#I can’t believe this child is old enough to graduate from anywhere | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reinerispretty · 1 year

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best of luck. (satoru gojo x f!reader)

hiiii. i posted this on ao3 sometime last year, but i figured i’d bring it on over to tumblr, because all of the writing i have here is super old and i’m still proud of this one. hope you enjoy!

content: grumpy girl reader, shit eating grins, fluff

in which gojo satoru shows up unannounced, twice.

“You can’t bring them in here.”

It’s almost one p.m. on a sunny Tuesday, and you’re staring up at Gojo Satoru with all the malice you can muster. He’s staring back down at you (at least you think he is, you can’t really tell what goes on behind that blindfold), and his grin remains unwavering. You should’ve known—the word no and all of its synonyms don’t fit anywhere in Gojo’s vocabulary.

“I’m serious!” You say, hands on your hips as you stamp your foot down like a child. “I’m not letting kids in here.”

The trio peers from behind Gojo. You know one of them, Fushiguro Megumi, but the other two are strangers. You’ve heard enough gossip about what goes on at Jujutsu High to make the educated assumption that the other two are Kugisaki Nobara and the infamous Itadori Yuuji. All three have the unfortunate assignment of being under Gojo’s tutelage.

“Come on,” Gojo laughs, as if you’re playing with him. “I just wanted to introduce my prodigies to my favorite person in the world!”

You frown. “Nanami isn’t here.”

He smacks a hand against his chest, staggering. “You wound me.” In a swift movement, Gojo has his wingspan spread around his students, squishing them together. “They haven’t eaten lunch! You wouldn’t let poor, innocent children go hungry, would you?”

Your frown deepens. You don’t know what Gojo’s real motives are yet, but they must be rather stupid if he’s bringing three children to a bar on a school day. Never mind that it’s illegal for anyone under the age of twenty to be in such an establishment. Such pesky things like laws don’t stand in Gojo Satoru’s way.

You hear their stomachs grumble and at this point, you’re downright scowling. “I hate you,” You say defiantly, stepping to the side to let the group enter. “Quickly, now, before anyone sees you.”

Gojo passes you last, his winning smile stretching across his face. He leans down to give you a kiss and your hand pushes against his cheek, effectively shoving him away from you. “I hate you,” You repeat, locking the door and flipping the sign to CLOSED. He’s enough to deal with. You don’t need more customers on top of that.

They’d arrived at a perfect time. It’s typically slow in the early afternoon, which you know Gojo is aware of. He probably plotted this exactly, right down to the impeccably timed growling of their stomachs. With him, almost nothing is unintentional.

You duck behind the bar to grab a few menus, then join them at their table. They’ve chosen a large, circular booth. Gojo sits on the end, closest to where you stand. You pass the menus around, giving Gojo a whack on the head with his before setting it in his waiting hands.

You introduce yourself to the kids, since it’s likely they weren’t given any information as to why they were coming to a bar in broad daylight. “I graduated from Jujutsu High—“

“With me!” Gojo interjects, because it isn’t a story unless he’s a part of it. “Ten whole years ago, can you believe that? It feels like just yesterday we were walking the halls together.”

“Don’t go around revealing my age to people I don’t know!” You snip at him, ears flaring red-hot.

He quickly introduces his newest students as well as Megumi, who mumbles an, “I’ve already met her,” that Gojo ignores.

“See? Now we’re all thick as thieves.”

“Are you a Jujutsu Sorcerer too?” Yuuji asks, and you nod your confirmation. “Why do you work here?”

“How about you spend two more seconds thinking about it before asking stupid questions,” Nobara scoffs. “She works in a dive bar. You know who comes to dive bars?”

“Erm…” Yuuji rubs the back of his neck as he thinks. “People who like to drink?”

You smile as Nobara ridicules Yuuji once more, and you decide to put the kid out of his misery. “People come to bars for all sorts of reasons, but a pretty big one is to drown their sorrows. People drink because they want to forget, but while they’re in the process of forgetting, where do you think all of that negative energy goes?”

“Right here?” Yuuji guesses. You nod.

“Places like these are a hotbed for curses. Mostly lower-level ones, but they can develop into something really nasty if you don’t keep an eye on them.” You huff, realizing that you’d been tricked into being part of Gojo’s lesson for the day. “I own a few bars around Tokyo—I stop by each one every so often to keep things running smoothly.”

“Isn’t she amazing?” Beams Gojo, and the pride in his voice makes your cheeks flare. You clear your throat.

“Well? What can I get you guys?”

After taking their orders, you march back into the kitchen to start preparing the food. Normally, the only people who come into your establishments at times like this are real sad saps who want nothing more than the comfort of a bottle, so your chefs don’t come in until just before the rush starts. You usually never have to prepare food, but leave it to Gojo to ruin your perfectly crafted routine.

Your hands go through the motions of cooking as he (per usual) occupies your thoughts. You’re annoyed with him for dropping by unannounced, annoyed with him for bringing kids here when there are a million more important lessons he could be teaching them, and annoyed because your mood’s increased significantly, just because of his presence. Your day’s been off to a shit start, and despite your initial greeting, you can’t think of any of the bad stuff when he’s around. You don’t know how he does it, but Gojo Satoru always knows when you need to see him.

You appreciate that after over a decade of knowing each other, your harsh words don’t deter him. A therapist had told you once that they’re a defense mechanism, a way to keep people out so they don’t get the chance to hurt you. You hadn’t seen a problem with that, but she certainly did, based on the amount of scribbling done on her notepad.

But Gojo worms his way into places he shouldn’t be all the time, and you’re sure he enjoyed fitting himself into your life no matter how much you resisted. You’d met at the start of your first year—or was it a little before? You aren’t sure. You’d ask Gojo to clarify if he wouldn’t be so annoying about it. Were you reminiscing about me? You can see him asking, his grin so shit-eating that resisting the urge to knock his teeth out would be a Herculean feat.

Since then, he’d always been there, a task that you’d previously thought was difficult for others. He’d made it look easy, though, walking you to class, accompanying you on missions, sending you texts with elaborately designed emoticons. You pushed and Gojo pushed back even harder, demanding you make room for him in your life because he wasn’t leaving it anytime soon.

Some might say he wore you down, but really you started to enjoy him. He’s ridiculous and funny and irresponsible and a flirt, and it’s nice to have someone bring so much color into your life when you have difficulty making your own. He’s a lot , but you can’t say that whenever he’s around, you’re unhappy. Annoyed, sure, but never unhappy.

With the food started, you get their drinks in order. Thankfully, you sell beverages aside from alcohol, as pick-me-ups for the sober friends that get dragged inside. You place everything on a tray and walk back out into the main room. Gojo’s talking loudly, of course, and normally you’d chide him for his volume but the place is empty, anyway. The kids seem enthralled by the story, except Megumi, who’s probably heard it a million times.

“And right when they think they’re done for, because they’re surrounded and have completely drained themselves like the idiots they were—” You know this story. You’d lived it, actually.

In your third year at Jujutsu High, a few second years were incredibly eager to move up in rank. They’d sneaked into the principal’s office and stolen records on some of the most dangerous, un-exorcised curses in the area and stockpiled on cursed tools. Their thought process had been that if they were all together, it’d be easier to triumph over the curses, and their spots as Second Grade Jujutsu Sorcerers would be guaranteed.

People were always more likely to gossip around you if you kept to yourself, so you’d heard about it rather quickly when they set out to defeat those higher grade curses. You’d realized that if you took the time to tell someone, they’d be dead before any proper sorcerers could come to intervene. So you’d set off after them.

Now, you were nowhere near Gojo’s level of sorcery, but you’d been classified as a Second Grade during your first year. You’d been content with that. No point in pushing yourself harder and getting killed.

But you’d watched class numbers dwindle as Jujutsu Sorcerers met violent ends, and it didn’t sit right with you to do nothing. You’d called Gojo, frantic, but he’d been on a mission overseas and couldn’t answer. (Later, when he’d heard what you’d done, he’d vow never to miss any of your calls, for fear that he might miss seeing something like that again.)

As he’d said, the idiots had gotten themselves surrounded by higher grade curses. Their tools were broken. They were weak. One was already dead by the time you arrived.

You’d been angry at them, angry at yourself for being too late, and angry at this stupid profession for making kids want to put themselves at risk. You don’t really remember doing it, but you’d channeled all of that anger into cursed energy.

“The students likened it to a bomb,” Gojo finishes as he takes a sip of his soda. “She saved all of them and exorcised the curses, too. Was promoted to Grade One the very next day!”

Your face goes hot as he sings your praises, and the students are looking at you like you’re a marvel. You wave a hand, uncomfortable with all the attention. “It was a long time ago,” Is all you can think to say, before retreating into the kitchen.

That’s another thing about Gojo—he’ll never let you be. He’s always bragging about you. You don’t care for validation or admiration. You want to keep your head down and keep moving, but he won’t quit. He thinks you deserve it, since you’re “so powerful,” but you don’t view yourself that way.

Your phone starts buzzing in your back pocket, and you pull it out to read the caller ID. Nanami Kento. You know you haven’t done anything wrong, but you still feel like you’re in trouble as you press the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, (Y/N),” Nanami greets from the other end. He’s younger than you, but leagues more mature, and every conversation you have with him feels just slightly like talking to a parent. “Is Gojo with you?”

Oh. Thankfully, this isn’t about you. “Yeah, unfortunately,” You reply. “He brought the students, too.”

“To a bar?”

You smile, even though Nanami can’t see it. “I’ve already gone through the motions, don’t worry.”

“It’s always something with him,” He sighs, and you imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell him he needs to get back to Jujutsu High immediately. He isn’t answering my phone calls.”

That’s probably due to the same reason Nanami is calling. “Alright. What d’you need him for?”

“He’s got a mountain of paperwork sitting on his desk and I will not be doing it for him. Tell him this isn’t high school and we aren’t partners. I will not take over in areas he’s lacking.”

“Paperwork and this isn’t high school,” You repeat, a slight smile on your face. “Got it.”

“Thank you, (Y/N). Goodbye.”

“Bye, Nanami.”

The kitchen doors swing open as your call ends, and you watch as Gojo ducks to enter. He smiles at you, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. “Need help?” He offers.

“No,” You reply, mostly because Gojo is absolutely useless in the kitchen. When it comes to food, all he’s good for is picking up the tab. “Nanami’s mad at you.”

Gojo pouts, crossing the tile floor to stand at your side as you chop up vegetables for Nobara’s chicken salad. “What’d I do?”

“He said you’ve got to get back to Jujutsu High because of all the paperwork you have to do.”

Gojo laughs. “It’s probably driving him so crazy that he’s doing it for me right now.”

“He very specifically said that this isn’t high school and he wasn’t going to be doing it for you.” You point your knife at him. “If I hear you’re not being nice to Nanami one more time —”

“Fine, fine,” Gojo sighs. He moves to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle as he hunches over to rest his chin on your shoulder. “I’ll head straight back to Jujutsu High, I promise. Right after lunch.”

He’s always been…touchy like this, ever since you were teenagers. Always wanting to hold onto you, whether it be your hand or sleeve or the strap of your bag. As the two of you became more comfortable, he’d taken to throwing an arm around your shoulders or squeezing you into hugs. He’d press kisses to your cheeks and forehead that he’d swear were just “friendly” if you tried to squirm away.

“I can make these carry out, you know.”

“Absolutely not! You’ve got to sit with us. My students are very eager to learn from you.”

You frown, reaching for the spices, and Gojo moves with you. “I don’t see what I can teach them that you can’t.” You were a First Grade sorcerer, sure, but your powers paled in comparison to Gojo’s. That’s why he was a teacher and you weren’t. People could learn a lot from him.

“I’m trying to show them the different career options they have. Their life doesn’t have to be nearly as amazing as mine. They could be like you, stay in one area and make a living for themselves.”

It comes across a bit rude, but you know he doesn’t mean to be that way. Still, you pinch his arm, smiling as he hisses from the sharp pain. “Don’t say things like that to other people. You’re inferring that my life isn’t as amazing as yours.”

You can tell he’s thinking, working through the implications in his head. “That’s not—”

“I know,” You turn just slightly to look at him. Sometimes you like that he keeps his eyes covered. Gojo’s an intense person, and it makes things even moreso when you can see the bright blue of his irises. “Just a warning.”

You turn back to your task quickly, the kiss that Gojo was trying to sneak landing square on your cheek. Neither of you say anything. He simply watches as you prepare meals for his students.

You know that he’s in love with you. He has been for a very, very long time. And you know that you love him too, in the exact same way he wants. But Gojo Satoru is the type of person who enjoys thrills. What happens when the thrill of you being just out of his reach ends?

Does the affection end, too? Do you lose moments like these, with his arms wrapped around you in comfortable silence? Do you lose late night phone calls and screaming at him or with him and the feeling that no matter where you go, he’ll always be within reach?

Is it worth the risk of losing him? Who do you have after that? Who would you even want, if not him?

You exhale a deep breath as you finish cooking the last meal. “Get off, you sasquatch,” You say, but your nudge is gentle. “I need to get these plated before your students die of starvation.”

Gojo stands to his full height and smiles at you, but it’s pensive, as if he’s been thinking, too. His finger twists around a loose strand of your hair. You mind your business because you’re not sure if you want to know what’s bouncing around that head of his.

--- --- ---

Something is very wrong the next time you see him.

Gojo doesn’t stop by unannounced very often. Well, he does, but he’ll usually give you a call to let you know he’s waiting on your doorstep. Or a text with a house emoji, followed by an exclamation point. House emoji followed by a question mark is him asking if you’d like to come over to his.

Your door is still locked, but you can tell he’s there as soon as you enter. His shoes are by the threshold. His jacket is hung on the coat rack. He’s only been like this a handful of times, so you kick off your shoes and proceed with caution. Today is not the day for petty jabs.

He’s stretched out on your couch. You’d bought it with him in mind, extra long so he could be comfortable on the nights he ended up crashing on it. (You always left him on the couch, but in the middle of the night he’d come shuffling into your room, sleepily slipping beneath the covers.) His blindfold is tossed haphazardly on the coffee table and his eyes are closed. He’s asleep.

Quietly, you set your groceries on the counter. Something must have gone very wrong if he’s fallen asleep waiting for you to get back. Closing took longer than usual, due to a particularly nasty curse that had decided to take up residence in the women’s bathroom.

You shrug off your coat and lay it on one of the barstools. You’d forget it if you actually put it where it’s supposed to go. Making your way around the couch, you sit on the edge of the coffee table. “Satoru,” You whisper, placing a hand on his arm.

White eyelashes flutter and his bright blue eyes are opening. He tenses with the surprise from being woken up, but settles once he realizes it’s you. “Morning,” His voice is raspy. How long has he been asleep?

You don’t correct him, because technically he’s right. It is morning, almost three in the morning, in fact. Your brows furrow as you lean forward to brush the hair from his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

Gojo grunts as he sits up. Even seated, he towers over you. He rubs his eyes as he says, “The kid died.”

You feel a chill creep over you. You don’t need to ask him who. He’s told you enough about the situation that you know he’s talking about Itadori.

“How?”

Gojo looks at you. You’ve seen his eyes countless times, but their appearance never fails to take your breath away. Bright and depthless, blue had never been a favorite color of yours until you met him. “Higher ups sent me away on a mission, then had the first years go in to retrieve survivors from a Special Grade.”

Anger flashes through you. You share a lot of Gojo’s sentiments on the way things are run in your community. It’s tradition, yes, but sometimes tradition is garbage. Sometimes tradition gets people killed. It’s exactly why you stopped taking missions in the first place. People who haven’t been out in the field in years have no business ordering others around.

You squeeze Gojo’s hand. You only knew Itadori for about a month, but he was indeed a sweet kid, vessel or not. You can tell Gojo cared for him a lot. So his pain is your pain.

“I’m so sorry,” You tell him. You aren’t very good with words, but after so long, you know what helps. You switch places, tucking your legs beneath yourself as you sit beside him on the couch. Your arm wraps around his shoulders and you pull him down gently, so he can curl into you the way you know he needs to.

He holds you tight, tucking his face into your neck. He’s feeling the weight of responsibility, of regret, of shame. He thinks this is all his fault, because Gojo Satoru is the strongest. If he had been there, none of this would have happened.

You know it isn’t his fault, not in the slightest, but you also know that he’s not quite ready to hear that yet. It’s okay to sit with the sadness for a while. You rest your cheek against his head, carding his soft white hair through your fingers.

The two of you stay like that for a long time. He tells you more about what happened. You remain quiet, letting him talk through it.

Most people might think that he’s only upset because he’s lost the best chance the world has at getting rid of Sukuna once and for all. But most people don’t know Gojo the way you do. Most people can’t tell that he’s trying to hold back tears because a kid lost their life for no reason. A kid he was responsible for.

“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” You say softly, fingernails scratching gently against his back. “We’ll make this right, I promise. Itadori’s death won’t be in vain.”

“We will?” His voice is muffled against your chest, but you can tell what he’s asking. You nod.

“I’ll come back,” You tell him. “I’ll help you.”

“You hate Jujutsu High.”

“Yeah, but I don’t hate you.”

Gojo looks up at you, bright blue eyes boring deeply into yours. Your faces are close, your noses nearly touching. If you wanted to change everything, you could kiss him right now.

You reason that will just make things worse. So you smile at him and give him a nice, friendly pat on the cheek. “How about we go to bed, hm? I’ve still got a toothbrush here for you.”

You move out from under him, walking to the bathroom. Normally you’d shower as soon as you get home, but you’re too exhausted to even think about putting in any more effort than you have to. A few minutes later, Gojo joins you.

It’s painfully domestic, doing a nighttime routine with him. He uses your products to wash his face, brushes his teeth with his toothbrush that hasn’t moved from the cup you house them in.

Despite your bathroom being small, Gojo keeps close to you. A hand on your hip, or your shirt, or twirling in your hair. Any other day, you’d bat him away. Tonight, you decide to give him a little grace.

It’s pity that has you offering your bed instead of the couch, and definitely not the fact that you’re looking forward to cuddling up to him. He always crawls into your bed halfway through the night anyway, so the both of you might as well stop pretending it isn’t going to happen. Gojo grins at you, the first one you’ve seen all night, and you roll your eyes as you move to your closet to get the both of you pajamas.

Your choice is an oversized t-shirt and a pair of soft shorts, while you grab flannel pants for him. The first night he’d slept over, years ago, he’d argued that he prefers to sleep in the nude. You’d quickly countered that it wasn’t happening, so the two of you found a happy medium in him keeping his pants on but not having to wear a shirt. It made you blush madly, but you usually turned the lights off before he could see.

Once changed, you turn off your lamp and crawl into the paradise that is your bed. You’ve spent most of your money to make sure your home is nice, since it’s where you spend the majority of your time outside of work. You’ve splurged on many sets of sheets, but as you settle beneath the blanket, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

Gojo finds you in the darkness. An arm slips under your body, wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him. You fit easily into his side. You tangle yourself in him, wrapping a leg around his own and draping your arm across his abdomen as your head rests on his chest. His heartbeat is beneath your ear. It’s a reminder that even he is human.

You exhale, letting your eyes shut. You’re both pretending like this is normal. That this is something friends usually do. “Night, Gojo,” You murmur. He hums a response, already on the verge of sleep.

You wake the next morning in the same position. Your back feels stiff from not having moved the whole night. The stickiness on your cheek indicates that you probably drooled in your sleep. Embarrassing.

Blinking through the bright morning light, you lift your head, peering up at him. His face is turned away from you, but he’s still sound asleep. His lips are slightly parted as puffs of air pass between them. You think he looks prettiest like this. Very peaceful, with no irritating remarks making their way out of his mouth.

It’s a sight to wake up to. Would it be so bad, seeing it every day? No—still only once in a while, since work is troublesome for the both of you. Even in the best months, you only see Gojo a few times.

Still, you meant what you said the night before. You’ll be a stand-up Jujutsu Sorcerer for him if that’s what he needs. You’ll probably see him a lot more than you do now.

You sigh, resting your chin on his chest. You aren’t kids anymore. You’re not old, but lifespans are unpredictable. You don’t think there’s much that can kill Gojo, but there’s a lot that can kill you. You should take this leap. You know he feels the same, even if you act like you don’t.

You’ve wondered why Gojo hasn’t said anything regarding this limbo you’ve been in for years, but you know the truth. He wants you to be ready. Patience isn’t a word commonly associated with him, but when it comes to you, he’ll wait.

You aren’t the reckless sort. You don’t charge ahead blindly. You’re not very good at taking risks. Gojo knows this, and that’s why he keeps quiet. It’ll really mean something that way, whenever you decide to tell him. How incredibly vain of him.

“You’re watching me sleep,” He says, voice coming out in a song, and it startles you. How long has he been awake? You frown at his teasing and move to get out of his grasp, but his hold only tightens. He chuckles, turning on his side so you’re facing each other. “Did I look cute?”

You’re too close to him and your face burns, but there’s no escape. “I was trying to see if you had a booger in your nose,” You lie.

Gojo hums, opening his eyes. You’re the first thing he sees this morning, and his mouth is curling into a smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” You reply. “You?”

“Fantastic. Can I steal these sheets? They’re really soft.”

“I can send you the link to the website. They’re expensive, though.” As if Gojo worries about that sort of thing.

He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Are you hungry?” He asks the question like he’s the host, not you.

“Maybe in a bit.” Truthfully, you don’t want to get out of bed. Gojo is warm, and his fingernails are scratching your scalp just behind your ear in a way that makes your eyelids flutter shut. “What time is it?” You’re starting to feel sleepy again.

“Hmm, eight?”

“Too early to be awake.” You huddle further into the covers, rest your forehead against his chest. You should get up and start your day. You’ve gotta start thinking about your affairs, after all, if you’re going to be a sorcerer full time again.

But the idea of leaving this moment physically pains you. You know Gojo will have to leave soon, will have to handle his responsibilities, but you want to keep him here for a little while longer. You sigh. It’s selfish of you to do this now, but he always tells you you’re not nearly selfish enough.

You pull away from him, looking up into his eyes once more. If you’re going to do this, you’re not going to cower away from it. You’re going to see the look on his face, dammit.

Right now, his eyes are half-open, staring down at you. You think he might be thinking of kissing you. You hope he is. Licking your lips, you say, “Satoru.”

His eyes widen, ever so slightly. If you’re using his name, you’re serious. White brows furrow, and there’s a slight pout to his mouth. He’s poised to protest whatever demand you have of him.

“I’m in love with you.”

He isn’t expecting it, and it almost makes you smirk to throw him off guard. His mouth falls open a bit in surprise. It seems like for once in his life, Gojo Satoru is speechless.

It lasts just long enough to make you wonder if you’ve made a big mistake, but then he’s speaking to you. “Say it again?”

You huff, frowning up at him as your already warm face grows even hotter. “Satoru—”

“Please?”

You swallow and oblige him. “I’m in love with you.”

His grin is wide. “Again!”

“No! I’ve said it twice now and you haven’t said anything— ” Gojo quiets you with a kiss, molding his lips against yours. He’s excited and so eager as he strokes his tongue into your mouth. He’s waited a long time, likely dreamed of this moment, and you smile against him.

“I knew it!” Gojo says as he pulls away. He shifts your bodies so he’s hovering over you, caging you beneath him. “Everyone said you’re too good for me, and you are, of course, but I knew.”

“Are you going to keep gloating?” You ask him. He nods, and he looks so happy your heart twists in your chest.

“First step is to gloat,” He kisses you again, and when he pulls away it’s like you’re both pained to separate. “Then I kiss you, and then I’ll tell you that I’ve loved you for twelve years.”

You scrunch your nose. “Only twelve? I’ve known you for thirteen.”

“You were rather mean to me at the beginning, there. Took me a while to figure out why I liked it so much.”

You laugh, loud and freely, and Gojo’s heart is so full it might burst. He kisses you again, and again, and again, until you’re both panting and questioning how fast a relationship that’s been in the works for over a decade should go.

Later in the day, Nanami Kento receives a call from Gojo. All the sorcerer says is, “I was right!” before hanging up. Gojo’s never been the vague sort, but Nanami smiles to himself. He has a feeling he knows what those three words are in reference to. He opens his text thread to you and types,

Best of luck.

#satoru gojo x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #writing

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warmau · 3 years

Text

☆ [nostalgic] summer romance! younghoon had to do something for his late bday because i adore him others: juyeon

the disappointed look jacob gives you as he pulls into the parking lot beside your school is that of a parent, deflated with the rowdy actions of their only child

you hold your physics textbook in your lap in the passenger seat and try to smile at him as some sort of compensation

kevin chuckles from the backseat

"can't believe you're stuck in summer school the year before you graduate."

"shutup kevin the only reason you passed physics is because jacob lives down the street from you and let you copy all his old notes. otherwise, you'd be in there with me."

kevin shrugs and motions for you to get out of the car, you stick your tongue out and thank jacob for the ride

"waterparks gonna suck without you."

he says before he rolls up the window

you groan and mutter a "don't remind me about the waterpark dude" before turning to head inside

the room is barely air-conditioned and your summer physics teacher is some old lady who tells you all to read for the next hour and do the exercises on page one hundred and three

she then puts on an ancient pair of headphones and seemingly tunes you and the other summer school students out indefinitely

she doesn't even notice when the door opens half an hour later and in the frame is the tall, almost infuriatingly handsome figure of kim younghoon

you blink back in surprise - i thought he was a pretty good student?

younghoon notices you too, smiling as he passes your desk to sit in the one behind you

you look down at your textbook and suddenly don't know the weird feeling that washes you over

the room is pretty empty, he could sit anywhere else....

five minutes later, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder

you turn and younghoon smiles again - his teeth are blindingly white and he doesn't have one acne scar on his pretty face

"do you know if the teacher took attendance?"

you shake your head, "she's basically been comatose since i got here."

he chuckles softly enough that just the two of you hear it

"got it. so we'll just be sitting here in silence for two hours?"

"looks like it."

he takes a pause and looks at you as if he has something else to ask, but it doesn't come out

the first day then drags its feet until finally it's over and you drop your worksheet off on the desk

the teacher mutters that the homework for tomorrow is the next chapter and you give the fakest smile you can muster before trying to beeline for the door

before you can leave though, younghoon calls out your name and you turn to see him standing in the empty hallway

"if i need help with the homework - can i text you?"

you reluctantly make your way back toward him, you take your phone out and hand it to him

"sure, add yourself to my contacts. god this summer is gonna be so boring."

younghoon takes a moment before handing you back your phone, he nods in agreement

"at least we'll suffer together."

you don't think much of it when he says it - actually you don't think about it at all

the only reason it finds its way back into your head is because later that night your phone vibrates and it says you have a text from 'hoon [seven different flower emojis]'

younghoon?

you open it and see that's a long message whining about the confusing chapter you were assigned. you giggle because you've been whining to yourself while reading it too

but as you start to type out a reply you wonder.........

'at least we'll suffer together'.........we barely even know each other? is it really normal to say that - what about being together with a stranger makes summer school of all things better?

your hand hovers over the send button - you close your phone instead and go back to reading, forgetting about the text and falling over yourself in physics terms you should have remembered when you first were taking the class

the next morning, jacob doesn't drive you to school - you walk there and bump into younghoon whose on his way over too

he somehow manages to look tall and unaffected by the sweltering heat

he waves at you with another one of those priceless smiles

"did you do the homework?"

he asks as you fall into step with each other

"barely - i had to look at cobi's old notes."

"cobi?" younghoon tilts his head and you explain that it's a nickname for jacob

something on younghoon's face is confusing, it's like there's a twinge of sadness but you assume it's just a reflex squint to the glowing sun

"you didn't text me back - so i thought you might have given up on it!"

he laughs slightly and you clasp your hand over your mouth

"oh right! sorry - i must have spaced out and didn't hit send. but i totally agree - fluid mechanics could put anyone to sleep."

before you realize it you and younghoon are in the classroom again, sitting in the same seats

you're early so the teacher isn't there yet and younghoon flips to a page from the chapter to ask you if you know what its talking about

you explain what you think it means (from the information you got from jacob's old notes)

and the entire time you're maybe inches away from each other

when you aren't actively thinking about it, it's fine - but then your hands brush and suddenly it dawns on you and you sit back in your seat suddenly

younghoon senses the shift and opens his mouth to say something when the door swings open and a monotone voice tells you to open up to page one hundred and fifty-seven

like what younghoon said and his text, you soon forget about the momentary skinship

your brain starts to melt of boredom as the class drags on and you get past a note from younghoon when the teacher isn't looking

'do you know the answer for problem #3?'

'it's 23.56 m/s'

'woah you're so smart'

'more like the person who used this textbook before me wrote the equation on the page'

'lucky - let's trade textbooks?'

'in your dreams :P'

another long day comes to an end and you wave a goodbye to younghoon, he smiles and waves back and adds a - "reply to my text this time, ok?"

you nod and only again do you think about what he says when you're home and thinking straight under the graciousness of your AC

does that mean he's going to text me?

and like yesterday, younghoon does text you complaining about the reading

you answer and a conversation that comes almost way too easily starts

this cycle starts anew the next day, and the day after that, until at some point you realize you are forming a sort of summer friendship with kim younghoon

and that's normal - that's fine

but there are moments where you look up at him when you're paired together for a makeshift lab or when you've agreed to stay behind some extra hours to study

that you see younghoon in all this detail up close and he's undeniably handsome but also you see something more

for all the years you've been in the same school together, passed each other at parties, probably even stood together at assemblies

you've taken him at complete face value. perfect proportions, always someones crush, the pretty and popular boy who somehow hasn't added complete selfish jerk to that title as well

he's just - kim younghoon - untouchable, out of anyone's league

and now he's more real.

you see the mole on his neck, the way his eyes crinkle when he finds something really funny, the pickiness of his eating habits and how he can't hold a pen properly with his left hand.

they're things that make him human and they're things that you can't help but notice because like anyone, you are instantly attracted to younghoon

it's just crazy that beyond that face there's a boy who you could easily see yourself falling for

of course, you end the thoughts right there.

even though sometimes, you get a weird kind of feeling that younghoon is noticing something about you too.

it really starts to eat at you after you guys are at the halfway point of summer classes - and you have your first test.

you're both panicking about it, because if you don't pass this one - you probably won't pass the final - which means physics again when autumn comes around

so you and younghoon have been spending a lot of time in the library after class with your textbooks, snacks, and jacob's old notes

of course you're both grinding, but distractions happen and you end up taking a break to toss candy into his mouth and doodle cartoons of your boring teacher in the margins of your notes

giggling like maniacs over the inside jokes about class and school you've both come up with, getting scolded by the ancient librarian if you're just a little too loud about it

and then younghoon asks you: "do you have plans after the test?"

you huff and cross your arms

"yeah, to go home and curl up on my bed and forget it ever happened."

he chuckles, puts his hand on his neck and then pauses - what you think is a light pinkness starts to dust his skin

"same, but if you want instead i though-"

your phone goes off just as the words string together - you pick it up and try to wave an apology to the librarian who rolls her eyes at you

with a whisper you turn your head to answer

"what? jacob? what - no i don't know where kevin is i thought he'd be with you."

younghoon's lips thin out and you barely react as you duck under the table you're studying at to keep your voice low

you finish the call and come back up with a sigh

"what were you saying by the way?"

younghoon shakes his head

"nothing, is kevin ok?"

you get back in your seat and you don't want to comment on the weird thin blanket of tension that seems to undertone the question

"he's fine, jacob will find him over at eric's or something."

you look at younghoon and he doesn't return your gaze, he's pushed his chair in closer to the table and picked up his pen

you do the same and try to break whatever this weirdness is

"should we go over chapter five again?"

that moment replays in your head for almost a week straight, it almost distracts you during the test but thankfully you and younghoon both pass

you flaunt your 84 versus his 82 but the happiness of it seems to wash away any excess awkwardness from before

at least for him, for you - you somehow can't stop analyzing it in your head

to make matters worse, more pocket-sized interactions like this start to pop up

younghoon is always seemingly on the verge of asking you to hang out with him outside of class but he never really does

something always stops him

and you kind of start to wish he just would, or if the question that's always on the tip of his tongue isn't that - then you really want to know what it is

you overthink and it frustrates you more than you admit, but at the same time younghoon had been right when summer started

the fact that you have each other to suffer together actually doesn't make this whole thing worse than it originally was going to be

the only reason you're having a tolerable summer is because of him

you don't want to ruin it by prying him with questions

wanting to know if he wants something more than just a physics class-based friendship

because it gets to a point where you don't know what to do, you ask your best friends

when you explain that you and younghoon just click - and it seems like he might want to be around you more, the way you want to be around him -

jacob and kevin give you the same look

jaocb's just nicer when he says "why don't you ask him to hang out first?"

while kevin just laughs and calls you a big dummy - popular pretty boy or not, that's crushing behavior you're describing

you think about it

what's stopping me from asking him first? seriously - am i going to be that person who needs to wait around for prince charming to pull the first move?

so you decide you will, it takes jacob giving you a pep talk before you go into class the next day but you are resiliant

and when younghoon comes through the door - you stand up

"oh, a standing ovation did i do something right?"

he jokes and you have to tell yourself not to focus on how cute he is and get straight to the point

"do you want to hang out after class?"

younghoon's bag drops from his hands and you both kind of startle at the noise

oh shit. here it comes. the big 'oh i hope you don't think this is something more than it is....' line

"oh - i - sure, i mean i saw jacob's car in the parking lot is he not gonna pick you up later?"

you blink in confusion

"no, why would jacob come pick me up?"

younghoon and you have a moment of complete silence and then

"you're dating him, right?"

you're pretty sure you let out a sound that's a mixture of a little yell and an attempt at a laugh

it's embarrassing and before you can backtrack it, the door opens and the teacher snaps her fingers for you and younghoon to sit

as you do - you realize your entire body has gone kind of numb

is that the reason he's been dancing around me this summer, because of jacob?!?!?!

you turn before the teacher can even write the pages to work on on the board

"no!"

you exclaim and younghoon blinks those big, brown pretty eyes at you

"i am definitely not dating jacob bae!"

a sense of relief seems to wash over his face, but you can't even enjoy the way he looks happy because the teacher clears her throat

"the matter of who you are or are not dating is not the topic of this class - physics is. so pay. attention."

you nod, looking down at your textbook as the other students snicker to themselves

halfway through the class younghoon passes you a note

'how about we go see a movie or something?'

your first date goes well.

actually it goes really really well because it turns out younghoon is scared of horror movies and you're not and when he nearly jumps into your arms with fear you just laugh and hold him close

by the time it ends he's got his head completely in your neck and you have your arms wrapped around his waist

it's actually insane how comfortable you two are with touching each other despite the fact that all of summer you would knock knees and it would set both of you into a state of petrification

and when you text your gc after, jacob sends a thousand loving emojis

and kevin replies with: but is he a good kisser tho?

turns out he is, although he kisses with a shyness that is unexpected considering how loud and fun he can get around you

he lets you take the lead, which is nice, and when you kiss him right on the jawline he inhales sharply and you figure out the part of kim younghoon that gets him all worked up

a secret you're sure the rest of the student body will be jealous of you for knowing

the summer goes from tolerable to magical in the snap of a second

your classes finish, you and younghoon both pass the final and celebrate with ice-cream and a trip to the amusement park

you end up on the ferris wheel and younghoon sheepishly admits he had always been a little sad thinking about how you were doing these fun things with jacob and not with him

and you scrunch your nose up and tell him the last time you and jacob were on a ferris wheel together you were comforting kevin for his random fear of heights

speaking of moonbae, they both really like you and younghoon together

jacob thinks he's a mannered young man and kevin is just like soooooo you're nice enough to put up with them (you) you must be a saint

the four of you finally get to go to that water park you missed out on in the beginning and while you and younghoon are holding hands on the lazy river sharing little cute kisses

kevin is splashing jacob to a point where the lifeguard on duty has to intervene

younghoon still sometimes dances around what he actually wants to say or do - and so you coax it out of him with the threat of complimenting him

which you learn is your greatest weapon, you call him pretty and it's practically game over

but seriously he just tucks you into his arms and mumbles something and you're like hmmm and he's like mumbling and you're like younghoon words or i will list the top five things i like about you and he's like

"oK i just wanted to ask if you wanted to stay over........."

you do :) and when you take the liberty of stealing a big flannel of his younghoon hides his face in his hands for like ten minutes straight

before autumn finally comes around for good - you and younghoon talk about how you both flunked physics

you explain that you just did not put the effort in at all and skipped more times than you could count, but younghoon just says he thinks he just messed up pretty bad on the final

"why did you do bad on the final?"

he looks away and you scoot closer, "younghoon?"

"well remember how we all took the final with our seats switched ..... the teacher put me next to you and it was distracting...."

"no way - are you saying im the reason you were in summer school?!?!"

you sit up and younghoon does too with a laugh

"maybe - but it was worth it. i got to spend a whole summer with you."

years down the line you still bring the story up as a fun meet-cute

everyone thinks younghoon is 100% joking, there's no way he failed a final because he was sitting next to his crush

but younghoon swears it's the reason why - he's sure if he could find his original test paper he could show everyone that where he was supposed to have written out the equation he just wrote your name down ten times

jacob accuses him one day for flunking it on purpose since he probably knew you were going to end up in summer school

you turn to your fiancee and ask him is that true, did he really fail it on purpose to spend more time with you?

younghoon's ears turn pink and the whole room erupts into laughter

"younghoon, why would you do that!"

you push him gently, your hand on his chest with the glittering band he gifted you

he shrugs back with a big smile

"i really really really liked you - and hey, it worked out didn't it?"

#listen to me. writing about him is like making me walk through fire i like him so much #younghoon au #younghoon scenarios #younghoon imagines #younghoon #the boyz #the boyz au #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #tbz au #tbz #sfw #nostalgia au #kim younghoon #tbz x reader #the boyz x reader

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 14

Hannibal reads too much into Max's attempt to reconcile and cult girl revisits her past.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: discussions of death, abandonment, military casualties, emotional abuse

You soon returned to the opera knowing you had nothing to hide. Hannibal selected for you an off-white maternity gown so form-fitting it was practically painted on. He wanted everyone to see that you, his queen, empress and goddess, were carrying his child.

It only took that evening for the whole dynamic to change. Suddenly, you were an expectant new mother. Imogen had been a massive hit, you were planning to go again.

You were affixing your heavy cubic zirconia earrings when you heard a knock at the door. You hesitated, but hurried down the stairs when you saw who it was.

"Max?" You said, upon opening the door. He stood there awkwardly, holding a bouquet of flowers. "Hi?"

"Hey, [F/N]." Max greeted, eyes darting nervously around the porch. "I just came around to apologize in person. I'm sorry I was such a chauvinist prick."

You leaned against the door. "Oh?"

"You were right." He continued. "I don't know what it's like to carry a baby, and, unless something goes very wrong, I never will."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." You smiled.

"Anyway, these are for you." He said, handing the bouquet over. "They're chrysanthemums."

"Thank you, Max." You said, accepting the flowers.

"Archie and I-" He scratched the back of his head. "We thought that, maybe, if you'd still have us, that we'd name the baby Chrysanthemum. With your permission, of course."

"Like the picture book?" Your face lit up. "With the little mouse girl?"

Max nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly."

You hugged the bouquet into your chest and considered it again. You looked back at Hannibal, who hadn't looked up from his expectant fathers' website for a second all day. He surrounded himself with books about child psychology, attachment theory, developmental behavior patterns and somehow found himself on a tangent about institutionalized misogyny in medicine.

"I'm sorry, Max." You said, sincerely. "I really do appreciate you coming down here and apologizing, but-"

Max put his hands up and gave you a disarming smile. "I understand. Plans change."

"I just really want to stress that it's not you." You assured him. "I've kind of... really grown to like the idea of being a parent. And I think that was Hannibal's plan all along, too."

"I believe a congratulations is in order, then." His voice turned up in delight. "I'm very happy for you. Both of you."

You clutched the bouquet to your chest. "Thank you."

"Well, I'd better get going." He stepped backwards down the stairs. "I've got three pints of Ben and Jerry's in the backseat and Archie'll have my head if I come home and they've melted."

"Max, wait." You stopped him before he could get down the driveway.

"Hm?"

You leaned against the threshold and smiled warmly. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

Max returned the smile. "Of course not."

You waved goodbye and shut the door. You hurried to the kitchen to put the flowers in water before you had to go.

"Who was that, love?" Hannibal asked, half-heartedly. He was still very fixated on his research.

"Max Thomas-Park." You answered, unwrapping the flowers from the decorative plastic.

Hannibal looked up from his computer, but left the room silent for you to fill.

"He wanted to make amends." You explained. You walked across the room to the china cabinet and selected a vase big enough to hold the ornate bouquet. "Brought flowers and everything."

"Chrysanthemums?" He asked, sniffing the air.

"I see your sense of smell is coming back." You commented.

"Interesting selection." He narrowed his eyes on the bouquet.

"Well, he said that was what he wanted to name the kid." You offered. "It was a cute pitch, not gonna lie."

Hannibal shut his laptop and examined the bouquet up close. "If he wanted to express regret, he would have done better to bring you blue or purple hyacinths."

"Well, like I said." You made a point to project a little more. "He said he wanted to name his daughter chrysanthemum."

"Mums are given to show sympathy for those in mourning." Hannibal continued, clearly having his own conversation.

"Hannibal-"

"I think your cousin got her hooks in him and he's planning to--" He cut himself off, lest he speak the unthinkable into reality. "That's why he brought mourning flowers."

"Max Thomas-Park is conspiring with Anna to kill our unborn baby?" You said, flatly, to emphasize how insane he sounded.

Hannibal held a bloom between his fingers and looked closely at it. "It's the kind of hint I would leave. For courtesy's sake."

"I think looking at parenting blogs all day has made you a little paranoid." You observed, knowing full well that an overprotective husband and soon-to-be father of your child was not a bad problem to have. Nevertheless, you shut the laptop and touched his cheek. "Come on. We're going to be late for the opera."

You heaved yourself into the passenger's seat of the car, feeling the seat give beneath your heavy frame. Every time you got into the car, you remembered that you needed to shop for a car seat. The thought just as soon left your mind every time.

“We need to look for a car seat.” You said as Hannibal shut the door, hoping that he’d remember.

“I mean,” Hannibal blurted out, still lost in his own conversation. “Max is a cultured and well-educated man. He has to know the implications of his flowers.”

You huffed, dreading to think that paranoid delusion was symptomatic of his parenting style. “Right. The twenty-seven year old data analyst who graduated with a finance MBA from UChicago is also proficient in the outdated and frivolous language of flowers.”

“In Italy, mums are only given as comfort for loss.” Hannibal said with undeserved conviction. “Exclusively, [F/N].”

You rolled your eyes and typed something up on your phone. You raised your eyebrows, feeling a bit proud of yourself for what you found.

“In Korea, y’know, the country that Max’s family is from,” You corrected. “The chrysanthemum is a symbol of friendship.”

Hannibal tensed up for a moment, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. It was as if he were trying to break himself out of a trance. “...I’m sorry, darling.”

“I know you’re scared.” You stared at his profile, trying to make out an expression. “I’m also... pretty scared. But you can’t take it out on a guy who has nothing to do with it.”

“I am scared.” He affirmed, but the way in which he did was a telltale sign that he wasn’t giving you the full story.

“Of?” You raised your eyebrow. “Finish the sentence, Hannibal.”

"I need to keep our baby safe." He answered. "And I cannot in good conscience let her come into the world knowing that someone wants to hurt her. To hurt you."

You sighed. "Hannibal, are you seriously still worried about Anna?"

"Don't underestimate the role privilege and entitlement plays in the decision to commit acts of violence." He enunciated carefully. "You of all people should know that."

"Anna has cultivated such a perfect victim image to project outwardly that even a hint of proactive violence would shatter it." You explained. "She's the poor girl who has things done to her. Her evil cousin ruined her marriage. Her evil cousin destroyed her career. And she's the innocent victim in all of it."

"Logically, I know that you can speak on her behavior with more authority than I." Hannibal admitted.

"No shit." You scoffed. "I had to live with her."

"Can we at least entertain the idea that she has something planned?" He pleaded.

"I'm surprised at you." You said. "You never really struck me as the overly-cautious type."

Hannibal shook his head. "With my own life, I'm willing to gamble. But not when it's you. And not when it's Imogen."

You tensed up. His admitted willingness to put himself in danger unlocked a core memory you had buried deep down. The only thing you knew about your own father was that he was willing to put himself in danger. To go overseas and die for fuck-all instead of live for the child he selfishly created then abandoned. He chose to give his life for oil. You didn't choose to grow up without a father and your mother didn't choose to raise a child without a partner. He made that choice for you.

"Now what are you not telling me?" Hannibal broke you out of your trance. "I know that look, [F/N]."

"Nothing." You shook your head. "You should really not plan on dying anytime soon."

"I promise you, I am not going anywhere." His voice softened. "Least of all, to Iraq."

"Okay, you're a pretty good therapist but you never told me you could read minds." You threw your hands up in defeat. "Are you a psychiatrist or are you Loki?"

"As fun as being the god of mischief would be," Hannibal smiled to himself. "I just happen to have a steel-trap memory and an admittedly quite obsessive fixation on the mental health of the mother of my child."

"I swear to god I never told you about him." You denied. "Not even in passing."

"You didn't have to." He assured you. "Beatrice did."

You were surprised for a fraction of a second until the information sat in your head long enough to realize it wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Beatrice took every opportunity she got to brag about her son's sacrifices. She never once mentioned the sacrifices he forced upon you. Only that her son was a hero.

"Did you get the 'don't believe anything [F/N] has to say about my son' speech?" Your voice flattened in complete non-surprise.

"It was a prepared speech?" Hannibal chuckled. "Pity. I thought I was special."

"She gave it to my first boyfriend." You rolled your eyes. "We were, like, fifteen."

"The root of your psychological issues becomes clearer every time we talk about Beatrice." He commented under his breath.

"I know." You conceded.

He pulled into the parking lot, turned the car off and placed his hand over yours.

"Your father was a coward." He said, bluntly. It was nice to hear what had been echoing in the back of your head out loud for once. "I know no country to serve. No god to glorify. I promise, you have the whole of me. My mind, body and soul belongs to you and our child."

You squeezed his hand. "I couldn't ask for anything else."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #cult girl #more cult girl #cult girl doctorate #cult girl 2 #tw death #tw family #pregnant reader #hannibal x pregnant reader

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

#fic recs #cherik fic recs #cherik #asks #earnestly answers #I'm sure there are waaaay more fics out there #might add more later

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agathasangel · 3 years

Text

leave everything behind but me- part 4 (diane sherman x reader) (NSFW moment)

warnings: same as before, stalking (like full on irl stalking as well as online), drugging, some talk of emotional/physical abuse in this one, death mention. this whole fic is just kinda dark... sorry. Also brief nsfw moment.

summary: this part is from Diane’s perspective. as she looks for her neurotoxin ingredients in a panic, she reflects on how she came into contact with you in the first place, and all the highs and lows of your relationship up to this point.

where the hell are they? thought Diane, looking for the last, most important ingredient in her neurotoxin.

She couldn’t believe it had come to this again. Just like with Chloe.

Diane wondered where Chloe was, what she was doing. About five years ago, with an excellent defense lawyer, she managed to get out of jail for what she had done. She looked far and wide for her stolen daughter, who seemed to be nowhere to be found. She still worried about what became of Chloe, but knew she was probably doing alright. And one day, Diane found a new obsession by the name of (y/n).

It was nearly two years ago now. Diane was beginning to give up on finding Chloe, after three full years of searching anywhere and everywhere with no luck. But she did find something else.

She was staying at a hotel in California, near the hospital where she gave birth to Chloe, in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, Chloe would be around.

Diane didn’t find Chloe, but she found something else from her past. Her college reunion was being held in the exact hotel she was staying at. She didn’t plan on attending, but then she came face-to-face with her college rival. This woman was the only person who did better in her classes than Diane. Not only that, but she had multitudes of friends, boyfriends, you name it, while Diane had no one. The woman never let Diane forget how much better she was either. It wasn’t the worst thing Diane had ever been through, not by a long shot, but it was a disappointment for sure. College was supposed to be the place where Diane could finally feel like she belonged, and she always resented this rival of hers.

“Diane! We didn’t think you were coming! Oh here, have a seat!” said the woman.

“I’m so sorry about Roger. It was such a shock to hear about.”, she continued, reminding Diane of her dead husband

“Yeah, I still can’t say I’m over it, all these years later.”

“Yeah when the love of your life just drops dead like that, you never get over it, do you?”, she said, far louder than Diane would have liked.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Of course, I’m so sorry, Diane, I know it must be so hard for you!”

“Yeah. Um... what’s your family like?”

“Well we have one daughter. Her name is (y/n), and she’s a senior in High School,” said the woman. She then leaned into Diane and said, “But can I be honest? I never exactly wanted kids. Never liked them. I thought it would change when I had her but it didn’t. She’s so... difficult.”

Diane’s blood absolutely boiled hearing this, but she managed to keep a polite face, “But that’s your child. Don’t you love her?”

“There are some good things about her, I guess. I do love her in my own way, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. She’s just not what I thought she’d be. I’m sorry, I thought you may understand. I never get to vent my frustrations about her.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t understand. But, do you, um, by any chance have a picture of her?”

“On my phone, somewhere. Let me look.”

After a while, she found a picture of (y/n). It was fairly recent photo of you at a restaurant, at what looked like a dinner with the whole family. You looked sad and lost, but Diane thought you looked sweet.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” said the woman, almost stifling a laugh, as if there was no way Diane could have meant that.

“I’m sorry, I need to go to the bathroom.” said Diane, as she was starting to turn red in anger and the woman.

“I’ll join you, I need to freshen up a bit.”

“Fine.”

So Diane walked straight into a stall while the other woman followed. Diane started to cry, so angry at this awful woman. She had a child, a beautiful, sweet, girl who was alive, for God’s sake. Diane would kill for what she has, in fact she had killed for it before. But this woman didn’t care about her child, she didn’t appreciate you one bit.

She didn’t deserve you.

Then she heard the woman get into the stall next to her and she decided to leave. But the woman left her purse on the sink. Diane looked into her purse and found everything. All her information was in her wallet, and she took pictures of her address, phone number, and credit card numbers, as well as a couple of photos of you and your father. Diane quickly threw the last photo back into her purse as she heard her enemy get up, and she ran away, all the way back up to her room.

Diane looked at the photos, and started to look for your social media. You didn’t seem to post very often, or have many friends. Most of your photos were of you by yourself, or pretty things you took pictures of, and even a couple of sad poems you wrote. Poetry written by teenagers was usually laughably bad, but hers made Diane cry. She saw herself in you.

Poor little thing, Diane thought. She needs some love. But I can do that for her.

Diane spent about a month following you and your parents around, without any of you even noticing her presence. One day she snuck into their house and bugged it, so that there were feeds of different rooms streaming to her computer at all times.

Diane noticed you spent most of your time alone. You wrote in a journal a lot, and cried fairly often, hugging a teddy bear you had. You just seemed so burnt out from stress from school, stress from your job, pressure from your parents. You fought with both of her parents often. Well... fight wasn’t the right word. Usually, one parent would yell at you and insult you, and you would choose to either take it or not take it.

There was one particular instance where you snapped at your father, telling him how he abandoned you so many times. He didn��t take this well, screaming all kinds of insults. How Diane wished she could hold you, rock you, comfort you and tell you that aren’t any of the terrible things your father told you, and that she’s sorry that you never felt good enough.

Diane snuck into (y/n)’s graduation, too. She knew she couldn’t contact you yet, but she got so much happiness out of just seeing this milestone of your life. All you did was walk across the stage and take your diploma, but Diane beamed with pride for you as you did it.

After graduation, your parents were constantly threatening to kick you out, and the fights got worse, they crying got worse. Diane wished she was there, comforting you, holding you and giving you all the love that your parents didn’t. Diane looked for a window of opportunity into this girl’s life until she found the perfect one. You had put out an ad on facebook for anyone on the east coast looking for a roommate, and Diane put her plan into action. She made a fake account on facebook pretending to be a college girl named “Anna Johnson” and responded to the ad, starting to talk to and getting friendly with you. “Anna” suggested that you take a bus trip and offered to pay the fare, but you refused because you wanted to earn the money yourself. Diane’s heart warmed at your sweet messages, even though they were to “Anna” and not her. “I’ve never had as good a friend as you before”, “Who needs a mom when I have you giving me such great advice?”, “You’re the best!”, every little message that you sent to Diane made her fall more and more in love. Diane bought a little house on the East Coast with the money she got from selling her old house, and hoped everything will fall into place in her new life with (y/n).

Now during the bus trip, Diane needed to follow you closely in her silver minivan, and make sure not to lose track of you during layovers either. Her detour into the coffee shop scared her at first, but once Diane found you, it was the perfect opportunity to finally, after all these months of dreaming, meet you face-to-face. Her new little baby girl, finally. Diane slipped a powdered sleeping pill into her already tired girl’s coffee to make you even more sleepy and suggestible, getting you to come with her to her hotel room.

Back in the present, Diane found the rest of the powdered sleeping pills as she was searching through her medicine cabinet and closet. She got so distracted thinking about you, and all the horribly wrong things she had done to you.

It’s for her own good, all of it. She needs to be protected, she’s too pure for this world, to good, too sweet...

Diane searched through the drugs she had given you, thinking of all the best times the two of you have had.

The first day Diane had been with you in the little house was heaven on earth. Finally Diane had everything she’s been working for for almost a year now right there, in her arms. Diane wanted to give you everything you didn’t believe you deserved. The only catch was that you belonged to Diane, and Diane alone.

She got a job teaching Chemistry at the local High School fairly easily, as she had extensive knowledge (even more extensive than she may have let on in her interview), of the subject, and the school district was completely desperate for competent science teachers. Diane found faking the background check easy, she used her maiden name and an incorrect date of birth and they didn’t ask her about her arrest at all. And now she had her new life set up. A house that she owned, a job to put food on the table, and you.

The next best day for Diane was the day you finally kissed her. Diane was starting to fall in love with you in a more romantic, even a more sexual way, but didn’t know if you felt the same way about her. Then, during one of your movie nights, you kissed Diane, and she felt overjoyed. She kissed you back and finally led you to the bed and fucked you, like she had been thinking about doing every night at this point but was too scared to actually initiate until now. She was in love with the feeling she got from kissing you, from pleasing you. It had been so long since Diane had been this intimate with anyone, and she was your first. And it was a real awakening for the both of you.

It felt so good, you felt so good. This relationship you had was so incredibly wrong in so many ways, but it just felt so right.

Why did it have to change?

Of course, there were still some hard moments. Even Diane admitted that there were times when she could be irrationally possessive of you, getting angry when someone even looks at you the wrong way. She knew that her possessive, obsessive attitude could scare you, and you would even blame yourself for it, but she didn’t know how to stop. She knew that you were getting scared she would become more difficult to please, like all the other people that have been in your life.

Or the times that you would cry, and it happened so often. You would get sad and Diane would hold you and tell you:

“It’s ok baby, you’re here now, you’re with me. I love you more than life itself. You’re gonna be okay, my little angel.”

One night Diane woke up to you crying into your pillow, and immediately grabbed you.

“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”

“I- I was afraid that you might- that- one day- you might not want me anymore... what would happen if you d-don’t want me....”

“Listen, I will never not want you. You are all I have, remember? And you’re all I need. Come here, that’s right. You’re my baby, all mine.. shhh....”

Or, there was the time you asked about the scars on Diane’s back. She was mortified, but finally told you about her terrible childhood. The horrible abuse from her mother until her death, the foster home, everything. Her desperation to become the mother she never had. You hugged her tight.

“I’m so sorry, Diane, I had no idea... and to think I complained about-”

“Baby, don’t compare your life to mine. All that matters now is that it’s you and me, and I need to take care of you.”

“Sometimes I think I should be the one taking care of you, Diane.”

“Trust me baby, you do so much more for me than you think.”

Then Diane found it. The rest of the paint thinner. And she was ready to take away all your sadness once and for all, and make you hers forever.

#my fics #sarah paulson x reader #diane sherman x reader #diane sherman #sarah paulson #sarah paulson fics

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percabethfeelsfandom · 3 years

Text

Writing Prompt: Home

Percy stood by the bulletin board in the Big House, fingers tracing the edge of a photo of him, Annabeth and Grover. His sixteen-year-old face smiling widely at him with his arms thrown around Annabeth and Grover’s shoulders.

Seven years later, Percy still remembered taking the photo. The day before he was set to go back to Goode, his first time going to the same school two years in a row. The happiness that was in their features hadn’t lasted long. But it was nice that this moment was immortalised.

“Feeling nostalgic?”

Percy found a smile rising to his face as he saw Chiron duck his head to avoid hitting the doorframe, joining Percy to look at the other photos of campers that had accumulated over the years. Faces that Percy had grown up with, and new ones.

“Can’t help it. Every time I come here...it’s like travelling back in time.”

Percy removed his hand from the photo and let it drop to his side. Chiron gave him a small smile and looked fondly at the collage of photos. In the corner there was even a faded photograph of Chiron smiling smugly while Mr D held a goblet disapprovingly.

“Does it feel different coming back?” Chiron asked. Percy stepped away from the photos and went to stand in front of the window glancing out to look at the fields outside.

“Yeah. In a good way, but…” Percy sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to flatten it, “I feel bad I guess. That I left. This was home for so long.” His fingers itched to move so he brought them to the necklace that still hung around his neck. All the years later he still tried to wear it every day, even sometimes underneath his work clothes. The beads had a permanent place around his place and sat perfectly in the hollow of his throat, a constant familiar presence.

“You didn’t leave, Percy,” he reassured. Percy thumbed his first camp bead, staring at the glowing trident.

“Didn’t I?”

“No. You deserve a life outside of here. It’s because of you that you have a world to go to, you deserve a chance to live in it. It’d be foolish of you not to.”

“You make it sound like I did it alone,” he gestured to the photo collage, “Each of those people played a part. Every person that steps foot into camp played a part in that. They deserve to be out there too.”

“When they know what they’re up against then they can. Until then I will train them.”

“Don’t you ever wish we could do more?”

“Every day.”

“I feel like I ran away from the fight.”

“Every hero yields in the end. And yielding is not always a bad thing.”

“So why does it feel like it?”

“Why are you so full of doubt? You seemed so sure, so happy with your decision before.” Percy thought back to when he had finally managed to graduate high school, and made the final decision to go to college and move away from New York. The sharp pain that had settled in his chest when he had watched Camp grow smaller and smaller the further they went. The pain hadn’t eased till Annabeth had gripped his hand, reassuring him that they’d be back. That this wasn’t forever.

Percy sighed deeply and reached into his pocket to press his fingers against Riptide for comfort.

“Things have changed. And I guess- I’m scared,” Percy let out a choked laugh. Things had definitely changed if he was able to admit he was scared.

“Is everything okay?”

“Annabeth’s pregnant.”

Chiron’s eyes widened before his face broke out into a smile.

“Congratulations!” He reached down and patted Percy on the shoulder. But Percy didn’t mirror his smile. Slowly Chiron retracted his hand and gave him a questioning look.

“Are you not happy?”

Percy rushed to correct him, shaking his head wildly.

“Oh gods, I’m ecstatic, don’t get me wrong. But...Annabeth and I always said we wouldn’t have kids unless we were positive we’d be bringing them into a safe world...and now that we are- I don’t know if it’ll ever be safe. Like we’re demigods for Hades’ sake.”

“Is that why you came back?” Percy nodded.

“I don’t know anywhere safer than here. It’s like I never want to let her out of my sight.” Almost to prove his point Percy looked out to the fields again, trying to get a glimpse of Annabeth who was at her cabin, catching up with family members and any of the campers they had once trained with. Though he knew exactly where she was, Percy could feel the edge of anxiety heightening his senses, hyper-aware of any possible dangers.

“And I guess, I wanted advice. I know you don’t have kids of your own, but, you have this camp. When I wasn’t with my Mom and Dad, I had you. I already asked my Mom how she did it; how she lived with the fear of having a child in our world.”

“What did she say?”

“She said she loved me too much to ever feel scared.”

“That’s all a parent can do Percy.”

“That’s not very helpful,” he huffed. Chiron laughed and gestured to the doorway, leading the two of them out of the Big House and to the centre of camp where the cabins were.

“You asked me if I wished we could do more, to help them,” he nodded in the direction of campers in their orange shirts, playing volleyball, their laughter drifting in the wind. “Each day, for the years I have been alive, I give them my knowledge about protecting themselves, I teach them our history so that they may one day learn from our mistakes. I love them and watch them grow. Sometimes they leave and sometimes they use the knowledge I’ve passed on and they create a life of their own, and save the world along the way. Sometimes they come back. Sometimes what I’ve taught them isn’t enough...and they don’t. It’s an endless cycle when you think of it, this role I chose. But what more can I do when I have dedicated my life to this. The world still needs heroes, and as long as those heroes need guidance I will give it to them. What more can I do when I’ve given them a chance?”

“You were raised by a brilliant woman, Perseus, she gave you the best chance she could by loving you. The best you can do for your own child is the exact same. And with Annabeth by your side, I have no doubt you’ll achieve that.”

“Did you have a good talk with Chiron?” Annabeth asked as she pulled the blanket over her legs. Percy helped her adjust the sheets, tucking her in and sitting next to her. They’d been given the Poseidon cabin to stay at for the meantime; Percy’s two half-siblings on a quest together.

Though they visited every summer, being back in his old cabin, even in his old bed, was giving Percy an odd sense of deja vu.

Percy nodded, but his attention was elsewhere, noting all the new scratches and the weapons hung on the wall that didn’t belong to him. His heart went out to his siblings, the call for a quest, taunting him after so many years of him wishing it would be someone else when he was younger.

“Seaweed Brain?” Annabeth said softly. Percy turned to her fully and shook his head, trying to clear it with thoughts. Annabeth’s face was etched with concern, and Percy placed his hands over hers, which laid over her stomach that was starting to show.

“I’m okay.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Coming back after all this time,” she said looking around the cabin as well. Percy nodded again, readjusting himself in the bed so he could hold her closer.

“We visit every summer though,” he pointed out, but Annabeth shook her head and then leaned against his shoulder.

“It’s different, we’ll be here for a while, we don’t need to leave at the end. We don’t need to always look behind our shoulders, at least not for now. It’s nice.”

“Chiron said something today...I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Hmm?” Idly, Percy traced circles on her shoulder as he brought his arms around her.

“Something about giving heroes a chance, that’s what it all comes down to. Doesn’t it? No matter how good you are, powers, training, knowledge, all of that goes out the door, because it’s up to the Fates isn’t it?” Annabeth sat up straighter turning to him.

“I like to think we play a part in it as well, just because the Fates have a say, doesn’t mean all choices are taken away from us. We chose to leave camp. And I don’t regret that.” She said firmly.

“How’d you know I was thinking about that?”

“Because I know you, Perseus Jackson.”

“No matter what the Fates have in store for us, Percy, I’m willing to go through it. If it means I’m by your side. I know we didn’t want to come back to Camp, but is it so bad when it ensures our safety? This was our home growing up. It’ll be a great place for our child to grow up, then we can leave when it’s safe again.”

“We left because we thought we’d be safe. Now I’m wondering if we should’ve stayed so that we could’ve avoided coming back...does that make sense?”

“Perce.”

“Yeah yeah. I know. I’m not upset about being here exactly. But after everything, I just thought we’d done enough for the Fates to believe we could get a break from this world. Let us live in ignorance for a bit. It’s selfish but maybe we deserve to be a bit selfish?”

“I know.” She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Percy’s, closing her eyes.

She pulled back and pressed a kiss to his cheek before laying down, signalling that she was finished with this conversation. The pregnancy was constantly leaving her tired, and even now, Percy could see the purple beneath her eyes despite the excessive amount of hours she was sleeping. Carrying a demigod child was taking a toll on her, and it was slowly killing Percy. He made sure he tucked her in tightly before leaving his cabin and making the familiar trek to the water where his thoughts finally began to calm.

He looked out into the deep blue of the night, and the seemingly bottomless ocean.

“I know you’re listening, Father...I don’t think I want to talk. But if you could listen? I think I just need that,” Percy paused, waiting for a reaction. When he didn’t get one, he eased himself onto the sand and rolled up his pants so that he could dip his feet into the low tide.

“After the war, it was so hard for me to leave camp. Especially after Gaea took me. I felt that every time I left I’d come back and see my home in ruins. Everything I’ve done since I found out I was your child has been to preserve this Camp. It means more to me than a location probably should, but it was always there for me to come back to. But after Jason, I needed to leave. I was so tired of coming back to a camp and seeing one less face. I know it wasn’t my fault, but it felt like I was being taunted, that I couldn’t save him...because I was somewhere else. Leaving after college was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And now coming back, I’m scared that once I leave something bad is going to happen again. It’s not just Annabeth on the line anymore, I could risk it with her because she can protect herself but if our child is at risk? What do I do then?” The words were rushing out of Percy like a dam breaking, and he was stumbling and gasping over his words as tears welled up inside his chest, demanding to be released.

“Coming back means leaving. And I don’t think my heart can take it.”

There was a soft breeze and Percy felt the water at his feet grow colder. He looked up from where he had buried his face in his arms.

“You cannot let fear rule your life. Or you will forget to live.”

Percy scoffed at his Father and shook his head, not bothering to stand up. Other gods would have been offended, but Poseidon looked down sympathetically at Percy and sat down, lowering himself to Percy’s level.

“Let me rephrase that. Fear will always be a part of your life, it will always be there because you are my son and Annabeth is Athena’s daughter, you are Heroes of Olympus, and with that title, someone or something will always be hateful-”

“Is this meant to make me feel better?” Poseidon let out a chuckle and Percy rolled his eyes.

“Let me finish. Fear will always exist. But there are things that are more powerful than that. Think of your mother, her fear of Gabe, and her fear of monsters finding you when you were young...neither ever stopped her loving you, it made her fight harder to protect you. Your own fear of your prophecy didn’t stop you from fulfilling it, because you cared too much for your city and your friends. My own fear of my brother when you were accused of stealing the bolt didn’t stop me from claiming you. The same applies here. Your fear of coming back and leaving Camp Half Blood doesn’t make it any less your home. It will always protect you.”

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amanda-glassen · 3 years

Text

My Love, My Life

For the “My Love, My Life - ABBA” square of @storiesofsvu fall bingo.

Characters: Olivia Benson, Serena Benson

Serena reflects on the past 18 years the night before Olivia moves to LA for college. (The Wonder Years universe)

Serena woke up to her four-year-old daughter’s hand on her face for the second time that night. They knew Charlie was old enough to sleep in her own bed, but Jamie didn’t have the heart to say no to her whenever she stood in the doorway clutching her Chucky doll and asking if she could sleep with them. Charlie may have looked like Serena and acted like her, but she and Jamie had a bond that Serena felt she wasn’t always a part of. The closeness Jamie had with Charlie is what Serena had with Olivia－her big baby as she affectionately called her, her big baby that was leaving home in less than eight hours.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, Serena kissed her sleeping daughter on the cheek and walked down the hall to Olivia’s room. There were two large pieces of luggage and a carry-on bag propped up against the wall, ready for her flight. Olivia was only taking her clothes and the plan was to buy everything she’d need for her dorm when they were over there. Her room would remain the same and Serena didn’t know if that was a source of comfort or if she’d spend hours crying on Olivia’s bed when she was gone.

Olivia may have been eighteen and going off to college but when Serena saw her fast asleep that night holding onto her stuffed t-rex, all she could see was the little girl who would give her kisses when she tucked her into bed each night.

I held you close to me

Felt your heartbeat and I thought I am free

Oh, yes and as one are we

In the now and beyond

Nothing and no one can break this bond

Scenes from Olivia’s childhood started playing in her mind and, when she closed her eyes tightly, she could swear she had been transported to their old apartment. It was small and humble but that tiny apartment held the happiest moments of Serena’s life because as long as she had Olivia, she had all she needed. She could smell five-year-old Olivia’s strawberry-scented children’s shampoo and feel her heart beating fast as she held onto her. Her little girl had had a nightmare and was depending on her for comfort and protection.

“It’s okay, baby,” Serena told her as they sat in the rocking chair and she attempted to rock Olivia back to sleep. “Mommy’s here. I’ll always keep you safe.”

Her tiny hand clenched Serena’s tank top as she started to calm down. “Mommy, I’m a big kid now. I don’t wanna be scared like a baby.”

“Everyone is afraid of something, Ollie girl.”

“Even you?” her daughter looked at her, wide-eyed.

“Even me,” Serena smiled.

“Are you afraid of the boogeyman?”

“No,” Serena tickled her, causing Olivia to giggle. “The boogeyman and I are best friends. I send him after your uncle Kyle all the time.”

“Mommy,” Olivia continued to giggle. “What are you afraid of then?”

“Hmm,” Serena gently bit her lip as she tried to think of what she was afraid of. “You know that really grouchy professor who gave Mommy a bad grade? I think I’m afraid of her.”

“What about the monster under the bed?”

Serena absentmindedly twirled one of Olivia’s curls around her finger. “Oh that monster. Remember that time we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house by Lake Tahoe and I sprayed you with that stuff to keep the mosquitos away? Well, how about if I make something for you to keep the monsters away?”

“Okay.” Olivia laid her head on her chest. “Mommy, can I sleep with you tonight? And tomorrow we can make monster spray?”

“You can sleep with me anytime you want, baby.”

That night she cuddled Olivia close in her bed, making sure to stay awake until she knew her little girl was fast asleep. “Mommy, you’re my hero,” her daughter said in a sleepy voice. “You’re the most bravest mommy in the whole world.”

But thirteen years later, as she stood in the doorway of her daughter’s room, she no longer felt brave. What her daughter couldn’t comprehend during the conversation they had when she was five was that Serena’s biggest fear was the day Olivia grew up and left home.

I am invincible, how could this go wrong?

No, here, here's where we belong

I see a road ahead

I never thought I would dare to tread

For the first time since she became a teenager, Serena climbed into bed with Olivia and held her as close as she could from behind. Instead of strawberry shampoo and bubble bath, she smelled the remnants of Olivia’s cologne and some Dove men’s lotion.

“Mom, are you sniffing me?” Olivia asked, half asleep.

“You don’t smell like my baby anymore, but this scent is still comforting,” Serena said as she nuzzled into the back of Olivia’s neck.

“Mom, I’m eighteen now. This is weird.”

“Olivia Margaret!” Serena raised her voice. “Do you know how long I was in labor with you?”

Olivia turned around to face her. “You see, I asked Grandma about that and she said you actually weren’t in labor that long and once the drugs kicked in, you were practically numb from the neck down. You can’t use that on me anymore. Charlie was the difficult labor. Why don’t you use that on her instead?”

“She’s only four,” Serena chuckled. “There’s no fun in guilt-tripping a four-year-old. She already believes everything I say. Your sister is in that innocent phase of life where she believes in Santa and the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. Give it five years. I’ll start guilt-tripping her then.”

“That’s some A+ parenting, Mom,” Olivia said jokingly. “Why do I feel like Charlie and I will be explaining all of this to a therapist someday?”

“Because you will, Olliegator. Just like I did and my mother and grandmother did before me. Face it, baby. Crazy runs in the family. That and alcoholism.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Olivia rolled her eyes. “And, Mom, you’re still cuddling me.”

Serena held her even tighter. “It’s your last night at home. Either I cuddle you now or I walk into your dorm room when your roommate is there and say ‘Where’s my Olliegator? Where’s my kisses?’ in a really annoying tone of voice.”

“I’d like to think you were bluffing, but I know you’d do it, so I’ll just let you cuddle me.”

For a few moments, Serena was able to bask in the feeling of holding Olivia one last time before she moved. Finding out Olivia had gotten a softball scholarship was one of the proudest moments of Serena’s life until she realized it meant her baby would have to move to LA. Her parents lived in Beverly HIlls and her sister lived in Santa Monica, neither of which were far from Olivia’s school, but even if she knew they’d watch out for her, nothing would ever compare to her knowing Olivia was safe in her bedroom down the hall.

“I’m worried about you living on your own. Grandma and Grandpa live two miles from your school, why don’t you just live with them? At least I know you’d be safe. What if your roommate is some crazy person?”

Olivia scoffed. “As opposed to the crazy woman I live with now?”

“Smartass.” Serena playfully pinched her.

“Ow!” Olivia rubbed her arm. “For a tiny woman, you’re really strong.”

“Strong enough to lock you in this room so you can’t leave me?”

“Mom!” Olivia groaned.

“I’ve had eighteen years to prepare for this and I’m still not ready,” Serena admitted. “I know you’re an adult now and you’ve worked so hard to get where you are, but I don’t want you to leave home.”

Now it was Olivia’s turn to hold her close and she couldn’t help sobbing into her daughter’s shoulder. “Mom, I know this is hard, but everything is going to be okay. Remember when I had that really bad nightmare and I called you the bravest mom in the world? I still think that’s true. Everything I’ve accomplished is because of you and how brave you are. What you went through when I was conceived. Dealing with that trauma plus preparing to have a baby when you were only 21. You graduated from college and then went on to get your PhD all while being a single mom. For the first twelve years of my life, it was just the two of us and I still don’t know how you managed to do it all. You’ve taken care of all of us; let us take care of you now.”

“I love you, Olliegator.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Olivia said as she placed a kiss on her cheek. “And, yes, I’m leaving home but I’m never leaving you.”

Flying to LA was like flying home for Serena. Her mother picked them up from LAX and they stopped at a store to shop for bedding and a few things to get Olivia through the first day in her dorm.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping for some decorations and some other things to make the place feel like home, okay, Ollie?” Olivia’s grandma told her.

On the drive to Olivia’s school, they passed by all of Serena’s favorite places to visit as a child. The little bakery where Olivia had her first ice cream sandwich was just a couple of blocks away from the campus and, when they drove by it, Serena had to swallow hard so as not to cry.

“Mom, can we get an ice cream sandwich sometime before you fly back to New York?” Olivia asked, which made Serena feel like she was gonna cry all over again.

“Yes, of course, Olliegator. We can go anywhere you want.”

There were three generations of Benson women in Olivia’s dorm room; Serena and Mrs. Benson took to making her bed and organizing her desk while Olivia unpacked her clothes and hung them up in the closet. They were there for two hours, mostly stalling for time until they could no longer put off the inevitable. There was another fifteen minutes of goodbye hugs and kisses on the cheek with Serena trying her hardest not to let Olivia see her cry.

“I’m still gonna see you tomorrow before you fly back, right?” Olivia asked her with that same pleading look she had as a child.

“Just call me whenever you’re ready.”

“And you’ll be back next month for Parents Weekend?”

My baby already misses me. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything and I know your sister is gonna put on the hoodie you bought for her as soon as I get back and ask if it’s time to go to your school,” Serena said as she held her close. “If you ever feel lonely, your grandparents are just a couple of miles away and your aunt Lexie is in Santa Monica and you can always call me. I don’t care what time it is, Ollie. Just call me whenever you need me.”

When they were outside, Serena couldn’t help turning around to look at the building her daughter would call home for the next nine months. It was so full of life and Serena knew her daughter was going to have a good time and make a lot of friends, but this building wasn’t their house and Serena wanted nothing more than to get Olivia and take her back to New York. I can’t do that to her. She worked so hard to get here and I owe it to her to let her be happy.

Yes, I know don't possess you

With all my heart, God bless you

You are still my love and my life

“It’s okay to cry, Ser Bear,” Mrs. Benson said as she hugged her. “I know I did. What you’re feeling right now, I felt 22 years ago when I dropped you off at Columbia. I kept asking myself why couldn’t you just go to UCLA or USC or, hell, I’d have settled for somewhere in northern California, but you worked for years to get into Columbia and you were so excited. I know I broke your heart so many times when you were growing up. I didn’t want to add that to the list and letting you go ended up being the best thing for you. Look at the woman you’ve become. You’re excelling in your career, you’re a wonderful mom, and you met and married Miss Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

Feeling the comfort of her mother’s arms made Serena unable to stop her tears from flowing. “What if she never comes back?”

“No matter how old she gets, she’s always gonna need you,” Mrs. Benson said as she dried her daughter’s tears. “Kids always come back, baby, even if it’s just for a while. You just have to let them know there’s always a road that’ll lead them back home again.”

#storiesofsvufallbingo #olivia benson #Serena Benson #law and order svu #alex and liv: the wonder years

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

you did the mini fic way i loved you (which was amaaazing) but how about champagne problems where remus says no to sirius' proposal because he gets spooked by a couple of purebloods :(

~Notes: Nonny babe! I can’t believe you made me write such angst😩😩😩 This isn’t quite that but I hope you like it anyways🥺🥺 ILU!!!

A Reblog Is Worth The Sexiest Bottle Of champagne! | The Way I Loved You FIC | Send Me A Prompt/Song??💜

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, but mostly, most sincerely, I am afraid of being completely unraveled by you, and you finding nothing you want in here.”

—L.M. Dorsey

When Remus’s father leaves for the final time three weeks before his tenth birthday, his Mam spends only two days in bed before she drags out an old bottle of Dom Pérignon and pops it open, pouring them each a glass with a smile the wrong side of worn as she beckons him forwards with an indulgent bend of the knuckle. “Come along, mon amour. Just this once, just to say farewell.”

As he thumbs the skinny tumbler bubbling with the amber liquid that’s been his mother’s favorite ever since growing up in her Northern French town on the outskirts of Paris, Remus wonders if he’ll ever forget the words his father spewed before leaving— the declaration that they must be cursed if their first child turned into a monster and their second came out stillborn. Wonders if he’ll ever forget the livid, borderline murderous expression that spilt over his mother’s delicate features before she screamed at him to leave for the final time. Wonders if he’ll ever not feel so weary— So destitute.

“’S all just champagne problems mon petit lapin,” she says in that airy way of her’s that somehow still radiates a knowledge beyond his reach. “None of it ever matters, not truly. Not ever.”

Remus eyes the dark circles smudged against her pale skin, and the way her caramel curls fall limply from her bun. She’s always been the most beautiful woman in the world through his eyes but he now thinks she might be the strongest too. So strong that she’s sitting there, right in front of him in their small kitchen— and she’s pretending that her tiny son, her first and only born, hasn’t brought absolute ruin to her life that should’ve been buoyant and lovely for such a pretty, quick witted Muggle girl.

“Yes, I know Mam,” he says instead of the truth, because if he’s being at all honest he’s always been a bit of a coward and a bit too desperate for some semblance of normality.

It becomes a mantra of sorts to Remus as he stumbles into adolescence. He calls every inconvenience in his life, champagne problems, and drinks the hurt away in a secret nook off the astronomy tower that he purposefully left off the map he and his friends had created with a sheer pulse of brilliance and adventure and a need to leave their marks on this stupid sodding castle. A castle that’ll inevitably kick them out on their arses from it’s relative safety with such cold indifference. A castle that will soon be brimming with a new generation of students sullying the same spaces, same corridors they once spent their days laughing and jeering and frolicking about— creating mischief in it’s hallowed halls. The one and only time that Remus was able to hold his breath and wrap himself in warmth he never knew and will never know again, not ever in the same sort of youthful ignorance— One that he only feigns to hold when around his friends because he thinks he’s never been young, not the way they are. Remus reckons he aged a century and a half after the bite and a century more after his father had left, and then a millennia when his mother was diagnosed with third stage breast cancer when he was a fresh fifteen. A death sentence dressed up in bows of apology by the doctors and shiny wrapping-paper of potential hope if the aggressive treatments they employ make a difference. And soon enough the ever green that was his juvenescence will turn brittle and gray and awash with memories of hopelessness, only adorned sparingly by memories of Peter’s quiet companionship and James’s affable grins. Lily’s easy laughter and Sirius’s searing snogs. Instances of respite that were eventually drown out by the shitty Wizard champagne he’s able to finesse after sucking off the twenty something who works night shifts at the Hog’s Head.

But it doesn’t matter.

All of his issues are inconsequential at the end of the day; from a paper cut, to his worst transformations to the time his first boyfriend sneered at him with pure distain after he had snubbed his wanting to go further subsequent two months of furtive touches and inconspicuous dates. It’s all just a load of shit, a collection of champagne problems just like his Mam had said all those years ago.

Even that incident the morning in fifth year when he found out that his best friend— the boy he would’ve done just about anything for, anything only just to see him smile— had weaponized his most hated form. When Sirius nearly made him into a murderer, into a beast, when he nearly proved true the self fulfilling prophecy that every werewolf is as dark as creatures can become. The charms of veelas, combined with the insatiable cravings of vampires and the wily natures of goblins. When Sirius had nearly turned Remus inside out, made him everything he hates.

But no. That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. Because paper cuts heal, and the full moons set, and James hexes a legion of boils to sprout up all along Quintin’s face. And at the end of the day, he’ll always love Sirius first and last and the very most. He’ll always forgive him any indiscretion because when Sirius’s hand— soft palms and callus fingers— caresses his side, Remus feels close to whole, close to alive, close to something real. And God Remus loves him so much it aches in his chest and creeks in his bones.

So when he comes back to Hogwarts the night after his mother’s funeral— two months divorced of that incident, two months of painful quiet and empty arms and heart wrenching need— Remus lets Sirius collect him into his embrace, and lets them cry together under the canopy of night fall, and when Sirius begs him to come back to them, to forgive him, to let him inside the most protected nooks of his mind once more, all Remus says is “yes,” and “All right,” and “I never stopped.” He doesn’t tell him that he doesn’t think he’s ever ben there’s in the first place, doesn’t think he’s ever been here or anywhere. He doesn’t tell him that sometimes it feels like he’s some faded sepia photograph come to life in the form of his too skinny body and too large eyes and too gangly limbs. He doesn’t tell Sirius that he doesn’t think he’s ever been anything meant to last on this plane of existence, but he does let Sirius kiss him and hold him and fuck him because it’s the first time since Sirius left Grimmauld back in December the he looks something close to at peace. And Remus knows that he never wants to be someone who makes him frown with that protruding vein on his temple. Someone like Sirius— Someone so beautiful, so vivid, so alive— deserves a life painted in technicolor. And Remus refuses to be the person to drain the vivacity from his every breath. To scuff out his lust for life.

The first time Sirius asks Remus to stop gulping down the champagne and gin and Ogden’s finest by the fist fulls, it’s their final night of their final term and after Remus barbs a little too forcefully that their dingy little dormitory is the one place for him after Lily jokes that it’s a madhouse.

“It’s gonna bloody kill you Remus, it’s already doing it for fucks sake. You can’t even walk straight most mornings damn it!” He shouts in the quiet of their room while James and Lily are ensconced in her own bed on the other end of the tower and Peter is off snogging his Hufflepuff girlfriend in some deserted third floor closet.

“All right,” Remus tells him after swallowing down the last of his champagne, words pouring out his mouth like warm molasses and arm slugging languidly when he tosses the empty bottle to the side before patting the empty end of his bed for Sirius to lie down besides him. He doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t have the energy for the shouts and accusations and hurt that they always fling at each other during these more heated moments. He supposes he doesn’t have much energy for anything at all anymore.

Sirius stilts from where he’s looming above him, tongue poised for another verbal lashing. But he must see something in Remus’s face, or probably just feels exhausted in similar ways, because he only breathes in— tension melting from his shoulders— and slinks off his jacket before shuffling into the comforter besides him.

And in the future Remus will wonder whether if he remembers it correctly that it felt like everything was standing on an axis as Sirius rode his cock— slow and steady and minutes that feel like decades. Or maybe he’s just recalling it differently because he realized for the first time that night that for every inch of him that loves Sirius, the other boy feels that same sort of enthralling passion. Only difference is that Sirius’s always been the greedy sort, the once and future king of all or nothing. Remus is the contrary of that. He’s lived with nothing before and he’s perfectly fine with living that way again, had never really expected much from his life anyhow. But Sirius deserves to have everything and Remus knew then— will always know, that he could never give him that.

The year following their graduation is beautiful in that way that transitional periods always are. A turning of an age eclipsed by sunlight and laughter and kisses that makes Remus feel like they’re melding into one another, becoming indelible parts of each other’s very skin and bones.

But it’s also a time when Remus realizes just how helpless his condition has made him, how despite his top marks in no less than seven NEWTs, he’s always just a werewolf in the eyes of the Wizarding world. So while Lily studies in St Mungos and Peter takes up post at the ministry and Sirius joins James in the Auror’s academy, Remus works days at a quaint bookshop with a doting elderly woman who makes him soup when she thinks he’s looking peaky, and a gay night club with a handsy boss that leers at him with an intrusive air and asks regularly if he’s still with that boyfriend of his.

Remus feels like a fraud.

So when he gets that letter from Dumbledore sent to the flat that Sirius insists is their’s but Remus only ever calls his— he replies with a hasty scrawl on the back of some spare parchment, telling him that of course he’ll do anything to help the Order. Tells him that he understands the discretion that’s required of such a mission. He tells his past headmaster that he grew up collecting secrets like school children collected friends, so this won’t be an issue. He doesn’t tell him how it’s a practice so ingrained into him that sometimes even he doesn’t know who the fuck Remus John Lupin is most days, doesn’t know the seams that string him together like a pair of tattered trousers. He doesn’t tell him that he’s only afraid of one thing and it’s his boyfriend’s dedication, because Sirius is the sort who loves unadulteratedly and without conditions. Sirius doesn’t yet understand that the boy who he’s let inside the most intimate parts of him, the boy who he shares a bed with night after night is the same monster a younger him— in a spur of passion— had planned to deploy as a means of destruction.

Sirius doesn’t understand how foolish it is to intwine his life with Remus’s, even if he thinks it’s some sort of challenge, if he looks at it with the romantic lends that he could love the monster out of someone. And it’s positively idiotic to think as much, like Sirius’s tender hands and sweet whispers can be Remus’s cure.

It’s so fucking stupid! And occasionally Remus wants to bash his head into a wall, but instead kisses him with devouring intent before he could.

The owl nips at his finger for the last remnants of the stale biscuit Remus had offered it in thanks and he watches it soar away like he could never do.

The first time Sirius tells Remus he loves him, it’s in the bathroom of the Longbottom’s small cottage— amidst panting breaths and thrusting hips and grappling hands as they try to get one another off as quick as possible before someone finds them in such a compromising state.

Remus has just spent three weeks in a werewolf camp in the south of Glasgow, and came here to find Sirius as soon as he can home. And while they get lost in one another in this cramped loo he forces himself not to think of how Sirius had been chatting up and chuckling with Emmeline Vance.

Emmeline Vance, who is a beautiful blonde witch with vibrantly green eyes and a full smile that isn’t even slightly crooked like Remus’s own. Emmeline Vance who is the pure blooded daughter of the Swedish Minister of magic, and who came here to London because her country has never discriminated against half bloods or muggle borns— even if they brand their dark creatures with tattoos and lock them up in cages whenever they try to speak up against their lack of human rights.

Emmeline Vance who is the perfect complement to Sirius’s dark brooding and pale eyes and charisma that radiates off of him like the leading man in a novel written during the generation of disillusioned artists who had survived the first great war in the Muggle world. And Remus sometimes feels like Sirius’s gaze is trained on him like Gatsby towards the green light he watched every night thinking of his beloved. And sure Lupin and Daisy might be a pair of flowers but one is poisonous and the other is bright with life and Sirius has always been the sort to pick the worst option because he’s a glutton for punishment, and sometimes Remus thinks that’s all he is. Sirius’s warped way of punishing himself for being born into such a fucked up family— fettering himself to a poor, halfblooded, halfbreed, as some sort of declaration that he’s not the heir of the House of Black any longer, that he rebelled against them with every fiber of his being. That he’s the precise antithesis of their values even if he shares the same eyes and imperious air and steadfast beliefs on top of his effortless genius— even if they are beliefs that juxtapose against his family’s blood supremacy.

And Remus hates these sorts of contemplations, hates how they make him feel like a trader to the love between them. But he forgets about it all when he remembers how Sirius glanced up and caught his gaze when he first stepped into the living room, amiable expression morphing to one of pure wanting the second he spotted him, coldly disregarding an extremely glum looking Emmeline, as he strutted towards Remus and dragged him to the only empty spot and kissed the moonbeam scars that litters his skin and calls him beautiful despite it all— Maybe even because of it.

The eleventh time Sirius asks Remus to marry him, it’s the night of Regulus’s funeral, when his limp body was found slashed against the grounds of the Hampshire woods after three weeks of being declared missing.

It’s spoken in a voice that’s so raw and primal and demanding that it makes Remus curl into himself when he hears it, getting lost in the sensations all around him— Sirius’s hot breath skirting the back of his neck, and Sirius’s large hand clenched around his dick, and Sirius’s length pounding into him with such force that their headboard smacks against the wall. And when they’re done, Sirius slides out of him amidst a round of peppering kisses along the ridges of his spine and expanse of the shoulders and on the hinge of his jaw. It feels like not an apology so much, but a plea. And Remus knows that the last year has been rough on them, on their relationship. Knows how difficult it is that Remus has been spending nearly as many nights spying on the wolves as he has in the flat. That Sirius wants to know where the fuck Dumbledore is sending his boyfriend, that he hates Remus only slightly because he’s so tight lipped about it all.

He’s argue that James tells Lily what he’s up to, and Remus would remind him that they’re married, and then Sirius would get a look on his face that’s so betrayed and so pained and so furious that Remus spends the night on the sofa instead— Well he would if Sirius didn’t have a habit to coax him back into his arms with mumbled apologies and gentle caresses and barely their kisses before the night ends.

So Remus lets him do the same now, and he ignores the questions about where he was all this time and shrugs off the way Sirius tries to reason that none of them know how long they have left living, how he wants to spend the rest of his days as Remus’s husband. And he watches Sirius flutter his eyes closed and waits for his breath to even out.

He never tells Sirius that he wants to wed him so badly that it’s cutting against his heart like a knife licked with flames, even if he’s been in love with Sirius for practically half his sodding life. Ever since he had jauntily invited him to sit in the cart with him and a bespectacled lad, along with another that was a bit plump and eager looking.

No. Through all the shouts and begging and sneers of tonight, Remus never dared tell him that. Remus knows Sirius, and if he had said as much, then that would’ve been it for him. Sirius would have fought for Remus with every inch of his being. He would’ve made sure that Remus excepted his love, that he would have utilized the ferociousness and ferocity and indignation that breathes in his every vein and what makes up the marrow of his bones as the beautiful and brilliant and incandescent scion of the ancient and most noble House of Black— would’ve done so until Remus gave into his demands.

Remus promised himself a long time ago that he’d never be the one to scuff out the light that shone in Sirius’s very soul. He’d never watch himself turn Sirius into a burnt shell of anything bright and fluttering and lively that ever existed in the spaces of his ribs and the valleys of his chest. Not like what he did to his Mam— eventually killing her. Not like how he drove his father away because the dread was too heavy of a burden to carry.

Remus would rather Sirius hate him then watch him suffer through that.

Anything but that.

So Remus quietly packs his few belongings in the same trunk he’s had since first year with a flick and swish of his wand. And he pens Sirius a missive that he just doesn’t feel the way he had when they were in Hogwarts. And he tells him that his missions have him traveling all over the continent and it’s too much work to constantly be coming back home. Tells him that he knows about the brunette Muggle boy he had fucked back in August when he thought Remus was fibbing about his whereabouts and he lies that it’s all right because he tells him that he’s been shagging a professor from Beauxbatons named Benjy for the past six months whenever he was sent to France under duress of Dumbledore. Even if the truth is that he refuted his every advance because his love for Sirius will always sing the loudest in his heart.

He sets the goodbye on the dresser that is only piled with Sirius’s things now, and doesn’t let himself sneak one last kiss while Sirius continues to doze. Tries to imprint the image of him— so gorgeous and so so human— in his mind’s eye, hopes he’ll recall the precise slope to the small of his back and the flyaway strands of his ink black hair and how he breathes in two beats longer with every third exhale. Knows that he’ll never memorize just how jutting his cheekbones really are, or how his lashes kiss the top of them with such grace that it’s close to angelic. And he’ll never again feel the neediness Sirius could evoke with his fingers and tongue and cock, but maybe that’s all right. Maybe Remus got his time in the sun and now he has to repent for steeling that snatch of heaven for all these years.

Nothing could’ve kept the flame between them flickering for long, and that’s a truth Remus knows as inherently as his knowledge that Sirius was the great love of his life— But Remus was always destined to either spare him or burn the golden tapestry that made up the picture of Sirius Black until it was nothing but ash.

So he leaves and he tells himself that it’s the right decision for both of them.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

#wolfstar #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #I'm sure no one will like this lol #sigh #spilt ink

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lucefrs · 3 years

Text

tl;dr: luce thinks about how she should have never ended up at georgetown in the first place, and the domino effect it had on her life. after flunking out of gallagher, she savours the summer. her and scott break up sometime after new years. a quick onslaught of success makes her feel wary, unsure how to not take up space she doesn’t deserve after doing it so many times before. she performs her own song in the lower east side.

insp for the song she plays at the end.

BEFORE.

luce is a bright child but lacks in the area of self discipline and application. she would benefit from paying closer attention during class discussion.

she knew from a very young age that she was not smart. at least not by the metric that institutions measure by. the unlucky curse that has kept her in the stream of academia is this: luce frear is smart enough. to graduate secondary school because it’s a key that unlocks america’s golden arches. to pursue higher education when she gets the encroaching feeling that she’s going to be found out that she doesn’t actually have any family friend's as guarantors. at the time, she doesn’t know how impossible georgetown is. but finding herself in the company of a man who will pay for her to do well, with a tutor that makes the s.a.t’s boil down to a formula of memorization and deduction is a genius move. those three hours are brutal, she struggles but she struggles through it, proud that only a handful of questions were left unanswered. it’s only after she's sat for it that she realizes how impossible georgetown is with it’s fourteen percent acceptance rate.

she uses his mailing address to apply, so it’s him that greets her with a sealed envelope that makes her stomach turn as soon as she opens the door. out of the corner of her eye she sees a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of ice. she knows what the letter will say: her sat score’s a valiant effort, enough to get her into any state school, but by no means exceptional. bracing herself for his disappointment she pushes the folded paper towards him so she can pretend his disappointment’s directed at the words on the page and not at her. but the skin at the corner of his eyes pinches and there’s no crease between his brows and she knows something is very wrong. or very right. she’s not sure, at the time it’s all very muddled, thinking about how much she likes that there's no place for his smile to hide, and how that's going to be one of her favourite parts of getting old. his smile that runs right to the tip of his nose, bumps against her cheek when he kisses her. he’s kissing her. he’s happy. because of her. she’s made him happy. that's good. she's happy too. then he’s by the kitchen counter, shaking off the champagne from his hand that’s flows over the lip of the bottle and she’s saying things like, ‘ my sat scores were no where near the average, ’ and he counters that she shouldn’t disregard the importance of supplemental essays and she makes fun of how he talks because she always does. a girl’s got nothing but a gut to trust, and every glass of champagne’s a fuck you to it. luce never pukes from having too much to drink. she pukes in his shower. luce is not smart, but she’s smart enough not to question how she got into georgetown university.

‘ god, you’re so smart luce. we could call it the boyfriend guesses my lip gloss challenge. ’ she only hears the first part, boasting a smile that makes the apples of her cheeks swell, all rosy like. at the time gallagher had felt like a enticing romp, bound by infatuation, the glint of the dew that hung at the end of the school’s weeping willows sparkling so bright that her heart-shaped sunglasses couldn’t subdue it. luce has never waited for anything, but her first few months at gallagher felt like a gift the universe had hand-picked, oblivious of her christmas list doodled with music notes and brand names of dresses that cost seven hundred dollars, it felt like finding treasure. smart’s an understatement, genius is more apt. she lets this sentiment lead, when the offer to stay comes soaring towards at her like paper plane that falls right into the palm of her hands. it makes logical sense to stay. scott’s here.

she’ll adapt. but gallagher starts to feel worlds away, and as much as she digs her heels into the gravel, gravity starts to slip from her grasp. but how could she can complain? in outer space, anywhere she looks there’s an endless landscape of stars, bright and twinkling, beckoning her towards the nearly planet. but it makes her want to cry when she sees the blue-green dot recede into the distance.

PRESENT-ISH.

luce has her final exam tomorrow and she’s going to crush it. she’s so excited she can’t sleep. there’s no way she could fail it, unless she slept through it but that won’t happen because she has five alarms set and a scott for safe measure. she’s so excited her heart’s sprinting from her sternum to her stomach and it would be classified as nausea if she didn’t know it was just plain excitement. she winces at the brightness from her phone as she checks the time. 3:36. if she falls asleep in the next four minutes she’ll have a solid four hours, but as soon as she closes her eyes her heart runs like it’s just heard the start of the piston, and the percentage she needs to get in order to pass the class rings aloud and reverberates against her brain. forty six percent. she doesn’t even need to pass the exam in order to pass the class — she’s going to be a gallagher girl. whether she likes it or not. in the dark, her hand finds the nob of his bedside drawer, carefully sliding it open, her fingers tinkering inside to feel for whatever weed scott has, gifted joints or a prized gram for winning a dumb luck game. he always has something, even after he passes some of it on to seb. she doesn’t go far, slips out of his grasp and onto the lantern lit cobbled pavements, follows it strictly like she’s on a board in a game of snakes and ladders, stopping every time she takes a drag. she eventually falls against a bench like an abandoned rag-doll, limbs splayed every which way and falls asleep until she's woken up by the rev of a motorcycle engine set as her alarm. luce goes through the pre-test motions with due diligence, takes a shower and eats a proper meal, as though there's someone waiting to accuse her of self-sabotage. she picks up her tote that's packed from the night before and gives the test her all. it's not her fault that her focus wavered in five minute blocks, or that nerves make her feel as though there's an ongoing tussle in her tummy. she treats the residual high as something she couldn't possibly have controlled, it should've left her system by now. and she’s a hero for persevering through it. she tried her best. and in spite of it all, she still fails. thank god.

SUMMER.

she doesn’t want the summer to end. it does anyways.

INTERLUDE

she's not the type to tuck herself into the booth, but harper’s gone to the bathroom and luce has a gnarly blister on the back of her heel, and her head’s been swimming in cheap liquor all night with no reprieve. she can’t get her head above water for more than a minute before falling back under. her gaze catches a couple in the corner, slow dancing to david guetta and her lips curl into a wry smile, his lips cushioned against his neck, murmuring something she’ll never know, and then they’re laughing — maybe about the fact that they’re slow dancing to memories, or because they’re in love, everything’s funnier when you’re in love. a tiny giggle, lost to the boom of the speakers escapes her, because she’s so in love too.

i miss you. missing ur 🍆 spare nudes? 🙏🏼 ft? x

she holds down the backspace key and puts her phone away.

***

‘ i don't know how to miss you in the right way, ’ she says after a bout of silence, it makes her stomach lurch, like stepping off a ledge and finding the ground lower than expected. there’s no chance to blink back the tears, and she’s so in shock from what she’s just said that she makes no motion to cover her face from him, staring down the barrel of the webcam, like she’s on the brink of death. she’d give up the forty years of her life to get to the part where she can look back on this fondly, of a great love that once was. her child-like whimpers have her grappling for breath. ‘ it hurts. ’ she manages to sputter out, and she knows it’s hurting him too. eventually, luce will blink away the last of her tears, because she needs this picture to really believe it.

SOMETIME, SOME DAY.

she's not so much herself as she is everyone else. there are pieces of her in the crescendo of what billboard deems the song of the summer. she’s etched in the familiarity of the bass in the last song played before last call — the resonant thrum of waking up blacked out on the front lawn of an ex best friend. the producer that the lead singer can't function without. the origin story of a grammy nominated album which started on the fire escape, exiled by roaches, a guitar slung like a rifle entering the wild wild west of cicadas and greeted by an empty ashtray save for a half abandoned spliff. a story deified for late night talk shows with parrot hosts and their fake squawks. it’s all made up names in CD booklets that no one looks at anyways. it doesn’t make her an enigma, she has a wikipedia page. record labels take her out for lunch, and she goes because she likes people, even the kind who gawk at her pretty face, drooling at the dollar signs in her doe brown eyes and blonde hair. of course, they love her, a girl who orders salad but doesn’t skip dessert — a reluctance toward fame but endlessly optimistic about the future of the music industry, splits the bill and turns a handshake into a hug when they express their keen interest in working with her. there’s a twinkling note of laughter when she pulls away and says, ‘ you’ve never even heard me sing. i’m not good enough. ’ and she realizes with a twitch of bitterness that she doesn’t have to be, and things working out feels more like a curse when it isn’t deserved.

she talks but can't write unless it's in time signatures and treble clefs and if she does manage to write in a language comprised of letters ( which has only ever happened once ) she can't sing - unless it’s for boys she likes. so she poaches a voice, scrolling through the repertoire of people who have held her heart in their hands. her song is the last song of his set and it sounds like this. they smile through every note, she laughs at his falsetto in the last chorus. she plays her heart out with a vigour that leaves her palms moist, expecting that when the song ends there’ll be a silence broached by the slow clap of j.k simmons. luce lives in a movie and can feel the montage scene catch up to her. she can feel the lingering memory that never existed : a swollen belly and walls painted pink, a toddler that makes their white picket fenced garden a stomping ground, a cinematic pan across a fairy-lit paris, and night walks. when she looks over, she’ll see him, but she’s going to change the ending. her pinky hovers above the last key she played, letting the sound ring out into silence, before they’re met with fervent applause and whistles. this is the moment. luce looks into the crowd. she looks into the crowd and none of the faces are him because why would they be ? she hadn’t told anyone. the only person who knew was herself. it was hers. this moment is hers and she cradles it close, because she’s never had something of her own before. not really. but she likes the way it feels. the man who once held her heart in his hand kisses the top of her head and praises her with a plunging bow. she looks into the sea of strangers who watch her and she watches them back. this is the moment. hers alone. and she’s never felt less lonely.

#mb i will fill in the summer section one day but :3 Bt jst had 2 get this para out here twas growing mold :sob:#dunno if anybodys home bt jst want to reiterate what a pleasure its been 2 write w u all n tysm :')

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helahades · 4 years

Text

Can’t Give You Love

(Steve Rogers x Black!Fem!Reader)

A/N: ***Important*** This story has strong noncon concepts, and delusional thoughts from Steve, who is the aggressor. None of these things are okay irl, and because of the sensitive nature of these concepts, warnings are below the cut.

This is my entry to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor’s recent challenge. ♥️♥️♥️My prompt: (#21) Character A meets Character B at a nightclub. Character A wants a one night stand but Character B wants more.

Summary: You take Steve home after a night out, celebrating your graduation. You fall asleep. Steve decides he hasn’t had enough.

Warnings: Smut. NSFW. Somnophilia, Delusional Steve. Justification of terrible thoughts via Steve’s POV. Mentions of blood and violence. Steve pretending to be a good guy.

Word Count: about 3.1k

—

Steve’s favorite part of the night is the beginning. Club goers come in all shapes and sizes, in all levels of modesty. To be in a world of such varied and unburdened interactions reminds him of the true simplicity at civilian level. Makes him feel almost human. Despite all his moral dilemmas, he is still a man though, and he isn’t just here to be thoughtful. He likes to look, and he’s he’s delighted when his eyes find you.

Watching you from the bar, he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the way you constantly pulled down the skirt of your curve hugging dress, the way you adjusted your “Congrats Grad!” pin like it would spear you to death right there on the dance floor, the way you would go to dance, swinging your hips each way like no one was watching. It excites him watching you, because you keep throwing tells that you’ve never done this before, that this isn’t your scene. For a while, he had been bored with that, but you’re not just a shy lamb, there’s something else.

Your laugh is uninhibited, and there’s a starter spark threatening to flame behind your eyes, dare any man get too touchy with you or your friends. Steve loves a protector.

When you approach the bar, it’s hardly for your first drink, but there are no indicators in your demeanor. He only knows because he’s been watching you all night.

You’re there for a moment, watching the workings behind the bar before turning to him.

“So,” you giggle, flame coming to life, “come here often?”

He’s hooked.

“Not at all actually. This isn’t really my scene.” A lie. He fidgets with his drink as a special touch.

Your eyes soften, empathetically and imperceptibly to anyone who wasn’t analyzing the fine details.

“To be honest… it’s not really mine either. Think I’d rather celebrate graduating by sleeping—But anyway, why’d you come out tonight if it’s… not your scene?”

You’re fully engaged. It seems that you love the game of conversation.

“The truth is… long winded.”

“Well,” you say softly as possible, still wanting to be heard over the pulsing of the bass, “I’m pretty tired of dancing, so you’d be doing me a favor giving me a reason to stay.”

You pull up a stool and prop your head on one arm.

With a soft chuckle, Steve continues.

“I guess…I had been looking for love. For… the one, yknow? And I didn’t realize until tonight that it’s not gonna happen.”

“What changed tonight?”

Your drink arrives.

“It’s nothing about tonight in particular, tonight’s just a night—but I’m sorry. You’re here to have a good time,” he finishes, scooting away just a bit as he does so. A test.

Your brow furrows and you think a bit before closing the gap. Smart girl. But he’s got you.

“I’d have a better time, literally anywhere else,” you giggle again, shifting and sitting up to sip your drink. Seeming to realize what you implied, you gather the boldness to finish it.

“So… do you wanna get out of here?”

—

You decide to drive, saying you only had that sip to drink. Steve says he believes you. He doesn't really mind anyway, and he can’t tell you he knows a different truth, lest he reveal himself.

Watching you as you talk as your minidress rides up your thighs, he realizes upon arrival that he can’t remember whether the drive was long. Sloppy of him.

You park the car and shift in your seat.

“I really want to kiss you—what was it?”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” you repeat, sitting back in the driver's seat.

“God I want to kiss you. I can’t show you love,” you taunt gently, in a comfortable way like you’ve known him forever, “but I can make you feel really good,” your voice finishes sweetly.

He feels his cock swell, and in that moment, a large warm hand is cradling your jaw and pulling you close for a sugary, tequila spiked kiss. His lips are plump, warm, now wet as you run your tongue over his bottom one.

From between your legs, heat rises all the way to your chest, and you break away to fumble for your house key.

As Steve sits, collecting air while you fumble with your pineapple keyring, he tries to recall, but he knows he’s never tasted anyone so sweet. You’re warm like muffins fresh out of the oven. You have just enough fight to convince yourself you’re hard to get, and that makes him dizzy.

He tries not to think about the fact that you’re already wet. Because he’s a gentleman. Always a gentleman first. Always the golden boy. Since retiring, he knows his role isn't what it used to be. Sam holds the shield with ease, and honestly, Steve had never pictured life without that shield and moniker before going on the run. When he was on the run, he was living from one moment to the next. Between here and there, he was never really thinking about his own wants, what would make HIM feel alive.

He’s living a different life, though, because now he can. He’s got all the time in the world. After too long of fighting some new cosmic force, of each threat being crazier than the last, he wants the old school life. That sentiment is one he had thought had left, and he wants to taste with you in case it does again.

Seeing your dress ride up your thighs tonight, he thinks of how his flannel might do the same while you cook him breakfast. But he would be right beside you helping, and you wouldn’t look as out of place as you did in that club, because secretly, domesticity with him is what you’re made for.

He’s no fool. He knows you don’t see it yet. But tonight he will bring you to the edge again and again before pulling you into a world of pleasure you’ve never known. And then you’ll know.

—

As he curves his hips up to meet yours, the squelching sounds your pussy makes are obscene. The ones from your mouth are even sexier, and it makes this all seem like a lucid dream. You’re riding him, and he’s...encouraging you by taking control from where he lies. You love it. He’s a gentleman, so he won’t be any rougher.

You say you like it rough, but you’ve never had rough from him. That’s a test for a later time. He doesn’t want to scare you.

“Ooh yea—Steve, please! Right there—like that, don’t stop!”

He doesn’t. He won’t. You don’t need to beg, but he loves it when you do.

Your thighs shake, your mouth falls open in that cute way it does, and you fall forward, catching your hands on his chest. You seem to be in love with the hair there, and everywhere on him. Something about that appeals to a monster in him he doesn’t address.

You wince when you finally dismount, pulling yourself off his incredible length, and looking down for the millionth time to check if the condom is still there, before he discards it. He tries not to roll his eyes as he comes back to lie with you. It’s ridiculous, really. You’re his now, there’s no need for this barrier. He holds the monster back that gives him thoughts of you round with his child.

You plop on the bed next to him and shuffle under the sheets.

“That was sooo good. Thank you. I’m so glad you’re not some creep,” and you giggle it like you do.

Scratching softly at his beard, your eyes close sleepily.

“You can let yourself out. I trust you.”

Hm. Of course you do. You’re his and he is yours. It’s already that easy.

He can’t understand why you want him to leave though, and as you drift off, he wonders if you noticed that he hasn’t shifted from his spot.

The crickets are chirping happily with the night, and after a few seconds, your sprinklers turn on. He thinks about kissing you goodnight, eating dinner together, cleaning the pool while you braid your hair.

Cool and light, fan turned air swirls over him as his back moulds into the mattress. It’s too soft, and somehow he's feeling a little too warm, but maybe that’s what new beginnings do.

Scratching his neck, he sighs at the ceiling before trailing his hand lower...lower… under the sheets, and down to squeeze his cock. It’s still damp with the wetness of you, and he gives it one more slow squeeze. There’s excitement there lingering, and he knows he hasn’t had enough yet.

He could jerk off right here next to you. You’re asleep and you would never know. Maybe he could even cum on your naked stomach, rub it in a bit. Maybe he could cum in your mouth. He tries to blink that thought away. But his cum would look so nice on your pretty skin, or even…

Inside you.

He can’t. You’re asleep. He’s already had you once. He should be sated. All of a sudden, he remembers asking about your New York license plate. He remembers you saying you’d lived there for years before coming out here. And it’s easy for him to conclude that he’s saved you. At least once.

For every threat that plagued New York while he was an Avenger, you’re alive and snoring softly next to him, and that has to be fate. He may not be a hero now, but he was once, and that counts for something right? And he saved your life, at least indirectly. And he can’t ignore your soft breaths pushing past your plump lips, and the way you face him in your sleep like he’s your lover. He’d only be taking what he’s owed. It’s the least he can accept in return for your life.

Tentatively, he shifts and lifts an arm and gently strokes your bottom lip with a thumb. Pushing it just past where your mouth is slightly open, and behind your teeth to push gently on your tongue. The wetness of it is arousing enough, but he pushes further back, and feels your throat constrict in a gag, wetness moving around him pushing his finger to the roof of your mouth.

Then, you’re pulling your head back, gentle discomfort clouding your sleeping features. A pause. And with a rolling slow stretch, you’re lying on your back, legs spread. It’s practically an invitation.

Moving over you, he winces at the way the rubbing sound of his skin on the sheets sounds like an earthquake in the quietness of your room. Propping himself up, covering you like shade, he's aware of the shape of your body’s heat pressed up against such a large surface area of him, and it stirs something deep and dormant. He can practically feel the blood rush to his cock again.

He pushes your thighs further apart with his own, and notes the smoothness of your skin against his, which is hairier. (He abandoned shaving entirely once he dropped the life of being an international symbol. It’s the small protests.)

A choked groan escapes him as he rubs the tip of his cock over your clothed clit, and his breath blows a couple hairs against your forehead.

He pauses.

He hears your fan slicing through the high air.

He hears your refrigerator make a shifting sound as the ice machine starts in the distance.

Most importantly, he hears your breath, still coming even. He chances another rub, pleasure shooting through him like lighting.

Something about both being so close to you again, but also the thought of getting caught in this compromising position has his body alive.

It’s the way he would feel in fights as his younger self, when being a hero was new, and he didn’t know where the next attack would come from. Before violence turned to muscle memory.

Steve decides you’re much prettier than violence, and he likes the wetness of your cunt, of your tongue swirling, much better than the feel of blood streaming over his hands. He lives for this, and the chance of having you while you’re sleeping is a new thrill.

He doesn’t want to take too long really, and he’s not proud of it, but he moves slowly, and pulls his knife from his pants on the floor, inches down your body, and slices your panties open with the blade.

The sound of the fabric ripping is new. Taboo. And he’s harder than before, excitement squeezing his chest. He pauses there for a moment, eye level with your cunt, noticing the slight glisten, noticing flower like curves, remembering how you feel inside.

Scooting a pillow out of the way, he straightens up and sits back on his calves, appreciating you fully. Then, he’s closer, quicker, less careful, as his hands land just over the bend of your knees to turn your thighs out, opening you up to him, then pushing your legs further apart.

It’s really not the time, but he thinks about his life before the serum. On the days when all he could do was sit in bed, draw—but most importantly—think, he would think about a wife. His brain would tease him with fantasies about things he thought he could never have. He would think about being stronger, able to make love to his girl the right way.

He won’t waste his chance now. Coming back up and positioning himself over you once more, he grips the base of his cock and bites his lip, tapping it a couple times on your sensitive pussy.

He freezes when you shift your hips.

A moment.

A breath.

Then the head of his cock breaches your walls and the rest of him follows. You’re not as wet as you were when he first had you, but that can be remedied. It makes the squeeze feel tighter, the moment feel longer. He’s kissing on your neck now, slowly pulling all the way out, before pushing deep back in, relishing in this unbearably and oddly pleasurable friction.

Your breathing quickens, somehow still even, and he needs to be closer. Rolling his hips into you, he’s right against you, damn near balls deep, and he doesn’t know if he’ll last, hearing all your sleeping whines.

He’s obsessed with how your breasts bounce. Your nipples are hardened by the cold, and this stimulation, and they draw small circles in the air with each thrust. His eyes flicker to your face one last time, and as a wave of pleasure rolls through him, his monster deciding he’s done being a gentleman.

With another thrust, and a softly choked groan into the silent night, a wave of your slick is rushing around him, and the sounds drive him crazy. Over and over, he thrusts into you. Gentleness gone, along with his cool reservation of the sounds of his pleasure, he’s damn near growling now, hooked on having you this way.

He adjusts himself, wanting to see the exact motions that are moving you up the bed, that have you whining, your sounds losing their softness. Each time he plunges into you he shudders. The wetness of you, the way he’s using you, the way he can take what he pleases, and the thought you’ll maybe only know because of the soreness.

He slows, cock pulsing, for gentler thrusts. Not for you, but for the artists details. He canvases the soft ridges inside you that have him like a vice grip. Takes the time to note the sharp, raw scent of you mixing with him.

Sitting up and back, he pulls you by the hips from where you lie, your ass lifting off the mattress, and your upper body still unresistant to his manipulations. He has a better view of you now, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit, around your entrance, tapping it on your mound to tease himself. He’s rewarded with another gush of wetness, and it runs down his cock, down his balls, into your sheets, and as he pulls you onto his length again, he growls when he catches the scent swirling through the air.

You’re so fucking pretty like this. He can’t believe he’s never had anyone this way. Then, he realizes, it’s special. For just the two of you, as lovers.

He feels a tug. A throb in the base of his cock then upwards as pleasure overtakes him. He chuckles wickedly, and that cuts off in a hedonistic moan as he knows you won’t be able to stop him. He hears you try to tease that he’s not ready for kids, hears the edge of fear in your voice from before. You don’t do this all the time, and it’d be terrible for a stranger to impregnate you.

But Steve is different. He’s not a stranger. He’s the one for you. You just don’t know it yet. He fucks into you angrier, ignoring how he's overstimulated, how your pussy is puffy and raw, remembers how you told him to let himself out. It would be another joke to laugh to had you not meant it. He just has to feel you. Has to see you take his cum like you were meant to. It’s not his fault. It would have been easier, more gentlemanly had you let him while you were awake.

He’s only a man, really, he has to take what he wants. The feeling swells in his balls again, the pressure of coming release running up his shaft, and his cock feels even harder somehow.

Rushing through him as his thrusts get weaker and he leans more weight on you, the bliss of your wetness squeezing and tugging him involuntarily is indescribable.

He gasps, filling the whole of his lungs, curving his hips into you with short, desperate stutters, stronger pressure pushing up the base of his cock, before finally releasing into you with a deep groan. The new loose feeling, this mess, has him seeing stars.

Steve can’t help but to pause, not because you’re waking up, but because he’s feeling his cum take form wherever it can fit around his cock thats pulsing inside your pussy that’s throbbing too. What can’t fit spills out of you, dripping and smearing, and in his post orgasm haze, he slowly fucks it back in. He pushes it in deep with a wicked moan, thighs shaking in pleasure.

It’s done.

And when the clouds leave your eyes, and you’re really awake as he pulls out of you, flinching at your own sensitivity, your eyes widen in horror as a hand flies between your legs, still processing what he’s done.

And because he’s a gentleman, he has to ask.

“What’s wrong, lover?”

—

(reblogs appreciated!)

tags: (only tagging people I know are comfortable with dark fics) @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @threeminutesoflife @honeychicanawrites @avintagekiss24 @xbuchananbarnes @sapphirescrolls @jtargaryen18

#dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #darkficswithroo #dark fics with roo #writing challenge #dark fanfic #black!reader #woc!reader #steve x black!reader #steve x woc!reader

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tirednerd2012 · 3 years

Note

Can we see what happened at their parent's funeral? Like, did Ian start crying when he realized his parents were never coming back and barley had to comfort him?

Alright, guys, y'all have me excited with these requests. Each one in my inbox are awesome and I can't wait to write them! Get ready for some fluff pieces and serious angst within the next few hours.

So, I believe that Ian would have been too young to truly comprehend everything at the funeral. He's actually the one who comforts Barley. He knew his parents were gone, but he didn't understand the gravity of the situation. But Barley was the one feeling everything, from grieving to his parents to knowing he had to raise Ian alone now.

Sorry felt like such an empty word. People came passing him and Ian, saying how sorry they were for them. That they would be in their prayers. Barley used the rest of his energy to keep it together enough to speak.

Two wooden coffins laid in the front. His parents. Taken too soon, out of nowhere, a week after he graduated high school. And here he was, a just turned 19-year-old kid who just graduated, standing in between them. Ian held his hand up until the moment he had to speak.

"I'll be right back, bud, stay here, okay?" Barley said, as he sat Ian in the front row of the church. Ian looked at him with wide, innocent eyes as Barley tried to hold back tears. He held on to his plush dragon that their parents had gave him a few weeks prior.

"Okay, Barley," he said. Barley smiled sadly and ran a hand through Ian's hair and then got up and to the front of everyone. He felt his heart start to race and used all his self control not cry right there.

"Thank you all for coming to honor Laurel and Wilden Lightfoot. My parents spent their lives trying to make the best of it. My mom was selfless and amazing. She was strong, determined and loved her kids with everything she had. My dad had a certain magic to him. He lit up a room with his confidence," Barley began. The tears made his vision blurry and he heard his voice crack, but he looked over at Ian, who tilted his head and pulled himself together.

"They made me who I am today. They're survived by everyone in this room. People they loved and talked to all the time, to the friends they missed everyday. I don't know what happens after our time on this earth, but they truly made the most of it."

The rest of the service was a blur. People spoke about the adventures they had with his parents. They still came and talked to Barley. No one really talked to Ian, mostly because Barley guarded over him. He didn't want Ian to be exposed to everything and he didn't want anyone asking Ian too many personal questions and overwhelming the kid.

After, he signed the papers. His parents were lowered to the ground. It was raining, as if the entire world was crying and grieving for the loss of two amazing elves. Barley and Ian went home that night to a silent, quiet home. Ian went off and Barley sat on the couch and finally broke down.

He cried. He let everything out and sobbed into his hands. He could hardly breathe. He was scared as hell, didn't know what to do and just wanted a moment to grieve without someone trying to question if Ian would be okay with him or not. He had to be okay otherwise he could lose the person he loved most in the world. He couldn't handle that on a normal day, let alone now.

"Barley?" Ian's soft voice broke him out of his state. He looked over and saw his little brother there. His hands were placed on Barley's knee and he tilted his head. "It's okay."

Ian was trying to comfort him.

"Yeah, buddy, I know. I just miss them," he said, running his hand through Ian's hair.

"I know, but you still got me! I'm not going anywhere!" Ian said, with a smile. He climbed up on the couch and Barley pulled him into a hug. "You're my favorite person in the whole wide world."

"And you're my favorite person, Ian," Barley responded.

He looked around the house and then glanced down. Ian was so small. He was able to engulf his brother with both of his arms. Nothing in the world could harm Ian right now, not without going through Barley. And he seemed so content. Maybe he didn't quite understand what was happening, but he still took this moment, glad to be with Barley. He hugged him tightly and then looked up at his brother and wiped one of the tears away from his cheeks, like Barley had done so many times with him.

"I love you so much, buddy. We're going to be okay. We'll stay together no matter what," Barley promised. Ian smiled and hugged him again. Barley kissed the top of his head and silently cried while holding the child, but they both fell asleep on the couch that night, never moving from that position.

#ian lightfoot #barley lightfoot #eigtbo #ian onward #barley onward #onward #onward pixar

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liss-99 · 3 years

Note

I'm sorry I had to : 93 × no body no crime

I'm so excited what you do for this :))

I cannot even tell you the reaction I had when I saw this prompt. This might be my favorite one yet. I hid it below the line because I love it that much!

TW: murder and violence, obviously

It was a secret she would take with her to the grave.

Kate Sharma and Sophie Beckett became best friends during their first year of college. They were both averse to popularity and the social scene, electing instead to carve their own paths in life. Kate wished to become a social worker while Sophie had dreams of being an elementary school teacher. Their first meeting was in a freshman child psychology course, and the rest, as people often said, was history.

They were there for each other through all of the life moments; their undergraduate and graduate programs, getting that first job, boyfriends, drunken nights, vacations, weekend hikes, vintage clothing shopping on rainy days, living together, everything.

Sophie met a man eventually, Phillip Cavender. They married after only six months together, Sophie had been completely captured by him. He was from old money and he knew it, and while Kate didn’t particularly like him, she loved her friend, so she did her best to be supportive. Cavender never seemed to realize how great of a person Sophie was, and the veneer of their marriage quickly cracked.

Both having busy lives and full-time jobs, the women didn’t get to see each other as often as they both would have liked. But, they did have a ritual, ensuring they got to catch up with each other.

Every Tuesday, they would meet up at the local Olive Garden, their favorite chain restaurant since college, for dinner and a glass of wine, Chardonnay for Kate and Pinot Noir for Sophie. They usually chatted about work, romance, the latest news, whatever was on their minds. But this night, when Sophie arrived she looked more stressed out than Kate had ever seen her. Their wine had already arrived, the staff had come to learn the routine, so Sophie took a huge sip of hers and sighed as she sat down.

“What’s the matter?” Kate asked, concerned about her best friend. Sophie looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping.

“It’s Phil,” Sophie sighed. “He’s been acting different, and I don’t have any proof, but it smells like infidelity to me.”

“You think he’s cheating on you?”

“All I know is he tastes like merlot whenever we kiss,” Sophie replied, “and we don’t drink merlot.”

Kate crossed her arms, waiting for more.

“I was going through our joint account yesterday, you know, just for maintenance, to make sure everything was in order.”

“And?”

“There was a $1200 charge for Tiffany’s from three weeks ago. He hasn’t given me any jewelry since he proposed.”

“That bastard,” Kate exclaimed. “He’s absolutely cheating.”

“No there ain’t no doubt about it. I want to call him out.”

Sophie’s jaw clenched, which didn’t go unnoticed by Kate.

“I think he did it but I just can’t prove it. A few undiscussed charges and the taste of wine aren’t enough to accuse my husband of cheating.

“Ah, corpus delicti,” Kate sighed, sitting back in her chair. “No body, no crime.”

“Exactly. Without any proof, I don’t have grounds for divorce or he’ll ruin me. I think he did it, but I need proof. Even if it takes me until the day I die, I won’t let up.”

Kate raised her glass to cheers with Sophie, silently celebrating that her best friend would hopefully soon be rid of her scummy husband.

Sophie wasn’t there Tuesday night at Olive Garden, at her job, or anywhere. It had been a few weeks since her revelation to Kate that she wanted to leave her husband.

They’d canceled the previous week, with Sophie texting

“Sorry, talking to Phil tn. Can’t make it to dinner. See you next week?”

And that was the last time Kate had heard from Sophie. It was unlike Sophie to be non-communicative, especially with her. When Cavender reported Sophie as missing the next day, Kate immediately grew suspicious. The police launched a full investigation, but Sophie was nowhere to be found. They deemed her a missing person.

Kate drove by Sophie’s house one night, and in the driveway, she noticed something peculiar. Cavender’s truck had some brand new tires. Sophie had always been complaining that he wouldn’t get new ones even though the truck desperately needed them. Cavender always complained it was a rip-off, which was rich coming from someone as wealthy as he was. But now, all Kate could see were the shiny new tires. Also of interest was the way in which one Cressida Cowper had begun taking residence in Cavender’s house. It made a lot of sense when Kate thought about it, of course Cressida was his mistress. Kate had no doubts that Cressida probably slept in Sophie’s bed and everything as if Sophie had never even existed.

Like a lightning bolt, it all clicked for Kate. The Cavender family was proud of their name, and nothing would ruin them more than a divorce less than a year after marriage. Sophie had told Kate the morning of her last text that she finally felt like she had enough evidence to confront Cavender about the cheating. Putting 2 and 2 together, Kate determined Cavender had done something to Sophie.

He was a cruel man, and Kate was almost positive he abused Sophie throughout their marriage. But Sophie had been careful to hide any signs of mistreatment, so Kate had never been sure. But, without a doubt, Kate was positive Cavender had murdered Sophie, most likely because she accused him of an affair.

The police, lousy pigs that they were, had quickly given up searching for Sophie, and without a body, there was no crime. Kate wouldn’t be able to prove that Cavender had murdered his wife, but she could enact revenge.

It really was quite an easy decision. The world would be a better place without Phillip Cavender, and if justice wasn’t going to be given for Sophie’s death, Kate would take it herself.

On the night she decided it would happen, Kate pulled her old handgun, dusty, covered in cobwebs, and placed it in her bag. She drove out of town, to Cavender’s mansion nestled on the edge of the woods, near a big lake. Kate knew Cressida was gone; the woman was a pharmaceutical sales rep and she was often on ‘business trips.’

Kate knocked on the door, and the look of surprise on Cavender’s face when he answered was almost retribution enough.

“Kate, how can I help you?” He was cold to her, suspicious.

“I just wanted to check in, see how you are doing with Sophie’s disappearance.”

“Oh, of course, come in,” he turned, and Kate knew he wanted nothing less than for her to come in.

With his back turned, she pulled the gun out of her bag and aimed it directly at his head. When he turned back around to feign conversation with her, his breath immediately hitched.

“Kate, what the hell are you doing?”

“I know Sophie is dead, and that you’re the one who killed her.”

“You have no proof,” he laughed smugly.

“I don’t care. It’s the only explanation.”

“Okay? So you’re going to shoot me? That’s going to go over really well for you, if anything, it’ll just make it look like you’re the one who killed Sophie, even though, yeah, of course I was the one who did it. You really think I was about to let her accuse me of cheating and ruin my family? Think carefully about what you do next, Kate.”

Kate was stone-cold, unflinching, and she could see the terror behind his smirk.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said smoothly before she fired the gun.

The look on Cavender’s face as he slumped over was one of complete disbelief as if it was the first time he would face consequences for his actions.

When she was 15, Kate’s dad had made her and her younger sister Edwina get boating licenses. He believed it was important to know how to operate all kinds of moving vehicles, ‘just in case.’

Kate was grateful for her father’s thinking as she dragged Cavender, wrapped up in a plastic bag, out back to his dock. She heaved his body into the boat, before boating out to the middle of the slimly inhabited lake. It was pitch black outside, and she’d cut the lights on the boat; no one would ever know she was there. With carefully gloved hands, a trick she knew from her crime podcasts and tv shows, she pushed Cavender over the side of the boat, and listened to the glorious sound of him sinking.

Later, she meticulously cleaned the house, removing any signs of a murder. She cleaned enough houses throughout her life to know how to cover up a scene.

The next morning, she sent Posy, Sophie’s stepsister, a text.

“If anyone asks, swear you were with me last night?”

“I swear it.”

Kate wasn’t the only one who disliked Cavender; Kate knew Posy would say whatever to protect her.

Several days later, when it became public knowledge that Phillip Cavender was missing, news quickly spread of the big life insurance policy Cressida Cowper had taken out just a week prior. Kate hadn’t known this prior to the act, but it made things all the better for her.

Everyone assumed Cressida had axed Cavender, in hopes of a large sum of money, but with no body, there was no crime, and they just couldn’t prove it.

Kate was pretty sure Cressida knew what she had done, the way they locked eyes on each other in the town center. Cressida had flames in her eyes when she looked at Kate, but she would never be able to prove it.

So, the disappearances of Sophie Beckett and Phillip Cavender were never solved; Kate Sharma was the only one to ever know the truth.

It was a secret she would take with her to the grave.

Taylor Swift Bridgerton One-Shots

#kate sharma #kate sheffield #sophie beckett #taylor swift #no body no crime #bridgerswift #bridgerton #sophie kate and taylor are the trifecta of badass women #bridgerton fanfiction #one-shots

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kittymsmithwritesstuff · 4 years

Note

Pleasseee more horizon headcanons!! No one is making any and your the only one to come too!! Please.

I’m flattered and also disappointed in the lack of Horizon content so here are some random headcanons:

-Gay or woman leaning mom vibes

-This actually belongs to @bamboozlingbritt and I’ve adopted it but her partner left her before Newton was born (but after they’d all moved to Olympus) after they went through the effort to use artificial insemination. Horizon still doesn’t understand why but got through her devastation by focusing on Newton.

-She is not unknown to slip whiskey into her tea.

-Drunk Horizon is just Normal Horizon + 2 extra tablespoons of giggles.

-She is a bit full of herself but is self-aware and so tries to avoid being too cocky (have you heard the PHD voiceline for kill leader? Makes me laugh every time)

-She tends to be a minimalist regarding decor when living alone. It’s not that she’s actually a minimalist, she prefers a sort of “warm clutter”, but she just never gets around to it because when she’s not working, she’s sleeping.

-Snores on a sliding scale from “awww” to “oh father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name”

-Raised Catholic.

-Now believes there's “something” but doesn’t follow any secular religion. Still has a necklace with holy water in it her aunt gave her that she keeps around both for the memento aspect and, well. Just in case.

-Kind of finds it fun to argue with her SO but in a harmless “battle of wits” way; like if a person can’t hold their own against her then she’ll lose interest.

-This isn’t to say she needs argument to enjoy a relationship, but one of the things a partner for her has to have is passion. She’s passionate about the stars, they can be passionate about the chemical composition of dirt. As long as they hold passion, drive, and love for something there’s a chance.

-Has a bad habit of getting lost in her head and running into people

-Will reflexively adopt anything with a pulse that looks like it needs help. She used to bring small mammals home as a child to her loving, long-suffering parents.

-Had to very carefully teach herself not to swear so much once Newton was born.

-Could still make a sailor blush if she’s mad enough.

-I mean if you get her that mad you have other things to worry about but I digress

-She not only eats strange food combinations but likes them. Like, she puts peanut butter on a celery stick and dips it in Italian dressing kind of thing. It was a point of entertainment for her coworkers.

-She would think it was really neat to meet a woman her height (5′10-5′11hc/likely when compared to Mirage) because it’d be nice to not have to bend down to kiss someone.

-H u u u u u g e Monty Python fan. This is more canon than not personally (considering more than one “flesh wound” line when reviving/being revived) If you make a Monty Python reference near her, well, you got a new best friend and her name is Mary.

-Doesn’t understand a lot of slang if she didn’t grow up with it. Memes? Who is she?

-Mom Jokes (I again refer to her kill leader quips)

-Finds it easy to make friends but hard to make good friends. She’s too focused on her work and son to build deep lasting relationships and experiences periodic surges of frustration with herself. Commented this to an old friend when visiting home, but pretends to not know what her friend is talking about if they try and bring it up.

-Finds Caustic’s science interesting, but disturbing. Thinks Wattson is adorable, brilliant, and has maybe already adopted her, no one is sure.

-Can sleep on command and will sleep anywhere without shame. Has slept on/in: floors, chairs, dining tables, kitchen counter, standing up, on a pool table, on a windowsill, in the grass, at restaurants, the roof of a car, stair landings and...so much more.

-She was a surprisingly competent flirt in high school.

-Was known to wander and look for adventure/harmless trouble as a kid

-Often skipped school because it was “boring” which is how it was figured out she was a genius. Her parents kept her in normal school because they wanted her to develop socially with her peers as much as possible, but she was still given college-level coursework and had two masters by the time she graduated high school. It all worked out pretty well tbh.

-Uses Newton as an excuse to go see kids movies

#horizon #mary somers #horizon apex legends #apex legends #apex legends headcannons #apex legends headcanons #horizon headcannons

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

Text

Not The Right Time

The Story of How We Ended Up There:

Ivar+Reader (Modern! AU).

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

So this is my second idea for Ivar!

I am honestly a bit attached to this because it is the first one which came to my mind and with it being modern! Ivar I feel a bit more secure about the characterization, but still… let me know where I have to get better or work better!

I also wanted to explain that this is fictional and that some choices made by the reader are due to the plot and not what I actually and personally believe about such a complex argument as abortion.

Don’t feel judged in the slightest by this (and if you feel, please know I don’t mean it, and what I can do to avoid this mistake in the future).

Again this is a prologue to the bigger series, but it is mostly to know whether you like this idea or not!

So if you want more, please leave a comment or a reblog so that I’ll know what you think about it!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: It wasn’t the right time to have a child and it isn’t the right time for you to meet your child’s father after all those years, but maybe... time and Destiny are two huge bastards.

WORDS: 4,7 K

WARNINGS: Pregnancy, Unexpected Pregnancy, Pregnancy at a Young Age, Mention of Abortion (and Being Harsh About it), Heartbreak and General Angst, Abandonement Issues and Being A Single Mom, Mention of Infertility, Use of the Word Cripple.

You were sure that you were cursed.

Who could end up pregnant… the first time they had had sex?

And worst of all, when you were nothing more than sixteen years old.

You weren’t also the type who would risk such thing.

Although you were naïve you were well-aware of the need to use protection.

And then, in the heat of the moment, you had forgotten about everything.

Just for eight weeks after to cry on the toilet, at the discovery that you were pregnant.

You hadn’t noticed it at first: you hadn’t gotten your period for a month, but you hadn’t thought too much about that, it sometimes happened.

But then, a few weeks after you had started feeling bad, both not energetic enough to do the normal chores and also extremely nauseous, which had then resulted in you thinking that pregnancy might have been a cause of your unwellness.

You had thought for the entire time you had been waiting for the result of the pregnancy test, that it wasn’t possible, it would obviously turn out negative.

You had a successful life ahead of you, a child… wouldn’t ruin your life, but certainly it wouldn’t have ruined all your dreams.

You had been mortified to discover that you were indeed pregnant.

And then you had been indignant: there were people who constantly had unsafe sex, every time they had it and they would never ever end up with a baby on the way.

Then you had had sex once, and shit went down.

Back then you had been scared shitless of telling your parents and had hidden the pregnancy test: what would have they thought of you?

Still you had thought that you had to talk about it with somebody.

And more precisely, the father of the baby.

You and Ivar were the typical high school sweethearts: you had moved slowly from friends-to-lovers and were both late bloomers in the sex department.

Hence when Ivar had wanted to ‘try’, you had been over the moon at that news.

Lately he had grown distant from you, after you had had sex, and some part of you couldn’t help but think darkly that he wasn’t interested with you anymore ‘because he had finally gotten what he wanted’.

But you knew Ivar better than anyone: he might appear like the coldest ice king, but he was sweet and soft with you, shy and gentle, the perfect gentleman.

So, you had thought to at least inform him about ‘the child’, thinking that it was also partially his decision about the baby, although right now some part of you, the one who wanted desperately to continue on dreaming wanted to delete this ‘mistake’.

But some deeper part in you, thought about what a lovely life would have been to share a child with Ivar.

It might not have been perfect, but you felt like it would have been a nice image.

A nice image of your future.

But when you had asked Ivar to meet you at your favorite diner, the one you had chosen for your ‘first awkward date,’ he had also told you that he had something to say to you.

Had he realized that you might have been pregnant?

The entire situation there had seemed rather awkward, Ivar had this acute gaze in his eyes, not to talk about the harsh way his mouth had been closed closed in a thin line for the entire time.

He had arrived late, meanwhile you were halfway through the second of a milkshake you had been having, the pregnancy cravings playing an important role in your diet lately.

“Hey, sweetie!” you had welcomed him, your high-pitched tone, expressing your happiness to have him there, he always fixed your darkest moments “…how are you?”.

Unlike you, he didn’t seem in the mood for any sweetness.

He simply replied with a nod and ‘a fine’, waving the waitress over for a coffee, you stared at him for the entire time: you hadn’t seen him in quite for quite a few days, due to studying, and couldn’t help but set your gaze on him, welcoming any new traits of him and wanting to kiss them, passing a finger through…

“… I don’t have much time, so I’ll say this as quick as I can” and then he had caught you in his icy gaze “… I am not in love with you, anymore”.

An arrow shot through your heart would have hurt you less.

You had stammered some questions, but Ivar had been glacial in his words, definitely not asking for any reply.

“… I have discovered it from quite some time ago, I didn’t want to tell you till I was sure, but these last days… have been… I didn’t miss you” every word was a strike to your hear, and you hadn’t been able to properly protest “… I am sorry, I pulled this for so long, but I can’t…”.

Then and there you had gotten up, probably the best option possible, the only thing of that day that, looking back, you were proud of.

You had been crying on the sofa when your parents had found you, and there you had explained anything that had happened to you.

Child included.

They had been disappointed with you and your father hadn’t talked to you for the entire pregnancy but your mother had been the bigger support for you.

She hadn’t shouted, unlike your father, but just asked what you had wanted to.

‘Do you want to…?’ she hadn’t been able to talk about the option of abortion and you had understood her: she wouldn’t approve of it, but she would have helped through the entire process “… or do you want to keep it, babygirl?”.

“Shelley! Of course, she’ll fucking…! She is too young, she can’t fucking take care of a child!” had retorted your father, and you had covered your ears, shielding them from his hurting words.

It was as if for the first time your father wasn’t seeing his little girl anymore.

And you had chosen to try so desperately to go back to that image he had of you, choosing abortion, but when you had heard the child’s heartbeat, you hadn’t been able to carry on

You had gripped your mother’s hand and pleaded to her not to go through this, not to kill your baby.

Although you’d have to grow it alone, although the heartbreak was still pretty real and although it seemed the worst and you weren’t ready, you just couldn’t delete all this, so simply.

You had taken private lessons to hide your pregnancy, since you hadn’t wanted to reveal it to anyone, avoiding any outings unless you were sure you wouldn’t have been anywhere near people you knew.

The first week after the break-up, Ivar had continued on blowing up your phone with messages and calls, but you wouldn’t even look at his messages, ignoring him till you had convinced yourself to block his number and when he had tried to visit your home to talk, he had been lucky your father was out, and you had pleaded with your mother to fake of not being inside.

You had graduated from high school, one year prior, thanks to all the credits you had collected during the years and had a private diploma ceremony with your family and your pregnant belly.

You had grown to love your baby during the pregnancy: you would talk to them whenever you could, caressing your belly and chatting with them about your day, all the funny stuff you would do together and what the world outside looked like.

The entire birth part scared you like crazy, but you thought it would have been worth it.

And it had been as you had held your child in your arms, after hours of agonizing pain.

They had been forced to cut you open since the child was taking quite his time and you wouldn’t dilatate yourself, enough.

But when you had woken up your mother was lulling him in her arms.

He looked beautiful, having gained two beautiful blue eyes and a smile that made your heart clench.

Too bad that the doctor had taken it from you too early.

‘He seems to have problem moving’ he had mentioned, meanwhile he visited the baby ‘Is there any story of problematic diseases, troubling mostly bones or muscles?’.

‘The father has osteogenesis imperfecta’ had explained your mother, meanwhile you called out for your child ‘… but it isn’t…’.

‘No, sadly it is’ he had explained, meanwhile he gently handled the baby’s legs ‘… I can already feel a few broken bones… this is going to be much more difficult than you might think’.

Your mother had been scared about having to help you up, but you and Erik had just done fine, not without mistakes and problems, but you had managed to love your son and give him a proper life, even with his ‘problematic’.

All of this, without Ivar.

The Lothbrock had moved out on Erik’s first birthday, something which honestly helped you, since the thought of Ivar not meeting Erik stopped your ‘house arrests’ and pushed you out of the house, even more because you had to actually get a job.

Working as a waitress didn’t make enough income to help you with a child and the thought of moving away from your parents (although your mother insisted that you didn’t bother them, you felt that your father wasn’t of the same opinion) was terrifying, so you had taken up to giving some lessons to high schoolers and some more salutary jobs.

You ran all the time around, and had to definitely renounce to going to college, but each night, when you would come home, breathless and tired, to Erik, your sweet child, you knew it was worth it.

For five years it had been perfect.

And then everything changed.

Ivar knew he was already fucking late to the meeting with his brothers.

It hadn’t been properly his fault, although he would rather die than confess to his brother that he had been seeing a fertility clinic with Freydis, to try to start their own family.

The sole mention of a fertility clinic would have raised questions he didn’t want his brothers to ask.

Hhey already seemed to have a feud with Freydis that had been ruining his wedding’s preparations.

He already could hear Sigurd making fun of him for not being able to please properly a woman, which was partially true.

Through the years, his stupid prick hadn’t gotten up for any woman, even his beloved Freydis, the one woman that made him feel a god.

But it had happened once, probably more out of luck than anything.

His first love and the first girl whose heart he had broken.

And you had returned the favor: he reminded the days after he had acted onto his brothers’ wishes, when you wouldn’t answer the phone and pretended not to be at home.

It had been enough for him to feel like you didn’t want him anymore.

Maybe it was why his stupid prick wouldn’t work.

Some of the sex therapist Freydis had brought him to, had suggested that his ‘inability to raise to the occasion’ was due to some rejection his past, so it might have been actually true.

But he didn’t trust any of those doctors.

He simply did it for Freydis, because she still hoped.

He didn’t, anymore.

He walked in the diner, it was a small one, similar to the one of the city he had lived, before he moved in the big city, for work and for many more occasions, but he couldn’t help but regret the beauty of these small places.

They never aged and they always brought him comfort, timeless and always there for jim

He had had his first date in one of those.

(He had also broken up with his first love in one of those).

He still didn’t let himself drown in his thoughts, knowing that going back in time and turning it, was impossible.

(No matter how much, sometimes, he wished he could do so).

He immediately recognized his brothers’ table as the noisiest one, moving straight up to it, not minding the fact that half the eyes of the clients in the diner were on him.

It was one of the many side effects of being a cripple.

“You finally joined us!” exclaimed Hvitserk, talking through a full mouth of food.

“Unlike you lazy asses, I have things to do” he mumbled as Ubbe shifted to make him some space next to him “… can’t survive on father’s paychecks only”.

He sent a direct look to Sigurd, who was using his father’s paychecks to support his (failing) musical career.

“At least I don’t have to be reigned by my girlfriend” muttered darkly Sigurd and Ivar wasn’t able to stop himself from almost attacking him.

Thankfully Ubbe did it for him.

“No need to fight brothers” he stated, readjusting the glasses Ivar had knocked over “Don’t make a scene, we are older than children and we are here to have a nice night among brothers, are we not?”.

“I am here for the free food” muffled Hvitserk, offering a humor relief that made all the brother laugh lightly.

They talked more civilly and then a waitress moved in to ask their orders, but Ivar’s ears were suddenly attracted by another noise, a voice that had belonged in his memories.

Had he left them open?

And then he turned to where the voice came from.

And he saw you.

He remembered you as a sweet girl, what you had been hadn’t changed, except the way you carried yourself, showing a growth, a painful one that hadn’t changed what you believed in.

But it still left signs.

As the scars of a battle.

You had your hair up in a high ponytail, and you were wearing a waitress uniform, probably working there to fund your way to college.

Your eyes were tired, but your lips were crooked in a small smile as you took a small child’s ordination.

He thought he was hallucinating, when Hvitserk again spoke up:

“Is that (Y/N) (L/N)?!” this got all the brothers’ attention to shift to where Ivar was looking, although he wished nothing more than to shield you, because he had discovered you first.

“… oh shit, yeah it’s her” muttered Ubbe, following your silhouette as you turned your back to them to move to counter “… I thought she would be in college”.

“Some people don’t have their parents’ back up, she might be simply working to pay college” muttered Ivar, but nobody seemed to hear him.

“She hasn’t certainly aged a day!” commented Hvitserk, giving your ass a meaningful look “… ahh can you remember when we dared little Ivar, to…”.

Ivar shushed him with a dark look.

But when he was doing this, he didn’t realize that Sigurd was waving you over.

You approached the table smiling, since you and Sigurd had been an unlike friendship, and Ivar still remembered how his ‘most sensitive’ brother had been against the ‘dare’, but as he turned to face you, you seemed to realize who Sigurd was with.

And the soft smile fell from your face.

You seemed to have seen a ghost.

“Oh Gosh, (Y/N), it’s been a lot since we have seen each other!” commented Sigurd, meanwhile your waitress friend asked with her eyes whether you knew these people or not.

You simply nodded, forcing a smile on your face, telling her you would have taken their ordinations.

“Ah it’s been a lot of time, indeed!” you smirked lightly “… I always see you in TV!”.

“… sadly, never winning” muttered Hvitserk “… we weren’t expecting to see you working here!”.

“And I wasn’t expecting you to greet me without your mouth full of food, so we are both surprised by how Destiny has cheated us” you joked back, smirking lightly “… it’s nice to see you, guys, but I haven’t much time”.

Although you were trying to be gentle, it was obvious that their presence was making you nervous and uncomfortable.

Ivar wondered whether it was for what had happened with him.

He couldn’t help but notice the way you avoided any eye-contact with him.

They all quickly gave you their orders and you thanked them, but before you could go away, again Sigurd grabbed your wrist, making Ivar hiss lightly.

“You have been greatly missed, (Y/N)” the simple affirmation seemed to break something in you and you were able to simply bow your head, as you moved to quickly report the order to the counter, before disappearing in the kitchen.

A quick sign that you didn’t reciprocate Sigurd’s thought.

“Well that didn’t go well…” muttered Hvitserk, going back to his food.

“It was strange” muttered Ubbe “… it’s strange… I expected her to be in Europe, she was always so brilliant”.

“Ubbe, what she does is none of your business” muttered Sigurd, for once, his words matching Ivar’s thoughts.

“I just… I mean… she doesn’t seem as the person who is stuck at 21st to serve tables, she was always smarter than that” mumbled Ubbe, again but shushed, as an elder woman brought them their meals.

“You know our sweet (Y/N)?” she asked, probably having witnessed the exchange of words, and Sigurd explained they were old schoolmates “… such a sweetheart, and so strong…”.

“Anything bad happened?” asked curiously Ivar, knowing all too well when to ask and when to stay quiet, and that woman seemed like she wanted so desperately to talk.

“Nothing too bad” mumbled the old lady, pouring some coffee in their glasses “… just… she is so strong for bringing a child on her own”.

The news immediately surprised all the brothers.

Again, you were the smart and hardworking girl, the one that followed the rules and didn’t have any vices, so for you to have a child, so young, didn’t make sense.

You should have been attending the last year of college, hadn’t you already finished it.

The thought of knowing you were already a mom, completely shocked Ivar.

And, although he wouldn’t admit it, he felt jealous at the thought of another man having known you so carnally.

“… oh, we didn’t know” uttered Ubbe “We have lost the contacts, when we moved in another city, after high school ended”.

“If you want, I can tell her that you’d like to get acquainted again” mumbled softly the waitress, probably thinking she was doing something good, something that would have made you happy.

But from the simple thought of your forced smile, a few minutes before, you wouldn’t have been happy in the slightest of meeting them.

And Ivar couldn’t make it a fault to you.

“She is working, we wouldn’t want to bother her or get in trouble, we are going to try to maybe contact her through the socials, but it was good to see her” commented softly Sigurd, smirking gently at the elder waitress, who simply nodded before muttering something under her breath ‘about the usefulness of social’.

As she moved away a deep silence fell onto their tables.

“I didn’t… wow… she never told me” muttered extremely baffled Sigurd.

“Did you stay in contact with her after we moved?” replied harshly Ivar and as Sigurd shook his head “… well then you can’t blame her for having hidden this to you”.

They had obviously lost any right to you, after ‘the dare’.

He, himself, couldn’t blame you.

“…can’t believe it” muttered Ubbe, sipping slowly his coffee, meanwhile Hvitserk nodded.

“Accidents happen, don’t they?” muttered Sigurd. before he proceeded to move their attention away from the thought, although Ivar’s mind was stuck onto that news.

Had you searched the attention of another person, because he had rejected you?

No, you had always been stronger than you seemed.

You wouldn’t have simply searched somebody to feel some love.

You had had to have loved the father of your child.

And the sole thought of it burned his chest painfully.

You were on the last shift of the day, and although usually you were almost happy for the extra tips which would come, this time you would have given everything to change your shift or close early.

It had started as a nice day: Erik’s bones were strengthening themselves from the therapy he had been doing and he had been excited for the soccer training of that afternoon.

Your mother had been also extremely happy to accompany ‘her favorite grandson’: she had been rather blue after your father had left you, both.

Thankfully he had left your family but not the house and the little money your mother had on her own, which had funded your move from the small city to a bigger one.

Sometimes you wondered how much your pregnancy and Erik’s sickness had impacted on your father leaving, but you tried not to think about it.

He hadn’t been held at gun point, he had chosen to leave a faithful wife, a devoted daughter and a wonderful grandchild.

You, yourself, had walked at work happy, thinking about the fact that you had also managed to schedule a meeting with an art gallery.

Through the five years you had been working on improving your culture, although you hadn’t been able to attend college, you had attended some free courses and apparently they were looking for some people to explain the art gallery’s shows, hence you had proposed yourself.

Although you knew there would be many more talented people also attending it, but… you hadn’t felt like giving up.

If you got the job, you might have had to quit one of your many jobs and spend more time with Erik, alongside paying for some new therapies.

Then you had seen the Lothbrocks at one of the tables.

And you had been glad of having met again Sigurd: you sometimes would see some of his performances at lower TV channels, and always joked with Erik about his songs.

Ubbe and Hvitserk had been indifferent to you and you had kept up the same behavior.

But Ivar…

… part of you was worried about him finding out about Erik, solely from your thought.

Back in the day, he used to be extremely intuitive.

And part of you couldn’t help but feel the pain of rejection all over again.

You had tried to find an excuse to avoid them, after the first little chat, although you were aware they would be talking about it: the small town from which you had come from had talked since you had shown Erik to it.

‘She used to be such a good girl’.

‘She used to have such a bright future ahead of her’.

‘She could have been so successful…’.

Blah blah blah.

Although you would discourage people from getting pregnant at such a young age, you didn’t feel like you had lost anything, maybe just pushed it a bit in the future, but you, yourself, had gotten through your own prejudices of being a single and younger mom.

You might have lost something, but your child was a blessing in your life.

So, you just shook off the critics.

You were waiting at the cash desk, chatting amicably with the cook of the diner, the one who made the last turn with you, always having the kind heart of packing something for you, and leaving some sweets for Erik, slowly gaining a little spot in your family, as ‘uncle Will’.

You were also checking the situation at the Lothbrock table, because, whereas all the other clients had already paid or were going to do it soon, they were stalling.

Their meals were finished, and they were chatting, although there would be more silence than actual words, and when you had sent Marlou to ask if they wanted a dessert or more coffee, they had simply replied that they were full.

They were obviously waiting and deciding who had to pay for the meal, who had to come face to face with you.

You almost expected them to start playing ‘paper, rock and scissors’ but finally you heard the distinctive screech of one of the chairs moving, but as you raised your head to see whoever had finally managed to collect their courage ‘to battle you’, you couldn’t help but be a bit nervous to discover it was Ivar.

He looked a bit annoyed, as if he had expected somebody else to volunteer at his courageous attempt, but nobody did and you immediately shut your eyes onto the screen of the cash machine, finding their bill, so that you wouldn’t have to talk with him too much.

He, instead, seemed a bit chatty, although he had that painfully awkward smile in his face he had whenever he was nervous about doing something.

Back in the day when you were together you would rub onto the back of his hand if you were in public to let him know your support, or when you were alone, you would body-hug-attack him.

But those memories seemed so long ago.

“It has passed quite some time” he mumbled softly, trying to chat you up, but you had no interest in conversing with him.

‘I see it on my child’s face’ you wanted to mutter, but again: you couldn’t make Ivar discover about Erik.

At first it had been a petty thought of your broken heart, but the more Erik grew the more you were scared that Ivar knowing of him would take him away from you.

It was irrational, but sometimes you would check out on your child.

You would do it also that night.

“Quite some time, indeed” you shot back, telling him the total and asking whether he would be paying in cash or not.

Ivar seemed a bit taken aback by the coldness in your tone, but reacted to it better than he was used, hiding his pain at your harshness, as he told you he would be paying in cash, keeping up the entire rest of the transaction in silence, meanwhile you opened the cash collected the money, counting it discreetly, printed the receipt.

He tried to do one last attempt.

“… we should come all together one of these days”.

More like hell no.

But you didn’t reject the proposal completely.

“It would be nice” Ivar’s face seemed to regain a bit of color at that affirmation “I am just a lot busy with work, but I’ll see what I can do”.

And with that you passed him the receipt and wished him a good day, turning to the kitchen to fake an emergency there, whereas Will was simply packing you the leftovers which would be your dinner.

You waited there, spying on Ivar, seeing him for the first time in five years properly: he dressed as the industrial magnate he was rumored to become in a few years, expanding his father’s properties, but he didn’t have the face of an happy magnate.

At least Destiny hadn’t given him that.

He indulged a bit on his feet, and pushed a few dollar bills into the tips bucket, something that low key opened a bit your heart to him but didn’t make you feel any less convinced about hiding him from Erik.

You closed the shop alongside Marlou, who continued on commenting about how ‘gorgeous were your school friends’.

‘They were all so handsome! Ahh what a lucky family!’.

‘They could have been your children!’ you had retorted almost receiving an elbow in your stomach from the woman, as she muttered that ‘at least it would have been better than Karl’, her thirty something unemployed son with a permanent place on her sofa.

After you had wished her ‘goodnight’, you had walked till your apartment, rushing a bit both because seeing Lothbrocks had surprised you and both because you couldn’t wait to see again Eric, who had stayed the day with your mom, waiting simply for you at home to tell you all about his day.

No matter how tired or shaken you were, your son’s smile never failed to make you feel a bit better.

---

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heavyarethecrowns · 3 years

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Kate Middleton: Prince William’s Decade-Long Mistake - Oct 2010

Who is Kate Middleton? After nearly 10 years of seeing Kate’s recorded behavior, this is my impression: Kate Middleton doesn’t care about any causes, charities or anything outside of living for pleasure. I doubt her ability to handle royal responsibilities – beyond dealing with privileges and paparazzi – because in the ten years the world has watched her, she hasn’t demonstrated she can take on anything but a royal c*ck and a jolly good time. While true, she isn’t married to William and isn’t in fact a royal (and may never be, for all we know), her perseverance implies she’s in it for the long haul and plans to become the Princess of Wales. As such, she should have taken these years to demonstrate to the world that, although she’s a common-bred, middle-class girl, she’s an exceptional lady who rises above the rest. But Kate has failed profoundly in that respect. The last thing the women of the public should be thinking when they see William’s marital choice is, “What on earth makes her so special? I could have done that/been in her place – and done it better! -Maybe I should have gone to St. Andrews!” But that’s what women, including myself, are lead to think of her. Coming from her background, as a common, everyday girl, it shows her complete lack of humility, and is borderline arrogant, for her to assume she can live like a spoiled brat who doesn’t need to prove herself. She enjoys a privileged life that she wasn’t born into – and for the life of many, we can’t understand why. Why was she chosen? Why not someone else? Why not a woman the vast majority can respect and admire? Let’s be honest here: William can have nearly anyone he wants – and he’s settling for this average circus monkey?

At first glance, Kate seemed like a well kept, nicely mannered woman – and well-suited for a royal position. In the first few years of her royal relationship, she shone as an attractive, educated, beautifully fashioned, friendly, and conservatively-behaved young lady. But that was then. Now, upon looking back at Kate’s near-decade as an unofficial princess-in-waiting, her behavior reveals her as a underwhelming choice for the monarchy. She’s demonstrated that she’s far from exceptional, and that aside from her pursuit of a crown, she’s a disappointing, arrogant underachiever of little substance.

Ambitious In All The Wrong Ways:

Those who know Kate often describe her as ambitious; and in the beginning, that’s the side of her the public got to see. Kate worked hard on her academics so she could attend the prestigious St. Andrews University, where William was also set to attend. While there, she met William and completed the same degree as him, in Art History. Following their graduations, William began the demanding military career he still pursues today. However, surprisingly, the once ambitious-seeming Kate did nothing: She remained jobless for nearly two years, living off of her parents (and William, I’m sure). Kate finally got a part-time job as an accessories buyer at the fashion chain, Jigsaw, but quit after only 11 months. Notably, rumors suggest Kate only got the job to passify Her Majesty, The Queen, who took notice that her grandson’s significant-other was a lazy freeloader. After that, she worked for her parent’s internet business, Party Pieces (which to many read like an unemployment cover-up). Apparently, Kate made updates to their website and took photos for it. That sounds pathetic and hardly full-time. Not to mention, Kate’s monthly getaways to exotic locations with William attest that her parents gave her an overwhelming amount of time off whenever she wanted it. That’s hardly a real job. And if that’s not disappointing enough, Kate quit the job all together in October of 2009 and has officially been doing nothing but shacking up with William while he pursues his career ever since. I’m sorry Katie dear, but for any 28 year old – especially a potential Queen of England – that’s absolutely not good enough.

There are several obvious problems with the reality of Kate’s ambitions (or lack thereof). She was ambitious about her education, but clearly didn’t want or need it for a career – So, what was she even at St. Andrews for, and why was she ambitious about getting there? She graduated from a top notch university, only to settle for unemployment and a job her parents provided? Logically, it’s mismatching for someone to aggressively pursue a top-tier education only to fall flat as a lazy, career-underachiever immediately and permanently thereafter. The fact that Kate did just that leads me, and countless others to believe she was only academically driven so she could put herself in William’s way and try to form a relationship with him. Also telling are the numerous reports by those close to Kate’s mother that Mrs. Middleton pushed her daughter’s attendance to St. Andrews in hopes of her becoming royalty.

Kate: The Attention-Loving Wild Child

When Kate’s not working – and that’s most of the time – she goes shopping, attends leisurely sporting and social events, and parties ’till her heart’s content in Britain’s most luxurious night spots (Paris Hilton style – ick). The photos of her nightlife are less than flattering – actually, they’re flat out embarrassing – especially for the potential next Princess and Queen of Wales. She often looks extremely intoxicated, and her attire and car-exiting-techniques have granted the paparazzi dozens of “crotch shots”.

[picapp align=”none” wrap=”false” link=”term=kate+middleton&iid=756945″ src=”http://view3.picapp.com/pictures.photo/image/756945/kate-middleton-birthday/kate-middleton-birthday.jpg?size=500&imageId=756945″ width=”234″ height=”151″ /] Kate characteristically grinning as she’s hounded by the paparazzi

Any other 28 year old woman would be focused on a career or starting a family – or both; But Kate just parties like she’s some rich 19 year old without any responsibilities. In fact, she’s only too happy to show that side of herself to the paparazzi – and the world. Her parents and William (taxpayer dollars) have financially supported her throughout her twenties – extravagant vacations included – and Kate’s habitual ear-to-ear smile indicates she’s loved every minute of it. As long as she’s attached to William, she doesn’t have a care in the world that other (common) women like her have – aside from her image, and she’s let that fall to the wayside. From the bright red coat she wore to William’s military graduation to the never-failing smile she wears for the paparazzi, Kate’s self-presentation says she loves being a celebrity and all eyes being on her. Unfortunately, Britain needs a princess who naturally exudes a respectable image when she provokes the world to look.

William’s Mistake – William’s Responsibility

I understand William’s need to pick a lady who’ll roll with the punches, deal well with the crazy, public lifestyle (privacy invasion, etc.), and conform to suit the monarchy’s needs. Nevertheless, it’s his mistake in assuming those are the only criteria a future princess must meet. If there was a checklist for the “Qualities of the Most Ideal Future Princess of Wales”, Kate would scantily fulfill 20% of them:

Intelligence and Wit

Humility

Career ambition/self sufficiency

Physical beauty – (C’mon, princesses are supposed to be pretty! -Especially when the prince is popular enough to take his pick. Kate’s…just…okay…)

Noble/Aristocratic blood (if not this, then a woman who stands far above the crowd of other commoners)

Grace and Conservative femininity (that goes out the window when you’ve been banging the prince for a decade without a commitment – Oh, and the rumored accidental pregnancies (abortion fanatic if they’re true! *cough* TMI *cough*))

Charity and service for those in need (I volunteered like crazy in college, and I’m not anywhere near royal… Why didn’t Kate?! – And why hasn’t she since??)

Respectable and responsible image (yeah, umm, no)

Takes on royal responsibilities to earn royal privileges (Kate’s only got the acceptance of privileges part down…)

Aaaand the list goes on…

Of course, there’s the possibility that Kate’s the girl who’s a match for William’s heart. But I doubt it. Kate’s the girl with everything to lose if the relationship fails, and everything to gain if it succeeds – her greatest skill is that she’s willing/desperate enough to jump through all and any hoops, including waiting 10+ years for a proposal – and William knows it.

It may have been 10 years, but it’s not too late for William to turn around and make a better decision. Kate hasn’t been cheated – contrary to some’s beliefs. She’s lived a decade of fantasy and wonder beyond her wildest dreams, and has continually been treated to luxuries she doesn’t deserve. William owes it to himself, and his country to make a responsible choice about the future Princess of Wales. Yes, he needs to choose a woman he loves, but his privileges require sacrifices on his part, and that means choosing a bride that will be an honorable partner for the people’s sake too. If William was going to wait ’till his late 20s/early 30s to wed, he could have waited to meet a woman who’s getting a PhD, or who runs a charitable non-profit organization, for example. But no : Instead, he’s burdening his country with wishy-washy, Waity Katie.

It’s not about choosing a girl who loves being photographed or relishes living her fantasy of being a fashion icon – or even a real, live princess. It’s about choosing a self-sufficient woman who has something amazing to offer the country and the world: A role model, a charitable, caring person who views joining the monarchy as a responsibility, and an opportunity to serve the people – not just an entitlement to luxurious privileges. Right now, the latter is Kate Middleton; And I don’t foresee her entire irresponsible, pleasure-loving personality changing just because wedding vows are exchanged. What we’ve seen is what we’re going to get as Lady Di’s shoe-filler – if William decides to go through with it. One can only hope that won’t be the case.

#duke of cambridge #duchess of cambridge #prince william #kate middleton #proof #article

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