#me saying I have a wife and pointedly calling my partner my wife | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

valiantstarlights · 1 year

Text

[Shadow and Bone AU] The Morning After (the Sharing a Bed + Assassins Prompt)

To show my gratitude to everyone who voted on the Dreamling Shadow & Bone AU poll, I have written for ✨️both versions✨️ under the cut. Enjoy! 🖤

This entire AU is, of course, dedicated mainly to @issylra , who made this wonderful GIF set that serves as my primary inspiration for this AU. 😊

(sad wet cat) Darkling Dream in the position of power

"You grind your teeth in your sleep."

Dreem freezes and turns his gaze from adjusting his horse's saddle to the side, where Hob is feeding his own horse with an apple he got from the inn. He is studiously not looking at Dream.

Dream had woken up with a sore jaw this morning, but as he periodically wakes in a similar manner ever since he was a child, hundreds of years ago, the pain is familiar and expected. He had thought nothing of it. And no one, not even Calliope, who shared his bed hundreds of years ago, has mentioned anything to him.

"My apologies," he says. "If I kept you awake--"

"Don't worry about it," Hob says. "My sister Johanna is the same. It's how her stress manifests."

"I am not--"

Hob's unimpressed side-eye makes him close his mouth. He does get stressed due to his duties and responsibilities, but it's not that bad. He cannot call himself stressed when there are other people like Lucienne working round the clock just like him, trying to keep Ravka afloat.

"It is no matter," Dream says, "as we have only shared a bed for a night due to necessity. I will not keep you up at night again."

Behind them, Matthew trips a little as he's passing by, eyes wide. He fumbles with the firewood he's carrying and walks faster.

Dream resists the urge to pinch his nose. Now he's going to have to deal with that, as well as Jessamy's knowing smirks after Matthew inevitably tells her about it.

Hob watches Matthew's progress, and when he's out of earshot, he shrugs and says, "I just held your jaw when it woke me up. That stops it, and you didn't even wake. I was kept awake staring down at your pretty face."

Dream flushes, and reddens even more as it's now Jessamy's turn to pass near them, carrying a couple of dead rabbits. She maintains her graceful walk, not breaking in stride, unladylike shit-eating grin on her face. She waggles her eyebrows at Dream when they make eye contact.

For saints' sakes, there are literally Fjerdan assassins on their tail. They do not have time for...smirks and fumbling firewood and flirting.

Dream sighs after Jessamy walks far enough from them. "Mr. Gadling," he says, unable to address Hob so familiarly by his nickname at the moment. "I thank you for your assistance, but you need not worry any longer. Like I said--"

"Honestly, it's fine," Hob says. "When we were children, I used to do the same for my sister."

Ah. Of course. Hob is a naturally caring person, and Dream's...problem is similar to his sister's. Hob just did what he did out of brotherly concern.

Hob continues, "When she got older though, she decided that it was too embarrassing for me to help her, so she gagged herself every night with a length of silk tied around her head. It prevented her teeth from grinding, but not her jaw's movement. So she still wakes with a sore jaw, but now she has drool around her mouth and she has to wash the silk handkerchief too."

Dream does not know how old Johanna Gadling is right now, but he feels compassion for her. "Has she found a cure?"

Hob smiles sardonically. "No cure, apparently. And trust me, she tried everything."

Dream's heart drops. Of course. Incurable. Yet another thing that is wrong with him. "I see."

"But Rachel, her wife, now helps her with it. Just holds her jaw like I used to when we were kids. Massages her cheeks in the morning when it hurts. That sort of thing." He looks pointedly at Dream. "Sometimes you just need to ask for help."

Dream bites back his instictive 'I don't need help,' and instead says, "I do not have the time to find myself a partner, nor the space for them in my life."

"Good thing I'm already here, then," Hob says, and before Dream could protest that, he has stepped closer and reaches for Dream's face. "May I?"

"Jessamy and Matthew--"

"Can go get eaten by volcras. My priority is your comfort. Let me." Hob's eyes are magnetic in their intensity. Dream finds he cannot look away. "Please," Hob adds.

Dream looks away and nods. If it's only for a moment, then it should be fine.

Hobs fingers are exceedingly gentle when they start to rub Dream's cheeks and jaw in a circular motion. It hurts, on Dream's end, but it's the good kind of hurt brought on by a massage. Dream sighs contentedly. He never thought...

"Feels good?"

Dream opens his eyes to find Hob standing closer to him. The man is focused on his task, but his gaze have strayed to Dream's lips.

Meanwhile, Dream didn't even notice that he has closed his eyes.

"Enough."

He steps away, dislodging Hob's skillful fingers from his face. They could have been attacked while Dream is getting his cheeks held like a pathetic child.

He scans the forest around them. Nothing at first glance. A couple of yards away, Matthew stands watch while Jessamy is roasting the rabbits. At least the two of them are doing their duties, unlike Dream who can't even be trusted to be vigilant for dangers against the sun summoner standing right beside him. "Thank you," he says, belatedly, awkwardly. "It feels better."

It does not. His cheeks still feel sore and painful.

Hob hesitates before obediently stepping away. "Look," he says. "Just...just call for me when your jaw hurts again. I'll help."

"I think I can massage my own jaw, Mr. Gadling," Dream says. "But thank you for alerting me to the cause of the pain. I would not have known otherwise."

It was a mistake to divulge that, Dream realizes as soon as the words leave his mouth. Hob's jaw has dropped, and he looks...offended, for some reason. He also looks like he has a lot to say about that, but is struggling to choose what to say about it exactly.

"I'm going to take care of you," are the words that win out. Dream opens his mouth to protest but is cut off by Hob continuing to speak. "I don't know why no one seems to be doing that, but I fucking will. I swear."

Dream glares at him for his audacity. "I can take care of myself," he says coldly, then turns and walks toward where Jessamy and Matthew are.

Is he not the one who took care of everyone when they were ambushed? What more must he do to prove that he is capable?

The day isn't over yet, but Dream already feels exhausted.

(soft dom) Sun Summoner Hob in the position of power

Dream wakes in an empty bed, surrounded by General Gadling's scent, but not by his strong arms. He reaches over to touch the sheets where the general's body used to be. Already pleasantly cool. It had been some time since the man rose.

Rose and left Dream on his own.

He does not begin to cry because he understands. The general is a busy man, after all, and he cannot reasonably spend all his time with Dream. It would be unfair to everyone else who needs him. Someone has to check on the progress of the Grishas-in-training, meet with the king of Ravka, advise troop formations to border skirmishes, and saints knew what else.

Dream, his incompetence wielding his own powers, and the assassin from last night, are just minor problems in the grand scheme of things.

He rubs his eyes and tries not to feel bereft, glad that at least he did not get kicked out as soon as the general woke.

"Good morning, my darling Dream."

Dream whips his head to the side in surprise, and sees General Gadling looking over some reports as he drinks some caf. They lock eyes, and the general smiles kindly at him behind the lip of his cup. "Did you sleep well?"

Dream nods mutely. His eyes have zoomed in on the general's hair and its less than perfect state, with endearing locks falling over his forehead. Dream wants to run his fingers through the dark strands and brush them until they lie neat and flawless once more.

Wait. Hair.

His hands fly to his hair as he frantically tries to wrangle them flat. How untidy he must look. His siblings have often teased him about his hair in the morning. Delirium, for instance, liked to compare his hair to various things like baby birds with their beaks open, crab claws, and once, an uncontrolled forest fire.

What must General Gadling think of him? He looks like a savage. Probably smells like one, too.

He blushes in shame, suddenly wanting to get out of the general's bed so as not to sully it even more. "I...may I..."

General Gadling gestures to the door at one side of the room where the ensuite bathroom is, and Dream rushes to it before the general could say anything else.

He does not see General Gadling's gaze follow his progress, nor the way his eyes darkened when he caught a brief flash of Dream's pale legs, revealed when his nightclothes parted as he clambered out of bed.

"I've had food sent over from the kitchens," General Gadling says once Dream emerges, feeling (and smelling) more human, the clothes he changed into once more belonging to the general.

The fabric is light and soft and cool, and it hangs off his thinner frame, almost falling down one shoulder.

"You didn't have to, General," Dream says, eyes widening a little at the various breakfast items now arranged on the General's desk. There was too much food for just two people. The amount would have fed him and his siblings well for a couple of days. "We could have just eaten with the others."

"Perhaps. But the staff has yet to finish their thorough sweep of the grounds," General Gadling says. "And besides, I would like to spend more time with you, if that's alright."

Dream flushes and nods. He doesn't know why the general would want to spend more time with him. Unless...of course. He must want to ask Dream about the assailant. It would certainly help in the investigation, and Dream had been too shaken up last night to be helpful. "I...yes, General."

"You could just call me Hob, you know."

Dream shakes his head. As far as he knows, only the General's closest circle calls him that. His sister, the Lady Johanna, their uncle, Duke John, the general's childhood friends and now second-in-commands, Jessamy and Matthew. Dream would not dare claim to have the same level of familiarity with him as the aforementioned people.

Before the general could say anything else, there was a knock on the door. It opened before the general could bid the person on the other side to enter.

The person turns out to be Eleanor, the most powerful Inferni in the Second Army. She enters languidly, eyes spotting Hob in his golden kefta immediately. "Search is finished," she says, her voice not sounding like it's usual acerbic way when she talks down at Dream. It sounds, sweeter, somehow. Low and suggestive.

"Thank you, Eleanor," General Gadling says, sounding just like he always does when addressing the other Grisha. "I will be down shortly."

"Oh," Eleanor says, now noticing Dream standing next to the desk laden with food. Her eyes are cold as she assessed his clothes, her eyes lingering on his exposed collarbones. Her voice is still sweet, but there was a hint of her familiar hatred in them now. "He's still here."

"He is," General Gadling says affably, though the smile did not reach his eyes. "Go on, run along. Tell the others I'll be down in about ten minutes."

"Don't sell youself short, Hob," Eleanor says, the gentle laughter in her voice laced with poison. "I'm certain you'll need at least an hour." She turns her unfriendly smile at Dream and walks out the door, not bothering to close it upon her exit.

General Gadling sighs and pinches his nose. "I'm sorry about that. She's a bit..."

"It's alright," Dream says, and starts to pick at the various berries on one of the plates. "I know she does not like me. But I'm glad that she cares for you enough to allow you ample time to eat breakfast."

General Gadling is looking at him strangely, but then he huffs a smile and kisses the top of Dream's head. "I like that you always see the best in people, darling. Shall we eat?"

Dream nods, and keeps his attention on his food, taking care to look as neutral as he could. He's not stupid. He can take a hint. And Eleanor has just given him a lot.

General Gadling might be kind to him, but he's kind to everyone. He's just getting temporary special treatment because of his unnatural powers. The novelty will fade soon enough.

He knows the General does not really mean for Dream to call him Hob. That term is reserved for his closest inner circle. A circle that apparently also includes Eleanor. Now there is someone who actually deserves to stand by the General's side, and yes, share his bed.

Dream fights down the urge to vomit.

"Finished already, darling?"

Dream barely holds back a flinch as he hears the endearment. How can General Gadling sound so sincere when he obviously doesn't mean it? He nods. "Yes, General," he says to the plate of food that's still three-quarters full. "Thank you for the food."

"Oh," General Gadling says, looking charmed. Dream doesn't know, or cares to know why he's looking at Dream like that. Like he's something wonderful and precious. Dream knows he is not. "You're very welcome."

Welcome.

A strange phrase, often used as a reply to someone's gratitude, but also to make someone feel like they belong. Like they're wanted and meant to be where they are without anyone kicking them out for being dirty or unworthy.

Dream stares down at the delicate painting on the border of the ceramic plate in front of him, its fine details the work of a master craftsperson, easily worth more kruge than he has ever held in his entire life.

It's a plate meant for royalty to eat off of, and an orphaned street rat from Ketterdam has no business eating from it with his grubby fingers.

Dream places his hands neatly at his side and wills the shadows to retreat from his fingertips.

#shadow and bone au #i'm gonna post an alignment chart soon as a guide for readers and as a reminder to myself #to everyone who has bruxism like dream in the sad wet cat version you have my sympathy and my prayers 😭#my writing #dreamling #the sandman #good job my thumbs

38 notes · View notes

the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

Note

for a future request, on rhys' birthday (set for the end of rhys week), we see grim!rhys get his first every birthday party thrown by the love of his not-life

Happy end of RhysWeek and happy birthday to the most handsome High Lord!! I hope you all enjoy the return of Grim!Rhys for this fun, silly lil oneshot!

RhysWeek Day 7: Free Day - Till Death Do Us Part

Words: 2.2k

“I know I haven’t been walking the mortal plane very long, Feyre darling…”

Rhysand’s voice drifted through the speaker of the phone Feyre had set against the counter. Her husband’s smirking face stared up at her from the screen—a picture he’d commandeered her phone in order to take and subsequently assign to his contact, which he’d renamed Most Handsome Husband In All The Realms.

Feyre had told him she hadn’t exactly been to the other realms to verify if that was true. So now it read Most Handsome Grim Reaper Husband. Rhysand assured her there was only one of those, so he was certain to be the most handsome. Meanwhile, her contact was still saved in his phone as Most Beautiful Soul In All the Realms. He insisted he had already done all the fact checking necessary on that statement.

“...but I am fairly certain there’s no such thing as lemon flavored tampons.”

She pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh.

“They’re there, Rhys,” she said, forcing an air of exasperation that she thought sounded convincing. “And if you really can’t find them, I’ll take the orange flavored ones.”

“I’ve looked everywhere, darling.” She heard him sigh. “There’s some with yellow boxes, but I’ve read the backs and they don’t say anything about flavoring… I don’t even understand what flavoring would be for?”

Feyre pursed her lips considerately. Then she said, “You know how last month, you drank pineapple juice every morning so that you’d, um, taste better in my mouth?”

“... Yeah?”

“It’s kind of like that.”

“But I like the way you taste already!” He protested.

He sounded so offended that she couldn’t even put any heart into shushing him. “Rhys, people at the store might hear you. Our neighbors could be there.”

“I don’t care if the neighbors know I enjoy eating out my wife,” he said, pointedly loud. Feyre wasn’t even there and could feel her face getting hot. “What I care about, is you putting something in your body to change your already perfect—” he voice scraped on the word—“taste. Especially when tampons can already give you Toxic Shock Syndrome. Do you know that 2-3 people die—”

“Every year, yeah, yeah. It’s a good thing I’m married to the Grim Reaper then.”

He huffed. “If it gives you a UTI, then we can’t have se—”

“Rhsyand,” she said sternly. He immediately stopped talking. “Please, just get me what I asked for.”

“But darl—”

Feyre quickly tapped the red ‘end call’ button, cutting off anything further Rhys had to say about the subject.

She was relieved—for many reasons—that he hadn’t quite gotten into social media. Otherwise he would have undoubtedly given himself some not-so-subtle handle like OfficialGrimReaper and would have already convinced all their friends and family that he was involved in organized crime. But, more importantly, he would have seen the videos making the rounds on tiktok of people asking their partner’s to get them flavored tampons.

And then he would have known she was sending him on a wild goose chase.

If Rhysand wasn’t reaping souls, he was spending every waking moment by her side. Weekends were usually dedicated to cuddling on the sofa and watching the sitcom reruns he found endlessly fascinating. But today, she’d faked a period emergency and had asked him to run to the store. And the donut shop, for cravings. And Starbucks, for an emotional pick-me-up. All in the hopes that it would buy her enough time to get a cake in the oven.

Once it was cooking, she took to tying balloons. Mor had dropped off a box of them—always happy to assist if it meant pulling something over on Rhys. Mor believed the death birthday theme was a play on Rhysand growing older, and had thought it was hilarious. She’d even gotten a little gravestone RIP my youth cake decoration to go along with candles that read LOST COUNT.

Eventually, Feyre was left with a sea of black and gray balloons, and fingers sore from an hour spent twisting elastic around them. She didn’t know how much longer she had until Rhysand gave up trying to please her—which she knew was an extreme last resort for her husband—so she tried to be as quick as possible in assembling the balloons in an arch. Once that was finished, she took the packet of tombstone and skull confetti she’d bought and mixed it in with standard black birthday confetti. She smiled as she sprinkled it over their countertops, thinking Rhysand would enjoy the irony.

Her heart raced, each beat drawing her closer to her husband coming home. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

She was nearly finished decorating by the time the cake timer pinged. She set it on the counter to cool, the ganache ready to pour over as soon as it came to room temperature.

The only thing Feyre had left to do was scatter black flower petals towards the bedroom, where he’d find one of his many gifts waiting for him.

She was almost finished with the final touches. If she could just get the stupid ribbon curl right. She couldn’t find where she’d put the scissors and had decided that a paring knife would surely be just as effective. But now she was on her fifth attempt, and she could feel the time ticking past. Rhys wasn’t stupid. Any minute he’d—

“If you wanted me home sooner, using a phone is just as effective as killing yourself with that knife.”

Feyre shrieked in surprise, whirling around to find Rhys standing at her back. He held two plastic bags in one hand, and a tray of coffee in the other. She tried to ignore the way he’d craned his head over her shoulder, peering at her work in open curiosity.

He held up his cluttered hands when he saw she was still wielding the knife. Feyre didn’t consider how threateningly she was brandishing it until she glanced down and saw it was poised towards his chest.

“Whoa, there darling. Have I driven you so far as murder already?” He clicked his tongue. “I know that one in five murders are committed by the victim’s partner, but… I personally think you’d have a hard time contributing to that statistic.” He leaned into the tip, letting the point indent his shirt. “Sharp things don’t tend to work on me.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “We’ve talked about you sneaking up on me like this.”

“Walking is such a chore,” he complained. He set the plastic bags on the floor so he could carefully maneuver a coffee into her hand, exchanging it for the knife like a hostage negotiator. “And it’s what killed you. Which I supposed worked out well in my favor, but isn’t exactly a glowing endorsement.” He leveled a stare towards the black petals scattered over the bed, and the wrapped present—glaringly devoid of ribbon curls—sitting in its center. “What were you up to, anyhow?”

Oh no. The cake.

“I can’t say yet.” She pursed her lips, looking to the coffee in her hand and the bags on the floor. She could see the box of donuts from her favorite bakery, as well as tampons that were likely not lemon flavored.

Rhys offered her a flat look. “Your bedridden cramps seem remarkably better. The woman at the store laughed when I asked her if they had any lemon flavored tampons.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, this time unable to contain her laugh. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, just…” she glanced around, before pointing to the closet. “Will you wait in there? For like… five minutes?”

He raised a brow. “You want me to sit in a closet for five minutes?”

“Five minutes isn’t that bad,” she hedged. “Some people do it for years.”

“It better be a good surprise,” he grumbled, begrudgingly walking over to the door. Obedient to the last, even with a pout on his face. “You know I’m afraid of the dark. I’ll need my pretty wife to kiss it better.”

“I promise I will.” She offered him one right then, just because she adored him. He’d gone to so much effort for her fake period, and she hoped he’d think her surprise was worth it. Once he was inside—comically too tall for the cramped space—she shut the door behind him, throwing in a “no peeking!” before it softly shut.

And then she was racing towards the kitchen, quickly pouring the ganache over the cake. She took her time in piping out in elegant white icing Happy Birthday, Rhysand!

Once she’d added and lit the candles, she called, “Okay, you can come out!”

Rhys appeared immediately on the other side of the counter. She might have been startled again if she hadn’t been expecting it. Instead she beamed at him, arranging the cake so he could see what was written on it.

His eyes went wide.

“Happy birthday to you…” she sang, reading his reaction carefully. The way his eyes kept flickering to the cake, then to her face, and back. “...Happy birthday dear Rhysand. Happy birthday to you.”

“I don’t have a birthday,” he said once she was finished. His frown creased a line beneath his lip. “I was never born.”

Feyre shrugged. “You have a mortal life now so I thought… you should get to have a birthday, too.”

“My mortal life started the day you died.” His brows merged as he tried to make sense of it. “Shouldn’t that be my birthday?”

“Well, that’s technically our wedding anniversary,” she said, shooting him a look that earned her a shameless grin in return. “But I was walking past St. Paul's Cathedral when I died. And you know where I was heading back from?”

His eyes softened. “20 Fenchurch Street. You’d just had lunch there.”

“That’s right.” She smiled. “So I thought your birthday should be on the 20th. And I picked November because… I think being a Scorpio suits you.”

Rhysand’s throat bobbed. He looked back at the cake, and the moisture in his eyes reflected the candles.

“Blow them out,” she whispered. “And when you do, you’re supposed to close your eyes and make a wish.”

“I already have everything I could possibly wish for,” he said. But his eyes still fluttered shut when he leaned over to blow them out.

Part of her wanted to ask what he wished for. If only because she knew it would be something tooth-rotting sweet. Feyre had been falling in love with him so reluctantly in the last year. She hadn’t meant to—she hadn't wanted to—but for her entire life, up until the moment she’d died, Feyre had never known how it felt to be put first by anyone. And now she knew how that felt every waking minute.

So she’d thrown him a surprise birthday in the hopes it would return even a fraction of the love he regularly showed her. And from the way he was staring at the confetti on the table, lips softly parted with awe, she thought that maybe she’d done a good job of it.

“Happy first year of life, Death.”

Rhys laughed. It was a shorter sound than usual. Choked by the unshed tears still glistening in his eyes as he continued to take it all in. The balloons. The flower petals. The writing on the cake.

“Our friends are coming over in a few hours,” she said. “You’re going to get the whole mortal birthday experience. Getting drunk, playing games, complaining about how old you’re getting. All of it.”

He quirked a brow. “And just how old do they think I am?”

“I didn’t say.” She grinned as she looked down at the LOST COUNT candles. “I told them you’re insecure about it.”

Rhysand shook his head, but he was smiling now.

“I was thinking, you might want to open your presents before they come over.” Feyre stepped around the counter, skimming her fingers over the countertop as she went. “They’re not exactly… appropriate.”

“Oh?” Once she was close enough, Rhys caught her by the hips. Impatient to touch her, as always. “Well then perhaps our friends shouldn’t come over at all.”

“Ah, that’s not in the spirit of your birthday,” she teased. “You’ll have to suffer through the very human experience of attending social events when you’d rather be doing something else.”

“Someone else,” he corrected with a sly smile.

Feyre nudged him towards the flower petals. “Behave, birthday boy. Go open your gift.”

The excitement in his eyes as they returned to their bedroom was yet another uniquely human experience she was happy to share with him. That childlike spark of joy that she was only just beginning to experience herself. She felt a share of it, watching his eyes go wide as he pulled away the decorative paper on his presents.

Though Rhysand hadn’t been able to find any flavored tampons, Feyre was pleased to introduce him to other unusual things that humans flavored. And as with any new thing he discovered in the mortal realm, Rhysand was very eager to try it.

#Till Death Do Us Part #Grim!Rhys #rhysweek2022 #Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Rhysand #Feyre Archeron

143 notes · View notes

kjmsupremacist · 2 years

Text

for love; for power. (johnny/reader)

REQUEST (closed, sorry!) for anon: “may I request a johnny x y/n fic please? I'll leave the specifics up to you. I really enjoyed don't stop for nothing and I'd love another version of johnny to fall in love with (and make me blush lol)” | Johnny is your childhood best friend, and over the years, you’ve grown to realize you want more. Johnny is also a prince, while you are only nobility. You could never be considered worthy enough to marry him—and that’s if he even loved you back. Which he definitely doesn’t.

Characters: Johnny, female reader

Genre: oneshot, smut, royals/medieval au, getting together, childhood best friends to lovers, first times (kinda we just brush over that lol)

Warnings: ummmm none? there’s smut but it’s rather vanilla

Rating: Explicit

Length: 6.8k

“[Y/N]!”

You take a few more swings at the straw dummy before stepping back and pulling off your helmet, letting your sword fall to your side, hilt loose in your hands. “Your Highness,” you greet calmly when you see who was calling you, dipping into a quick curtsey. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, knock it off,” Johnny snorts, slowing as he approaches. He nods at the dummy. “He really took a beating,” he notes. “Whose face did you picture when you swung?”

“Nobody’s,” you say, which is not a complete lie, sheathing your sword and tucking your helmet under your arm. “I feel I haven’t trained in a while.”

“You train every day,” Johnny says, nonplussed.

“I mean really train, vigorously. Not just for upkeep, but for improvement.” You cast him a sly sort of look. “My sparring partner has grown busy of late.”

“Your sparring partner has not been busy on purpose,” Johnny replies pointedly, somewhere between miffed and apologetic. “Besides, I’m not sure I would stand a much better chance than Sir Scarecrow the Thoroughly Beaten here.”

You laugh, shaking your head. He’s right on only one count—you would still much prefer him to the dummy in training, even if you always win. But he is busy. Johnny is a prince; he is his parents’ only heir. He shoulders a lot of responsibility, and since his twentieth birthday, his parents have shifted even more duties onto him. He spends hours sitting in on council meetings, shadowing his father as he goes about his day, taking meals with members of the nobility to familiarize himself with their dispositions so he will find it easier to take over when his father abdicates the throne to him.

And he’s doing very well. Johnny is smart, charismatic, and good-natured. He finds diplomacy easy, and because he’s hardworking, he doesn’t mind the long hours spent poring over records and learning the inner workings of castle politics. He’s almost ready to take on his father’s role as it is. The only thing he needs now is a queen.

That’s what’s been taking up the rest of his time—galas and balls for potential royal suitors to meet many eligible young ladies in the hopes that one will be his future wife. This, he has no taste for. While he rarely complains of the rest of the work, he cannot find a singular kind word for this piece of his life. He describes the events as dull and painful and embarrassing.

“Why do I need a wife to be a king?” he’ll often lament.

“You know you need to produce heirs somehow,” you’ll always remind him. “And they always prefer it when the heirs are of pure royal blood.”

And for you, that’s exactly the problem. But you’d never tell him.

The thing is, you’re not nobody. You’re actually nobility yourself. Your father commands the royal guard, and he is Johnny’s father’s most trusted advisor and closest friend. You and Johnny were raised together, grew up side by side, attended the same classes, trained shoulder to shoulder. You spent your childhood in friendly competition, pushing each other to achieve and grow. Johnny always outperformed you when it came to political and scientific academic pursuits, but he could rarely beat you in a fight, and he never had the mind for literature the same way you did. And you both knew that was how it was supposed to be. You would be assuming a leadership role in the royal guard soon, and when the time came, you would likely be to Johnny what your father has been to the king.

That would suit you just fine if you weren’t in love with him.

You can never marry him. Though your status is high, and you have close ties to the royal family, you are not royalty yourself, and so could never be seen as a suitable match. If Johnny had an older brother, perhaps, the king would be more than satisfied to see the two of you wed—the daughter of his best friend and closest ally, married to one of his sons.

But the king has no other sons. He only has Johnny, and so Johnny must be perfect. And since Johnny must be perfect, his wife must be too, and you know that because of your birth, that could never be you.

You resigned yourself to it years ago. You never once, not even when you were younger, not even when you were starry-eyed with the first rush of infatuation, thought there would be the slightest hope for you. That hasn’t made it much easier. You try to bury yourself in your work, tagging along with your father as much as possible when he meets with his generals to discuss kingdom business; you train more now, slashing up straw dummies with the thought of princesses you have never met in mind, filling your hours with grueling, mind-numbing work so you don’t have to think about how Johnny is off somewhere dancing with pretty girls. You love your life and you love your role and you always say you wouldn’t trade any of it for the world—but sometimes you think you might trade it for Johnny.

“I know you’re busy,” you say to him now. “How are things?”

“About the castle?” Johnny begins to walk back towards the entrance to the armory, and you fall into step beside him. “All is well. We’ve sorted the grain shortage; I doubt it will continue to be a problem, with this year’s harvest fast approaching. I must thank your father when I get the chance, for dispatching soldiers so quickly to distribute the excess from our stores among the towns.”

“It’s not him you should thank,” you say primly. “I organized the dispatch. My father was busy with the defense of the southern tip.”

“Ah, yes, the raids,” Johnny says, nodding as he pushes open the doors to one of the hallways. “He is confident?”

“Yes,” you say. “I doubt you’ll hear of it again.”

“Thank you,” Johnny says, “then, for your efficiency.”

You smile at him. “It was nothing,” you say. It was a bit of an ordeal, if you’re honest, to do it so quickly and carefully, but it’s nothing if Johnny is satisfied.

Johnny pauses by the kitchens. “Have you eaten?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I should get changed before I do. Cook will yell if I clank through his kitchen in my armor again.”

“He yelled last time because you were covered in blood,” Johnny says.

You laugh. “I will meet you in the mess hall, Your Highness,” you say, giving him another small curtsey, and hurry towards your quarters before he can hit you in retaliation for your mocking politeness.

You return in much more appropriate attire, and find Johnny seated at the end of one of the tables with two plates in front of him. He pushes the untouched one towards you when you sit, nodding at you to dig in.

“So,” you say, “how are other things? Not about the castle?”

Johnny groans, slightly muffled by the mouthful of chicken he’s working on. He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “It’s awful,” he says. “I’m going to another ball tonight, did I tell you? It’s not even guaranteed that I might meet new people, even though I’ve told my mother again and again that I have not liked any of the girls I’ve met.”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. “Perhaps you’ll discover something new in someone old, though.”

“That’s what my mother said,” Johnny replies, stabbing a carrot. “And of course I have to go, there’s no getting out of it.”

“Will it be so bad?” you ask. “You get free drinks, and you get to dance. You like to dance.”

“Only with the right company,” Johnny says. “And the drinks are watered down and taste of piss. Besides, as disenchanted as I am with the whole ordeal, I wouldn’t want to drink heavily at such a public event.”

“That’s true,” you agree. “I’m sorry, I know you hate it. I’m just trying to help you find ways to bear it.”

“I know,” he says, flashing you a grateful look, genuine and warm. “And I don’t mean to be so contradictory. I’m just frustrated.”

“You’ll find someone eventually, and then you can stop with all this nonsense and begin the rest of your life.” You keep your tone light and cheerful. You’re good at hiding it by now; years of practice (and years of lessons in court manners) have made it tragically easy.

“I still don’t see why I must,” Johnny grumbles into his potatoes.

“You know why,” you say, and then change the subject. “Oh, have you been by the stables recently? One of the dams had her foal.”

“Which one?” Johnny’s eyes clear, sparkling now with bright interest.

“Honey,” you say, glad to be on to happier, less painful topics. “It’s a colt, and he seems healthy and strong. The stablehands say he will grow into a fine stallion.”

“If I had the time, I’d train him myself,” Johnny muses. You and Johnny grew up training the geldings; when you were older, you were each given a stallion to train as a test. Both of your stallions have turned out beautifully. “Who is he going to?”

“We don’t know yet,” you say. “I’m hoping it’s me.”

“Because Cherry was the sire,” Johnny says, nodding. “If I’m asked, I’ll push for it.”

Cherry was your stallion, named for the reddish hue to his dark coat. Johnny said it was a silly name for such a strong horse, but you insisted. You have a feeling Cherry knew how Johnny made fun, because he never warmed to Johnny the way he seemed to like you. “I appreciate it,” you reply. “It’ll give me something to do when you’re away. Things get boring around here once I’ve finished all my duties.”

Johnny arches an eyebrow. “Don’t let your father hear you say that, he’ll only give you more errands to run,” he warns.

“You’ve always been good at keeping my secrets,” you reply, shrugging, and Johnny laughs.

After you finish your meal, Johnny offers to walk you back to your room. “It’s for me,” he says when you tell him he doesn’t have to. “I don’t want to go prepare for this event just yet.”

“Alright,” you acquiesce. “When do you have to leave?”

“Soon,” Johnny says, glancing at the setting sun when you pass a window. “I know I’m going to be miserable. I almost wish I didn’t know how it would feel, because then the time leading up to it wouldn’t be so fraught with worry.”

“It’s just one night,” you say. “It’ll be over quickly.”

“One night of many,” Johnny says as you round the corner and step into your hallway. “It will be dull, just as the others have been, and annoying, just as the others have been. And the entire time, all I will think is that I’d rather be spending the evening here. With you.” Johnny gives you a sort of forlorn look. “Remember? When we were younger, and had free days. We’d spend whole days running around the grounds, just the two of us. I miss it.”

You blink back at him. “So do I,” you reply. “I suppose it’s only natural. Everyone wants for their childhood once it’s too late.” You give him a wry smile. “But we’re grown now. We must accept what that means.”

Johnny looks like he wants to say something, and then seems to think better of it. “I suppose,” he says quietly.

“Come find me tomorrow and tell me about the entire horrible night. We can walk down to the stables so you can meet the new colt,” you offer, smiling. “Now go, before you’re late and you get me in trouble.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “My parents have never once blamed you for my shortcomings, they won’t start now.” But he moves to go, anyway. “Goodnight, [Y/N]. I trust yours will be better than mine.”

“I hope yours is bearable,” you reply, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Goodnight, Johnny.”

You linger in the doorway of your room, watching him retreat down the hall.

* * *

The weeks continue like this, like they always have. Johnny goes to balls and meets no one of consequence and comes home and complains of it to you. And you listen, because you’re a good friend, but it is a bit painful. Even if you were a potential match, it wouldn’t matter. Johnny is simply uninterested in marriage as a whole. You’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse. You’re pretty sure it’s worse—just another reason why you are trapped in your fate.

Unfortunately for both of you, Johnny’s parents are set on finding him a wife. His parents do not push him on much, so Johnny can’t help but go along with it when his mother insists he have different princesses over for teas and dinners. You sulk in your room, watching the entourage parade in through the front gates, and then out again later in the day. Then you wait, and within minutes Johnny is knocking on your door so he can fling himself down on one of your chairs and explain how everything was wrong.

At first, his complaints were valid—many of the princesses didn’t seem interested in academic pursuits, or seemed too simple and too easily led, or else came from families who were clearly only hungry for the wealth of the kingdom. But Johnny is vocal about his dissatisfaction, and his mother is good at adjusting, and soon Johnny is complaining of small, petty things—how she sat, how she took her tea, the sound of her cough. Even to your ears, the reasons are weak and baseless.

“She’s insisting on a princess from a kingdom across the sea,” Johnny says one night. “She will be in the country to visit her maternal grandparents, and my mother invited her family to dinner.”

“Have you met her before?” you ask, letting a mask of calm settle over your features.

“Yes,” Johnny says, his tone acerbic, his pretty features twisted into an ugly grimace. “She was perfect.”

It becomes evident after their first meeting that she is perfect. Her name is Yerim, though when she and Johnny were children, he knew her as Yeri, a nickname that has stuck. She’s smart and funny and kind, and beautiful beyond measure. Her family has ties to Johnny’s kingdom, and they’re set up well to provide a dowry and future financial support, should Johnny propose and Yeri accept.

“I feel like I cannot protest,” Johnny tells you, pacing in front of your window. “I feel bad protesting. There is nothing wrong with her. She’s wonderful. My mother likes her mother. My father went hunting with hers just this morning and they came back with cheeks red from laughter, [Y/N], it’s like everybody wants it but me! And it’s because there is no reason for me to say no—except that I cannot imagine a future with her. I cannot imagine her bearing my children or sleeping in my bed or—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “But I can’t say no.”

You aren’t sure if it would be suspicious of you to agree with him, even though you do. It has been painful to watch him go through the process of searching for his queen, but to watch him marry would be torture. You’re not ready. You’re not ready to give him up.

But you know you can’t keep him to yourself forever. You want what’s best for him, and right now that’s for him to accept a marriage so he can move on with the rest of his life. Even if it hurts you, you must encourage him to do so with a smile because that’s what a friend, a friend who isn’t in love with him, would do.

“I know it’s hard, Johnny,” you say. “But this moment would have to come sooner or later. What if you refuse Yeri, and the next match your parents set their minds to is worse?”

“You’re agreeing with them?” Johnny asks.

“No!” you say quickly. “No, but I understand them. And I worry for you. Yeri seems like a good match. She will be a good companion, a good mother, a good queen, a good wife. You deserve nothing less.”

Johnny’s eyes burn with an anger you do not understand. “Is that all you care about? Don’t you think I deserve more?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Don’t you want me to be happy?” Johnny asks. “She can be all of those things, and I would still not be happy. Don’t you care if I love her?”

“You could grow to love her,” you reply, “and besides, you’re a prince. You will soon be a king. You do not need to marry for love. You marry for power and then once the marriage is complete, you are free to take mistresses as you choose. If you cannot find love with Yeri, then you will have the chance to find it there.” It’s not as hard to say as you might have thought. What’s the difference to you? Either way, it won’t be with you.

“Is that how you think of me?” Johnny’s voice is low and quiet and hurt. “You think me so lowly, you think I would abandon my wife, who I would pledge my life to, to chase the skirts of other women? That I would want to abandon the woman who is meant to be by my side for the rest of my life, who is meant to carry my children? I do not want that. I want to marry for power and for love. I do not want to compromise either.”

His anger makes you bitter. He is spoiled with choice, and still he finds a reason to complain. “No one can have everything they want,” you say, perhaps a bit too sharply. “Not even a crown prince.”

The hurt comes to the fore now, covering the frustration and the anger. “Why are you acting like this?” he asks. “Why are you speaking to me this way? What has happened to you?”

You think you might cry. You don’t know how to explain—how can you, how can you explain the years of pining after him in secret, the years of watching him and falling in love with every detail of his existence? How can you explain that this is one of the most difficult things you have ever had to do—to convince the man you love to marry another because you know it is right? How can you say that, now?

And how can the two of you fight like this? The last time you fought, you were children. You have always been each other’s comfort. And now an edge has been driven between you, and you’re not sure how, or how to fix it. “What has happened to you?” you shoot back. “I am only trying to help you, Johnny!”

“You are hurting me!” he exclaims. “It hurts that you, too, are pushing me into this marriage. Why? Is it because you tire of my company, and you wish for something else to take up my time so that I don’t come to see you anymore?”

“No,” you insist. “I simply don’t want you to lose an opportunity. You’re so close to doing everything you’ve been working towards your whole life. I don’t want something like this to stop you now.”

“Something like this?” Johnny repeats. “As if it’s something so small, so trivial. I do not want to marry this girl, [Y/N]. I don’t. I won’t. And no one will be able to force my hand.”

“Why not?” you ask. “You said it yourself, there is nothing wrong with her. She’s perfect. Why won’t you marry her?”

“Because—!” Johnny turns away from you, shoulders tense. It’s a moment before he speaks again. “Because,” he says, voice much smaller now, and unsteady, “I want to marry you.”

You fall silent, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“Well?” he demands when your silence stretches on a beat too long. “Say something.”

“You can’t marry me, Johnny,” you whisper.

The anger in his eyes flares again. “Why not? You are nobility, your father is my father’s best friend. I trust you with my life. You are smart and capable, and you would die to defend this country. Surely your lack of royal blood could be overlooked.” He deflates. “Unless, of course, you don’t want me.” Without waiting for you to respond, he continues. “You don’t want me. Of course you don’t, you’re my friend, not another princess I’m supposed to be wooing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You can hardly hear yourself when you finally speak. Your head is full of noise, a rushing from the blood thrumming through your body. “No, Johnny,” you stammer. “It’s not that. Of course—of course I want you.”

He stares. “You do?”

“Yes, I do,” you say, and now it all comes tumbling out. You couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. “I care for you more than anyone else, Johnny. I want you, how could I not want you? I—I love you, I’ve loved you for years.”

He comes up to you now, hands outstretched. “[Y/N],” he says, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? I’ve loved you for just as long, I’m certain.”

“Why didn’t you?” you counter, letting him take your hands in his. “How could I have said anything? How presumptuous would that have been? I felt pathetic. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was scared,” Johnny says. “I didn’t want to drive you away.” He’s close now, clutching your hands tightly, like he thinks if he lets go, you’ll disappear. “I’ll ask my parents. We’ve only entertained Yeri’s family for a day or two. They will understand. And my parents would have to say yes. Who better to entrust their son to than a woman who helped shape him? Than a woman he already loves, a woman who already loves him? A woman they already know? A woman whose family is already so close to my own? They will have to say yes.”

You search his face, the hope there bringing you both joy and sorrow. “And if they say no?” you ask.

Johnny pauses for a moment. And then—“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

The question startles you. “What—that’s not an answer to my question,” you say, stumbling over the words.

“If they say no,” Johnny says softly, “they will probably try to keep us apart. I want—” His grip on your hands tightens. “I want you, [Y/N], and if this is the last time we’re allowed to be alone together then—then I want to use it. If you want. I’ve waited for you for so long.”

“Oh,” you say softly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh, I see. Yes,” you add breathlessly, “yes, you can kiss me. You can—you can do more than kiss me.”

Johnny smiles, leaning in, and you close your eyes. He presses his lips to yours and kisses you gently, one hand shifting to your back so he can hold you close. You lean into his touch, into him, kissing back, timid at first, and then more insistent when it’s clear he doesn’t want to let go.

You’ve kissed people before, many times, but not like this. There’s a heat behind this kiss that you haven’t felt before, even though it’s gentle, even though there’s not teeth or tongue. Johnny holds you and kisses you like he wants you, like it’s all he wants, like you’re the only thing that matters. And you kiss him back, hoping he understands that for you, it’s the same.

“Curtains are open,” Johnny says softly when he pulls away. “Go lock your door.”

You fumble with the lock, and as soon as your door is bolted shut, Johnny is pulling your towards your bed. He’s blown out some of the candles so the room is dim and comfortable. You can only see him—his hair, falling out of its careful styling, a remnant of his extravagant dinner; his eyes, dark and beautiful; the peek of his chest you can see now that he’s hovering over you, sturdy and enticing.

“Why did you push me to marry Yeri?” Johnny asks softly. “If you love me?”

You shake your head. “I thought—I think I wanted it to be over. I wanted you to marry so that I could start getting used to it. And—I did mean what I said. You know you need a queen. I want to see you succeed, Johnny. I want to watch you do what you were born to do.”

“I want you by my side when I do it,” Johnny insists. “Not as my childhood friend. As my—”

“Don’t say it yet,” you say quickly. “We still don’t know if it will work. And we don’t know how love will change us. If you are to propose to me, I want you to do it properly, and when we can both keep the promise of marriage.”

Johnny nods. “You’re right,” he says. He kisses your cheek, your jaw. “If I am to marry for love, I should do it right.” He undoes the buttons of your shirt with deft fingers. “Tell me—if anything isn’t alright, if anything hurts. I’ve wanted this for so long, but I don’t know what you like.”

“Did you imagine it?” you ask. He hesitates, then nods, fingers slipping against the last of the buttons.

“I felt so guilty,” he confesses. “I thought you could never be interested, so I shouldn’t think of it. I felt ashamed, almost, imagining this, imagining you. I tried not to but I couldn’t help it.” He undoes the clasp of your skirts and the fabric loosens around your waist. You lift your hips so he can pull your skirt and undergarments off. It leaves you bare except for your corset.

“I imagined it, too,” you say. “So we are both guilty. What did you imagine?”

“This,” Johnny says, shifting downwards and bending over your body. He closes his mouth around your clit and you gasp, struggling not to arch up into his mouth for the fear of hurting him. He swirls his tongue in circles, moaning low in the back of his throat when you bite out stifled noises of want.

He must have imagined it—he doesn’t tire, hardly slowing his movements even when he reaches down to slip a finger into your pussy. It’s reassuring in a way to know you imagined the same things. You’ve wanted his mouth on you for so long, and to finally have it is a revelation. To finally have him—after years of imagining it in half-baked fantasies you always felt too guilty to touch in the light—makes hope sing through your body, and for one instant you allow yourself to imagine that this is what it will be like for the rest of your life. That you and Johnny will come home to one another, will lie beside one another. That this isn’t just for tonight.

But if it is just for tonight, you will get what you can out of it. You know both of you are far too eager for it to last long, but that doesn’t matter. Knowing Johnny wants you—knowing Johnny loves you will be enough, even if you must live on the memory. You think that might be alright.

Johnny’s added another finger now, but it hardly hurts. You’re already wet from arousal and from his tongue, so the glide is easy. Johnny curls his fingers inside you and has to pull off your clit to laugh when you whine, bucking your hips up and dislodging him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, eyes glimmering. “Better than I imagined. How could I have known?”

“Come here,” you demand, stretching out a hand. Johnny shifts himself up, tilting to the side so he doesn’t crush you, and presses his nose to your cheek. He keeps pumping his fingers, curling them like before and making you shudder.

“Sound so good,” he murmurs into your skin. “One more finger and then do you think you’ll be ready?”

“I’m ready now,” you reply, even though you know you are decidedly not. Luckily, Johnny seems to know as well; he just laughs again.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says firmly. “Not like that.”

You want to ask how he would hurt you, but he’s added another finger and you lose the question to the pleasure, turning your head so you can kiss him as he speeds up his hand until you’re whimpering. “Okay,” you hiss into his mouth. “I’m ready, I don’t want to wait anymore. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

Johnny pulls his fingers out and brings them up to his mouth to clean them. “Will you help me with my clothes?” he asks.

You don’t reply, just reach out and begin to unbutton his vest, pushing it aside so you can untie the strings of his tunic before moving on to his pants. He takes over once he deems his fingers clean enough, shucking off his shirt and vest all at once and then standing so he can free himself of his pants and undergarments as well.

When he returns to you, he is naked. His skin is soft on yours as he takes his place beside you, pretty fingers making quick work of the clasps of your corset. The stiff fabric finally falls away, and Johnny leans down to press a kiss to one of your nipples, humming when you give him a soft moan.

“Beautiful,” he repeats.

You open your mouth to hurry him along, but he’s already pushing himself up and settling between your legs, spreading them and bending your knees so he has more room. He presses a couple fingers back inside you, gathering some of the wetness there, and spreads it along the length of his cock so it won’t hurt.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks up at you and raises his eyebrows as he lines himself up. You nod, knowing your gaze is intense and burning enough for him to understand. And he does. He pushes in, slow and gentle, tipping forward as he does so he can kiss you to distract you, to help you relax.

It works. Soon, he’s bottomed out and you swear you can feel him in your stomach, but it doesn’t hurt like you thought it would. There’s a dull ache, but you know that will not persist. Instead, you feel full and warm and right.

“Are you alright?” Johnny whispers.

“Yes,” you reply. “Yes, it feels good. Please.”

Johnny knows what you mean, and rolls his hips back. He thrusts shallowly at first, keeping his pace slow so he doesn’t overwhelm you, when when it becomes clear that your body has already adjusted, he speeds up, strokes growing longer. Soon, moans spill across your lips as he brushes past the spot inside you that makes your whole body feel like it’s made of starlight—bright and otherworldly from the pleasure rushing through it.

Your eyes find Johnny’s, and oh, he’s so handsome. Some of his hair has fallen into his eyes, and he’s panting from the exertions, brows just barely creased in concentration. You watch the attractive flex of the muscles in his arms as he moves, the smooth ripple of strength there that you have already come to know so well, that you’ve watched covertly, through your eyelashes and when you were sure he wouldn’t catch you.

But now you don’t have to hide it. It’s yours. Johnny wouldn’t want anybody else looking. So you look, drinking in the sight of him, the expanse of bare skin, glowing honey-gold in the candlelight. You reach up and run your fingers through his hair. Something close to peace settles over his features, so you do it again, letting your nails scratch just slightly against his scalp, untangling strands as you go. With your other hand, you reach down to touch yourself, fingers quickly growing slick with Johnny’s spit, still not dry on your clit.

You’re gasping out soft moans, rolling your hips up to meet Johnny with every thrust. He dips his head, mouthing along your jaw. “Are you close?” he asks. His voice is rough; it sends a shiver down your spine. You know he can feel the tremor of it; his lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Good,” he says. “I am, too.” He scrapes his teeth against your jawbone, then kisses over the spot. “I hope we have a next time,” he adds. “Even if we have to hide it, I don’t mind. I don’t want this to be the only time I can have you. It’s too short.”

“We will,” you say quickly. “Even if it is a secret.” Your head is swimming with lust now, a hazy cloud over your mind. Johnny keeps his rhythm, and it’s all you need, just the steady sparks of pleasure, and then you’re convulsing around him as you come, fingers shaking as they circle your clit in quick, erratic strokes.

You clench around Johnny without meaning to, and he groans low and pulls out quickly. Telling his parents that he wishes to marry you may be a bit of a controversy; a child would be a terrible scandal. He balances himself on one shaking arm so he can reach down on stroke himself, coming ribbons of hot white across your stomach only moments later.

You’re both silent for a moment, catching your breath. Johnny collapses at your side. You stare up at the shadows on your ceiling, thinking.

“What do we do now?” you ask.

“Sleep,” Johnny says through a yawn. You can’t stop yourself from laughing. “In the morning, I will find my parents. I will explain to them that I love you, that this is the reason why I have been so opposed to marriage. I will ask them to grant me permission to ask your hand in marriage. I assume my father will meet with your father before giving me an answer. I may even meet with him.”

“And if they say no?” you ask again.

“I will not stop asking until they say yes,” Johnny replies, kissing your cheek. “I have spent so long wishing for you. I won’t give you up now.” He kisses you again, then moves to get up.

“Where are you going?” You give him a look of confusion, propping yourself up on one elbow.

“To get something to clean up with,” he says, gesturing to his release drying on your stomach. “Unless you want to sleep like this? I’ve known you to be odd, but never illogical.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you say, grinning.

* * *

The next morning, Johnny leaves you with a kiss and a promise to bring news as quickly as possible. You lie in bed for a while, listless, as the sun climbs in the sky, then finally force yourself out of bed and down to the training grounds. Perhaps it will keep your mind off of it.

It does not, but at least it gives you something to do, and a place to vent your anxieties so that they don’t consume you. You practice until you’re sore, then retreat back to your rooms for a bath.

You’re just clasping the last button when a knock comes on your door.

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting Johnny.

“Your father.”

Oh. “Come in,” you say, turning from the glass to greet him.

Your father pushes the door open, surveying you for a moment as he steps across the threshold. “You’re nervous,” he notes as he closes the door behind him.

“I take it you know why,” you reply, not bothering to deny it.

“Yes.” Your father gestures to your chairs. “Shall we sit?”

You sit.

“Well?” you ask after the silence stretches on.

“The king—and Prince John—have asked for my blessing,” he says. “They wish for His Highness to marry you.”

“Really?” You start, staring at him in surprise. “Truly?”

Your father arches an eyebrow at you. “Are you implying my daughter isn’t good enough for them?”

You give him an exasperated look. “All my qualities do not give me royal blood,” you say. “That’s all. I thought—won’t it cause a scandal? And what of Princess Yerim—and her family?”

“They won’t announce it quite yet. They will take care of the princess’s family first, then work on warming the court to you. Of course, it’s an easier match than it could be. I think, honestly, Their Majesties are simply overcome with relief that the prince is open to any marriage at all.” Your father is wearing a dry smile, somewhere between disapproving and incredibly amused. “If you are not of royal blood, so be it. At least you are nobility, and are of good standing. Further, you are known to the family, and trusted. Some may say it is favoritism due to my friendship with the king, but it will hardly be a scandal. And once you prove yourself to be a wise and effective queen—as I’m sure you will—any talk will dissipate to nothing.”

You nod slowly. “I hope you’re right,” you say softly.”

“[Y/N].” Tenderness has found its way into his tone now. When you look up, his eyes are gentle, almost worried. “Is this what you want? You will be happy?”

“Yes,” you say quietly. “I will be happy. I love him, Father.”

This makes him smile. “I could have guessed it,” he says. “Will you still serve with me?”

“Of course,” you reply. “I think I should make a fearsome queen, commanding our armies.”

“I would have to agree,” your father says with a proud smile. He moves to stand. “Well, if you are happy with it, then I see no reason not to give my blessing. I will let them know.”

“Should I come?” you ask, pushing yourself out of your chair.

Your father nods. “If you wish. I think the prince would be happy to see you at once.”

You follow your father down familiar hallways. Everything feels different. The sun is brighter, warmer; your run your hands along the stone of the walls. It will be yours someday, someday soon. Yours and Johnny’s, and the children you will have together. You will not need to watch him have the life you wished to share with him from afar. You will not have to lose him. The knowledge settles in your stomach like a good meal—fulfilling and comforting.

Your father takes you past the usual entrance to the royal wing, where you would normally go to find Johnny on slow days, and instead uses an entrance further down. He leads you up a tower to one of the more secluded meeting rooms, and pushes the door open.

There, the royal family is waiting. Johnny’s head snaps up, eyes widening when he sees you. Your father bows to the king and queen, then to Johnny, and you hasten to curtsey behind him.

“I am here to inform you that I will happily give my blessing for our children to be wed,” your father says.

The king smiles, standing. “This is excellent news. It will have to be handled with care, as I’m sure you are aware, but please know that this does not mean we are any less happy to have found John a wife in such a wonderful woman.”

You curtsey again, a little flustered. “Thank you,” you say.

“Oh, let’s drop the formality, dear,” Johnny’s mother says, standing and coming to you. “After all, we’re to be family.” She is smiling as she takes your hands. “You will be a beautiful bride.”

“Thank you,” you stammer, eyes flickering from her face to Johnny’s, whose eyes have not left you since you entered the room.

When you look at him, he is smiling, the mirror image of his mother—bright and warm and happy. Your father says something to the king that you do not hear; the only thing you can focus on is Johnny, in his simple tunic and wrinkled pants. He’s so handsome. Here, in this stifled little room, your future together finally begins. You’re certain you’ve never been happier.

Johnny’s mother releases you and Johnny crosses to you immediately. “I love you,” he says breathlessly.

You want to kiss him, but your parents are here, so you think better of it. Instead you take his hand and squeeze it tight. “I love you, too,” you reply. “I can’t believe—this will be our life now.” You nod at your parents, who are laughing together. Johnny turns and smiles, watching them a moment before looking back at you.

“So,” he says. “Does this mean you’ll let me win when we spar? Sometimes? Is that a privilege I will get as your husband?

You laugh loudly. “In your dreams, Your Highness,” you say, making a taunting sort of face at him, and Johnny laughs, too.

247 notes · View notes

bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Celebrity Swingers Club

Request: @bbarton -hi!! could i request adam driver x reader <3 they are dating and one night they go out or something and someone starts hitting on the reader aggressively and he gets very protective and jealous :)

A/N: Honestly the idea for this stemmed from a random and hilarious conversation I was having with my friend the other day. I wanted to keep this one light and silly, so I hope it makes you smile! 🥰

Warnings: Dash of SMUT, language.

Adam was missing you today, even though he’d seen you mere hours ago, wrapped in his arms in bed at the hotel. And you were on set today as well, even. But this happened towards the end of filming, for a lot of actors. The inevitable mixture of melancholy, pride, restlessness and exhaustion. It was exacerbated by being on location, though he had to admit of all the locations he’d been to for a film, he had little to complain about here in Hawaii.

But nearing the end of filming meant that time became more constrained, and you and he saw less of one another. He supposed it was part of the honeymoon phase, after all, you’d only been married about 5 months before production started on this latest project.

Today, he just wanted to see you, even if just for a short while.

So when they called lunch, he was quick to depart the set and make a beeline for the cafe, where he had two orders of lunch preordered for pickup. He thanked the staff, having a brief conversation with the cafe crew about how much he had to bribe them for the recipe to his favourite meal (seriously, it was one of the best dishes he’d ever encountered, but they wouldn’t give it up!). With a laugh and a shrug of defeat, he said his goodbyes and started toward the makeup trailers.

He figured you’d be working with your assistant to tidy up from the morning, as many fake injuries were needed for the scenes they were filming. You complained that these left your workstations a disaster. But he knew you loved creating the wounds, a macabre alternative to the glamour or ‘regular’ looks you specialized in. It had been alarming the first time he’d walked in on you in the bedroom you shared at home to find you looking at horrifically graphic photos and making notes.

As he approached your trailer, your assistant, Bailey, was making her way hurriedly down the steps. Adam greeted her with a wide grin. “Hey Bailey, sneaking away?”

“Sneaking away is accurate, Carter is in there,” She replied, her lips set in a thin line, “Seriously, I know he means well, but he really is a bit much.”

Adam nodded in understanding, as he too found the young actor a little...obnoxious. And while Adam had no illusions to his idiosyncrasies and perpetual ‘asshole’ persona; he still made a point of not falling into conversation with Carter. It was tiring, as the kid would speak non-stop, jumping from topic to topic so quickly it gave his listeners whiplash, and when he’d finish, he’d merely take a breath and launch into another speech unless he was cut off.

But he was a good enough kid and a great actor. Someone that, professionally, Adam was happy to work with. Just like Bailey, however, he had his limits when it came to patience in dealing with Carter offset. And Adam knew his wife all too well, he knew you were in the trailer, abandoned by Bailey, being an absolute gem to the kid. Letting him talk your ear off while you no doubt worked to get your station fully tidied before being called to set after lunch for touch-ups.

“Well, I’d better go rescue her, I’ll see you later.” He sighed, and Bailey gave him a sympathetic, knowing smiling before running off.

You kept your trailer especially cool, which Adam had always appreciated. You said it was for your art, but he also knew you did it for him, as he always ran a lot warmer than most. Stepping inside, he first turned left toward the dining area and set the food boxes down on the table. When he glanced around and didn’t see you in the main room, he made his way to the door that led into the meeting room, which had a large sink that you used for cleaning off your palettes and brushes. The door was halfway cracked and as Adam stepped up, he heard Carter’s voice.

“Honestly, totally no big deal, (y/n). Married, single, divorced-whatever,” Adam was right at the door now, looking in he saw your back, shoulders rigid in a way that he knew meant you were uncomfortable, and pointedly washing off a palette with determined vigour. “You’re fit, and I’m an honest person, so I just wanted to put it out there. You could even ask Adam if you-“

Leaning against the door frame, Adam slid the pocket door the rest of the way open, his eyes focused on Carter. “Ask Adam what?” His voice low, he was trying to control his temper-he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

Carter had broken off the moment he saw Adam in the doorway, mouth slightly open in surprise. “Oh, hey Adam!” He quickly rearranged his expression to a more pleasant one.

But when you spun around and Adam saw the genuine relief flush across your face, his heart rate increased. He crossed his arms, inwardly happy that he was still wearing only a t-shirt, his muscles flexing slightly.

“Ask me what, Carter.”

The kids’ eyes widened, “I was, well, I mean I was saying to (y/n)-“

Adam cut him off again, “My wife. You were saying to my wife.” Out of the corner of his eye, Adam could see you biting back a smile.

Carter stuttered, “Yes! Of course, I was saying-to your wife-that I’d be down for a, you know,” He shrugged, though his tense posture and wide eyes gave away how utterly not calm he was, “Some fun, Hollywood style, uh, fun.”

At this, Adam frowned with confusion, glancing between Carter and you, and you rolled your eyes, “He means sex. You know, like how all celebrities are here for a good time, so we can swap partners and have sex parties and all that fun stuff we do on weekends.”

Adam’s eyes snapped to Carter, who visibly paled. Gulping he watched as Adam stepped away from the door and into the room, his eyes narrowed. “You asked my wife to fuck? Are you kidding me?” Moving nearer to you, Adam pointed at the door, “Get the fuck out of here, stay the fuck away from my wife, and expect a call from my manager.”

Though his voice had been quiet, the message and severity of his words were all too clear to Carter, who uttered a quick apology before running out of the trailer at full speed. When the door slammed closed behind him, you burst out laughing, peals of giggles that brought a smile to Adam’s face despite his anger.

“Oh god, that poor kid actually thought we had like, celebrity swingers clubs,” You broke down in another fit of giggles, one hand clutching your stomach, and Adam couldn’t help but join in.

After a few minutes, he stepped closer to you and pulled you into his arms, where you rested your head on his chest, your arms snaking around his waist. It hadn’t been the first time he’d encountered someone unabashedly hitting on you, though this was the most unique proposition he thinks you'd been offered.

“That was the first time that one could interpret that I was included in the deal,” He considered aloud, causing you to laugh loudly again. “I’m not sure if I should be more, or less, offended.”

“Carter is a gullible fantasist. I’d put money down that someone told him there was a sex club he was missing out on.”

“If that’s the case,” Adam replied, pulling back slightly to look down at you, “Then whoever told him that is going to get a piece of my mind when I find out who they are. I fucking hate when men hit on you.”

Your gaze softened, a small hand reaching up to stroke his jaw in a soothing motion that always seemed to work on him. “I know, babe,” You whispered, your hand sliding from his jaw to grab the back of his neck, pulling him closer. With your mouth a breath away from his, you added, “I missed you today.” And then your lips pressed to his.

Without hesitation, Adam deepened the kiss, his blood rushing as your mouth opened for him and then he was licking into you, tasting you. A small moan escaped you as you pressed yourself against him, returning his fervour. One of the things he adored about you was the energy that you saved just for him. Every kiss, every touch, they were always fire, always intense and needy. You kissed him like it was the first time, every time, no matter how tired you might be, how hard you might have worked that day.

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours, each of you panting. “I love you, sweet girl.”

“Love you too, big.” You murmured, your lips wrapping seductively around the nickname you had for him. He smiled, reaching his hands up to cup your face, thumbs stroking the soft skin.

“I brought lunch, by the way.”

You pulled back further, leaning around him to look toward the dining table. Eyes lighting up upon seeing the take out containers that held your favourite meal, you glanced between Adam and the food a few times.

“Seeing you get all jealous worked me up,” Your words were thoughtful, brows furrowed in mock consideration, “I think we have time for a quickie before we ea-AH!”

You shrieked a giggle as Adam lifted you up, pressing his lips to yours before seating you on the table. He reached toward the door and quickly shut it, turning the lock, before looking back down at you.

With a dark look in his eyes, he stepped between your legs, hands gripping your shoulders gently, “Might need to leave a mark or two, remind everyone who you belong to.” And then his lips were on your collarbone, biting possessively before his tongue would lave out to soothe the mark. Your hands found his hair, fingers carding through the raven locks as you moaned in delight.

“All yours, big.” You sighed, and Adam smiled against the skin of your chest, his hands dropping to your hips so that he could ease your leggings off and bring your bodies together.

The food would go cold, but the trailer had a microwave. And really, neither of you were all that hungry at the moment, anyway.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#reader insert #fanfic #adam driver x reader #adam driver #adam driver x you #angst #adam driver fanfiction #just for fun #requested #love

120 notes · View notes

vagrantblvrd · 3 years

Text

That one AU where Ryan’s undercover, right?

Still with Narco or maybe he’s been shuffled around a bit, moved over to Robbery right around the time Homicide and Beckett get the case with Finch and Esposito’s old partner. (Or maybe a case crossed over and he’s being loaned out, idk, details and so on???)

And at the beginning of the case in comes Detective Demming in Robbery, formerly out of the 54th.

Castle is like >:(((((( because the man is just too pretty, and also probably rescues cats out of trees on his days off, and honestly, is he the only one to see this Detective Tom Demming as what he truly is?

(In his experience, someone who seems too good to be true isn’t, but clearly this Demming has bamboozled not only Beckett but Esposito and Captain Montgomery as well and it is up to the intrepid author of the group to prove it! ...as soon as he finds evidence.)

Meanwhile.

The case proceeds as usual and Lanie finds Ike’s prints on Finch’s body, which, you know Drama.

In comes Holliwell and the accusations and whatnot.

Esposito going to see Carol and Tim and asking if she knew and all that fun stuff?

But then!

Someone finds out that Finch was in contact with this guy, someone who could help them with a Thing (technical issue, get them something else they needed, who can say, right?) and of course it happens to by this guy who happens to know Demming.

Seems delighted to see him, all friendly like as they haul him in to ask a few questions and he’s got this smirk and is “hey, Demming. See you’ve moved up in the world,” and generally being a cocky little shit because he knows they can’t pin anything on him and also he has an alibi, but yeah, sure. Why not humor the cops for a bit? Should be fun.

Demming is just like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ because yes, okay, he knows this little weasel. Busted him a few times for minor offenses and the whatnot but he always gets out and no one can make anything stick. But. He’s got a reputation for being able to get people what they need and rumors tying him to a string of robberies in a case a few years ago they were never able to solve.

But everyone knows he had something to do with it, you know?

So they ask him a few questions and get a lead. Doesn’t pan out, but what did they expect, really? (The next time they haul him in he does have a lead that pans out, so that’s nice.)

Shenanigans and whatnot, they see the footage showing Finch’s wife and Ike casing the bank and bring her in for questioning. Esposito races to Ike’s with Beckett and he has that conversation about it that’s all about Drama.

Back to the precinct and Beckett sparring with Demming and the “stealthy” sneaking around to get Demming’s SIM card and ~reveal that oh, yeah, no.

Not a dirty cop and you should all feel ashamed about even considering the possibility because the man is an angel, okay? An absolute angel.

(He definitely rescues cats out of trees on his way to coach underprivileged kids, you know he does.)

And then!

Esposito running off to help Ike steal the ledger and Demming is like ah, yes, Esposito is totally taking “a walk” and excuses himself to make a phone call, as you do.

Beckett and the others realize Holliwell is the dirty cop and since Esposito isn’t back yet – but before they can theorize as to why that is, Demming comes back in and says a “reliable source” told him Ike’s going after the ledger as they speak and with Esposito nowhere to be found it makes sense he’d be with him, right?

There’s this Moment where Beckett and Castle do the brain-twin thing and go hmmmm because it’s a little too convenient how Demming came by that info, but no time to worry about that now, they have to get to Ike and Esposito before Holliwell does.

Holliwell showing up to catch Esposito and Ike in the act and the pew-pew shooting before Beckett and the others catch Holliwell trying to make a break for it.

AND THEN.

Shenanigans in which other cases are dealt with and every so often Demming shows up and oh, hey.

Also Demming’s little weasel buddy?

Enough that he starts in on giving Esposito and the others grief too when they bring him in for questioning?

(Kind of weird how he keeps popping up, but whatever. Demming says the guy’s just like that and you just get used to it? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Eventually though, there’s a case, right?

Some murder that’s tied to drugs and robberies and homicide(s) and he’s a suspect – and then a key witness – and all the good will and trust he’s built up with his little criminal circle doesn’t mean a damn thing when someone put a price on his head and anyway.

“Wait, what?”

Because they have to protect him from the baddies – a stipulation if they want the information he’s got in that head of his – and it’s like.

Like, sure. They could do that, or they could maybe put more pressure on the guy? Beckett and Esposito could break him, just give them time, and Demming is like.

“I mean, you could, but it wouldn’t get you much. Trust me.”

And so the safehouse and Demming’s little weasel courting painful, drawn-out murderization from Beckett and the others with all the shit he gives them? Seems delighted by it like he has no idea how close they are to snapping, and does he realize they definitely how to hide a body where no one will find it, but whatever.

The thing is, Beckett and the others would rather die than admit that yes, okay. They, too, have a soft spot for the little bastard the way Demming seems to?

Such a little shit, but weirdly endearing and also he has helped them out a time or two before, you know?

He really gets under Esposito's skin, though. Because flirty little bastard and Castle is like a kid in a candy store because a criminal willing to share stories and whatnot who hasn’t (yet) threatened to kill him!

Incredible!

Amazing!

(Also, a fan!)

Beckett kind of loves the way he pushes Esposito’s buttons and he’s just. It’s hard not to like him. (She pointedly ignores the looks she gets from Demming because they’re all of the “I told you so” variety and anyway.)

And then!

After a couple of days of this the weasel disappears on them – and it’s all !!! and also >:((((((((((( because not only how, but why????

Demming goes to get answers from his people while Beckett and the others try to find out where the little bastard’s gone.

Realize, after going over what they know about the case and the little bastard that of course he’s gone to talk to someone – make a deal with his boss (the one who put the price on his head) or something and anyway -

Demming runs into them to tell them there’s some kind of meet going on...somewhere and his weasel’s involved, and then madcap race to get there before the little bastard gets himself killed.

Shenanigans in which the bad guy gets the drop on Beckett and the others, looks like the whole gang is about to be murderized, right?

Drama and Bad Guy Confessions Via Monologue, the weasel about to get murdered for real, but what’s this?

A bunch of cops in from Narco and Robbery, also Captain Montgomery and associates and all cavalry to the rescue to save the day?

Bad guys in cuffs being led off and Esposito hauling the weasel along, pissed off like you wouldn’t believe because of course the little bastard snuck out on his watch – scared the shit out of him – and just.

Very much Annoyed.

Demming takes charge of the little weasel when they get back to the station, had this odd little smile on his face as Esposito hauled him away, right? One Beckett and Castle just could not figure out and then!

Beckett and the others up in Homicide finishing off reports and whatnot and not quite ready to head home?

She gets a call from Demming, says he has someone he wants them to meet and if everyone’s still there? To which she is like yes?????

And then!

Few minutes later the elevator goes ding!

Ding goes the elevator and out comes Demming and his little weasel?

No cuffs this time, and it looks like he’s had time to clean up and get a change of clothes, which is probably for the best because of all the blood and whatnot after being knocked around by the bad guys before Beckett and the others showed up.

Which also huh, you know, huh. Like, sure. Guy’s not their murder suspect, but also other crimes and why, okay, why is Demming smiling like that? Why is the weasel smiling like that?

(He does clean up well, though. Not that Esposito is staring or anything, goodness no.)

“Thought you’d like to meet Detective Kevin Ryan.”

Shit-eating grins on both their faces and Beckett and the others like what and then attempted murder of Ryan by Esposito because that little shit, and then shenanigans?

Also going out for drinks and the telling of a story that involves undercover work and many instances of running into Beckett and the others and being like – “Do you guys ever get a normal homicide case?” because Kevin’s new here and doesn’t realize and anyway.

For some reason Kevin Ryan ends up transferring to Homicide and Esposito grumbles to anyone who will listen for forever afterwards about getting stuck with him, but it’s pretty obvious someone needs to look out for the idiot.

And then shenanigans and Castle still prying stories and whatnot out of Ryan every chance he gets – Esposito gets this look on his face when he’s around for one because they’ve all gotten to know the little idiot by now and how the hell is he not dead yet???

And perhaps, also, there is still ~flirting because Ryan is still a little shit and Esposito cannot with this moron, but also there’s a betting pool, because of course there is.

Castle has a !!! “My goodness, I never would have expected you, of all people, to take part in this,” to Demming when he ponies up some money for the betting pool on how long until those idiots figure out their shit.

(Meanwhile, Ryan gets in on the betting pool about Beckett and Castle because how do they not see it and anyway, yes.)

Shenanigans???

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#castle nonsense #castle #rysposito #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #i'm love them #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

27 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

I love your story with LW and JC raising LS! Do you plan on writing more?

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2

“So, I have a problem,” Jiang Cheng said, bursting into the room.

Sometimes Lan Wangji wondered if Jiang Cheng had ever heard of any other way to enter a room. Through the window, perhaps, since clearly walking wasn’t seen as a valid alternative.

“Just one?” he asked, not looking up from where he was repositioning A-Yuan’s hand on the guqin.

“No, I – hey!”

A-Yuan giggled, and that made Jin Ling, currently nestled in blankets next to the guqin, giggle as well, and predictably, Jiang Cheng forgot all else in front of such adorableness, immediately crouching down to make faces at Jin Ling.

“Your problem?” Lan Wangji prompted after a few moments.

“Ah..? Oh! Yes. Remember how I got into a fight with – what’s his name, that idiot?”

Lan Wangji pointedly remained silent. Jiang Cheng got into any number of fights, given his temper, and those were only the ones he told Lan Wangji about – and he wasn’t always reliable on that score, either.

The doctor that came to visit every week was not given to gossip, as Jiang Cheng had promised, but his assistant who waited outside the door, never entering, sometimes said things.

Disturbing things, sometimes.

Lan Wangji had not yet found a way to ask Jiang Cheng if he really did capture and torture demonic cultivators to death – mostly because he didn’t know what he’d do if the answer was ‘yes’.

He knew Jiang Cheng believed that Wei Wuxian had been corrupted by demonic cultivation into something unrecognizable, that he believed it was his own fault for not having stopped him sooner, that he thought it was his responsibility to stop demonic cultivators before other innocent people suffered the way he had because of Wei Wuxian; he knew that Jiang Cheng both longed and feared any success in finding Wei Wuxian’s spirit, wanting desperately to have any hint of him again and yet terrified by the possibility that it had been Wei Wuxian, in the end, that had destroyed him utterly. There were many flaws in his thinking, but without that defense mechanism, Jiang Cheng’s psyche would collapse.

When Jiang Cheng was a little steadier, he’d bring it up, Lan Wangji promised himself. When things were a little calmer.

Soon.

“Right, right, I fight with too many to count,” Jiang Cheng said, grimacing. The expression made Jin Ling giggle again, as if it had been made to amuse him, and that lifted Jiang Cheng’s mood a little. “The one who called me a filthy cutsleeve that shouldn’t be allowed around children.”

Lan Wangji remembered. Even if Jiang Cheng hadn’t told him, A-Yuan would have: he’d been full of excitement at how Jiang Cheng had foregone even whipping the man with Zidian and just punched him full in the face with a fist full of purple sparks. And then there’d been some kicking, according to A-Yuan, and a great deal of shouting about how people who abused children were people who abused children and that being a monster had nothing at all to do with anyone’s preferences in bed.

That poor man – he might have escaped with fewer broken bones if his timing hadn’t been so bad. That confrontation had taken place just after Lan Wangji had finally confessed aloud that his feelings about Wei Wuxian were, in fact, of a romantic nature. Amusingly enough, Jiang Cheng had not guessed it – he’d spluttered and waved his hands and said really?! at least six times – which in retrospect was in line with his general level of obliviousness. After he’d finally realized Lan Wangji was serious, though, he’d responded well enough: he hadn’t said a word about cutsleeves or anything like that, not a single word. Instead, he’d immediately leapt into criticizing Lan Wangji’s poor taste in men, claiming that actually living with Wei Wuxian would have driven him mad within weeks.

He hadn’t said that Lan Wangji could do better, though. They both knew that that was impossible.

“I remember.”

“Well, all sorts of rumors got started after that – no, don’t look at me like that, I told you that I don’t care one way or another! I don’t even want a wife right now; could I even handle having a wife the way I am now, more nightmares than sleep and no ability to control my temper?”

Lan Wangji shrugged and continued to strum the guqin in a repetitive motion, demonstrating to A-Yuan. Jiang Cheng would remember to get to the point eventually.

“Anyway. Rumors. People have started – asking.”

Lan Wangji’s hands paused. “You’ve been propositioned?”

“No! Well, I mean, yes, but dealing with propositions from men is the same as from women; you just glare until they go away –”

Sometimes Lan Wangji felt certain that Jiang Cheng would never find a wife.

After all, one would have to put up with him long enough to find the tolerable parts buried deep (deep) under all the prickliness and bad temper, and that was a task fit only for the inhumanly patient.

“– and anyway, no, I meant…someone asked me for help.”

Lan Wangji finally turned his head to look at him. “Help?”

Jiang Cheng sat down next to him. “Jin Guangshan’s bastard, the new one – Mo Xuanyu. He came to me during one of the conferences recently. He’s…he’s not fit for Lanling.”

Lan Wangji frowned.

“He’s getting bullied at Koi Tower, and pretty badly, too,” Jiang Cheng said. “He gave me some examples. Nothing truly intolerable in isolation, but when you put it all together…He’s very weak. Sensitive.”

“And he approached you?”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng said, long-suffering. “What’s the point of being infamously bad-tempered if people still approach you to ask for things…? He said that he trusts me because he thinks I’m, you know, like him.”

“A cutsleeve?”

“Exactly. It’s not looked on favorably in Lanling, to say the least.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wish we were all like Qinghe. I’m pretty sure if Nie Huaisang announced that he was marrying a sentient rosebush, Chifeng-zun’s primary concern would be how good its saber skills were.”

Lan Wangji felt a similar pang. His own sect elders, at Gusu, were not especially favorable to the idea either – Lan Xichen had long ago warned him that he would need to keep his inclinations to himself and that, if he ever found a partner, it would be best if the two of them could maintain low profile, pretending as much as possible to be merely brothers or close friends.

He’d thought that had all sounded quite reasonable, right up until he met Wei Wuxian, and little by little the idea of denying the way he felt had become utterly repulsive to him.

“Anyway, I feel like I should do something? But I can’t interfere with anything in Lanling, you know that.”

Lan Wangji knew. Matters between the Jiang sect and the Jin sect remained highly precarious. Jiang Cheng’s agreement not to marry or have children had maintained the alliance between them, but there was always the looming pressure that they could one day revoke the agreement and reclaim Jin Ling – perhaps even going so far as to bar them from seeing him again.

It was one of Jiang Cheng’s many nightmares.

“I can’t not do something,” Jiang Cheng was saying, waving his hands, and that was sign enough that whatever Mo Xuanyu had told him had made an impact. Normally if something touched on Jiang Cheng’s bottom line – Lanling and its threats – he stopped thinking about it immediately. “If this isn’t stopped, it’ll only get worse and worse, and the kid’s unstable as it is…I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed himself. Maybe not immediately, maybe not for years and years, but – one day.”

The Lan sect prioritized the preservation of human life over all else.

Lan Wangji considered his options.

“But then we get back to the fact that it’s Lanling. It’d be one thing if he were a nobody, but he’s Jin Guangshan’s son – I probably wouldn’t even be able to get near him, usually –”

“Brother could.”

Jiang Cheng twisted to look at him. “What?”

“Brother could,” Lan Wangji said. “He is sworn brothers with Lianfeng-zun; he has an entry token into Lanling and is familiar with much of Koi Tower.”

Jiang Cheng blinked. “And this helps me…how? I don’t think even Zewu-jun, however kind, would make trouble over a second-hand story that’s not even objectively that bad.”

“He would believe me.”

Jiang Cheng went quiet for a moment, and there was nothing but the innocent plinking of A-Yuan’s fingers on the guqin.

“This had better not be one of your attempts at self-sacrifice,” he finally said. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to – especially for Mo Xuanyu, of all people, you don’t even know him – ”

“I am ready,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng looked abruptly stricken. Lan Wangji didn’t understand why until he saw the way Jiang Cheng’s eyes flickered towards A-Yuan, then away, and then back again – as if he were simultaneously trying to memorize his features and also distance himself. “To speak with him only. I will not return to the Cloud Recesses at this time.”

Jiang Cheng gave a guilty start. “Really? You know you don’t have to –”

“I have decided,” Lan Wangji said simply.

Jiang Cheng rubbed his nose. “Well, good,” he said, not looking at Lan Wangji. “It’s better for A-Yuan to get a good grounding in the basics in one place before you move him around. You can always reconsider later, when he’s older.”

Lan Wangji hummed in agreement and looked back down at the guqin. “You may choose how to tell him.”

“Wait, what? Me?” Jiang Cheng asked, looking appropriately horrified by the idea. “Are you crazy? You remember that I have only the most passing familiarity with tact, right?”

“It will probably be better that way,” Lan Wangji said, and even mostly believed it. A letter would be too impersonal, a passed-along message almost certain to get garbled – he had never been eloquent in his terseness.

Jiang Cheng, however tactless, would at least be able to offer some context.

Besides, Jiang Cheng’s inevitable rant about the Lan sect’s mistreatment of Lan Wangji would likely take up several minutes, giving Lan Xichen time to recover from the shock and for his mixed emotions to settle into joy at finding Lan Wangji again. He had made his brother suffer, he knew, and he would have to explain himself and account for that – but enough time had passed, time spent here in the room where his beloved had lived, where they might have lived together if the world had been different, that Lan Wangji felt that he could do it without fear.

He was fairly sure Lan Xichen would respect his request not to share his location with the rest of the sect, and accept his refusal to return – and if he didn’t, well, possession was nine-tenths of the law. It would be very difficult for them to force him to return through anything other than emotional pressure.

A-Yuan broke a string and yelped, making Jin Ling start fussing, and Jiang Cheng immediately panicked, all other thoughts forgotten, and even as he unfolded himself to go over and make peace, Lan Wangji thought to himself that there was enough here to make resisting that pressure worthwhile.

Besides – if it came right down to it, Lan Wangji suspected he would look quite well in purple.

#mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #delight in misery #Anonymous

382 notes · View notes

half-bakedboy · 3 years

Photo

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “I’ve recently found myself with a lot of time on my hands and since you don’t seem to have enough to romance someone,” Buck began, settling his drink on the table, “I think it only makes sense for someone to romance you.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and shot back, “Yeah, and how are you going to find someone willing to put in that effort?”

“Oh, you’re lookin’ at him.”

Or… Eddie gets the romance he deserves in the form of fluff-filled dates with Buck.

For @911fluffweek - day six: “But you love me anyway” // In your lap

(read chapter six on ao3 or start from the beginning)

Eddie found himself to be just as nervous standing on the step to Maddie’s home as he had been those few months ago. Back then, he was terrified of meeting his team’s families and having to somehow keep himself at arm’s length. He glanced over at where Buck gripped his hand tightly and realized just how badly he had failed at that task.

“You know, you have to knock on the door, Eds,” Buck said, furrowing his eyebrows in equal parts confusion and concern.

“Deja vu,” Eddie muttered, raising his hand to do just that. Before he could, the door flung open and Maddie stood before them, a wide grin on her face.

“Little brother!” She shouted and Buck rolled his eyes at the name before wrapping his arms around his sister’s waist and hugging her tightly. Eddie loved the way Buck hugged. He always put his entire body into it, rocking from side to side with his arms enveloping every inch he could. He loved watching Buck hug others and the way their smiles lit up their faces almost as much as he enjoyed being on the receiving end of one of his embraces.

“Hey, Mads,” he muttered, kissing her hair as he pulled back. “Where’s my favorite goddaughter?” He asked excitedly. Before Eddie could even so much as say hello, he was already making his way into the living room and picking Jee-Yun out of her pack-and-play to blow raspberries into her neck.

“Has he always been like that?” Eddie asked, giving Maddie a one-armed hug and holding up the bottle of wine he had to insist Buck pick up. He never went to a home empty-handed and Buck never felt like a guest anywhere, so it was a miracle Eddie had convinced him to grab it in the first place.

“He loves kids. Babies, toddlers, eight-year-olds with cute dads,” Maddie teased, winking at Eddie when he tried to stifle a laugh. “Even when we were teenagers, he was always looking after younger kids. Saving them from bullies, playing with them when they had no friends, sitting with them at family gatherings. It’s probably cause he’s such a kid at heart,” Maddie said, watching her brother fondly as he set Jee-Yun back down and walked over.

He wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist before he said, “She’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen, Maddie. Are you sure she’s yours and Chimney’s?” Maddie smacked him with the towel she had over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.

“Here I was telling your boyfriend all about how great you are with kids, alluding to what a great dad you’ll be someday,” she said pointedly causing both of them to go wide-eyed, “and you insult me. Little brothers are always so ungrateful.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Christopher that,” Eddie chuckled. He froze when he realized what he had said and had never been more grateful for a doorbell in his life.

The rest of the team and their families arrived over the next few minutes and all of Eddie’s nerves washed away just like they had the first time. He was comfortable around his team, around the people he trusted every day with his life, and with much more than that if he was honest with himself. More importantly, Buck was a calming weight beside him that reminded him he wasn’t alone.

“Howie and I thought it would be fun to do our little version of The Newlywed Game,” Maddie said once everyone had their drink of choice in hand. “So, everyone have a seat…” She gestured around, frowning at what Eddie assumed was the shortage of chairs.

“I counted out before—”

“You forgot to include yourself, didn’t you?” Maddie guessed and Chim didn’t say she was wrong. Eddie shrugged and stood behind the comfortable recliner Buck had planted himself in, reaching around to rest his hands on Buck’s shoulders and massaging gently.

“Hey, that’s okay,” Eddie said quickly, not wanting to be the person that inconvenienced the rest of the party. “I’m totally good with standing and I’ll kick his lazy ass out of the chair if he gets too annoying,” Eddie added when Maddie stared worriedly in his direction. Eddie winked at her as Buck gasped dramatically, tugging on one of Eddie’s hands.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Buck challenged and Eddie wouldn’t admit he was right. “Besides, this chair is absolutely big enough to support the two of us, even if you’ve been eating extra bites of the desserts Christopher and I make when we’re not looking,” Buck accused.

“No, seriously, Buck, it’s—” He was already tumbling onto Buck’s lap before he could finish his sentence.

It was awkward at first as his hands flew out to try and grab onto the back of the chair and the armrest when he felt himself start falling. Eddie wasn’t a small guy, by any account. He was just under 200 pounds of muscle from years in the military and kept up with his physique with most mornings spent in the gym or hauling around 60 pounds of gear each day. Suddenly, though, he felt so small.

Buck wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and rested his chin comfortably in the crook between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. He let his legs fall open so that Eddie could slot between them and Eddie let himself form to Buck’s warm body. He leaned into Buck’s touch, resting his own arms on the ones secured around him, and ignored the incredibly pointed gazes of his team.

Chim tossed his hands up in the air and defeatedly said, “Oh, they’re totally going to win.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Eddie attributed that to the fact that out of all of the couples around them, they were the newest. Hen and Karen had been together the longest out of all of the couples, working on ten years of marriage by the time Eddie joined the team. Bobby and Athena had six years under their belt and were just as ‘disgustingly in love’ as the day they met—Chim’s words, not his. He didn’t have much room to talk, though, because he and Maddie were almost at three years and it would take a crowbar to pry them apart when they were together.

About an hour into the game, Hen made it clear that one of the happy couples would meet their bitter end while Maddie became increasingly more annoyed that Eddie seemed to know more about her brother than she did.

“Why would you possibly know when Eddie and I had our first kiss?” Buck seethed as Maddie rolled her eyes in frustration. “You didn’t even know when you and your husband had your first kiss!” It was the wrong thing to say and they both knew it as Buck hid his face behind Eddie’s neck.

Maddie didn’t care as she yelled, “He’s the one who didn’t know! I was right and I know it!” She grabbed a handful of popcorn from the neatly plated platter in between them and tossed it at Buck, effectively only coating Eddie in the snack. He held his hands up in defense just as Chim did.

“Hey, I was in a hospital bed and I thought we had kissed then. I was on a lot of pain medication, Maddie, you can’t blame me for that!”

“And you can’t throw food at me because your brother is a coward!” Eddie shot back, wriggling in Buck’s lap when he poked his fingers into Eddie’s sides in retaliation.

“Can someone read the next question, please?” Bobby said in that commanding tone that had all of them muffling their laughter and ongoing arguments.

“Alright, Bobby and Athena are up,” Chim said, clapping his hands together. “If you won the lottery, what’s the first thing you’d buy together?” Athena started to write down her answer and Buck attempted to it, leaning over a bit too far considering the space Eddie took up on his lap. Eddie elbowed Buck in the ribs and pulled a face he hoped clearly told him to stop cheating before the team got even angrier at them. Buck pressed a messy kiss to his cheek and pretended he wasn’t even trying to peek.

“What d’ya say, Cap?”

“Athena is too smart to let us spend money on anything. It’s going straight into a college fund for Harry and May,” Bobby answered, crossing his arms over his chest smugly. It was called for because Athena turned over her board to reveal the word COLLEGE spelled out in all caps. She cheered and pressed a big kiss to Bobby’s lips.

“Lucky round, we all knew the answer to that one,” Hen teased, patting Karen’s thigh as she turned toward Chim for their question. “Hit us up, Han. We’re kicking all of your asses,” she commented.

Buck chimed in, “Except for us!” It was a reminder that literally no one needed and they all glared daggers in Buck’s direction. Eddie didn’t mind the way Buck hid behind him that time. He laced their fingers together, bringing one up to his mouth for a soft kiss as Chim read out the next question.

“What was the last date that you went on?” Buck stifled his laughter in Eddie’s shoulder the second both Hen and Karen’s eyes widened in panic. Athena was brazen as always and allowed hers to ring loudly over everyone.

“Oh, c’mon ladies, really?” Athena shouted. Hen glared at her while Karen wrote down—and then crossed out and then wrote something else—on her board. She shook her head guiltily at her wife when the timer buzzed.

“The reason we’re kicking all of your asses is cause you know the answers to those ridiculous questions about your partner’s childhood pet but can’t even remember when you last got them flowers,” Buck pointed out. The looks on everyone’s faces told Eddie that while he shouldn’t have said it, he was absolutely right.

“Yeah, well, what was Eddie’s first job, then?” Maddie shot back to which Eddie sighed because Buck knew the answer to that. They had talked about it one night when Eddie was explaining why he enlisted in the army in the first place.

Buck smirked and answered, “Easy. Technically, he worked construction with his uncle before he turned 18 but he was paid under the table,” he paused for only a moment before finishing, “and he enlisted in the United States Army almost the second he was old enough to.” He held up his hand for a high five but Eddie gauged the looks around him and decided his team already hated him enough for one night.

“Hen, what’s your answer?” He asked, knowing that out of everyone in the room, Hen would be the one to get him out of the situation he found himself in. She took pity, if only so that they could get their round over with, and took a deep breath with her eyes closed.

“Alright, I had the day off three weeks ago but Denny was sick and the day off before that was spent getting the foster twins settled…” Hen looked up at the ceiling and let out the breath she was holding slowly. “We went to that Japanese steak house and sushi bar a few months ago?” Karen cheered and flipped her board over revealing what Eddie assumed was the name of the restaurant Hen had been talking about. Karen leaned over and kissed her wife soundly, both of them glaring over at Buck who waved his hand dismissively.

“Will you stop pissing off our friends, please?” Eddie whispered while Maddie and Chim prepared themselves for their round. Buck shook his head and hiked himself up a little in the chair causing Eddie to immediately panic. He had almost forgotten that the two of them were sharing a damn chair like teenagers who thought they were in love. Eddie made to get up as he said, “Do you need me to—”

Buck grabbed onto his arms and shook his head, smiling softly up at him. “I’m good, just had to reposition. Just let me…” As if Eddie weighed nothing, Buck moved him to a more comfortable position still on his lap and Eddie let out a very embarrassing yelp at the suddenness of the motion. He wasn’t used to being… manhandled, the way Buck had apparently been comfortable with doing.

“We have a spare bedroom if you two need some privacy,” Maddie offered, gesturing over her shoulder and down the hallway. The entire team groaned in displeasure while Buck flipped her off, but she shrugged and mouthed, The offer still stands, in Eddie’s direction.

“Babe, pay attention,” Chim began, earning an eyebrow raise from his wife. He grinned at her as he usually did, and asked, “Describe what you first thought of me in one word.”

“Maddie, now’s your chance to really let him know how you feel,” Buck teased, egging her on with an excited nod of his head. Maddie rolled her eyes in response and as she wrote her answer on the board, she gestured between her and Chim’s heads as if trying to somehow start some telepathic connection.

“I can’t believe Chim somehow found someone just as strange as he is,” Hen muttered much to the agreement of everyone around them. The couple in question didn’t care, though, because they were too busy staring at each other. Eddie thought it was cute, but apparently, everyone else was ready to get on with the game.

“Hey, weirdo, what’s your answer?” Bobby shouted and Buck let out a huff of laughter. It was always nice when Bobby let loose a little and he was seemingly at that point if the name he chose said anything.

“Cute. She thought I was cute,” he answered. Maddie turned her clipboard around slowly, beaming wider each second because she got the answer right. She cheered and pulled Chim into a very full kiss, both of them smiling into it.

“Alright, boys, we’re three for four this round. You get this right or wrong, you still win, so we’re gonna pick the toughest question,” Hen commented and before Buck could argue, Athena held up a hand and raised her eyebrows at him. It was the easiest way to shut him up and everyone there knew it.

“Oh, honey, this one. This is the one,” Athena said, laughter already brightening up her voice. Eddie winced even as Buck squeezed the arm still wrapped around his waist a little tighter in reassurance. Maddie let out a loud laugh before she read the next question out loud.

“Which one of you would Buck say is the most attractive in the relationship?”

“That is so not a fair question!” Buck whined immediately, grabbing the board from his sister to scribble his answer.

Eddie eyed him and at Buck’s inquisitive look, he said, “You answered that incredibly quickly.”

“Hey, no cheating. Eddie, what’s your answer? Who’s more attractive?” Chim asked and then let out a barely contained cackle. “Wait, oh my god, Eddie is either going to say himself which is going to sound extremely narcissistic or Buck is going to have his own name on that board which is the most egotistical answer and man, this question was genius. Athena, I would bow to you if I could.”

Eddie shook his head and glared at his captain’s wife, uncaring that he was there to witness it all. Bobby had a warm smile on his face that Eddie connected to the fact that he was there, with the family he said he wasn’t going to become a part of, laughing and teasing and cuddling up to his boyfriend of almost six months. It wasn’t where Eddie thought he’d be but where Bobby had assumed they’d end up.

He made a mental reminder to thank Bobby later.

“The answer is obviously Buck, but before you start with me,” he pointed at Chim accusingly before he continued, “it’s not because either of us are full of ourselves. It’s because he knows that I would never name myself in any situation. He knows we’re both equally attractive—”

“—And have tested it on many occasions!” Buck interjected but Eddie wasn’t about to explain to his team that they had competitions on who could get the most numbers when they went out together.

“He knows we’re both conventionally attractive men who would possibly fight someone for thinking otherwise but would never actually admit it about ourselves. He also knows that I would just argue with him if he said anything else. So,” he took a deep breath before he finished, “that board says Buck’s name.”

“I don’t think all of that could fit on a whiteboard, Eds,” Buck teased, but he flipped over the board to reveal his own name. Scribbled underneath was one short sentence, squished in the small space. It said, Because Eddie won’t let me say it’s him.

He wasn’t sure what came over him, but all of a sudden, Eddie had his arms tossed around Buck’s neck and their lips pressed together passionately, uncaring that his entire team was watching him. He had never had a connection like the one he had with Buck and this stupid game had solidified to Eddie that the fact they knew each other so well wasn’t all in his head. It made every part of Eddie so incredibly happy.

“Next game night, Buddie stays at home,” Chim said begrudgingly and Eddie didn’t mind that everyone around him agreed. He felt like a teenager again; sitting in the lap of the man he really, really loved, with warm arms wrapped around him, and what felt like a permanent smile on his face.

“Eh, we’ll just take the guest bedroom next time,” Buck shot back. Eddie blushed darker than he had been already, but he didn’t say anything in return. He just let Maddie and Chim tease, Hen and Karen roll their eyes, and Bobby and Athena watch the people they considered their ‘kids’ enjoy the night together.

It was as perfect as perfect could get, Eddie thought. Even when he felt his eyes drooping shut at the end of it all, he knew he would wake up to Buck in his bed and the feeling of family and home etched into his heart. He was starting to believe it would never disappear and he held onto it tighter just to be sure.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911fluffweek #911 #911 on fox #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #im not as happy with this one #but you know what #its fluffy #and it has firefam feels #i love them you know #my writing

33 notes · View notes

lsvdw-blog · 3 years

Note

Hi babe! i come to you with some "newlywed" questions fo S and E. The thing is... you have to answer as them :D

For Both

On a scale from 1 to 10, how would your partner rate your first date?

How often do you go on dates now?

Who's the better kisser?

What did your partner wear on your first date?

Who is a better gift giver?

For Serena

Do you have a pet name for Ethan? If so, what is it?

What's the cutest thing he does in the morning?

Describe Ethan with the line of a poem.

How long did you date him before he proposed?

What is something you do he pretends to hate but secretly loves?

For Ethan

What's her go-to Karaoke song? Is she a good singer?

What's Serena's biggest shopping addiction?

Describe the thing you love the most about her.

What was the exact moment you knew you wanted to marry her?

What is your favorite meal to prepare for Serena?

Have fun!

OMG SCREAM!!!!! Bree, I love you so much!!!! These questions are so cuuuuute and I have been living with all of your answers about Lilac x Ethan lately, so thank you so much for asking and thinking of my two beans 🥰❤🥰❤ Buckle up, b/c this is gonna be LONG. Answers under the cut!

Let me set the scene: I imagine this happening like an interview about to be included in a magazine/recorded😂 like they're being interviewed by the Oprah of Boston b/c everyone is shook that the medical power couple is married. They're sitting next to each other on a loveseat, with Ethan leaving a respectable amount of space b/w them; the interviewer is across from them. S and E each have a tiny microphone attached to their collar. Serena is excited, but Ethan hates it here 😂

For Both

On a scale from 1 to 10, how would your partner rate your first date?

Serena: "Miami? Mmm, like a 2, because someone decided to block some fun," she looks pointedly at the interviewer, "activities. Our official first date? I'd say a solid 9."

Ethan stares at his wife, trying to hide his horror at her Miami comment. He clears his throat and runs his hand down the front of his tie before responding.

Ethan: "Our first date was an 8 for her."

How often do you go on dates now?

Serena: "Our schedules are very busy, so we try for twice a month for an actual date night."

Ethan: "Yes, what my wife said."

Who's the better kisser?

Serena: "Oh, me. Hands down. He is also a very good kisser, but... I'm better," she winks.

Ethan: "I concede this point to my wife," he smirks.

What did your partner wear on your first date?

Serena: "He wore a dark blue suit with a white dress shirt and black dress shoes. Black tie with a silver tie clip. Silver watch on his left wrist. Silvery-white pocket square. Everything impeccably tailored... really brought out his eyes," she says with a small smile, turning to look at him, eyes gleaming.

Ethan: "She wore a bright red bodycon midi dress with five large black buttons running down the front on the right side. She carried a small red purse with golden studs placed diagonally all along the front," he's been staring at her the entire time. He reaches for her hand now. "Extremely muted light purple wedges that could almost pass for white. She kept her hair straight, with a side part on the right. Red lipstick, neck adorned with a pearl and gold necklace, a jade bracelet on her left wrist, a silver one on her right," he finishes, eyes soft, thumb stroking hers.

Who is a better gift giver?

Serena: "Absolutely Ethan."

Ethan: "Yes, that would be me."

For Serena

Do you have a pet name for Ethan? If so, what is it?

"I don't know if you'd count this as a pet name, but I call him by his first initial, 'E,' quite a lot. There's also the occasional 'sweetheart,' or 'babe.'"

What's the cutest thing he does in the morning?

"I think it's a tie between two things. He gets up at an ungodly hour and I am not a morning person, so whenever he gets up, he'll carefully cover my eyes with his t-shirt to shield me from the light he turns on. He'll take it off when he's done. He also, without fail, kisses my forehead before leaving the room every morning."

How long did you date him before he proposed?

Describe Ethan with the line of a poem.

"'I don't think you will ever fully comprehend how you've made my dreams come true.' I went into medicine because of him and my dream was always to be at Edenbrook, working alongside him. This came true because he chose my application. Personally, he is such a pure and good man, better than I could have ever conjured up."

"Officially, two years in total. About 6 months after the end of my residency."

What is something you do he pretends to hate but secretly loves?

"The fact that I incessantly point out any and every dog we come across. He secretly finds it endearing." She smiles triumphantly.

For Ethan

What's her go-to Karaoke song? Is she a good singer?

"Anything that 'is a bop,' to quote her. She doesn't have one specific go-to song, as it depends on the mood she's in. But I remember one particularly exuberant performance of 'Livin' on a Prayer' by Bon Jovi with her brother. She's a decent singer: 6.5."

What's Serena's biggest shopping addiction?

He arches one brow. "Do I have to pick just one?" Serena playfully hits him on the arm. "Right now, it's handbags. But she's more particular about those, so she rarely ever buys one. However, she can always find new clothes and shoes to purchase. Always."

Describe the thing you love the most about her.

"Her energy. She lights up the entire room and has such a way about her that makes others feel at ease. She makes friends everywhere and perpetually has you laughing. She is never afraid to try something new, oftentimes shrugging and giving a "why not" facial expression before going to tackle said obstacle or adventure. Her easy-going confidence just... draws you to her."

What was the exact moment you knew you wanted to marry her?

"She was video calling one of her old college friends, who was coming down to Boston soon to visit her. They caught up, while also trying to plan their agenda. Serena began to list all of the must-see sights, must try cuisines, and local treasures and hidden gems. She spoke with so much excitement and passion for this city, her eyes positively sparkling. Watching and listening to her, I realized that she now saw Boston as her home, just as I do, and that I wanted to continue to experience all that this amazing city has to offer, not alone anymore, but with her. To make this city not 'my' home or 'her' home, but 'our' home," he raises Serena’s hand and kisses it.

What is your favorite meal to prepare for Serena?

"Her mom's honey roasted duck recipe, with a side of rice and sautéed vegetables."

I loved answering these so so much!!! Thank you for sending them to me; love you!! ❤❤

#asks #ethan ramsey × mc #ethan x mc #send me asks

26 notes · View notes

sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

Text

Artistic Instinct: Chapter 3

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 3,200

Warnings: Language.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit! If an artist falls in love with you, you will live forever.

Genereux Philip

Chapter 3

Two years earlier

After a year’s secondment to Interpol at Stephen’s request, you and Jasper Kelly had settled into life in Lyon. Whereas in London, you’d had to hide your relationship, here you were freer to live together and not need to keep up appearances. You had just taken the ancient funicular railway up the steeply sloping hill with Jasper, having enjoyed a glass or two of kir royale from one of the many cafés of Vieux Lyon, the warmth from the alcohol heating your belly and the bite of the blackcurrant still sweet on your lips. Your fingers interlaced with his, without having to care that you might be seen as he stroked lazy circles on the back of your hand absentmindedly as the car was hauled up the hill by the thick wires.

Looking out across the city, resting on the white balustrades in the shadows of Fourvière, the view took your breath away. It didn’t matter how many times you saw it, it consistently changed depending on the light, the weather and your mood. Those typically French rooftops softly peaking, reaching for miles around you as the Rhône and Saône snaked lazily around the centre, cradling the rabbit warren of a city in its arms. The warmth from Jasper’s arm had disappeared from your waist, with you barely registering its absence. When you finally clocked that his hand had abandoned your side, you turned to find him holding a small box in his hand.

“Please don’t do this, Jas. You know we can’t,” you pleaded quietly, a cold wave of anxiety rushing through your body.

“Nush, will you marry me?” Jasper Kelly’s eyes locked onto yours, a man determined to make you his. He’d had enough of your belief that you couldn’t make your relationship official. That Mi5 would have your guts for garters and you’d never be allowed to work together again. Now, he wanted to make it truly official. By the laws of the land official and you were still pushing him away.

“I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life stroking your hair on the sofa, curling around you in bed and kissing your forehead whilst you’re reading.”

“You can do all of that now. You do that all now. You don’t need to marry me to continue to do that. Please, Jas. We’ve been through this. I don’t know how many more times I need to explain this to you or if there even is another way of explaining it.” you fretted anxiously as a lump gathered in your throat.

Your heart then shattered when you saw Jasper’s head drop with grief. You didn’t want to hurt him. The thought of doing it was completely abhorrent but how could you explain this to anyone? How could you be someone’s fiancé when the two of you could only exist in fleeting moments whenever and wherever you couldn’t be seen? You’d been partnered with Jasper from your first day in Stephens’ office as a rookie when your heart was slightly less guarded than now and whilst you’d worked together for close to fifteen years, you’d spent just over a decade hiding any sign that there was anything more than a professional partnership. You’d never met each other’s families as anything other than colleagues for fear of admonishment and relocations or worse through work. It was all an imperfect game of hide and seek.

Hephzi, the woman with whom you trusted your deepest darkest secrets, had no idea that you’d had anything more than a professional relationship. Your mum had positively gushed over him and even said in front of Jasper, what a good husband he’d make, looking pointedly at you. Stephens had muttered something to Jasper once that he wondered whether the pair of you were anything more- Jasper convinced you that he’d made it sound light and easy. Nothing that would ever infringe on your ability to work together.

However, Andy had spotted how steady everything was in Sainsburys when the three of you were picking up beers together after a late night working session. Jasper had unthinkingly swept the mass of hair off your back and kissed you tenderly on the point where your neck and shoulder met as you were waiting to pay and the way you’d leant back into his touch, a calmness and love radiating through your face told him everything. He was the only one who had any visual evidence that this wasn’t just someone to crawl into bed and take your frustrations out by grinding together until the world ceased to exist as anything other than short term sensations. No, this was tender. This was long term. These were two people who just worked in every sense of the word. You hadn’t even realised that Andy had any sort of idea until after Jasper had died- that he’d kept the knowledge of that moment to himself, never mentioning a word.

“I can’t keep living my life like this, Nush. I want to be able to live normally. Not constantly in the shadows as you think we have to be.” Jasper pleaded, “I want you to meet my mum as my girlfriend, my fiancée, my wife. Not as my bloody work colleague. Life doesn’t begin and end at work.”

“I don’t expect you to have kids. I don’t expect you to ever step down from the work that I know you live for. I just want us to be a team in every aspect, everywhere. Not covertly. Constantly hiding in the darkness to be able to sneak a moment here and there,”Jasper pleaded with you, trying to catch your eye.

You closed your eyes tightly, wishing that you could be million miles away from there, “If that is what you want, I can’t give you that, Jas.” You struggled to hold back the tears as you mumbled, “You deserve for all of your dreams to come true and to have the life that you imagine but the one you’ve described isn’t a future I can be a part of.”

“For one thing, I... I know kids are a big thing for you and I can’t make you give up on that dream to be a dad.You know that work will always be my baby and a huge part of our work is being untraceable- we make this official, have a family and we instantly put each other and any maybe babies at risk of being hurt by unscrupulous characters.”

You’d stood there, shoulder to shoulder with Jasper in silence. The city was no longer in focus as your eyes spilled hot, salty tears. Everything hurt. Everything ached.

“What are we going to do, Jas?” You turned to face him with your tear streaked face and trembling chin, “Where do we go from here?

“I’m not sure,” Jasper whispered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, “I just want to hold you and never let go and pretend that you said yes, or pretend that this never happened so that we can go on going through the motions that this is what we both want.”

Jasper used his thumb to wipe the tears away from your cheeks, staring deeply into your eyes.

“You are right though,” he added, his jaw tensed. “I want all of you to myself, Nush. The thought of returning to London and having to hide again makes me feel sick to my stomach. I’m too old and exhausted to keep playing these games. We need to make a decision before we head back to the UK.”

You stumbled past him, the uneven ground carving into the thin soles of your pumps as tears stung your eyes. There was a small road with barely any pavement winding its way down the hill that your feet followed, not knowing where it would lead but your mind was elsewhere as the wind blew in your face, and a desperate sobbing carried on the breeze behind you.

✪✪✪✪✪

Walking across the airport concourse, you scan the area for the man you’d only met less than twelve hours earlier. Initially, you are searching for someone who fills a sharply tailored suit perfectly but then it clicks. The meeting isn’t until tomorrow morning- he, like you, has probably run home to grab a change of clothes and a carry on bag. Bollocks! Perhaps you should have accepted a lift to the airport from him. Surely, he can’t look that different? As you head closer to the EasyJet desk, scanning the airport crowds left and right for a handsome, middle-aged man, you finally clock him. He’s slightly leaning against a wall reading a paperback, concentrating on the text with his dark eyebrows furrowed and pinching his plump bottom lip between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger. How the fuck does someone still look so neat even in just jeans and a hoodie? A genuine smile crosses Marcus’ face, the lines around his eyes crinkling deeply, as he spots you walking towards him.

“Hey! Sorry this was so last minute- I received the email about this meeting whilst you were in the bathroom sorting the burn on your hand. How is it doing?” he enquires passing you your ticket.

Pouting as you examine the back of your hand, “I don’t think it quite requires an amputation at the neck yet, Sir.”

Marcus scrunches his nose up with the chuckle he releases at your terrible joke, his dimple flashing in his cheek. You can’t help but relax your face into a slight smile.

“We need to create a mandate that no one calls me Sir in our office. Makes me feel old,” Marcus jokingly grumbles.

“I’m not saying a word,” you say as you swing your rucksack over your shoulder, heading towards check in.

Marcus’ eyes widened with a mock hurt expression, “Hey, low blow. You’re not that much younger than me!” He grumbles, “Way to kick a man when he’s down!”

With those words, you turn back from the desk with a wink and a small grin that make Marcus’ heart flutter.

✪✪✪✪✪

Despite the quick hop over from Stansted to Lyon, Marcus had made sure that you’d got seats with extra legroom. “Are you always this thoughtful, or just trying to make a good impression?” You almost said trying to get into your knickers but managed to maintain appropriateness bearing in mind that this poor man had been your boss for barely a day.

“I aim to not be a dick as much as possible,” Marcus counters. “Listen. You went a bit pale when I invited you to come with me today. It must be really strange having a new boss after so much time with Stephens. I hope you didn’t feel that I forced you into coming- I would hate for you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

Your face drops a little and you shake your head slightly, “It wasn’t that, Sir, I mean Agent Pike-”

“You can call me Marcus. I’m not keen on those formalities - and we’re on our own time now, although we’re travelling for work!” He huffs and chuckles, watching for your response.

“What about Sir Agent Marcus Pike? That work?” you tease mercilessly, your eyebrow arched and barely glancing at him as you flick through your iPad at the agenda for the next day’s meeting.

“Yeah, that works. My Mom would be delighted for me to be a Knight! Put me in your phone as that,” Marcus plays along, enjoying the friendly banter that seemed to have built between you. “Anyway, I interrupted you- what were you about to say?”

“I didn’t feel forced, Marcus. We may have known each other for less than half a day but please understand that I would have told you in no uncertain terms that I would be uncomfortable travelling with you had it been the case,” you firmly state looking directly in those hypnotic chocolate brown eyes. Marcus gazes straight back entranced, softening his gaze, feeling astounded that you were focussed on him.

“Do you want to talk about the real reason then?” Marcus gently pries, “I mean, there’s no way anyone gets to our age without ghosts or baggage, and a problem sha-“

“No.” Despite Marcus guarding his feelings well, you can see that he’s surprised by the sharpness of your tone. Marcus unconsciously folds his arms across his chest and a wave of guilt floods your mind as you know that it’s a defensive move, protecting himself against you.

“Where are we staying when we get there?” you try changing the subject and softening your tone even though a bitter metallic taste was stinging the back of your throat.

You watch Marcus awkwardly fumbling in his pocket that was restricted by the seat, searching for his phone “Uh, I think it’s the Mercure Lyon Centre Beaux-Arts- it was booked earlier by Andy. We’ve got separate rooms but they’re next to each other- I hope you don’t mind the proximity?”

You shake your head, trying to stay quiet, wanting to avoid upsetting or irritating your new boss any further.

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus rolls his bag into his room after wishing you a goodnight at the door to your room. He hangs his shirt in the cupboard, and grabs his grooming bag, walking into the bathroom with the intention of a long, hot shower.

His mind is spinning with thoughts of you. Something about you intrigues him. He wants to know everything and yet you veer wildly between a cool, hard nosed professional and this warm, gently-teasing ray of sunshine. He feels like every conversation he holds with you, he manages to take a couple of steps forward and then roughly a thousand back.

Between the stilted conversations and the colour your face had turned in that earlier meeting, he is genuinely worried about how your relationship will eventually pan out. Will you always hold him at arm's length? Would he be ever entrusted to Andy levels of closeness? Marcus rubs the furrows in his brow as thoughts of you zip around unrestrainedly.

You had been put forward as being unparalleled in your knowledge of art, forgers techniques and a multi linguist to boot and whilst your intelligence was obvious, would you ever let him get any closer? Andy was so obviously fond of you and had sung your praises from the rooftops - but there was something you were hiding.

Stripping down to his pants, he turns on the shower, relishing the pressure of the jet on his wrist as the water rushes out. Marcus sheds himself of his underwear and steps under the torrent of gloriously warm water.

Allowing it to cascade over him, he stands there, permitting the water to rinse him free of everything. Apart from you. As he shut his eyes, all he can see is the shine of your dark hair and those almond-shaped eyes of yours. He’s known you for less than half a day and it was as if you had already tattooed a permanent image of yourself in his brain. Squeezing a blob of shampoo out into his hand, he brings it into his dripping wet curls, massaging the liquid through his dark roots.

Of course this would be the moment that a knock sounded sharply at his door. Quickly rinsing the suds from his hair, he grabs the available bath sheet, wrapping it tightly around his waist before walking to the hotel room door. In the seemingly short seconds of his jumping out of the shower, his visitor has disappeared from the hallway. Just as Marcus cranes his neck to squint a little further down the hall, a buzz comes from his phone, alerting him to a message.

Sorry- knocked, then heard the shower. Gone to find food- let me know if you don’t like or are allergic to anything. Be back in five or tell me to piss off if you don’t want anything, Nush x

Your name lit up the screen. With a kiss at the end. Exhaling a deep sigh and shutting his eyes tightly, Marcus doesn’t think he could ever tell you to go away.

Surprise me, M

✪✪✪✪✪

A little more than five minutes later, you turn up at Marcus’ door holding a bag stuffed with a selection of saucisson sec, Brie de meaux, cornichons, artichokes and a couple of sticks of pain de campagne. Your rucksack clinks suspiciously with a couple of bottles of Côte de Rhône, which makes Marcus’s eyes light up.

“That was a quick recce! Good choices here though!” He remarks, impressed with your finds as he takes the bags from you.

“I know Lyon well. Was seconded here for a while with Interpol’s art crime department.” you offer with an anxious sideways look at Marcus as you break off a hunk of bread, hollowing out the soft centre and shovelling it into your starving mouth.

Please don’t pry. Please don’t pry. Please don’t pry.

You see a gentle acknowledgment from the other agent’s eyes. Now knowing better than to press you further, Marcus instead grabs his iPad, “Wanna watch a film?”

“Sure, what’ve you got?” You ask absentmindedly when really you’re far more concerned about filling your growling stomach, “Actually scratch that, you choose. You’re the head of an art crime department, your taste can’t be that terrible.”

“Hah! Do you treat all your co-workers so nicely, or am I just special??” Marcus teases whilst enjoying the ease that seems to have developed with the appearance of the food, “So, Sharknado 3, then?”

“Ah, my favourite of the trilogy!” You play along as Marcus’ beautifully deep chuckle reaches your ears.

Marcus and you settle on either end of the sofa, the food spread between you on the coffee table and the water glasses filled with wine. The iPad set between the two of you plays Roman Holiday and whilst you both initially rave about the level of beauty from Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, you both fall into a calm, comfortable silence, absorbed by the romantic comedy. Every now and then, you feel a soft pair of eyes on you, which you occasionally catch to send small lopsided smiles back.

As Ann walks away from Joe reluctantly on the screen and Joe lingers after her departure, you stretch and gaze around the room. Your eyes fall upon a broad chest that is steadily rising and falling and your ears prick at soft snores as Marcus breathes in. Knees cracking as you rise from the couch, you shake each leg out and stretch slowly with a small squeak as your joints finally decide to be in a position to move again. Moving quietly over to the bed, you grab the quilt and lug it to the sofa, pulling the covers over Marcus’ peacefully sleeping frame.

✪✪✪✪✪

As the door softly clicks shut, and slightly disturbs his rest with a cool breeze that carries the smallest hint of your perfume, Marcus could have sworn that you’d kissed your fingers then touched it to his brow. The soft brush of your fingertips a gentle memory on the creases of his forehead.

My beautiful taglist: @astroboots @silverwolf319 @lunaserenade @danniburgh @leonieb @mrsparknuts @sirowsky @mouthymandalorian @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know! I don’t bite hard and am always up for chats.

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal#jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal #the mentalist

48 notes · View notes

gallavictorious · 4 years

Text

“Will you suck my dick whenever I want?” Sex, Power, and the Gallavich Modes of Communication.

Becaue of reasons I want to talk a bit about the rather infamous “suck my dick” scene of 4x08.

This is a complicated scene and I have complicated feelings about it, which is pretty much the above-mentioned 'reasons' for writing this exploratory meta: when in confoundment, hash it out by putting all your thoughts down on paper. Fair warning: this is long, and since it deals with dubious consent you might want to give it a miss if discussion of that sort of thing upsets you. Same goes if you believe that Ian really is just asking for unlimited access to blowjobs, or find extensive (over)analysis of fictional works silly.

The accusation sometimes levelled at Ian in regards to this scene is that he's being manipulative and practically forcing Mickey into performing sexual acts he would otherwise not perfom, taking advantage of Mickey's emotional vulnerability to secure sexual pleasure for himself. He certainly issues an ultimatum and this scene is uncomfortable to watch because of that, but at the same time it's always seemed pretty obvious to me that endless blowjobs isn't really Ian's objective here. If that's all he wanted, he could easily get that without having to resort to extortion: finding sexual partners has never been a problem for him. No, there are other things at work, and below I try to figure out what.

Let's kick of by a quote from Oscar Wilde: “Everything is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”

Because yes, this is about power rather than sex – which is another way of saying that what Ian truly wants isn't for Mickey to give him a blowjob, but for Mickey to agree to do it in spite of his initial reluctance. Which still isn't a very flattering look for Ian, because neither demanding blowjobs nor demanding your partner's submission is particularly charming (outside of negotiated kink, of course). However, I think it's fair to say that the power Ian seeks here is not the power to (permanently) place himself above Mickey, but the power to once more level the playing field between them and regain some sense of the agency and control that Ian felt he lost during the whole mess leading up to Mickey's wedding.

From the very start, Ian's been wanting more from Mickey than Mickey's been willing or able to give (not because Mickey isn't as into Ian as Ian is into him, but because of all that other shit: you know well what I'm talking about). To a large extent, Ian's been reining himself in, wary of asking too much, lest he scare Mickey off. Whenever he's openly pushed for more – trying to kiss Mickey, putting his hand on the glass, insisting that Mickey do not murder his father – Mickey has brusquely rebuffed him. However, he's had quite a bit of success with less direct methods, as when he 'gets' Mickey to kiss him by explaining that one of the reasons he likes Ned is that Ned isn't afraid to. (And for the record, I don't think this was a conscious ploy by Ian: he was simply being honest with Mickey, in a way that also conveyed his disappointment in Mickey's continued unwillingness to kiss.)

Ian's been in love with Mickey for a long time. For a long time, he doesn't tell Mickey this, which is partly due to the above-mentioned fear of scaring Mickey off, and partly due to Ian genuinely not being sure if Mickey likes him back. (“How do you know if a guy you've been hanging out with likes you?”) But following the very obviously jealous beatdown of Ned, the kiss in the van, and the invitation to a sleep-over, Ian is finally convinced that Mickey does indeed like him too – only 3x06 happens and Mickey is not only shutting him out again, he's getting married to someone else.

But knowing what he now knows – i.e. that Mickey is in love with him – Ian doen't back off or try (to the best of his feeble ability) to play it cool. He puts himself out there, he puts his emotions on display, and he repeatedly begs Mickey not to get married.

Mickey gets married all the same.

Now, Ian has a strong sense of integrity and does not enjoy having to depend on someone else. Ian is not very good at admitting when he's wrong. Ian is proud. Because of this and quite apart from the heartbreak of losing Mickey to marriage, I'd imagine that he's feeling less than great about being scorned after having been so open about his wishes. (Well. Scorned is a somewhat strong word: Mickey's obviously still down for him, but he's not willing to give Ian what he wants – a real relationship, as Ian defines it.) As far as Ian is concerned, the situation has created a tangible power gap between them, with Mickey having the upper hand. (It might be argued that the power gap's been there the entire time, with Ian wanting more than Mickey was willing to give, but up until that point Ian has not actively asked for things Mickey's made clear is out of bounds but has accepted Mickey's marking of boundaries with a shrug and an 'oh'.)

Mickey's broken “don't” as Ian announces his intention to enlist isn't enough to bridge that gap: it's an admission of feeling, of need, but does not indicate any intention on Mickey's part to further act on that feeling. It doesn't change anything: Ian still wants a commited relationship, Mickey still wants Ian around to fuck him even while he stays married to Svetlana.

And for all that we sympathize with Mickey – which we bloody well should, because he was the victim of a horrible crime and trapped in the shittiest of situations through no fault of his own – it isn't unreasonable of Ian to not want to be the secret 'mistress' of a closeted man. He's been there, done that, and quite understandably wants more from Mickey. He isn't wrong for trying to extricate himself from that situation, even as it's utterly understandable why Mickey isn't able to give him what he wants at the time.

Life's like that, kids. Sometimes there are no good choices, and sometimes no one's at fault even though everything's an absolute mess and people get hurt. (I mean, Terry's at fault. Terry is a huge fucking cunt.)

It bears saying that Ian isn't a saint and doesn't behave perfectly in this situation: he shows little understanding for Mickey's entirely justifiable fears, and rather than telling Mickey that he loves him, he insists that Mickey admits that he loves Ian, which I do find a bit presumptuous. Ian's small smile when Mickey comes close to breaking when Ian announces his plan to leave indicates that he finds some small measure of pleasure in knowing that he's hurt Mickey the way Mickey has hurt him: though I think it's not primarily pleasure in the hurt itself, but rather pleasure in what it signifies, i.e. that Mickey does care about him too. But that isn't enough; that isn't really news.

So he enlists and that goes the way it goes and then Mickey seeks him out at the club and brings him home, to the bed Mickey normally shares with his wife. This, I think, tells Ian something; it suggests something beyond Mickey just having feelings for him. It's just a suggestion, mind, so it doesn't actually resolve anything, but it's enough of a something that Ian's willing to have a conversation about possibly returning when Mickey comes to see him at the Gallagher house.

But Ian has a problem. If he simply goes back to be being with Mickey without anything changing he has effectively agreed to the sort of arrangement he joined the army to very pointedly escape. Quite apart from him not wanting that sort of relationship, it would signify a failure to proud guy Ian, and following his failure to even make it through basic, I think that's not something he's willing to allow. He still wants to be with Mickey, though. Knowing that Mickey is as unlikely to divorce his wife now as he was to call off the wedding, Ian can't ask for that; he can't ask again for the type or relationship he really wants – but he can't go back to what they had previously either. This puts him in a pretty tough spot, and I think this is why he asks for Mickey to suck his dick. While not achieving exactly what he wants it still gives him enough of a something that he feels comfortable resuming his relationship with Mickey:

Firstly, it serves to even the score and redistribute the power between them. Yes, this is him asking Mickey to submit to him and for Mickey to acknowledge Ian's power over him, but it's a request made from what Ian perceives to be a position of weakness (because of the whole Ian putting himself out there and Mickey getting married in spite of that). By momentarily placing himself above Mickey, Ian seeks balance the scales, bringing them back to an even level. This is a one-time thing, over and done with once Mickey agrees. Evidence suggests this works very well, too: look at their interactions the next day, when they're back to their normal and easy back and forth. Even so, it's a pretty fucked up thing to ask for, but we need to remember that Ian has a fairly complicated relationship with sex, given all that he's been through, and probably doesn't take this kind of thing nearly as seriously as we might want him to.

Secondly, Ian wants Mickey to commit to an emotional honesty he has so far resisted. If they can't be an official couple, he still wants that much. They were getting somewhere before Terry fucked everything up, and Ian has zero interest in going back to a relationship where Mickey pretends that it's only about the banging and shies away from any notions of an emotional involvement.

Ian wants Mickey to let himself be vulnerable with Ian, and while performing a sexual act to signify a commitment not to let things be only about sex seems pretty damned contradictory at first glance, this specific type of sexual act – which is bitch-coded in the enviroment Mickey has grown up in and which he probably finds hard to admit that he likes (until he doesn't: “I suck his dick and I love it” – but this line really supports both the idea that Mickey doesn't in fact mind sucking Ian's dick and that it's something that isn't “appropriate” for him to like; else he wouldn't have thrown it in Terry's face like that) – signifies more that just the sexual act itself: Ian knows that Mickey likes sucking his dick, and he wants Mickey to own that (as Mickey owns being a bottom): he wants Mickey to lay off the bullshit and be honest about who is and what he wants, to Ian, if not to anyone else at this point. The last time Ian asked this of Mickey, Mickey kicked him in the face, so I don't think it's too hard to see why Ian would go about it in this way rather than asking for what he really wants outright.

What he seeks here is a promise of a long-time commitment, and that's why the “whenever I want” bit is significant, because it points ahead to the future, even if Ian has no intention of enforcing the actual sucking of dicks bit.

And I think it's very important that both Ian and Mickey are ver clear about the fact that Ian will not enforce this. I think they are: for all that they have trouble communicating at times, this is the sort of subtle signalling they are pretty good at. I guess it comes down a bit to character intepretation though: I just don't think Ian would seriously ask this of Mickey, and I don't think Mickey would agree to it either. They both see this for the one-time act of submission it is, with all that it signifies and symbolizes.

(Let's be clear: if Ian had actually continued to enforce this demand, leading them down a path of a 'blow me right now or I'm leaving' that would have been pretty damned horrible. The reason I don't think this happened, apart from finding it OOC, is the complete lack of evidence that things are weird between them going forward, and if Ian had been forcing Mickey, a rape victim, into performing sexual acts, things sure as hell would have been weird between them. After this, they're back on an even footing: they sure have conflicts, which culminates with Mickey coming out [and, yes – demanding that someone come out isn't great, especially when that someone is facing the kind of threats Mickey is, but at the same time it's perfectly reasonable for Ian not to want to stay in a secret relationship: again, it's a fucked-up situation with no good choices], but they're on level fighting ground. It's not the sort of conflict resolution I'd recommend, but it apparently worked for them, and given their generally messy dynamic, I'm not really surprised.)

In fairness, Ian isn't really being nice about this whole thing, and there's absolutely some glee and triump when Mickey actually agrees to do it. A sense of vindication, surely, after what happened between them just before Ian left. But do notice that while Ian kind of does rub it in – “suck my dick, whenever I want” with that pleased smile – he doesn't in fact make Mickey say it, even though Mickey's request – “don't make me say it, asswipe” – does make it clear that if Ian demands it, Mickey will. There is an element of payback to this whole exchange, there's no denying that, but Ian's not out to actually be cruel to Mickey: he wants them to be back on even and equal ground, and he wants Mickey to own his desires and emotions.

So yeah, it's still not great by any means, and it's still uncomfortable to watch, but if we take into account Ian's somewhat causal relationship to sex in general, as well as Mickey's unwillingness both to emotionally commit and to actually talk about things, I think it's fair to say that Ian is not trying to manipulate Mickey, but rather to stand his ground and express his wishes in a way that he believes Mickey can and will play along with. (I, incidentally, think that Ian might be wrong, and that it's possible that Mickey has missed him enough and worked with himself enough that if Ian had made instead asked “will we actually talk about our feelings” Mickey would have gone along with that too, to the best of his ability – but this is actually way easier for Mickey to roll with.) It is pretty messed up, but viewed through the lense of their shared history and less than straightforward modes of communication, it does make a whole lot of sense.

To me at least – as always, feel free to disagree or add your own perspectives. I view meta as an invitation to discuss, not as a finalized argument to end discussion, and there are certainly aspects I haven’t touched upon here. And if you have seen this discussed before, I'd be super grateful if you'd point in me in the right direction.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #4x08 #tw: dubious consent #meta #yeah i might have gone a bit overboard with this whole thing #but it IS a very complex scene #and this is how i make sense of things #rambling endlessly about them #my stuff

241 notes · View notes

aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years

Text

Cardan's In-Laws

Warning: Contains Queen of Nothing spoilers and a very petty Cardan. Read at your own risk.

So Madoc is exiled now

But Jude loves visiting the mortal world and while Cardan wants to accompany her, he can't because Madoc hates him

But he's miserable without Jude anyway

So the next time Jude decides to visit the mortal world, Cardan insists he should like to go with her

Jude does not like the idea

But Cardan can be very convincing when he wants to wink wink

And thus Jude and Cardan go to the mortal world

Cardan follows her around

clutching his wife's hand

as she navigates the crowds and a completely strange world

They have huge moving metallic boxes they sit in

Jude says they are common means of transportation, nothing surprising

But Cardan is fascinated

Imagine his excitement when they sit in one of those wheeled boxes

The rider in the front gives him strange looks every time Cardan asks Jude something

And Jude orders him to shut up

Cardan does shut up but only because he is too busy staring at everything blatantly

What is this place?

Finally, they are at the house Madoc and the others live in

It is so different

Cardan loves it

Then they get inside

Vivienne blinks in surprise but gets over it

Taryn's mouth hangs open (she has been living in the mortal world for a while now)

Oak squeals at Jude's presence, wrapping his little arms around her

He shyly curtsies towards Cardan like Jude once taught him

Cardan only laughs

"There is no need for that, little one"

Madoc and Oriana are in the study

Ever the lady, Oriana curtsies towards the both of them

Madoc pointedly bows only to his daughter, "My Queen"

Cardan can not help but watch warily as his wife steps within choking distance of their past enemy

Oriana drags Jude out after that tho

Saying they need to talk about something

Cardan smiles sweetly at Madoc

Too sweetly, if you ask me

"Dearest father-in-law, why don't you come closer?"

Madoc scoffs

He shifts his chair closer anyway

Cardan has half the mind to make Madoc's chair vanish from underneath him with magic

As if Madoc can read his mind

He gives a feral grin

daring Cardan to do that

But in all honesty, Jude might kill Cardan if he did that

And he'd rather eat dirt than admit it but Cardan was awful scared of his wife

So he refrains

Madoc breaks the silence

"I am not particularly fond of you, boy, but you hurt my daughter and I will find a way to hurt you, King of Faerie or not"

Cardan bit back a remark

His heart warmed at the thought that at least Madoc truly did care about his daughter despite their history so he nodded in promise

The males came out into the living room after that and had dinner

Vivi and Cardan are already friends

Oak warms up to Cardan almost immediately

Oak tells him about call the crazy mortal treats they eat

And something about some pissa thing that is supposed to be delicious

And Oak shows them a drawing he made in school

A girl in brown hair and a pretty dress

Holding up a sword

Jude

"She looks like a Queen"

The little guy nods "She is. If you make my sister cry, she will kill you"

After Cardan assures him he would never make Jude cry

They become fast friends

Cardan charms the ever loving hell out of Oriana with his pretty words

Much to Madoc's chagrin

Oriana smiles in approval at him and Jude

"We could not have found a better partner for our daughter, Your Majesty"

Madoc looks ready to protest

One look from Oriana and Jude shuts him up though

Cardan is not above taunting Madoc every once in a while

Noticing the tension, Oriana suggests they watch the mortal football game on TV while the girls catch up

No one looks pleased at that

But Cardan complies

Football, Madoc explains, is a very popular sport in the mortal world

They watch the figures moving on the peculiar silver screen in silence

Cardan gets hooked

He keeps asking the rules

Madoc too, swept up in the game, forgets his resentment for a while and explains everything to him

Soon, they are shouting at the peculiar screen in unison

throwing popcorns at it and rooting for the same players

It is Taryn who Cardan can not bring himself to make peace with

Taryn who helped Locke break his wife's heart

Taryn who let her twin sister suffer Cardan and his friends' wrath

Taryn who betrayed her sister again after Jude returned from the Undersea

He can not bring himself to relax around Taryn

Every time she steps closer to Jude

Cardan goes still

waiting for Taryn to hurt her again

she never does

but Cardan doesn't like her anyway

When it's time to go home

Oak keeps sobbing, clinging to Cardan

And Oriana insists they stay longer

Vivi is smiling and trying to convince Oak to get off of Cardan

Jude is looking proudly at her husband who managed to make all her family fall in love with him in less than a day

Madoc growls something like "Good Riddance"

but there is no bite to his words

and the small nod he gives Cardan as they leave

Not quite acceptance but it's not disapproval either

Considering no one died

Cardan believes the trip was successful

And if it was a little inconvenient for a moment or two

the smile that remained on his Queen's face for the next week

was so worth it

328 notes · View notes

raendown · 3 years

Link

A follower milestone gift fic for @syusukerambles, prompt word obdurate.

Pairing: TobiramaKakashi Word count: 1130 Rated: T+ Summary: Trying to convince Tobirama to do something he doesn't want to do is a lesson in frustration.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Ask And You Shall Receive (A Definite No)

“No.”

“But-!”

“I said no, Kakashi.”

Having such terrible posture already made it very difficult to droop effectively so Kakashi shuffled a little closer to drape himself against his partner’s side instead. For his efforts he received a very flat look before Tobirama pointedly looked away again, deliberately focusing on the soup that didn’t really need much more focus than a few quick stirs.

“What if I said please?”

“You already have,” Tobirama pointed out. “Several times, in fact.”

Kakashi thought about that for a moment. “I could add a cherry on top. Or a kiss. You like my kisses!”

He wilted under the flat eyes that turned to pin him in place, quickly rallying up a brilliant smile. Or as brilliant of a smile as he was capable of. Without a mirror to check it was hard to know whether he looked as pleasant and agreeable as he was going for or if he was just baring his teeth like an animal. All those years of covering his face with a mask had really put a damper on his ability to parse out the right expressions he was supposed to be making. Tobirama, on the other hand, had spent a lifetime honing the sharpness of his disapproval until it could be considered a weapon on all its own.

“Are you implying that I will not have any kisses from you unless I bow to this ridiculous request?”

“Wait, no, that wasn’t what I meant. Maa, why are you so hard to argue with? I never win!”

“Now that would be sharing secrets, my love.” Tobirama’s dry tone belied the minute curling of his lips, just a hint of amusement creeping in.

It was only a tiny chink in the man’s armor but that was all the opening he was likely to get. When his partner turned to pull some bowls down from the cupboard Kakashi followed after and ghosted one hand down the length of Tobirama’s spine just the way they both knew he enjoyed.

“But I think it would look so nice! Just try it? For me?”

“There is absolutely nothing you could say that would convince me to grow my hair out to such absurd length. I’m not sure where you got this idea from but I do wish you’d put it down.” Tobirama rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “And then bury it where it will never haunt me again.”

For a man who so often mocked his own brother’s histrionics he sure was dramatic when he wanted to be. Kakashi didn’t even try to smother the grin that stole across his face. There was only one person he had ever wanted to share his face with so he might as well let the man see what it was doing. If it happened to be laughing a little at his partner’s expense, well, he’d lost the knack for controlling that years ago so he couldn’t be blamed too much.

Moving around to his partner’s other side, Kakashi leaned in until he could whisper against one pale ear while his fingers slid around to trace idle shapes against the opposite side of his partner’s neck. It still boggled him sometimes that a man like Tobirama could trust him so much as to let him get this close but that didn’t mean he wasn’t above taking advantage when necessary.

“Just imagine how nice it would be to lay down at the end of a long day and let me run my fingers through your hair.”

“You do that already,” Tobirama pointed out.

“How nice it would feel to just sit back and let me brush it all out for you, maybe tie it back in to a tidy little braid. You know how you like things to be tidy. There would be other practical benefits of course.” He very carefully did not laugh at the twitch that came for the word ‘practical’. “Warmer ears in the winter. No need for scarves, either, which means one less item of clothing to be used against you in case of an attack. Or on the opposite side you could add any number of weapons in to an updo and call them decorations like Lady Mito’s seals or the blades that the Daimyo’s wife always wears.”

When his partner hummed contemplatively Kakashi triumphed, sure for a moment that he had won. Really the best method of getting his way with this man was always to point out the practical reasons for giving him what he wanted. Then Tobirama turned to look at him with both sides of his mouth curled up and just one look at that blatant amusement told him he was wrong. He had absolutely lost this battle.

“As much thought as you have clearly put in to this, my answer will remain no. I am not going to grow my hair out. Now, pass me that ladle so I can serve our dinner.”

“Oh you are just cruelty walking,” Kakashi declared with a pout. He did hand over the ladle though.

He was hungry, so sue him.

“Yes, ever so cruel. Whatever shall I do to make it up to you?”

“Well if you’re asking-”

“No.” Tobirama was laughing now, the bastard. “Whatever filthy idea you’re pulling from the latest issue of those horrid books, the answer to that will also be no.”

Sometimes it was a terrible thing to have a partner who knew him this well. Kakashi pouted and sighed and mourned as obviously as he could and when none of that worked he threw himself down at the kitchen table to glare at the bowl of soup that was set in front of him. Stupid tasty soup. If he wasn’t absolutely starving he might have turned his nose up at it just for spite. A frown touched his brow and Kakashi picked up his spoon. On second thought, spite was apparently something Tobirama found terribly attractive so maybe it would be best to just eat.

He was trying to do just that when a set of sharp teeth nipped at the top of his left ear without warning, jerking a startled moan out of him.

“Perhaps if you behave very well,” Tobirama whispered against his temple, “I could be convinced to apply a henge before taking you to bed tonight. Does that sound like an acceptable compromise?”

“Nngg,” Kakashi responded with the last shreds of his intelligence.

It wasn’t fair that Tobirama could see through him so easily but he supposed he shouldn’t really complain all that much. He may have lost this battle but in the end, if you looked at things the right way, he’d won the war. Tobirama could be as stubborn as he liked. Kakashi was still getting exactly what he wanted.

#rae writes #tobikaka #tobirama #kakashi #fanfiction #the link is still technically active #for anyone who didn't see it till now #and wants a gift fic

14 notes · View notes

allie1804-fan · 3 years

Text

Kerense Part 2

This is a continuation of Kerensa - read Part 1 here

Kerensa (Part 1)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Warnings : Just like Keanu in these fics, I don't actually know any of the other real people portrayed here so my versions of them are all supposition!

LA Home?

After a couple of weeks, they moved on to LA. Kerry was Flabbergasted by the size and style of his home. It had a cool feel due to the size of the rooms and the large pieces of art in the main living area which had vast bi-fold doors leading out to the patio and pool. He was most excited to show her his pond with Koi Carp and the breathtaking view.

His office and bedroom were warmer in style, more in keeping with the man and she was thrilled with the kitchen which his sister had designed with herself in mind for when she visited and wanted to cook or for Keanu when he had a caterer come in.

On their first night, they ordered take out and ate outside by the pool. They were both tired from travelling but he promised to take her out to some favourite haunts soon. His bigger priority was making her and Scout feel at home and welcome.

That started with meeting his mum. Having heard a lot about her before he left, his mother, in particular, was very keen to make her acquaintance. She invited them over and had a meal catered.

She was welcoming but there was an edge of scrutiny in her gaze and her questions.

In the car on the way home, Kerry pointed it out.

It’s just like Jason Robards says in Parenthood. “It never ends”

“What?”

“Well, your mum was clearly concerned I might be some kind of leach!”

“Kerry, she thinks that about everyone I meet, but especially women. But she liked you, I could tell. And you bonded over all your English connections right?”

“I guess!”

Next up was Karina who had them over for Thanksgiving. She was more easygoing than her mother and they had a very relaxed day with Keanu and his brother-in-law bonding over the football and Kerry and Karina enjoying working together in the kitchen.

In the weeks running up to Christmas, their projects were on hiatus and they focussed on getting Kerry acclimatised to LA. Keanu bought her a car (she was not up for driving his Porsche) and they went on bike rides up PCH, took Scout on hikes in local parks and continued her introductions to his friends.

Key amongst them was Alex Winter and his family. They spent a great day on the beach at Malibu with him, his wife and their 2 youngest sons. Alex took a cute pic of Kerry and Keanu there - She had straggly wet hair from messing around in the sea and was wearing a loose shirt over her swimming costume. Her arms were draped around Keanu’s neck and they were both grinning broadly. She liked it so much, she had it printed and framed and placed it on their dressing table. It was one way she could try to settle in.

She certainly felt safe and welcome in his home, but, truth be told, not really at home

Some of that was connected to Scout. There was an inner courtyard where Scout could chill in a shady spot and you could walk him along the road nearby but only in the evening when the surface would be cool enough. To walk the dog, you really needed to go to a park, beach or further out into hills. It wasn’t just a stone’s throw away like at Sennen.

Also, in one sense, the house felt huge but at the same time, claustrophobic. It was curious that she could feel hemmed in despite the space and open view at the back - it was like you couldn’t touch the nature that was so near at hand and when she felt like that, the waves of nostalgia for Sennen were powerful.

Another challenge she faced and hadn’t really expected had been the number of female friends Keanu had who, it was clear, were past sexual partners. It wasn’t that anyone said anything to her, least of all him for whom it was all just water under the bridge, but some of them had an unmistakable body language towards him, while others displayed a certain possessiveness that she found, if not threatening then at least challenging.

She knew he’d had a different life from her, longer in single mode, less settled in one place and with a lot of opportunity to be promiscuous, so she knew she had to accept it, but she also struggled to imagine still hanging out with people you’d been so intimate with in the past as it had been a very rare experience for her.

Fortunately, Karina was a bit of an ally in at least filling in the gaps as to who was or wasn’t an ex. Kerry didn’t want to come off as jealous or obsessive, so asking Keanu was a no-no, at least at first. One day, Karina had come over to talk Christmas food and caught Kerry staring off into the distance.

“Hey, where have you gone?” Karina asked her.

Wha …? oh sorry, nowhere, I’m right here”

“ oh no, not falling for THAT. What did he do?”

“Keanu? Nothing. Honest.”

“Kerry?”

“Honest he didn’t. It’s just, errm Autumn came over last night”

“Ughhh”

“What?”

“Nothing, she’s just not my favourite of his exes that still hangs around him”

“Oh so she IS an ex, I wasn’t sure and he didn’t say so”

“He wouldn’t, to him it’s ancient history - and it is. They properly dated in the 90s and then I’m pretty sure she was, you know…. A friend …..”

“With benefits?”

“Yeah, sometime in the 2000s but not in the past few years. Was she civil to you?”

“Yeah yeah, she was just quite, erm touchy with him and sort of “

“Possessive?”

“Not exactly, but she made sure to mention things from way back several times as if to remind me and him that I’m the new kid. I mean maybe I was being over-sensitive, it was weird”

“Naah, that’s her thing. She didn’t manage to clinch him and that still riles her so she hangs in there with the “trusty oldest friend” card.

“Yeah but she’s not his oldest friend right? Brenda is from school and that lovely lady Clare is from before her time right?”

“Right, I mean Autumn is from way back but she’s not the unique one she likes to think.”

Mostly, the exes were subtle in their comments or behaviour but China Chow came close to making Kerry spit her drink out at a Christmas party when she was a bit drunk. She was saying how happy she was to see Keanu happy.

“And you my friend are a lucky girl, he’s good between the sheets too huh?, hic!”

The following morning Keanu and Kerry were lying in bed with a coffee, nursing hangovers and doing a party post-mortem.

“Oh my God, China was drunk wasn’t she?!” Keanu snorted.

“I’ll say!” She replied rolling her eyes

“What?”

“Have you had sex with all of your female friends?!” She asked pointedly.

“Oh my god, what did she say?”

“Oh, how happy she is for you …..”

“Mmmmm, so?”

“And how lucky I am….and how good you are between the sheets”

It was Keanu’s turn to almost spit out his coffee.

“That must have been awkward.!”

“Well would have been worse if we weren’t both at least a little drunk”

“Do you mind?” “That I have a past?” he clarified when she looked questioningly at him.

“No, I just, I never had an ex who I still hung out with after we split so it’s a little weird for me. And they’re all so, you know, LA glamorous.”

“Come ‘ere.” He said pulling her close after seeing the uncertainty in her eyes.

“It’s you I love, you I want to wake up with every morning and hold in my arms each night. And they're so called glamour is no match for your beauty. And, it’s like, over 10 years ago that I was with any of the friends I still see, sexually. Kerry, I promise. Are we ok?”

“yeah, we’re good” she reassured.

And they were. Christmas was around the corner and Kerry enjoyed shopping for gifts, getting a tree and decorating the house. They placed the bird decoration for Ava on the tree and he gave her two angels to hang for her babies and a Celtic fertility symbol in hope of a future as parents. They spent Xmas Day with his mother and Karina and Keanu went on his usual Boxing Day bike ride with old friends while Kerry went to the cinema with Karina.

On 29th they headed back to the UK, where they spent New year with her sister and family and 10 days having catch-ups with friends in London and Cornwall.

By mid-January, they were back in LA and finally, it felt like there would be a period of being more settled. They socialised but there were no more big introductions to make and Kerry planned to crack on with her novel.

@fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @omg-imagine @keanureevesisbae @penwieldingdreamer @paperplanesandwallflowers @witty-wallflower @karlee1225 @bitchyslut99 @toomanystoriessolittletime @ladyreapermc @kissmyromanticquote @tacticalchics @utterlynuts @kylosbitch @thebigbubowski @thelightnessofthebeing @gatsbynouvel @keanuficfiles @fanficsrusz @jardaniswife @cheezbort @mazzylana97 @maggiemoo1892 @girlfriday007 @siriussnape07 @yomnaislame @soarocks @fadingkideclipseempath @franny-banks-world @keanulowe @babylovejongin @lucky134ever @jasmindaughteroftheworld @tomorrowsanotherday @fokinqueen @littlefreya @leftyreea @wheretheriversrunintothesea @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @fickenstein @popacherryvisitalibrary @aah8903 @thethirstyarchive @cynic-spirit @australianpsychos @meetmeinthematinee

#keanu fanfic #keanu reeves fan fiction #keanu fan fiction #keanu reeves fan fic #keanu #keanu reeves #keanu ofc fiction #keanu reeves imagine

6 notes · View notes