of them sober. The reminder of what that freak had done to you harshed his mood, you were being light hearted about it, a smile on your face as you rubbed the scar in Seb's face. But he still asked softly, "Does it hurt?"

        "Hurt? Pssh. It's fine, good, really. Not when he bit the shit outta me though. I was screaming and I thought this guy was dead," you jutted a thumb towards Mohawk, "and that guy was fucked up," to Gray, "I thought I was gonna die. He was going to kill me and he won't even eat garlic bread." You can't stop laughing because it's so stupid in retrospect. You almost got eaten alive by a guy who had the taste buds of a toddler. 

        Your smile infects Lensless, "I thought he was gonna kill you too!"

        There's quiet a moment, then you're both laughing. "I wanted to kill you!" You echoed. 

        "I know! You always say that." He grinned before he exclaimed, "Oh, oh, remember when you shot my eye out!?" He poked at the healed flap of skin, surrounded by slightly discolored flesh. 

        "Remember when I tried to drown you?" 

        "Oh my God, I think about that all the time." He fanned himself and you couldn't help a giggle. 

        Gray looked between you both, confused. "What's so funny about that?"

        "Because it's over." Seb said, shockingly restrained from his usual eating habits tonight, "Because they didn't actually die."

        "Dude, come on, we all survived! Can’t we relax for two fucking seconds?" You said as an alien servant drops off another flute. Maybe your sixth glass, you couldn't remember. You'd regret it bent over a toilet later, but not now. 

        Seb sneered at you. "We all survived, yeah that’s awesome coming from you. You just found out he fuckin' died, an' that's what you have to say? Relax? Are you fuckin' serious? Fuck you."

        "What?" You were so drunk and swept up in everything else you didn't have a response.

        "Hey." Mohawk gave him a warning look. Seb held his tongue.

        "Oliver." 

        "What?" You repeated because you had no idea what he was talking about. 

        "He went by Oliver. Cuz it's- was his middle name." Seb said. He remembered the conversation so clearly. The mild shock that a version of him had a slightly different name. He remembered joking it wouldn't be awkward when they were both called by their middle names.

        "Oh, mine too!" Lensless said. 

        Seb ignored him. "You just called him Maskless because you never bothered to ask." He shouldn't be lashing out, you were friends. You were only smiling because you were drunk and he was only mad because he couldn't be. Mohawk was serving regular champagne that couldn't possibly get them anywhere near tipsy. He missed being a teenager, before his powers kicked in and any substance he tried worked so easily. Now it was a struggle to get drunk or high. He doubted Mohawk kept any of the good shit on this tipped porta-potty of a ship. "But I did because we were actually friends and you could've stopped that dickhead from killing him with your freaky ass mind powers but you didn't!"

        Markus felt bad for the man, really he did, but he had only known Oliver two months. It wasn't that big a deal he thought, certainly not big enough to act so nasty. "Don't speak to my wife like that."

        Seb's cheeks went red. "I-"

        "It's okay, Markus." You said gently. He softened, Seb not so much. "I'm sorry, I couldn't tell what was happening in the storm. I thought if I interrupted I'd fuck things up. I-" Your head pulsed, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. "I didn't mean for that to-"

        Scars spoke for you, "What she's trying to say is good riddance to that weak loser who couldn't possibly serve our Emperor." Everytime he said ‘Emperor’ there was so much fake, sugary reverence you felt cavities form on the back of your teeth. 

        You rear on him, "Oh, fuck you dude. He was cool and actually could'a done something for this-" You threw your arms out to the windows, "Space-empire thing," God you were too drunk to be aruging, "instead of being a stupid, edgy bitch." Scars took the insult on the chin, smiling into his champagne flute as he drank.

        Gray again didn't understand, he wasn't glad a version of him was dead, but the two of you had fought nonstop. "He despised you."        

        You laughed, "I would too! He was just trying to survive and I'm a bitch!”

        "Yeah, you are." Mohawk said with an entirely different energy. Shifting his hips under you. 

       You ignored the feeling, food feeling sour in your stomach as you went in on Scars, "You're a bitch too. Worse than me. If you weren't so fucking crazy and scary Mark would've never taken me to that cave and gone batshit on me. Literally everything is your fault."

        Lensless nodded to himself, elbowing Scars, "She's kinnnndaaa right, buddy."

        "You too, you were part of it! You're just as bad as him!" You yelled at him.

        "Yeah, I totally was, dude." He said with a nod.

       "Stop agreeing with me!"

        "Okay." He still had that shit eating grin on his face.

        You wanted to rip your skin off talking to them, how was this going to work? Why had Mohawk even invited them? Letting them live was one thing, but having them at dinner with you, taunting you and the others was another. 

        "Tch, it's no use arguing with them anyway, Emperor's just gonna give 'em a free pass." Seb said.

        The proclamation quieted the room, because Mohawk had done that. He was going to let those two run around the ship, scott free. Let terror hang over your head. Let Oliver's death go unpunished. He had said he’d keep them far away from you, then let them sit at your dinner table. Not on your watch. 

        You leaned forward, fiddling with the champagne flute's neck, "Hey, Scars?"

        He grinned at the nickname. "Yes, honey?" 

        "Dislocate your jaw." Power slipped on like a glove.

        As soon as the command hit his ears, he opened his mouth, grabbed his chin and yanked it down hard with a sick pop. He came back to himself in a rush of pain, scrambling to set it back in place.

        You weren't done with him, "Hit yourself in the balls."

        It happened faster than the light could hit your retinas. He doubled over the dinner table, looking like he'd sucked a bowling ball. A sound came from the back of his throat, you think it was, "Cunt."

        He floated up to get payback, mouth still opened unnaturally wide. Tongue flopping. You grinned, head spinning, room spinning. You pressed your hand to the shell of your ear. "What was that, honey? I couldn't understand you."

        Scars moved forward to grab you by the neck. Thula shifted forward to stop him but Lensless beat her to it, grabbing Scars by the waist. "I think we should go. It's been fun guys. Oh, and if you could use your powers on me next time (Y/n) that'd be cool." Scars thrashed violently, he wouldn't be contained long. "Okay, gotta go bye!" He shot them both out of the room, Thula and Lucan after them. Assumedly taking Scars to his quarters to calm down. If you were lucky, they'd fight for real and kill each other.

        The room was quiet a moment before Mohawk said, "God, you're so fucking hot." You noticed the two empty seats, yours for the taking. You tried to stand to get away. Mohawk held on, speaking softer, "There's no way you can walk."

        "I used to drink codeine on the regular, I'm good. Let go of me." 

        He gave you a look of 'if you say so' as his balancing hands fell away. You wobbled at first but managed to walk, deciding the window ledge was far enough away from everything, so you sat heavily. Dizzily watching space pass by with a full belly. Thousands of miles came and went until you saw a shape coming closer, reflected in the window. 

        "Hey." Seb sat beside you, back to window. 

        "Hey." 

        "Sorry I was a dick." He said quietly so the others didn't hear but they did.

        You wish you were sober enough not to slur but you're not, "Sorry, I didn't help."

        "Me too, but it's not your fault." His fists clenched and unclenched. "It's theirs and his."

        You knew he meant Mark, the Mark you hated as well, sitting in the bowels of the ship in dim light. 

        "Mohawk's got a like..." You spaced out, starting to feel a little nauseous looking at the stars. "Like a prison where he's keeping that douchebag. We should go beat him up sometime."

        Seb cracked half a smile, "Sounds good to me. I’m just glad he’s not up here with the rest of us."

        "Just don't get overzealous and kill him." Markus said, standing in front of you both now. He left Gray and Mohawk at the table, both watching your back as they finished eating. Gray was on his second full pie. Mohawk sipped champagne and remembered the old taste of you.

        "Death's not good enough for that asshole, don't worry." Seb said.

        You thought of ways to torment him, none of them seemed viable because of the way he was contained. You wouldn’t be able to do anything to him. "Ah shit, I'm sorry."

        "'Bout what?"

        "I can't make him do that much if he's restrained." You said.

        "Damn."

        Markus thought a moment, "You could make him bite his restraints until he breaks all his teeth."

        You blinked, slow and confused. "You been down to see him?"

        "Of course. I had to make sure he was suffering."

        "Whoa, okay Romeo." Seb said with a chuckle. 

        You nodded at his idea, "But if he has no teeth, he can't beg and cry as good."

        "Viltrumites can regrow teeth." Markus said.

        That made your head shoot up- fast- too fast, your head was spinning like a top. "Bullshit!"

        "It's true. In my years training, I've had them knocked out-" Markus held up three fingers, “-times.” 

        You tried to imagine Markus without teeth just a gummy smile on that handsome face and you start to laugh. It infected Seb as you poorly tried to explain the thought to him. Soon enough, Markus was smiling too. 

[misakisletters]

Eternity is Never the End - 01

The Coelum Express ran over its predestined tracks down from Skyhaven to Linkon City. The silence was deafening for most people, however to its frequent passengers, it was a reprieve from the stress the wanderers give on a daily basis. Linkon has the Hunters, Skyhaven has the DAA to protect the denizens of each location.

Her torso leans onto the wall as she watches the train descend, her eyes watching the familiar silhouette of her old home grow larger and larger, however it would be hours before the train reaches its destination.

On her phone was a haphazard written report she would continue after she arrives at her cousin's place for the duration of her stay. She messages Zayne that she was now bound for Linkon after an exhausting post Deepspace debriefing and stabilization.

Not before long, her eyes close as fatigue finally settles in on her overworked body. The person beside her could only sigh, his heart thundering in his ribcage, he removed his jacket and placed it on her to make sure she was comfortable. He couldn't really intrude with her time with Zayne- and clearly it wasn't his position to do so, at least not yet. Not when his twin sister had a lot on her plate, but he was proud to work with her, to watch her shine after years of separation.

To Caleb, seeing her again brought forth nothing but love, respect and longing. But she no longer was a Xia- she was someone else entirely. They were twins, shared the same womb, the same blood- the same parents yet they were nothing but strangers now. He had no one to blame but himself, had he worked harder to find her, had he never believed the lies of the doctors and researchers in the facility, then he would have seen her grow with his own two eyes. But that wasn't important now, his twin sister was back, and so was he, now stronger- now able to protect her and Kaiya, no one will ever put them in harm's way, not when he's there.

She wakes up once the train's AI supervisor announces their imminent arrival at Linkon Train Station and that all passengers should bring their belongings as they leave. Yet she felt something on her, a jacket of her coworker- Caleb was draped over her as if to shield her from the cold. She smiles at him, giving his jacket back.

"Thank you Colonel Xia for the jacket."

"It's nothing, and please- call me Caleb outside of work. We're both off-duty, not some formal name."

"No problem then, Caleb. It's quite funny how the secretary booked us both at the same carriage."

"We gotta protect one another if there comes a problem."

"That is true- well my cousin will be fetching me so this is where we part. Thanks for being a nice seatmate." She smiles as she takes her luggage along with the rest of the passengers.

Exciting the carriage, she sees Zayne standing by the side, his stoic face had a smile as he takes her bag from her.

"Zaynie! You grew again! That's unfair- give me your secret I need some height."

"You refused to drink your milk when we were kids, I'm bound to grow taller. You also had an unhealthy sleeping pattern when you were a teenager, hence stunting your growth further."

"Okay okay- stop! Don't go all medical on me. By the way, I want the macarons Kaiya gave you last time I was over- especially the lemon meringue flavor."

"She made them herself, I think she would be bringing a batch tonight after hearing that you're coming over for a week? Why are you staying over for a week? Are you not telling me the real reason? Tell me."

"It's getting worse, the migraines, the drug's effectiveness can only help me for so long before this damn situation blows onto my face. Scales have been appearing non-stop, I'm afraid the pills won't be enough anymore, Zaynie."

"But I- I made sure it is the most potent drug that is safe to be consumed by you- how can it start failing already?"

"It's been years since I visited the sea. Drive me there... Please Zaynie? I'll come home before midnight, I promise. I just want to soak for a bit, maybe the urges would calm down."

He could only pinch the bridge of his nose before leading her to his car.

"The furthest part is by the cove in Whitesand Bay-"

"I'll take any location right now, Zaynie."

"Alright, I'll drive you there." He said with resignation, walking her to his car and he put her luggage onto his trunk. She gets inside first before he does, opening the glove compartment where there was a waterproof bag always prepared for emergencies like these- he wanted to always be ready.

"At least bring your phone and wallet with you, I'll bring the rest of your luggage back to my place."

"You're the best little brother anyone could ever have."

"I'm your cousin, but it's nothing. You're like my older sister anyways."

The drive was filled with both of them updating one another with the happening in each other's life, like there was no separation to begin with. Soon they reached the cove by Mo Art Studio where Zayne puts her phone and wallet onto the waterproof bag.

"Call me once you're finished, I'll fetch you. I know you get weak at every first transformation."

"Really, thank you Zaynie."

"No problem, take care-" And with that he leaves with his car. He had left her with the bag filled with her essentials from a towel to her things and fresh clothes from the stuff she left in her last visit.

She was about to walk the short distance to the cove when she felt eyes on her. Looking around she tried to find the culprit, connecting gazes with the person by Mo Art Studio's balcony. She only shakes her head before walking to the cove.

She didn't know that the man gripped his sketchbook tightly, enough to break the pencil he was casually using to draw a crab walking by earlier. His eyes widened with disbelief, it wasn't her... Was it? Or was his mind playing tricks with his perception. But no- he knew it was real- she was real. He gazes behind him, onto the partially covered chiseled piece he made that shared the same face as the woman he gazed at.

Rafayel thought he was delusional, maybe he was- with the guilt festering in his heart since the moment she forced him to strike her heart to save the woman he loves. But he couldn't even follow her, because if he finds out he was just delusional once more... He'd break, and the cycle would continue once again until he spirals over and over, for he knew... he had forsaken her the moment they first met under the tides as young Lemurians.

Dividers are made by @omi-resources , thank you so much for letting everyone use your amazing dividers.

Double update at a short span of time- 😊💞 Thank you for the warm welcome of my first LaDS series. And our first interaction with the boys- I wanted to show her personality with those she trusts and with those she is just acquaintances with- and finally Rafayel's first appearance as the first love interest in this series.

Kaiya would be the name of MC (Main Character) in this series.

✨ Tag List: (Comment to be added!)

@animegamerfox , @madam8 , @plzdonutpercieveme , @mangooes , @ixloom819 , @nm4565natty , @dreamlesssleepsaga , @gemojicon , @animelover18 , @pokemonaora

[untitled-document-95]

Just Kids (bradley bradshaw x reader)

Summary: Love can survive a lot of things, no matter how early it begins. Warnings: brief mention of suicide, Carole remarries Requested: No Word Count: ~8,400 A/N: If at times this feels off in some way, that may be because this is (up until "present day") based off of a real-life friendship of mine.

*gif is not mine*

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I met the most important person in my life when I was just nine years old. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. We never do, right? These monumental moments in time just happen like any other Tuesday, and we can’t comprehend the significance of them until much later.

I don’t remember my third grade teacher introducing him, but surely she would have. He was a new kid, mid-year. A nearly unheard of instance in our little suburb just outside the city.No, I don’t remember anything about his uneventful arrival into my life until the day he found me at recess and first spoke to me.

3rd Grade

I sat on the swings, toes barely grazing the mulch due to my short stature. I had friends - well, a friend, but she wasn’t there that day. So instead of running around, doing whatever she wanted to do, I’d brought out the instruction manual for my sister’s copy of The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. You know, the thick little booklet that used to come with games once upon a time? I hardly noticed him approaching.

“Is that from Zelda?” he asked. I looked at him cautiously. Nine is when you begin to realize that just because a question is asked innocently, it doesn’t mean teasing won’t follow your answer. “Yeah,” I replied. “You play video games?” He seemed incredulous. Not that he didn’t believe me, more like he couldn’t. “Yeah, lots of them. Why?” “Everyone else I’ve asked doesn’t even have a game system at all.” I feel his pain. “I know,” I reply sadly. “What do you have?”

I also don’t remember my mom and Bradley’s mom getting together to make play date arrangements, but it happened. One day that summer, his mom took us and Bradley’s baby sister, Genevieve, to the zoo. Bradley and I walked along the edge of the sidewalk on the way from the parking lot like gymnasts on a balance beam; just two kids who couldn’t be still, even when literally walking. Right inside the zoo was one of those wooden cutouts for pictures. This one made both people look like otters. Carole absolutely made us take a picture in it.

Later that same summer when my parents said I could choose a friend to take to the theme park with me, I chose Bradley. He’d never been to an amusement park like that before and he was in heaven. My mom and dad took turns riding the roller coasters with him. I was too scared. My mom still tells the story of how he was terrified, begging to get off before the first drop. Yet when the ride ended, he asked if they could go again.

My parents rented us a double innertube so we could stay together in the water park. Bradley’s hair had gotten really long that summer, and the lifeguard at one slide said, “Ready, ladies?”. Bradley indignantly shouted, “I’m a boy!”

“Sorry, I didn’t look down far enough!” the lifeguard shouted as he shoved our tube down the slide.

4th Grade

When school began in the fall, I was thrilled to discover Bradley was in Mrs. Wells’ class with me. For the first time since Kindergarten, I’d been separated from my best school friend, Riley. Riley didn’t live in our town. She actually lived just over the border in the neighboring state, but her mom was a teacher at our school, so she went there. We’d had multiple sleepovers at her house that summer. Always hers, rarely (if ever) mine. While my family lived in a modest ranch-style home in a typical subdivision, Riley lived in a five-bedroom, four-bathroom monster of a house in one of those subdivisions where the perfectly manicured lawns could have housed a horse farm. Her basement was finished and she had four times as many dolls as I did, even though I had two big sisters worth of hand-me-downs, while she was the oldest with just one little brother.

Riley’s parents and mine had met with the principal because of how much Riley and I had started fighting. We’d get together on a Friday evening for a weekend together, excited to see each other. By Sunday morning though, we were at each other’s throats. It only took a few hours apart before we were begging to plan the next weekend together.

In fourth grade, the kids from both classes were mixed up and then split into two teams: the cardinals and the blue jays. Each class had reading and science with our regular teachers. The cardinals had math with Mrs. Newsham while the blue jays had social studies with Mrs. Wells, then we switched. I was a cardinal, and so were Bradley and Riley. That was how mine and Riley’s parents wanted it. We still got to spend part of the day together, but not all of it.

That made reading and science easy classes, because it was just Bradley. If I needed a partner, I knew he would choose me and I would choose him. Math was easy too, because Bradley was so good at math and Riley and I weren’t as good. I didn’t like partnering with Bradley, because I slowed him down. He said he didn’t care, but he was just as happy to work with Ben.

Social studies was harder. When Mrs. Wells announced that we’d be designing board games about the Lewis and Clark Expedition, I immediately looked at Bradley. After all, games were our thing. We played video games together all the time, and a board game wasn’t that much different. But when Mrs. Wells said to choose a partner, Riley grabbed my arm immediately. Her grip was so tight, it hurt. I barely got to shoot a backwards glance at Bradley before she dragged me to a corner and got out her cool new markers. She wouldn’t let me use my markers because they didn’t color the same as hers, but I also wasn’t allowed to color with hers in case I ruined them, until Mrs. Wells came by and made her share.

We still had play dates, mostly at his house. We liked that he had more than one video game system in his room. At my house, I had to share. Even though we could walk to both of our houses from school, they were in opposite directions, and it was easier for my mom to come pick me up than it was for Carole to pick Bradley up, because of Genevieve.

“Bradley? Can you guys come down here for a minute?” Carole called up the stairs to Bradley’s room in the finished attic one day. We raced to the staircase and down into the kitchen. “Yeah, mom?” “Can you guys play with your sister for a bit? I need to put some laundry out on the line. Oh, and-“ She looked at me. “Your mom called and said no one can make it to pick you up until later. I’ll make you guys some grilled cheese for dinner when I come back in.”

In the living room, Genevieve was sitting up at the plastic bin of her toys. She gave us a gummy grin when we sat down to play with her. Digging through the bin, I came across a thick book with a brown cover and a gilded silver design around the border. “What’s this?” “It’s a photo album,” Bradley replied. “Why is it in here?” I asked, flipping through the pages. Newborn photos of Genevieve. The pictures of Bradley holding her for the first time. Pictures of aunts, uncles, cousins visiting baby Genevieve. The baby photos soon fade into newer photos. I am taken aback when I come to a page with two photos side by side. On the left, Bradley and I, teetering on the sidewalk outside the zoo. Arms out for balance, each leaning in the opposite direction. On the right, the photo of us in the otter cutout. “To teach her who people are. Like our family and stuff,” “You have to teach babies who people are?” I ask, still staring at the photos of myself. “Yeah. You didn’t know that?” I ignore the question and ask another one of my own. “But I’m in here?” I lean the album towards him so he can see. Bradley just shrugs. “Kids, I’m home!” Bradley’s dad shouts from the kitchen. “Hi, dad!” Bradley calls back. “I hear you’re staying for dinner?” he asks me. “Yes,” I nod politely. “Well, the chef better get to it then!” he jokes, reaching for a pan.

Over our dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and chips, I look from Bradley to his dad. They look so alike: the same dark hair, dark eyes. The same chin, even. I’ve barely finished my sandwich when my mom knocks at the back door. Carole greets her and she apologizes for having me stay later than planned. I gather my backpack and make my way out to the car.

In the car, I try to make conversation with my mom. “Mom, who do you think I look more like - you, or dad?” “I don’t know. I think you’re a pretty good mix of us both, actually.” “Bradley and his dad look so much alike. It’s pretty crazy.” There’s a sudden change in the energy around us, like I’ve said something wrong. My mom’s face changes too. “Oh, sweetie…” she begins awkwardly. “What?” “Bradley’s dad…is actually his stepdad.” “Huh?” I ask, completely confused. No one has ever told me that, and they’re practically twins. “Yeah. Bradley’s real dad died when he was little. Carole met who you know as Bradley’s dad not long after.” There’s a moment of quiet as I process this information. “But he calls him dad?” I reply, still feeling as though this has to be one big joke…right? “What do you expect him to call him?” mom snickers. “I don’t know. Jocelyn and Courtney don’t call Uncle David ‘dad’?” I say, referring to my cousins who call their stepdad by his first name. Since he’s the only person I can remember my aunt being with, I call him uncle. “Yes, but your cousins were a lot older when your Aunt Chrissy married David. Bradley probably doesn’t have that many memories of his dad because he was so young.” My almost-ten year old mind tries to grasp this concept, losing a parent so young you don’t even remember them hardly. “How did he die?” “I don’t know, honey. Something that happened while he was in the Navy is all I know.” “That’s really sad,” I pause. “Why didn’t Bradley tell me?” I wonder aloud. “He probably doesn’t want you to feel sorry for him.”

That night after I’ve taken a shower, I sit at my mom’s vanity while I wait for her to come brush out my hair. Looking around, I see the picture frames on the walls. There are numerous years-old versions of my big sisters looking back at me. None of myself. I think again of the pictures of me in Genevieve’s album. I think about how Carole took the photos of us, had them developed, paid for them, and put them in that album. Those pictures had only been taken a few months ago, and she had a baby to take care of. There’s a feeling in my chest that I can’t name, and it somehow feels both happy and sad.

—

I am the only girl invited to Bradley’s 10th birthday party, and it’s both cool and weird. Cool because it makes me feel tough and special for being invited, even though I’m a girl. It’s also weird because most of the other boys in class were invited too. I’ve known them all - except Bradley - since kindergarten, but I don’t really know them at all. I haven’t been to anyone’s house or spent time with them outside of school since Harry invited the entire kindergarten to his Scooby-Doo sixth birthday in his backyard.

I arrive late and Carole has me color in a coloring sheet from the pizza place of what pizza I want before dashing upstairs to the video game tournament the boys have going. They’re all better than me, but it’s still fun just watching them. Bradley and I don’t usually play these kinds of games with fighting and shooting.

Once, when I was jealous that Bradley’s town on one of our games was so much better than mine, he explained how I could get mine that way. It sounded like a lot of work. “I can do it for you if you want,” he said. “How?” “Bring your memory card to school tomorrow. I’ll work on it and give it back when I’m done.” I do like he said, and Bradley gives it back in just two days, with everything unlocked and tons of money in my virtual account. I try to thank him endlessly, but he keeps brushing me off. He acts like he’s embarrassed, but there’s a hint of a smirk that tells me he likes it.

That was the year that Bradley and I both tried really hard at our science fair projects and it paid off. When our teachers released us into the gym filled with tables and tri-folds after the judges had been through, Bradley and I were both shocked to find blue ribbons attached to each of our projects. I had been worried that my hypothesis was too boring, and he had been worried that his board didn’t look nice enough. I guess we were both wrong. I looked over just in time to see Riley rip a purple participation ribbon off of her board.

That meant we had to take our projects up to the state park center for the regional competition, which was all fine and dandy…until our parents told us we’d have to go for a special “judging day”. We had to get dressed up in fancy clothes and stand in front of our projects while judges and donors and stuff walked around and asked us about our projects. We were both nervous as could be, but got a little less nervous when we saw that our projects were just a few boards down from each other.

I laughed and got a really dirty look from Bradley when his mom dropped him off at the park center that day wearing a collared dress shirt, a beige plaid tie, khaki pants, and clunky brown dress shoes. He looked ridiculous. Not because he looked bad or anything, but because he never dressed like that, ever. Not even for school concerts.

“What?” he snapped. I was too deep in laughter to respond immediately. “You…” I begin. I take a deep breath before continuing. “You look nice,” I say, still recording from laughter. He looks taken aback. I’m sure after all that laughter he wasn’t expecting that. His eyes trail up and down me in my black skirt, white fake-velvet shirt with the flowy sleeves, and the necklace my mom only lets me wear when I have to be fancy. My hair is pulled back on top and even curled a little on the ends. “You-you look nice too,” he replies awkwardly.

Well-dressed adults start wandering amongst the rows. They ask us questions like, “What inspired this project?” or “What was the biggest challenge in conducting this experiment?”. I try to think of good answers but feel like I’m failing. Everytime I look at Bradley though, he’s smiling and the adults seem very charmed by him. They smile back and even chuckle at whatever it is he says. We learn that it wasn’t required to come today (thanks, mom), and no other kids show up at the projects between Bradley and I. Whenever the aisle is clear of any grown ups, we scooch closer to talk. Once, he spots adults coming our way so we quickly scoot apart. As soon as I get in front of my project, a lady who looks like a really fancy grandma stops in front of me with a knowing glint in her eye.

“Is that your friend?” she asks, bent down so she’s closer to my level. “Um…yes,” I reply, surprised she isn’t asking about something science-related. “He’s very handsome,” she says, winking at me. I stammer, unsure of how to answer her. I’m a kid, for goodness’ sake. I’ve never once thought of Bradley as handsome or cute or anything like that, and I wasn’t about to start now. “Well, anyway,” the woman says, straightening up and finally asking me something science related.

Thankfully, neither of our projects win at the regional fair.

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That summer between 4th and 5th grade was amazing, if only because I got to spend so much time with Bradley. We’d both been invited to an “enrichment camp” for students with exemplary grades. It was at a high school, and it made us feel grown up. On the first day, the bus had been later than my parents expected. Too late for my dad to wait around for me to get on before he had to be at work. Instead, he started dropping me off at Bradley’s house. He and I would walk down to his bus stop and go to camp from there. His mom stayed home, but both of my parents worked, so I spent afternoons there too.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked him one day out of the blue. Bradley lay next to me on an old quilt. The sun shone and a light breeze blew through the honeysuckle by the garage and the white, sun-bleached linens on the line. “I don’t know,” Bradley says. There’s a sense of finality to his words, like he holds no anxiety about the pressure to figure out what he wants to do once he graduates from high school. “I think I want to be a teacher,” I say. We are both speaking to the sky, heads tilting towards one another occasionally. “Why?” He asks with a tone that conveys just how crazy he thinks I am. “Think about it - I would get to be with kids all day, so I don’t have to be a boring adult. I could buy school supplies every year. And I’d get to have summers still. I can’t imagine having to work all day, every single day except like, holidays and stuff.” “Yeah, I guess.” “So, what about you? There’s quiet for a minute while Bradley thinks. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a construction worker or something,” he says. “Really?” “Yeah,” he turns his head towards me. “Why?” “I guess I thought you’d want to be in the army or whatever like your dad,” I reply, thinking of the pictures I’ve seen of Bradley’s stepdad standing next to tanks in camouflage. He’s quiet for a minute. “No,” he says determinedly. I don’t say anything. “I know you know,” he practically whispers. “What?” I ask. “I know you know about my real dad.” The atmosphere feels charged, and I’m too nervous to say anything. “My real dad died because of the military. And my dad gets really sad when he talks about what it was like when he was deployed. People die in the military and I’m not gonna be one of them.”

I think about the soldiers my Girl Scout troop and I are making care packages for, filled with cookies and little toothbrush things and other stuff to make them feel more at home. Against my will, I imagine Bradley in a camouflage outfit and boots, trying to sleep with a rock for a pillow. I prop myself up on my elbows. “Do you promise?” I whisper. Bradley props himself up too. “What do you mean?” he asks. “Do you promise you won’t change your mind? You’ll never, ever join the military at all? Not the Army or the Marines or anything?” “Why do you care?” “Because I don’t want you to die,” I whisper. We look at one another and an understanding passes between us. We don’t have to say anything for the realness of it to settle in. “Okay,” he finally says softly. “I promise.”

—-

A few weeks later, our music teacher, Mrs. Christensen, drops a bomb.

“Boys and girls, I have exciting plans for our class today. You all are headed to the state capital next month on your field trip, and while you are there, you’re going to dance to our state song in the rotunda of the state capital.” We look around at one another, confused. I think most of us picture dancing the way we do to a Britney Spears song, but in a fancy building instead of our bedrooms or basements. Mrs. Christensen fields a question about what a rotunda is and then explains that we’ll be doing a “waltz” that is very simple to learn…but we each need an opposite gender partner to dance with. Anxiously, I spin around to look at Bradley. Wide eyed, he nods. We both know there’s no one else we would ever partner with. Not in a yucky boyfriend-girlfriend way, but because we know we won’t make fun of each other.

We spend the class learning where to put our hands and how to do the steps. The boys snicker when Mrs. Christensen says they’re supposed to lead, but quickly shut up when we try the steps with music for the first time and they realize how hard it is.

When the day of the field trip arrives, my dad comes along as a chaperone; the first field trip one of my parents have ever been able to come along on. He brings his big camera and I beg him not to take pictures of Bradley and I dancing, but he doesn’t listen, as evidenced by the printed photos that appear on the fridge after the trip: Bradley’s hand on my side (I refuse to call it my “waist” because - ew) and mine on his shoulder, both of us holding the other hand up and out to the side. I felt like we spent the whole time looking at our feet so we wouldn’t trip, but my dad caught one picture where we were actually looking at each other instead.

I’m not even mad that he took it.

5th Grade

Fifth grade marked a major change for me. For the first time, Riley didn’t even go to our school anymore. Her parents switched her to a school closer to home so she could make friends before middle school. Bradley and I were in the same class. Also in our class was a new girl named Alyssa, and Bradley’s friends from before: Harry, Auggie, and Scott. Together, the six of us spent recess pretending to be characters from our favorite TV show. Bradley played the main hero: funny, brave, and super protective. I played the main girl character: a tough-as-nails, girl-power type. He didn’t even get mad when I teased him, because it was exactly what the character would do. When I fell on accident during a pretend battle, he’d leap in front of me to keep the fictional monster or enemies from “killing” me. Once, a boy named Jon joined our game as one of the bad guys and took it a little too far, actually pushing me to the ground and standing over me so that I couldn’t get up. Bradley ran over and shoved him off. I worried he’d done it too hard and was about to get in trouble with a recess monitor, but he didn’t. He reached down to help me up and asked if I was okay. I got the funny feeling he wasn’t playing the game anymore.

Fifth grade was also the beginning of actually having homework for Bradley and I - Mr. Mills didn’t even let us do our homework in class for a little bit like our other teachers had, which usually ended up being plenty of time to get it done for fast workers like Bradley and I. We had spelling homework due every single week, the same assignment but with different spelling words. It became a standing plan that on Tuesdays, Bradley and I would walk to his house, do our homework at his kitchen table and let Carole read over it, and then run upstairs to play. Except now we had a new rule, and I had an annoying thought that my mom was to blame. The new rule was that the door to Bradley’s room had to stay open. The rule was the same at my house, and it had started one day after Bradley had come over. I was showing him my new video game, a computer game where you get to be a virtual person and live your life. It reminded me of a dollhouse, but way more fun.

“So what, you just make a human and live their life?” Bradley asks. “Yeah, but you can make more than one. I like making families.” “What if you don’t make a family? Can they have one later, like get married and stuff?” “Yeah. Here, these are two people I made but they don’t have kids or anything.” I say, clicking on the save file. We play around with the two characters for a while, not talking much. “This is getting kinda boring,” Bradley says. “Wanna make a baby?” I ask. “Sure,” Bradley shrugs. My bedroom door, which was only open a crack, suddenly flies open. My mom is staring at us with a crazy look in her eyes. “What are you guys doing?” “Playing a game?” we both say, and I point to the game’s case on my computer desk. My mom lets out a breath and walks away, telling us to keep the door open.

5th grade was also a big year at our school because it was the year of D.A.R.E., which stands for “Drug Abuse Resistance Education”. It’s basically a dumb class we have to do instead of PE once a month where we learn not to do drugs. Duh.

But we also got to do these weird things with the 6th graders they called “D.A.R.E. Dances”. Our PE teacher said it was to “keep us busy so we don’t go buy drugs” or something. My mom and sisters said it’s a tradition leftover from the days when kids would literally be out roaming around town for so long that TV channels would air commercials asking parents if they knew where their children were. When mom wasn’t listening, my sisters made it clear that kids definitely still roamed around town getting into trouble, but only if they could drive themselves.

The dances were held at the Sav Center, a local banquet hall that my parents said hadn’t hosted anything remotely cool since the 1970’s. It certainly looked like it on the inside. The main room was like a gym and smelled like it too. Every other room smelled musty and old.

They kept the room dark, with boppy music and colorful lights dancing around the walls. Mostly, the boys and I (Alyssa hadn’t been able to get a ride) hung out in a corner, nursing cans of Sprite and talking. At the second dance we went to, a slow song came on. The kind of song couples dance to at a wedding. A few sixth grade couples make their way to the floor, arms wrapped around each others necks. The teachers chaperoning close in tighter on the dance floor.

Harry nods to Bradley and I. “You guys should go dance,” he says. Not teasingly, just matter-of-factly. Auggie takes a sip of Sprite before speaking. “He’s right.” “Why?” Bradley and I ask in unison. “It’s what guys and girls do I guess. Plus it’ll make us all look really cool, and you guys can do it without it being all gross and stuff,” Scott adds. Bradley and I look at one another before shrugging and going a little further away. Far enough so we could still hear if our friends started teasing us, but not so close that we aren’t even on the dance floor. We assume the dance position Mrs. Christensen taught us last year and sway to the beat of the music. We don’t make eye contact for most of the song, until the very end. Something familiar and comforting settles around us. As the song ends, our arms drop but Bradley’s hand lingers on mine for just a second. It feels like static electricity, but I couldn’t tell you why.

We walk back to our friends who nod curtly in approval. Scott gives a small smirk and looks at Bradley, who shoots him a dirty look back. The next song, a favorite of our grade, begins playing and we race each other to the dance floor so we can jump around and yell like idiots.

__

The rest of the school year probably would have passed in a blur of school, birthdays, and play dates - which we now called “hanging out”, or tried to anyway - had Timothy not strut onto the scene. Tim was a new kid and he seemed more like he was from a different planet instead of a different city.

If the rest of us were just kids, Tim was definitely a “pre-teen”. Tim cared about boyfriends and girlfriends and crushes and all kinds of stuff like that, but no one else in the 5th grade did. He was always trying to get people he thought liked each other to “pair up”. Bradley and I mostly laughed about it, right up until the day we became his targets.

It started after silent reading one day. Since Bradley and I both had good reading grades, we were part of band during silent reading. We were the last two to return to class that day, because it took us longer than anyone to take apart our instruments right: trumpet for him, flute for me. We were both renting our instruments from the school and were trying to be super careful with them. He wanted piano, but that wasn’t an option at our school. Tim whispered to me as I got to my seat to get ready for science. “Were you and Bradshaw making out or something?” “What?!” I exclaim, which garners a stern glance from Mr. Mills, who was writing on the board. “What are you talking about?” I whisper-yell at him across the aisle between the desks. “You two were the last ones back. What took so long?” He asks, and his tone irritates me. Like he’s trying to prove that we did something inappropriate, and it’s gross. I choose to ignore him, but I should have known that would be far from the last of it.

The next day at recess, Tim starts up again. Bradley and I had been on the swings, just talking. “Hey Bradshaw, when are you going to take your girl on a real date?” “Shut up, Tim,” Bradley replies. “Careful, Bradshaw, or a real man is going to take her away from you,” Tim answers back, looking at me in a way that makes my skin crawl. The look on my face springs Bradley into action. He leaps off the swing and gets dangerously close to Tim’s face. “I said knock it off. No one here is like that, just go back to whatever weird town you came from already!” he snaps before walking away. I hop off the swing and follow him up the play structure nearest us. It’s one central landing high in the air, with two slides from each side and another slide up a higher tower.

Unfortunately, Tim follows us too. Now he’s chanting an immature song involving Bradley and I kissing in a tree. Yuck. Bradley goes down the tallest slide to get away from him, and I try to evade him by going down the slide to the left. Tim chooses to follow me, his chanting getting louder and louder. I start running around the playground, up various structures and down slides, trying to make sharp turns and unexpected climbs to get away from him, but Tim is able to keep up, all while still chanting at me. After several rounds of the song, we’re all getting tired. Bradley has climbed back up the main structure again and is about to go down the tallest slide at the top of the tower. I have just reached the landing when something inside of me snaps and I round on Tim. “Fine!” I scream. “Fine! I like Bradley! Whatever! Just shut up about it already!” I shout, lying just to see if that will make him leave us the heck alone. There’s a sudden hush, and Tim gives me a triumphant smile before laughing and running away, shouting about me liking Bradley like he just won a sweepstakes.

I turn to face Bradley apologetically, but his face looks like a mixture of anger and disgust. “Bradley, wait!” I shout, but he’s turned and disappeared down the slide just as the whistles blow to tell everyone to line up. When I get to the line, Bradley is already in it, arms crossed. He’s like, 3rd in line, so I can’t talk to him without getting into trouble. I take the next available spot in line, feeling guilt, embarrassment, shame, and all kinds of unpleasant feelings wash over me.

That afternoon, the walk to Bradley’s house is excruciatingly awkward and mostly silent. I think Carole notices the awkwardness, but doesn’t say anything. Upstairs in Bradley’s room, he looks out to make sure his mom didn’t follow us before carefully pushing the door closed until it’s just barely open, to avoid getting in too much trouble. “Did you tell the truth today?” he asks. “No!” I say with force but quietly so Carole doesn’t realize we have the door sorta shut. “We’re just kids. I don’t like anyone like that, I just wanted Tim to shut up.” The look on Bradley’s face is hard to read. I can’t tell if he looks relieved, worried, confused, or what. I decide to go with relieved, because why would he feel any other way?

That night as I’m trying to fall asleep, I end up doing some “reflecting” as Mr. Mills would say, even though I don’t really want to. My brain just does it.

Do I like Bradley? I don’t think so, not the way my big sisters like their boyfriends or my mom likes my dad. I don’t want to kiss him - ew - or anything else like that. But I think about it - if Bradley and I are still friends when we’re all grown up, which I hope we are, would I marry him? Yeah, I think I would. I’d get to spend every single day with my best friend, and I know Bradley I would never fight over the things my mom and dad fight over.

Bradley does a lot for me that my family doesn’t. Bradley never teases me about things that actually hurt my feelings, like how greasy my hair gets if I don’t take a shower every single night, or how my glasses make me look or the gaps in my teeth. Bradley remembers my favorite things and things I don’t like. Bradley protects me and helps me instead of telling me I have to “learn not to be such a baby”. He doesn’t even get mad at me or act like my life must be perfect because I’m the youngest kid and he’s the oldest kid. Bradley is my best friend in a way none of my other friends are.

Realizing all of this is why I’m suddenly so angry and sad that we’re moving away.

6th Grade

I missed Bradley this summer, but I miss him even more now that school has started. My new school is full of kids like Tim - kids who think they’re older than they really are. While I’m grateful the boys don’t look at me in the creepy way Tim did, instead they look at me like I belong back in daycare in my glasses, khaki Bermuda shorts, and Gap t-shirt. I’m not really sure which one is worse.

We call each other a lot. He tells me how he and our old friends still play the same game at recess, but he doesn’t let anyone be my character, out of respect for me. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry when he says that, because it sounds like I’m dead, not just over an hour away. My new school doesn’t have recess for 6th graders.

All summer, my parents worked with me to arrange sleepovers with my old friends from my neighborhood and Girl Scout troop. They never let Bradley and I hang out, though. They claimed it was “too far to drive for just a day trip” and having a sleepover “wouldn’t be appropriate”, even though our new house is bigger and has a guest room. I’d sleep in the backyard if it meant Bradley could come over.

Instead, we call to try and stay in touch. This goes on for a few months, but life gets busy for us both. I join a new soccer team and he gets involved in Boy Scouts. He calls me on my birthday and I call him on his, even though they’re only 32 days apart.

Beyond

One day, I call him and his dad answers the phone. “Hi, can Bradley come to the phone?” I ask. “This is Bradley,” the deep voice replies. “Ha ha, seriously!” I say, assuming this is a big joke. It’s not. Once Bradley convinces me it is him talking, it’s suddenly hard to picture who I’m talking to, because he sounds like an adult, and I still feel like a kid.

I call him from my cell phone after I get it so he has the number, but he doesn’t use it. The next time he calls me on my birthday, he calls my house like usual. I call him on his birthday and he gives me his new cell phone number. It feels grown up, both of us having phones all to ourselves. Not that it matters, because shortly after that is when we stop talking altogether.

--

It’s almost freshman year of high school, and I’m telling him about homecoming. He doesn’t want to go to his school’s dance, but I’m excited for mine. “Who are you going with?” he asks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounds like he’s pretending to be casual, like he actually cares more than he wants to appear. “Just some friends,” I reply. “My boyfriend can’t go, his parents are like, the ultimate in strict.” “Your boyfriend?” He says, and his tone makes me freeze. “Uh, yeah.” I say, not wanting to elaborate. “Should…should you really be talking to me if you have a boyfriend?” “What?! Bradley, you’re my best friend.” The words feel hollow. How is it fair to call him my best friend when we haven’t laid eyes on one another in almost four years? “But I’m a guy,” he replies, like that should clear it all up for me. “I’m aware,” I say sarcastically. “Seriously, it’s fine. If he has a problem with it, then I don’t need to be with him anyway.” Bradley eventually concedes, but the game has officially changed.

That year, Bradley doesn’t call me on my birthday. The sting of it still hurts me enough that I don’t call Bradley on his birthday, either. By the next year, I guess we’re both so afraid of overcoming the hump of awkwardness that we don’t call again. I want to, since I don’t have a boyfriend anymore; a recent development that hurts.

Just the other day, one of my friends was trying to comfort me. She said, “Your first love always breaks your heart. It’s like the law of love.” But when she says “your first love”, I don’t think of my now-ex-boyfriend. I think of Bradley. We didn’t love each other in the romantic sense. Sometimes, I think our love for each other was on another plane. Maybe in another universe, he still loves me like that. Because I sure never stopped loving him. I don’t think I ever will.

—

I didn't think I would ever speak to Bradley again. I wasn’t sure how to overcome the awkwardness of how we’d left things. The way we truly left things before never speaking again was stranger than I could have ever imagined.

One steamy night the summer we were 17, I was sitting on my bed. The windows were open, but the night was still. I knew better than to close them and face my mother’s wrath. I was playing a video game; alone, as was the norm ever since I last spent time with Bradley. For once, I wasn’t even thinking of him when his name appeared on my phone screen.

Bradley Bradshaw: I love you.

My heart pounded in my chest and a chill froze my sweat. For some reason, my first thought was that he was going to kill himself. We’d learned in health class that sudden, out of the blue confessions of love could be a warning sign. I pulled up Bradley’s contact and tried to call him, but he sent me to voicemail, which only fueled my panic. I shot back a text before trying to call again.

Me: What? Are you okay? Me: Bradley. For real. Is everything okay? Me: Answer me. Bradley Bradshaw: M fine Me: What? Bradley Bradshaw: ok Me: Bradley. Wtf. Me: Bradley!

I stay up well past my usual “bedtime” awaiting some kind of response, but I don’t get one. The next morning, I check back in with him.

Me: So. What happened. Bradley Bradshaw: Shit. I’m so sorry.

You better be, I think.

Me: What happened? Were you drunk? Bradley Bradshaw: Drunk? No way.

I breathe a sigh of relief, though I’m still confused.

Bradley Bradshaw: High as shit? Yeah.

What? My mind swirls. Bradley…high? Like on drugs? Marijuana, I assume.

Me: Seriously? You do drugs now? Bradley Bradshaw: Yeah? Don’t you? Me: No. Definitely not. Bradley Bradshaw: Oh

I hesitate, thumbs poised over the touch screen before proceeding.

Me: Why did you say you love me?

There’s a several minute pause before Bradley replies.

Bradley Bradshaw: I gues Bradley Bradshaw: Shit Bradley Bradshaw: Idk. I was high.

It looks like he sent the first message before he meant to. I want to think of what he was trying to say, but I choose not to. It doesn’t seem like it can lead anywhere that won’t break my heart even further.

Present Day

My family made fun of me. They said it was stupid to travel all the way back to our hometown for The Last Dance At The Sav. The Sav, where we’d had our elementary school dances, had gone out of business years ago when the owner died with no one to leave it to. The city had decided to tear it down, but some historical preservation organization tried to save it. They were unsuccessful, but they were hosting one last dance there to raise money for other restoration and preservation efforts in the city.

I bought a ticket thinking it would be fun, sweet, nostalgic. Instead, it feels pathetic, a 30-something getting all dressed up just to go hang out with absolutely no one I know at a banquet hall I haven’t been to since I was 11. Maybe my family was right. Still, it was an expensive ticket. The donation has been made either way, so I might as well go enjoy the open bar.

Once there, I stand at the bar and hope for the best. Maybe an old teacher or friend will see me. It’s unlikely, even less likely that they’d recognize me all these years…decades later.

Out of the corner of my eye, someone approaches the bar. To avoid looking desperate, I keep looking like I’m very interested in my drink and the wall behind the bar. That is, until I hear someone say my name.

The voice is on my left, coming from the figure that approached earlier. My heart drops to my stomach when I realize I am looking into the face of a 30-something-years-old Bradley Bradshaw. His hair is short, neatly trimmed. He has a mustache, which I might’ve laughed at once upon a time but I can’t help but think makes him look daringly handsome. My heart descends further - out of my toes, really - when I realize he’s wearing Navy dress blues.

I choke down the sour, hot tears in my throat.

“Bradley?” He approaches slowly, like maybe he’s scared I’m not really there; like I’m a hologram or something.

“I-I can’t believe you’re here,” he stammers in awe. “Me either,” I breathe, my eyes taking in every inch of him, trying to reconcile this man in front of me with the kid I once knew.

“You-“ he begins before he seems to gasp for air for a second. “You look beautiful.” “You don’t look half bad yourself,” I lightly joke. He chuckles. “Although, you broke your promise,” I say mostly under my breath, staring at my shoes. “What’s that?” he asks gently, looking at me with concern. “You…you broke your promise,” I say, visibly cringing. I didn’t really expect him to keep a silly childhood promise, did I? He lets out a breathy, almost-humorless laugh. “I did, didn’t I?” he says, looking up from me and looking off into the distance with a look of melancholy. “What made you change your mind?” “My dad.” He looks into my eyes. “Your dad, as in-“ “My real dad. Nick.” I nod understandingly. “My mom used to always try and talk to me about him. But I was so…so angry that he’d left me even though he didn’t want to. It was an accident. I came across some of his things one day when I was cleaning out the rest of the attic and…I was at a place in my life where I felt like he was trying to tell me something, you know? I changed my plans and…here I am,” he says, gesturing to the insignia covering his chest. “Why are you here tonight?” “Seemed like a win-win. I’m home on leave, I needed something to do. My parents got tickets and can’t come anymore and…I guess I hoped I would run into a familiar face.” There’s a weight to his last sentence, a secret I don’t want to unwrap. It’s trouble, I can tell. He’s here on leave, and I’m also here far away from my own apartment and the life I lead right now. “Why are you here?” He asks in return. “Something like that.” I nod, pursing my lips and training my eyes downward again.

The opening notes of an Ed Sheeran song begin to each around the room. Bradley looks to the DJ table, then back at me. He reaches out a hand.

“Can I have this dance?” he asks. I look at him with tears and all the memories of what could have been floating in my eyes. It’s too late, the angel on one shoulder says to me. But what could it hurt? The devil says on the other. Sensing my hesitation, Bradley persists. “For old time’s sake?”

I take his hand and allow myself to be lead to the dance floor. We alter Mrs. Christensen’s positioning just a little. Bradley’s arm wraps around my upper back, holding me closely. My hand does not rest on his shoulder but instead wraps under his arm to his back as well. I can feel him absentmindedly rub his thumb back and forth on the bare skin between my shoulders.

‘Cause we were just kids when we fell in love Not knowing what it was I will not give you up this time

Bradley’s eyes grip me, like he’s trying to send the lyrics of the song right into my soul. Tears threaten to spill again. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly. “I never thought we’d get this,” I reply. Bradley breathes in deep before speaking. “I never knew you wanted this,” he whispers. “I didn’t know I did either,” “I did.” His words cause me to take a sharp breath, now unsure if I can breathe at all. “After a while anyway. I just knew you were going to do great things, and I wasn’t going to do much of anything. I didn’t want to hold you back, even if we were just dumb kids.” I laugh through tears. “And then I joined the Navy and I still wanted to call but…I’ve seen what the other guys’ girlfriends and wives go through. I couldn’t do that to you.” He looks physically pained as he tells me this. “Bradley, I—I’ve missed you so much.” “I’ve missed you too.”

We dance with one another in a natural silence for a bit, allowing the music to flow around us and keep us in rhythm with one another. It settles in that we never stopped. Never stopped thinking about each other. Never stopped loving each other.

We are still kids but we’re so in love Fightin’ against all odds I know we’ll be alright this time Darling just hold my hand Be my girl I’ll be your man I see my future in your eyes

Bradley’s mouth leans in close to my ear. “I love you.” My eyes meet his. “Do you mean it this time?” “I meant it the first time. I think I’ve loved you longer than i could have ever expressed. I’m so sorry it took me this long to find you and say it.” My heart threatens to explode looking at him. It’s a fairytale ending that no video game could ever compare to. “I love you too.” He brings his face closer to mine and like a singer and an orchestra, our lips begin an aria we have never heard yet have known the words to all along. We kiss far longer than may be proper at this event but it’s okay because the world around us no longer matters.

I don’t know how this is going to work. I don’t know what the future holds for either of us, but I know one thing. I’ll do anything to never lose him again.

[noctunis]

saltwater on your tongue | ~1.1k words

you’re a weird little thing, cloud thinks.

it’s pouring outside, droplets ricochet against the windows. heavy, sharp, loud thunks that he only scowls at. he had gotten home just before storm clouds gathered in the sky — but he’s looking out the window and you’re still outside; blanketed by that same grey sky, thick with clouds and muggy air, just sitting there.

he should just leave you out there, he thinks — to get sick and say he told you so, but something compels him to just think there and think for a bit. mako eyes train on your figure from beyond the glass. you look up to the sky occasionally, he can see your lashes fluttering with the way you flinch at the harsh drops gracing your skin. your hands, splayed out in the dirt and collecting all the dew they collect in the webs of your fingers.

his eyes squint, and he hoists himself off the couch, much to his discomfort, and makes his way towards the front door. socked feet cold against the hardwood, arms even colder from the lack of blanketed skin exposed to the nipping of the cold air.

a quick, satisfying click of the front door.

cloud peers out the crack of the door, making sure no bugs creep inside through the sliver and closes it until he feels the wood pressing into the side of his neck. the humidity hits him before he can even squint through the pellets of water to look at you, its sticky, suffocating feeling encapsulates him even when half his body is inside the coldness of the house.

he can practically already feel his hands starting to clam up, he wonders how you do it. he can already feel the annoyance creeping up on him.

he calls your name, something stoic, drowned by the rain — and yet for some reason he can feel it bleeding into his heart.

you meet his gaze. breathing softly, cheeks a little flushed, soaked baby hairs sticking to your forehead and neck. disheveled, cracking a sheepish smile at your boyfriend’s face.

pinched brows, face half puffy from the side he was laying on earlier. you know he can’t stay mad at you for long, though.

“what’re you doing out here?” he asks, loud enough to talk over the rain.

you tilt your head back up to the sky, your eyes screwed shut as rain falls upon the apples of your cheeks. “it’s nice,” you say, tone light. “it’s really cool, you should come out here, too.”

“i’m not coming out here.”

“why not?”

“there needs to be someone who’s not sick to take care of you, otherwise you’ll lay rotting in bed all day,” he huffs. against his better judgement and instead under your heavy gaze through clumped lashes, glancing at him in your peripheral, still semi-blinking at the drops on your skin.

you whine, “c’moooon, it’ll be nice.”

he closes the door behind him and crosses his arms, leaning on the wood as it presses against his back — tense from the wear and tear of his mercenary activities. despite your bargaining, he looks unenthused, much to your dismay.

you lay back on the ground, bringing your arms up to your eyes and intertwining your fingers together, creating a half-shield for yourself. a sigh escapes through your nose, and cloud watches the way your chest rises and caves in with such ease. such peace.

his breath hitches and he suppresses the urge to groan in irritation. cloud glances from the door to you, contemplates for a moment, and ends up walking out of the safe haven of the awning, and makes his way towards you.

your arm lifts a little, just enough to peek an eye open and look at the shadow covering your face. cloud swears your face lights up, but at the sight of his face, he can only hope you stay silent as he lays on the soggy dirt just for you.

in the rain, his hair starts to delate and you stifle a laugh as he looks more like a wet chocobo than anything. he shoots you a look and shakes his head with an amused half-smile that manages to sneak past his guard and onto his lips.

you fight the grin that also takes ahold of your face, heart blossoming a little more; petals caught between the ridges of your ribs. it manifests as a delighted hum, buzzing in your throat.

he lies down next to you, fruitlessly shifting to try and get rid of the sticky feeling in the air. you loll your head over to look like him, hair practically congealing in the dirt with how drenched everything is. he looks back at you, squinting to avoid water getting in his eyes.

you look ethereal, he thinks. cloud swears his chest palpitates.

the sound of the rain is nice, the dimming light against the sky past all the gray — the engulfment of the afternoon. spring days, a taste on your tongue like cherries and the aching of want. it settles into a lighter albeit still heavy pitter patter after a while, an endless cadence.

(you look at cloud and he’s already looking back at you. the corner of your lips twitch, and as you feel your fingers inching towards each other in a clammy embrace, so do his.)

taglist ; @alieeelinn @ch3rryfiles @akerasia @meowieesilly

requests are open — june fourteenth, 2025

are u guys proud of me i actually wrote something 🤕 just ate like five handfuls of cherries so had the urge to write this. maybe i have worms in my brain, who knows. just was in a cloud mood, sorry it’s so short !