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whatsnewalycat · 5 months

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Psychomanteum / Chapter 15

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 15: The Widow

Chapter Summary: Contemplation.

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, lotta yearning and self-reflection, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, food

Notes: Chapter title from “The Widow" by The Mars Volta. This is the peak of angst in this story, I promise. Pleaaaaaase be mindful of the trigger warnings above. Big big thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading 🖤✨ OK THANKS FOR READING YALL LOVE U SORRY IF ITS A BUMMER.

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As far back as you can remember, you hated the dark.

The uncertainty of what it contained would keep you up for hours in your childhood bedroom.

Your mind ran rampant, imagining all kinds of insidious creatures lurking in the shadows. Beneath your bed, in the corners, behind your closet door, outside your window. Watching, waiting for you to fall asleep.

At some point you started sleeping with the lights on. Your parents got you a nightlight in an attempt to curtail this behavior, but it wasn’t enough. There were still shadows. You were still cloaked in darkness with the monsters. All this did was begin a new ritual, where you waited until they went to bed before turning on the lights.

One night, after you heard your parents’ bedroom door click shut, you scurried over to the light switch and flipped it up. The overhead light came to life, flooding the room in safety. Relief.

By the time you crawled back into bed, your dad opened the door and peeked into the room. He looked between you and the overhead light, sighing, “Louella, we talked about this.”

“Don’t turn the light off.”

“Why not?”

Even then it felt silly. The answer stuck to the inside of your throat, hot and buzzing. Instead of letting it out, you burrowed beneath the covers and curled up into yourself.

The floorboards creaked as your dad made his way across the room. He sat on the edge of your mattress and rubbed your back, comforting you.

“Sweet pea,” he cooed, peeling back your Lion King comforter to expose your face, “It’s not good for you to sleep with the lights on all the time.”

At this, you pouted at your blanket, fiddling with the frayed edges.

“The dark is scary, isn’t it?”

You nodded.

“What’s so scary about it?”

You shrugged.

He hummed in acknowledgment, then glanced around the room, “I’ll let you in on a secret. Most everyone is afraid of the dark at some point or another. You know why?”

Another shrug.

“In the light, we have certainty. We can look over in that corner and see with our own eyes there’s no boogeyman there. It’s just a corner. Done deal. The dark… that’s trickier, isn’t it?”

You nodded, trying to decide whether or not to tell him about the monsters you believed would manifest in the black abyss and swallow you whole.

“You’re safe here, though. I promise. It’s just you in here. There’s nothing hiding in the dark. The corner is just a corner. All that’s under your bed is dust. In your closet, it’s just clothes.”

“Can you check?”

He chuckled, but granted your request, lowering himself to the ground to peek under your bed, telling you, “Nothing under here,” then climbed to his feet and strode over to your closet, pulling the door wide open so you could see the proof yourself.

“All clear,” he said as he closed it and returned to your bedside, “Does that help?”

You nodded, casting your gaze down to your lap. A lingering feeling of dread still sat heavy in your stomach. His gaze stayed trained on you, obviously unconvinced.

Eventually you asked, “But what if we just don’t see it now? What if it sneaks?”

Your voice felt tiny, meek.

His shoulders deflated with a sigh. He scooted closer and petted your hair, holding eye contact when he countered, “Your brain is trickier than the dark ever will be. It makes you see things that aren’t there. Unless you believe it’s safe, you’ll never be able to rest.”

He was right, you suppose.

Rest only really found you when you trusted the lights’ promise that nothing would hurt you when it vanished. Even when the light broke its promise. Even when your dad went to the ER and returned in a box.

You tried to believe that your family would live on without him. That he would still somehow keep you safe.

But he didn’t.

Neither did your mother.

Your mother cut the power and made you fend for yourself.

You learned that the only way to ensure nothing would hurt you was to make sure the room was vacant before deadbolting the door. To lock the windows and draw the blinds. You sharpened your teeth into fangs. You developed night vision and grew claws, and you hid so well you thought nothing could find you.

Sure, it was dark.

But the abyss had only one occupant, you knew that as fact.

Sure, your skin ached to feel the sunlight.

But you were safe.

You’re not sure when it happened, but sooner or later, you swore you could see shapes shifting in the pitch black. When you laid in bed at night, you could hear something in the walls. The faint, dry scratch of nails on plaster.

It sneaks.

The thing became clearer over time. Bloated, purpled skin. Limbs that popped and groaned when it crept around just beyond your reach. It carried the stench of rot, putrid and sulphuric.

Deep down in your guts, you understood the horrible truth.

It was you.

A part of you, anyway. Something that lived and died inside you, stillborn into the darkness just to haunt you.

Then there was Ethan.

Brash and charming, he took a sledgehammer to your walls and yanked you from your hiding place. Sunshine poured into the dark, dank room, soaking you in brightness.

At first you were terrified.

It overwhelmed your senses.

Your eyes, having long forgotten how to operate in the light, burned in reaction. You clamped them closed for fear of going blind. It felt so warm you thought you might melt. Ethan’s honeyed words seemed like loudspeakers compared to the quiet echo of your breathing. To the faint, hoarse whisper of your monster.

It took some time to acclimate to this long-forgotten brightness. But once you did, it felt incredible. You couldn’t believe you hid from it for so long.

Together, you understood that with light, comes shadows. He had a monster who crept after nightfall, too. Sometimes you’d wake to the soft caress of its nails on your cheek, to his sour, putrid breath gurgling in your ear, “I will be the death of you,” like a promise.

You came to trust its keeper, though. You believed it wouldn’t tear you apart, like yours wouldn’t Ethan.

That is the promise of love, after all, isn’t it?

To cherish one’s light so much that you’ll endure their dark? To love even the most haunted, grotesque parts of someone? Even their monsters? Even their ghosts?

To trust that you can rest your weary bones in the dark without it destroying you?

You believed this for so long. Bright years filled with joy and laughter and love, where you felt alive and trusted him. In those years, you forgot a very important fact:

It sneaks.

The fireplace lets out a sharp POP, drawing your attention away from the pitch black window.

A smoldering log at the bottom of the hearth collapses. The fire shifts, birthing fresh flames that breathe hot against your cheeks.

You pull the quilt snug around your supine body and huddle deeper into the couch, into the warmth of your body heat.

When you called your mother-in-law yesterday and explained what was happening, that you needed a place to stay for a few days while you figure out what to do, she graciously granted your request to use their cabin out in the Sierra Nevada foothills, but warned you the place was winterized and had no central heating.

“I don’t know what condition it’s in, nobody’s been out there since August. There’s quite a bit of firewood by the fireplace and out by the woodshed, use as much as you need. Electricity is on, but no internet and cell service is shoddy. You’ll need to get the water going, too—you know, why don’t you give me or Adam a call once you’re out there, we can walk you through it.”

“Is there a landline? I don’t have my phone.”

“Sure is.”

“Ok, I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Stop and get some groceries in town, too, there’s that grocery store—”

“Yeah, I remember,” you interrupted, eyes darting to the departures board, “I have to go, my bus is gonna be here soon. Thank you so much, Sarah.”

You could feel it coming within one second of the quiet hesitation that followed.

“Lou, I just want to make sure…”

Don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

“Are you ok, honey?”

Fuck.

Your face crumbled. Emotion clogged your throat. Tingles worked up your chest, behind your eyes, and you squeezed them shut to suffocate the tears.

“Yeah,” you managed to tell her, your voice wavering with bullshit, “I just, um… I just need a few days. To get myself together, you know.”

“Alright. Well, will you call me when you get there?”

“Yep,” you sniffled, “Talk to you then, bye.”

Before she could respond, you returned the receiver to its cradle, ending the call, then took a moment to gather yourself before picking your toppled-over suitcase up off the ground and finding your bus.

The ride to Fresno was long. You spent most of it staring out the window, not really looking at anything in particular, just lost in your noisy head.

At the Fresno Bus Station, you talked to three different cab drivers before finding one who agreed to bring you all the way out here.

He made a few attempts at small talk, asking how your day was going and if you were on vacation and so on, but quickly picked up on your not-so-chatty vibes and let the cab go quiet.

As he drove on, palm trees were replaced by threadbare ash trees, soon joined by evergreens. The hills became steeper. Swathes of rock broke through the earth’s soft surface, more and more with each mile.

You asked him to stop in the town closest to your in-laws’ cabin. He kept the meter running while you bought a meager supply of groceries, figuring you only needed a few days worth, if that.

Then the yellow taxi cab then drove deep into the forest, turning off on a low-maintenance dirt road that made the car jostle and rumble.

When you came around a curve, and the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN came into view, you instructed him to drop you off there.

“Are you sure? I can take you down the driveway, no problem,” he insisted.

You could have explained that the gravel driveway was in poor condition and you didn’t want him to break down or something. Imagine that. Drive a girl to the middle of a goddamn forest and wind up getting stuck out there. What a fucking nightmare. For both of you, really.

“I’m sure,” you said, flashing him a weak smile as you handed him the remaining money from your wallet, “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he looked down at the bundle of cash, but he took it, giving you a nod of thanks.

“Just, um…” you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged, looping plastic grocery bags around your wrists, “If anyone comes around asking if you saw me, could you maybe… maybe you could say no?”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded again, studying you for a moment before turning to open his door, “Let me get your bag for you.”

He pulled your shitty suitcase from the trunk and handed it to you. Before returning to the driver’s seat to begin his voyage home, he paused for a few seconds, then looked at you.

“Excuse me for asking, ma’am, but are you… well, are you… safe? Do you need me to contact anyone?”

“No.”

The word came out sharp and final. It felt harsh leaving your lips, so you added, “I mean, you don’t need to contact anyone. I am, uhhh… cool as a cucumber. Safe… as a lock. Thanks, though.”

You tried your hardest to give him a reassuring smile. He didn’t look like he bought it, but got in his taxi and left.

From here, you followed the driveway into a tunnel carved out from the trees.

The air was crisp and clear and everything seemed quiet except for the sound of you huffing and puffing down the path, leaves crunching under your feet, plastic bags rustling, your suitcase flopping around behind you like a defiant animal on a leash, fighting against each step.

Fucking exhausting.

About halfway, you spotted a flat boulder peeking out from the earth a few strides into the forest. You dropped your suitcase, shaking the plastic bags from your wrists, and blundered through the trees towards it. Your rubber legs ached with relief when you sat down criss-cross applesauce on the cool stone. Catching your breath, you leaned back and tilted your face up towards the canopy. A breeze rattled through the pines and ashes and cooled your cheeks.

You spent some time here, stretched out on the boulder, admiring the contrast of the dark, rheumatic branches stretched out towards the powder-blue sky. When your labored breathing calmed, the quiet sounds of the forest started to come into focus. Leaves rustling. Birds warbling. The whistle of wind.

It felt nice.

Peaceful.

Eventually, you heaved yourself to your feet and resumed your journey. You walked and walked, legs and wrists and arms aching, body and mind sapped of energy, until the tree line opened up into a clearing.

The cabin came into view, and a bone-deep sense of nostalgia struck you.

You remembered the first time Ethan brought you here, the summer after you started dating. Everything seemed to pulse with life. The trees, glowing green with leaves. The roaring river in the background. Ethan. The future, in general.

What’s the word for the kind of nostalgia that guts you? The kind that feels like a 30-pound weight in your stomach? The kind that shreds your heart to pieces in your chest?

That’s exactly what you felt when you saw the cabin.

It looked cold. Dead.

The inside felt no different. Everything was dark. Cool, still air bit your cheeks. Canvas was draped over all the furniture. It smelled of dust and damp and better times.

You dropped your belongings to the entryway floor, collapsing in a heap among them, then cried your eyes dry.

Once you gathered yourself, you found the phone to call Sarah.

She walked you through the ins-and-outs of making the cabin habitable. How to turn the water back on and get the fireplace going. Gave you permission to use whatever you want or need… which, so far, is just some firewood, a quilt from the cedar linen closet, and this couch.

You blink your bleary eyes a few times, before looking back to the window. The world outside has lightened. Frosted trees stand out in the rich, Neptunian veil of morning, every branch appearing lacy and crystalline, important and beautiful.

Have I slept? Or did I sit here all night, staring into the abyss?

“Fuck it,” you sigh to yourself as you sit upright, “Might as well make some coffee.”

Ding

The elevator doors slide open.

Dieter follows Parker onto the fifth floor hallway of your apartment building.

As he walks down the familiar hallway like he has so many times before, a guttural, foreboding feeling builds in his veins.

The sensation is unbelievably heavy, but hollow. Knight’s armor. A church bell. The barrel of a gun.

It reminds Dieter of the first time he came here, when he sensed Ethan’s presence on the other side of that door.

“Hopefully the landlord didn’t change the locks,” Parker says as he flips through his keychain, isolating one labeled LOU. The key slides in without protest. Parker pushes the door open and enters the apartment, Dieter hot on his heels.

When Parker flips the light on, the state of your apartment makes Dieter’s stomach drop.

Ransacked is the first word that comes to mind.

Every drawer and cupboard in your kitchen sits ajar, their contents disorganized or spread across the countertop. The couch and chair cushions are all discombobulated. Dirt tracks dried into the white carpet trace the heavy flow of boots that moved in and out of the apartment. It looks like every surface of the place has been perverted.

Dieter crouches down to set an overturned cubby upright, shoving a pile of your hats and scarves and gloves back into their rightful place, muttering, “Fucking pigs.”

A leopard print pattern catches his eye, and he plucks out a scarf, draping it around his neck before returning the container to its home.

“Pigs is right,” Parker snorts, slamming closed cupboards and drawers, “This place is a fuckin’ stye. I’m glad she’s not here to see this.”

Dieter rubs the soft fabric between his fingers and brings it to his nose, inhaling your scent. A freshly-baked smell that prods his tender heart. He stands and starts towards the kitchen, but freezes when he notices the door to Ethan’s room is open. His eyes flick from Parker, totally preoccupied with reassembling the kitchen, then back to the doorway.

Curiosity gnaws at his insides.

He approaches it, trying to act casual despite his pounding heart. At the threshold, he pauses to peak inside, not entirely surprised to see the room exactly as he pictured it.

Well, mostly, anyway.

No file cabinet or deep freezer, but open spaces where he thought they’d be. Taken as evidence, probably. Empty file folders are strewn across the desk. But the navy blue walls, the hardwood floor, the mirrors… all there.

That horrible, palpable emptiness, like loss on loss on loss… that’s there, too.

He glances over his shoulder at Parker, still distracted, then looks back into the room. When he steps through the doorway, a rush of adrenaline spikes his pulse.

Why are you here?

Dieter cautiously wanders over to the desk and starts picking up the empty file folders, halting when he finds a sketchpad beneath one.

He flips through the book of abstract black-ink illustrations. Some of them scribbles, some exquisite, some in-between. All of them saturated with emotion. Hopelessness. Guilt. Anger. Grief. Frustration. Every time he turns a page, a new sensation strikes him. Shame. Resentment. Suspicion. A whole dictionary of dark emotions.

Scattered throughout, though, he finds a few that feel… not lighter, per se, but different. They feature negative space and soft curves. Clean lines and chaos. Love.

They’re you.

Of course they’re you, love. Of course you were his light in the darkness. A brightness carved out of soot and rot.

A fond smile creeps across his lips.

For reasons he can’t quite explain, Dieter looks to one of the mirrors and asks, “Can I take this with me? To give to her?”

Yeah, sure.

“Thanks,” he nods and tucks the book into his coat pocket, glancing over his shoulder before quietly inquiring, “Any chance you know where she is?”

Not here.

“Yeah, no shit,” Dieter thinks. He jumps a little when he hears the response crystal clear in his head.

Well then why the fuck’re you here? You’re wasting time.

“Me? What about you? Didn’t you move on from this place?”

After this, Ethan goes quiet.

Dieter shrugs and looks away from the mirror to study the framed photos on the wall. Photos of Ethan with, who Dieter assumes are, his kids. None of them recent. The vast majority of the pictures feature you.

You and Ethan kissing on your wedding day. The two of you posing somewhere with mountains in the background, drinking on a beach, dancing at a party. Each one depicts big, genuine smiles. The adoration you had for each other is evident.

As the successor to your heart, maybe he should feel a twinge of jealousy, but he doesn’t. He actually finds it sweet. It fills him with warmth to know you spent a long while being well-loved.

The wall of photos displays relics from Ethan’s youth, too.

Graduation photos, family vacations, a bar mitzvah. Dieter picks up on something. A distinct before and after. He stops on a picture of Ethan as a child, hugging a younger boy—his brother, Benji—by a lake, and it starts to come together. Although he can’t quite pinpoint the defining line, it splits him in two and fractures into shards.

An icy cold rush overtakes his body, like the word gave out from under him and he’s suddenly submerged in freezing water. He can’t breathe. He can’t scream. Feral, panicked energy pulses through his veins. His concrete limbs can’t move, paralyzed as he sinks, deeper, deeper, deeper…

Dieter returns to himself with a jolt, gasping for air.

He takes a step back and slumps over, pressing his palms into his knees as he pants, “What the fuck, man? What the fuck?”

You need to find her before it’s too late.

Red bubbles up his chest.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” he sits up, jaw clenched, fists balled, and steps into the through-line of the mirrors. They reflect off one another to form a long, curved tunnel that stretches out on either side of him. Dieter looks from one mirror, to the other, seeing his image captured within each infinite layer.

“Fuck you, man,” he seethes, shaking his head, “You fucking did this, you know that? Fucking piece of shit. I’m fucking trying, ok?”

The last sentence comes out hoarse and thick. Heat works up his throat and his vision blurs with tears.

“Whoa—hey, Dieter,” Parker runs into the room, all wide-eyed and searching Dieter’s face, “What’s wrong?”

A sob heaves his shoulders. He hangs his head, shaking it from side-to-side, “I’m trying, Parker.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, pulling Dieter into a hug, reassuring him, “We’re gonna find her.”

“What if we don’t?”

“We will. Keep that faith, papi. We will.”

Dieter buries his face in Parker’s bony shoulder, releasing the pent-up worry and guilt festering infectious in his chest for the past day. Parker pets his hair and rocks him back and forth, letting out a few of his own sniffles alongside Dieter’s.

When their crying starts to peter out, Parker gives him one more squeeze and pulls back, asking, “You wanna get out of here? This place is a fucking mess, and we gotta catch that flight soon anyway.“

“Can I look in her room first?”

Parker’s eyebrows knit together over bloodshot eyes, and he nods, patting his friend on the shoulder before stepping aside.

Dieter approaches your bedroom cautiously. Paranoid thoughts circulate in his brain, all those what-ifs and delusions of tragedy. What if he finds you here, cold and lifeless? What if you’re dead somewhere while he pokes around your apartment, looking for clues? Is he doing enough? Could he do more?

But when the door groans on its hinges as he pushes it open, and he sets foot inside your bedroom, the impending doom percolating in his veins drains from him almost instantly. Many of your things have been rifled through, like the rest of your apartment, but the place holds an air of serenity.

It feels warm and safe.

It feels like you.

Flipping the light on, he closes the door behind him, then walks over to your bed and crawls under the covers, burying himself beneath them.

The sheets still carry a faint whiff of sex and sleep from before the two of you embarked for LA. His lungs expand with a deep, wide breath. Eyes drifting closed, he thinks of you. How you’re feeling. Where you are. What you’re doing.

He picks up the bite of a chilled breeze. The steady babble of a river. Warm hands. Burnt tongue. Coffee, bitter and black.

The signal drops.

Not much, but enough for him to know you’re not in immediate danger, which brings him some solace.

Still under the blankets, he pulls out his phone and dials your number. It rings and rings until your voicemail picks up.

“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.”

“Hey doll, it’s me. I’m at your apartment. It’s a fucking mess. Parker and I stopped by before going back to LA. He’s coming with me to help… well, to help find you. Anyway. I’m in your bed. It still smells like us. It was hard for me to fall asleep last night without you. Waking up without you is… it’s hell. I don’t know. I miss you, Lua. It’s been one fucking day and I miss you more than I’ve ever missed anyone in my life. I love you. I’ll call you when I get back.”

Despite your lack of sleep, you managed to make this morning a productive one.

You removed the slip-cases from the furniture and dusted, then forced yourself to eat a halfway decent breakfast of buttered toast and scrambled eggs. After washing the dishes, you soaked in the tub for a while, staring up at the wood-paneled bathroom ceiling as you contemplated what to do with yourself, both in the short-term context and the long-term.

While drying off, you noticed the bright, mid-day sun shining down into the valley, making everything glow golden. It looked inviting.

You dug through your suitcase, sifting through the clothing you packed with a warmer climate in mind. Shorts. Dresses. Bikinis. The best you could do was a sweater and some pajama bottoms.

Down by the riverbank, you found this creaky wooden porch swing and settled on which to sit and ponder.

You smooth the tip of your finger along the dewy lip of the mug, breaking up a curl of steam with each lazy revolution around its circumference.

Today is the shortest day of the year.

The winter solstice.

Every once in a while, wind rolls down off the snowy tips of the Sierra Nevadas and meets the warmth of the California sun. The creaky wooden bench sits square in the middle of these contradictory weather conditions. Hot and cold. Dry and damp. Constantly churning, waxing and waning from one state to another.

A crisp gust of wind from upriver cuts through the sun-baked pocket of air where you’re seated. You huddle into your jacket and bring the steaming mug to your lips, hissing when the black coffee scorches your tongue.

The thought of Dieter shoots through you like a bullet.

You picture him beneath the covers of your bed, fully clothed in his furry winter jacket, wearing your scarf, eyes clenched shut, wishing you would come out of hiding because it’s safe now.

It rattles you.

An infinite number of memories and worries and hopes and what-ifs flood your mushy, sleep deprived brain. They all muddle together in an incomprehensible cluster fuck that sets your blood ablaze and makes your ears ring. Your body contracts, squeezing a sob from deep within your chest.

Fuck.

Every single ounce of you aches to see him. To smell him. To feel his arms wrapped around you and hear his voice murmuring honeyed affirmations in your ear, telling you he loves you and understands why you had to leave.

You pray he understands that you didn’t want to. Of fucking course you didn’t want to. You had to. For his sake and for yours.

During the FaceTime call with Parker, when you first saw the cops outside your building, then David Alterman, you could only see two paths forward: Dieter would choose you or his career.

Would he have chosen you? Maybe, but it would have been foolish.

He would have to support you through whatever punishment the state of New York has queued up against you—prison, probably—on top of dealing with the fallout. The public backlash, the halt of money flow, not to mention the loss of his career, which means more to him than public opinion or money. In his own words, acting is his fucking purpose in life.

And for what? An incarcerated girlfriend? Even if you put the issue of your pending criminal charges aside, you still wouldn’t be worth that loss.

It would be gradual, but eventually he would feel it.

It sneaks.

He would come to resent you, and you wouldn’t be able to fault him one bit.

Would he have chosen his career? Maybe, but it would ruin you both.

If he chose to break off your relationship in order to salvage his career, you would have to hear him say it. You would have to know, with certainty, that you take second place in his heart. Maybe this is a selfish notion, this desire to be his number one priority. If he didn’t choose his wife over his career, why the fuck would he choose you?

Not only that, but if he chose this path, he would have to shoulder the hardship of two broken hearts. You know he loves you. You do. Ending your relationship would devastate him. He would be plagued with guilt and shame and regret, all the same as if he chose you to begin with.

It seemed cruel to force him to make this impossible choice. No matter what he did, it would be wrong, and he would carry the burden.

This is when you saw the third path branch out before you.

The one where you could sneak out before the sun rises, dragging your monster by its tether behind you. Where you could lock yourself away in a boarded-up room and wait for her to take you. You, not him.

You would rather absorb the blame, from him and everyone else, a million times over than curse him with the responsibility of this dissolution.

This is a mercy kill.

An act of love.

It may not seem like it to anyone else, but really, it is.

This thought brings you some solace.

Another gust of wind blows shivers down your spine. You bring the mug to your lips to test the coffee’s temperature, finding it tepid, but drink it anyway.

Dieter wasn’t sure what to expect when he came home.

Worst case scenario, he imagined cops waiting to arrest him for bribing an elected official or tell him you turned up dead. Best case, he imagined opening the door to find you there. Problem solved. Happily ever after. He would kiss you breathless and never let you doubt your station in his life again.

What was most likely, though—and what he found—was something in the wide gray area between his paranoia and hopeless romanticism.

Lincoln was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through TikTok on his phone, while Darlene sat at the dining room table, typing away on her laptop.

Although he tried to keep an open mind the whole way here, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Here he was, exhaustion burning his bones to dust, expecting some kind of a celebration, only to find out this was a checkpoint, not a finish line.

Lincoln and Darlene both perk up at the sound of the door opening. They both rise from their respective places to greet Dieter and Parker.

“Hey, welcome back!” Lincoln calls as he grabs Dieter’s suitcase, “How was your flight?”

“Fine,” he grunts, then nods to Parker, “This is Parker. Parker, this is my PA Lincoln and my publicist Darlene.”

“Former publicist,” Darlene corrects, shaking Parker’s hand, “Nice to meet you.”

Parker gives her a polite smile and a nod to her and Lincoln and tells them, “Thanks for your help.”

“Want me to take your suitcase?” Lincoln asks Parker, dark blonde eye brows raised in expectation.

“I’ve got it, love,” Parker waves him off with a dismissive hand, then turns to Dieter, “Where do you want me?”

Before he can answer, Lincoln cuts in, “Here, I’ll show you to the open guest room.”

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Parker’s mouth. He shrugs, “Lead the way, pretty boy.”

Even in the dim illumination of the waning daylight, Dieter sees Lincoln’s cheeks flush pink. He grins and starts off down the hall. Before following, Parker looks at Dieter, raising a mischievous brow as he glances between him and Lincoln, mouthing, “Cute.”

“Any updates?” Dieter asks Darlene as he slides off his crocs and starts towards the kitchen.

“Well,” she sighs, crossing her arms, tilting her head to one side, “There has been progress.”

The way she says it sounds like the beginning of bad news. He pauses his search for food and frowns at her. Static rises in his throat.

“And?”

She walks to the dining room table to grab her notebook, flipping back a few pages as she approaches the kitchen island and leans against it.

“So, I was able to trace her steps to a transit station in Fresno. I went up there yesterday and talked to security. Found out she took a cab from there, but the cab company won’t disclose where they dropped her. The driver reported that she seemed… off. Said she seemed scared and was very secretive, like she was in danger or something. He thought maybe she was running from a domestic abuse situation, and requested that the company not disclose her location.”

Dieter gapes at this, unable to formulate words. She continues.

“She talked a few other cab drivers before this one, so I talked to them. They told me she didn’t give them an address, just said it was about sixty miles away, up in the foothills. But that’s… that’s all I was able to get. The trail runs cold there.”

“Can’t we throw some cash at the cabbie who drove her? Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it, I don’t care—”

“I tried,” she shook her head, throwing her hands up at her sides, “I told them to name their price, they said it wasn’t about money, it was about safety.”

Heat spikes his blood, overwhelming him with nervous energy that sets him into motion, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, rubbing his neck, clenching his jaw.

“What the fuck do we do now?”

“Do you know if she has any family or friends in that area? Maybe she mentioned something in passing—”

“No, of course she didn’t,” he scoffs.

Darlene doesn’t say anything. Her hazel eyes follow him from side-to-side.

“I know her family is from Ohio, her friends are from New York. Anything else is a fucking mystery to me,” he shakes his head and stops pacing to holler, “PARKER, get in here!”

A few seconds later, he hears footfalls in the hallway, then Parker rounds the corner, blinking at him, “I know you didn’t just call for me like a fuckin’ dog.”

“Does Lua know anyone out by Fresno? In the mountains?” Darlene asks him.

Parker frowns as he thinks about this, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Distant relatives, old friends,” Darlene glances at Dieter, “Exes, anything like that?”

Dieter glares at her, nostrils flaring, to which she defends, “We have to cast a wide net, I’m just asking.”

Parker shakes his head again, “No.

“What about Ethan’s family?”

His face stays fixed in a searching expression. No glint of recognition.

Dieter’s shoulders slump.

Parker looks at him, brows knit together with concern, and adds, “But honestly, I’m so fucking exhausted, I might not be remembering right now.”

They sit there for a moment, dull and disenchanted, until Darlene sighs, “Well, should we order some takeout?”

By late afternoon, the sun starts to sink down into the ragged black tree line of the far away mountains.

Rays of light catch the atmosphere just right, casting a shimmering golden hue onto the cabin. One of these beautiful glowing beams streams through the window and manages to hit you square in the eyeballs.

Grimacing, you flip your book belly-down onto the end table and push yourself up into a sitting position. A yawn expands your lungs. You stretch your arms above your head, then let them fall limp at your sides.

Charred logs glow inside the fireplace. No flames. You rise to your feet and trudge over to it, swinging the grate open to slide a few more logs on the fire. They sizzle and pop as they catch heat and light ablaze.

You look around the cozy, rustic living room, glancing at the clock on the wall, then out the window.

Earlier today, while poking around the cabin for something interesting to take your mind off… Well, everything, you stumbled upon a small stash of homemade wine. A glass–maybe a bottle–sounds nice right now. Maybe you could make some food, too. Probably should.

You pad across the dark lacquered floorboards to the cellar door, and push it open. Wrinkling your nose at the mildew scent, you flip the lightswitch on and tip-toe down the stairs, then across the room to the wine rack. One-by-one, you pull out the corked green glass bottles and take note of their year. A few are labeled Plum 2017. Two Strawberry 2018s. Half a dozen Red 2018s.

One of the bottles reads White 2017. A fond smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You slip the bottle under your arm before jogging up the stairs to the main level, where you sift through Sarah’s record collection. A Frank Sinatra album catches your eye, so you put it on, then pour a glass of wine and survey your limited options for supper.

A part of you wants to say fuck it, skip the meal. Just let your empty stomach soak up the wine. Let the tiny tendrils of alcohol branch out into your bloodstream and work its numbing magic. Maybe it’ll dim the acute pain simmering beneath your sternum.

Then you spot the lemon on the counter, sitting beside a bulb of garlic and a blue mesh bag of onions.

There’s pasta and olive oil in the cabinet. Parmesan in the fridge. You could make something nice with that. Maybe watch the sunset.

I could do it tonight.

No.

Why not?

You picture Dieter the first time you saw him. Shifty and slightly arrogant, all blown-out pupils and twitches. Basically a red flag wearing a human suit. You thought he was handsome, though. And his booming laughter brought a real smile to your face for the first time in weeks.

It felt familiar.

It felt like sunshine kissing your skin after a long bout of darkness.

Shaking the picture from your head, you start rummaging through the cupboards for a pot and saucepan. You fill the pot with water, toss in some salt.

When you pull the chef’s knife from the butcher block, you pause to examine the blade in the golden hour light.

I could slice my pulse open.

No.

Why not?

You picture Dieter the second time you met him. Kaleidoscope skin and chartreuse aura. Acid stripped away the cocaine ego to expose his bare bones. And they were beautiful.

Something happened that night. A tethering. A melding. Some ethereal otherworldly connection that intertwined your souls.

Even though he was essentially a stranger, you couldn’t shake the sense that he had always been and always would be a part of you.

Swallowing around the emotion welling up in your throat, you shake your head. Too messy.

The thought of your own blood makes you queasy. If some has to find you like that?

Fuck.

Your stomach twists into nausea.

You set down the knife and find a cutting board, then resume your dinner preparation, singing along to the music, concentrating on the mechanical motion of the blade tearing through the onion, meeting resistance with each aromatic layer.

The goddamn knife is dull anyway.

After mincing the garlic, you nudge your little piles of chopped-up produce into the gleaming pool of melted butter in the saucepan. Steam rises with a gentle sizzle, moisture meeting fat.

Inside the pot, tiny ripe bubbles line the underwater walls, waiting to burst.

Turn up the heat.

Stir the saucepan.

Sip your wine.

You tap your fingers on the countertop, following the beat of the brass band, and quietly sing along with Ol’ Blue Eyes, “No one would care, no one would cry. If I should live, if I should live or die. What now, my love? Now there is nothing. Only my last, my last goodbye.”

You picture Dieter at the beach, holding your hand as the two of you waded through the tide. The best day of your life.

You picture him in his boxers, watering his plants. You picture his warm brown eyes flicking between you and a sketchpad. Him taking the first bite of a gooey brownie and groaning with delight. Laying behind you in the bathtub, arms wrapped around your waist underwater, planting a soft kiss on your cheek bone. Waking up in the morning, his wild dark curls all bent the shape of his pillow indent, a wistful, sleepy smirk on his lips. Laughing. Smiling. Telling you he loves you. Meaning it.

A deep ache of shame spreads across your chest. Your stomach churns. Tears burn behind your eyes, then spill over, streaming hot down your cheeks.

How fucking stupid are you to think the darkness wouldn’t come and swallow everything whole, Dieter included?

What, because you’re in love, the two of you should be spared?

Has that ever stopped her before?

I should fucking know better.

A far-off, high frequency noise starts in your ear and it cuts audio for a second. Everything around you seems far away. Not real. You feel spectral, like you’re dreaming or a ghost or in a tv show or something.

Entirely fiction.

Sniffling, you wipe your damp with the sleeve of your sweater.

You grab the wine glass off the counter and swallow its contents, then refill it, splashing a little vino into the saucepan before setting the bottle aside.

A roar swells as the ingredients get to know each other. You take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, pungent scent, then notice steam billowing off the water in your pot. The still surface has erupted into a consistent boil. You throw about half of a pound of fettuccine into the pot. More than enough, but who the fuck makes only one serving of pasta?

While the fettuccine cooks, you pour some cream into the saucepan, then whisk and whisk and whisk, pausing periodically to stir the pasta. Once the sauce thickens, you whisk in pre-grated parmesan a pinch at a time. You fish a strand of fettuccine out of the boiling water and confirm its al dente status, then transfer a few spoonfuls of pasta water into the sauce before pouring the pot over a colander in the sink.

It calms you, this process. The step-by-step. Seeing the fruits of your labor unfold in real time. Each checkbox marked calms your ragged nerves more than the last.

Before you know it, you’re curled up in an adirondack chair on the deck, quilt draped over your shoulders, twisting fettuccine around your fork as you watch the sun sink down into the mountains, turning the sky into this beautiful vivid watercolor. It’s fucking gorgeous, you’ll give it that.

Am I really going to go through with this?

That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? To end this? To ascend into that glowing iridescent tunnel? To cross the threshold and finally return to the sea of love?

It’s funny, you think, how your whole life you were afraid of dying because you didn’t know what came after.

But after seeing it, you know you had it completely backwards.

Death is a piece of cake. You weren’t scared once when it happened. It’s like the light turned on in your room and you knew there was nothing hiding in wait. Nothing sneaking.

Life, though?

Life is scrambling through the darkness of uncertainty, trying to find a beacon. When you make contact with them, you cling to flames, hoping they’ll burn forever to keep you safe and warm. They won’t. They always burn out.

By the time you finish your pasta, the wine has fully assimilated into your bloodstream, drowning all the excess noise in your head. You polish off the bottle while watching the sun sink down into the Sierra Nevadas. Dusk absorbs the light. The atmosphere shifts from midnight blue to inky black, enveloping you in darkness. It doesn’t even bother you.

Head swimming with wine, you lay out on the cold deck and stare up at the nighttime sky, littered with dazzling pinprick stars.

They remind you of all the times you stargazed with your father, and the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars Ethan hung on the ceiling of the first bedroom you shared with him.

They remind you of how incredibly vast the darkness is.

How the hopeful glimmer of a star can appear so bright and so close, but really be lightyears away, in another galaxy, another life.

Maybe the next one.

[ Next Chapter ]

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo angst #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

106 notes · View notes

5eraphim · 6 months

Note

"we can start with a kiss" for scout? 👀

Link to the Dubcon Prompts

Title: Red Sky at Night (alternative title "Just Like Playing Pretend")

Character: The Scout 🐇 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: X (MINORS DNI, GO PLAY OUTSIDE)

Content Warnings: Dubcon, taping/armature, corrosion, delusional yandere (slightly reciprocated obsession), forced intimacy, panty huffing, biting/marking, fingering, very brief passing incest joke, i guess? (just like one line, a part of scout being annoying and a creepy), soft-mindbreak, degradation, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, lap riding

Word Count:

MASTERLIST

TIP JAR

"What feels like work to you, is playing to others." Lenfantvivant

"Hey, I'm home."

Entering the house, you instantly noticed no lights were on. As well as the lack of noise you'd never expect when Scout was home alone. It couldn't be much later than 6, but well into the fall season, the sky was black when you pulled in. Once inside, you noticed the sole lights on in the house were those in the bedroom. Though rather than the typical warm-white light you were used to, a bright red escaped the crack between the door and its frame making you equally curious and uneasy.

It wasn't just the silence that made you uncomfortable or the odd darkness. Still, the combination of those things specifically had your nerves on edge—today marked the six-month anniversary of your relationship with Scout. Given his careless, self-obsessed nature, one would think he'd be the type to forget about this kind of thing, but he never did. You half-hoped to luck out today while unable to shake the suspicion Scout had something planned for later.

You crept closer but couldn't hear anything but a bit of movement from the other side. When you were at the doorway, you took a deep breath, stealing your inner resolve before using your fingertips to push the door open to peep inside gently.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the odd lightning inside. To your surprise, there weren't actually any red lights on, but rather some red towels hanging over the bedside table lamps, turning the light from the white bulbs deep red as well as dimming them slightly, emphasizing the long dark shadows in the room, making the entire place feel seedy. Even the window had a red sheet drawn across the curtain rod, rendering the whole night sky invisible to you, save for the light of the half-moon and a few bright stars.

Scout must've missed the sound of you coming home as you caught him fiddling with something on the dresser with his back to you as you entered. But now, in the same room with him, you instantly caught his attention, making him abandon whatever he was doing to greet you with a crushing hug. "Hey, you're back!"

He kissed your cheek as you limply returned the hug, going through the motions of letting him kiss you and forcing a loving smile as he wrapped his arms around your waist. As you let your arms slip away from his shoulders, stepping back to break the hug, you couldn't ignore how odd the room looked, bathed in bright red. "Scout, what is all this?"

He didn't answer your question, just beamed at you with a big smile, "Ya like it?"

You raised an eyebrow, "It looks fine, but why?"

Scout inched a little closer, slinging one arm around your shoulder and pulling you to his chest, "C'mon, don'tcha know what day it is?"

You nodded, "I do…"

"Well, six months is a long time, ain't it? Thought it's 'bout time we did somethin' a lil extra special to celebrate!" He didn't really answer your question, feeling content enough to have his arm around your shoulders, holding you nice and close to his chest while he admired his handiwork, turning the unwanted-ly shared bedroom into something even sleazier.

But you knew better than to tell him you thought the room looked tacky or pornographic. Your brows creased as you tried to follow wherever he was going with this, "Celebrating with red lights?"

"Red lights aaand-" Using his free hand, he gestured with his thumb to where he was standing before you entered.

You followed his thumb with your eyes, realizing it wasn't something on the dresser he was messing with before you showed up. It was a camera on a tripod, about the same level as the dresser, pointed at the bed. "A camera?"

He didn't respond, but he didn't need to. That dumb look on his face, as well as the red light on the camera indicating a recording in progress, the shabby lighting, covering the windows and giving no indications he had anything in mind, waiting until you were home and exactly where he wanted you before showing you all this, were all the clues you needed to piece together what he had in mind for tonight.

"Scout, you cannot be serious!" You sidestepped away from him snappily, making the arm previously around your shoulders slide right off. Scout looked genuinely surprised to see you acting so resistant. You never wanted this relationship, you hated Scout, but he knew how to keep you compliant. Before you agreed to the relationship, he was constantly bugging you, blowing up your phone with calls and texts, which was annoying but not difficult to brush off. For the longest time, you saw him as just another creep and nothing more, more persistent than most you knew, but hardly anything special. You had yet to learn how far he would take things.

Even when he pestered you and acted immature, you never truly thought of Scout as a bad guy. You wanted to believe deep down he was sweet, just a bit misled. But when loved ones began turning up in the hospital, almost died from blunt force trauma, or when personal belongings turned up smashed to pieces, you knew who was behind it all, but even worse, you knew what you had to do to make it stop.

And it was under threat of violence to yourself or the ones you love that kept you quiet and obedient for the longest time. It wasn't a good situation to be in, but it sure as hell was better than the alternative. The past 6 months were essentially a blur when it came to your personal life; you would go home, and there he was. That was all there was to it. Scout wasn't a complete monster, and occasionally, you'd even catch glimpses of that "good boy" you thought he always was deep down.

This must've been the first time you tried to resist him in ages. "If it took this long for me to stick up for myself, is it bad I can hardly remember what the hell I was agreeing to before now?" You wondered to yourself.

Scout rolled his eyes, grabbing your shoulder with one hand to keep you from slipping away any further, "I don't get why you're acting like it's a big deal- it's just this one time, c'mon!" You'd admire his audacity if it weren't so infuriating. You weren't sure how many more" just this once-s" you had left in you. It was hard to stomach the disgust and guilt for playing along and letting him get what he wanted, but trying to refuse him was even more challenging, and you already knew no matter what you had to say, he'd get his way by the end of the night.

Eyeing up the camera, you crossed your arms over your chest. Scout's grip on you was too tight for you to escape entirely, "You're not gonna make this… weird, are you?"

He chuckled, "How weird are we talking'?"

You frowned, "Like gross weird. Like, you're not going to make me pretend to be your sister or something creepy, right?" Maybe giving him ideas like this was wrong, but you were already so uncomfortable you didn't know how much worse things could get.

You recoiled as he laughed, clearly not bothering to take your concerns seriously. "I wasn't gonna! But I mean, hey- if ya wanted, I don't mind playin' big brother-"

You grit your teeth, fighting back a chill of disgust. "Don't you dare finish that sentence!"

Scout gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, perhaps not entirely oblivious to your discomfort, "Relax, relax, I'm just messin' with ya! Just wanna help loosen up a lil before I start rearranging your guts and all."

You blinked, not entirely sure how to respond to that. "Alright then… So what do you want me to do?"

Scout leaned over to kiss the top of your head, "All ya gotta do is get on the bed and look real pretty. Leave all the rest to me."

You nodded, prepared to get all this over with as soon as possible, about to step past him and make yourself comfortable on the bed when you felt his hand on your shoulder, "Hang on, I wanna make this count. Can we start with a kiss?"

You turned to respond, but before you could say anything, you felt his palm against your cheek, guiding your face to connect with his. If you were unsure if Scout wanted to go through with all this, you weren't questioning it anymore. Keeping one hand resting against the side of your face, his other hand blindly ushered the rest of your body to draw even closer, finding the small of your back to pull you in nice and close. He wasn't the best kisser and almost always lost himself in the spur-of-the-moment excitement to the detriment of his technique and general lack of experience. But clearly, he was at least trying to hold himself back a bit, trying not to overwhelm you. For only a moment, you pondered his change in demeanor, only to feel a chill running down your spine as you realized you forgot to ask earlier if the camera was already recording or not, or even worse, just how many other cameras he might have set up you'd yet to discover.

Scout's fingers toyed with the bottom of your shirt's hem for a few seconds before his hand slipped under your top, stroking your lower back with his fingers slowly, wanting to savor the moment, trying so hard to fight off his own impulsive desire to slam you against the bed and make you moan his name like a porn star. You broke the kiss with your eyes remaining focused on his lips, feeling a confusing affectionate stir in your chest from the lopsided toothy grin staring back at you.

Scout wanted you to play pretend with him and go along with his "directing" for tonight. It made your head spin, trying to remember if you were supposed to act as his adoring lover or a sexy actor for his adult film in a cynical, morbid way. Though you knew you could sell the character easily enough, you already had so much experience pretending to go along with his possessive, often violent whims in and outside the bedroom; how could this be all that different? How could (hopefully) one camera make all that kind of difference?

Trying to put on a soft and needy voice, you whispered, "I don't wanna wait more- can't we get into bed already? We can keep kissing there, can't we?" It never took more than some doe-eyes and a breathy "please" to get Scout to do what you wanted. When it came to the bedroom, he was almost always all talk.

Scout smiled, letting you pull him into bed, but stopped you when you started to undress yourself.

"Lemme do it," he nodded at the camera, "Gotta make sure you're doin' it nice and slow."

It was hard not to roll your eyes, but somehow you managed. Settling down into bed with your head at the pillows and your side to the camera while Scout crawled on top, peeling off his own shirt in the process.

Honestly, it was a bit more awkward and stiff to lay back and let Scout undress you than actually discomforting. You consciously avoided looking at the camera while he worked, as though it would do anything to salvage your dignity. It saddened you that no matter how much you hated him, there was always that frustrating little part of you that still felt arousal for Scout. That little part of you that would always want him, no matter how you hated him or how he humiliated you, it was never enough to make you stop wanting him.

With your compliance, Scout could slip off your shirt overhead, followed by your bra, intentionally dropping them to the floor in front of the camera for dramatic effect. But when he popped the button on your pants, his excitement picked up slightly, tugging the fabric down your legs. Lowering his head to your navel, bracing himself on hands and knees around you, Scout gripped the top of your underwear between his teeth, straining the fabric against your body before tugging down.

It wasn't hard to help move your legs as he worked them down your legs with his mouth, but you weren't expecting to see Scout still holding the little bunch of fabric between his teeth as he looked back into place overhead, sitting back on his haunches, almost straddling your hips to keep both his hands free. He waited until he had your attention until your eyes focused on his mouth before pulling them free and keeping his eyes on your face as he pressed the fabric directly under his nose and huffed.

The subsequent moan of satisfaction made you cringe, keeping your eyes screwed shut and looking to the side as you made a sound of disgust. You hated how you could still hear his heavy breathing and cruel laugh, how he could prolong your discomfort without laying a hand on you, without being seen.

"Wassamatter? You wanna turn?" He pulled the cotton away from his face just enough to taunt you by dangling the garment over your head, tickling your cheek slightly.

"I'll pass."

Scout pouted, "It's your loss, ya know." He balled them up slightly with his fingers before squishing your cheek with his finger like he was teasing a baby.

"You sicko…" Eventually, with a sigh of disappointment, he tossed them to the side, lowering back down on all fours, his face much closer to yours. You were shocked to see an almost gentle, loving look on his face, his hands falling over yours at your sides on the bed. Before speaking, he gave them a soft squeeze before guiding your dominant hand into place over your sex, the other resting against the top of your hip, fingers brushing the very tip of your thigh.

"I'm only teasing' ya. C'mon ya know I love ya, an' you drive me freakin' crazy, lemme make ya feel real good. Tonight, we can start slow."

You flushed at the unexpected sweetness. Nodding once, you felt your breath hitch when Scout started to pulse his fingers over yours. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to pick up on the buzzy feeling deep inside, feeling extra sensual under the moody, red light.

True to his word, Scout followed your pace and mirrored your gentle touches. "Don't worry about going all out. Let's just getcha warmed up first, alright baby?" He said, kissing your forehead, grazing his lips against your forehead with every word with such a gentleness you managed to let yourself believe Scout could be trusted, imagining the gross scenario into something romantic. Like the two of you were innocent sweethearts fooling around behind closed doors, this wasn't anything grave, just a bit of naughty fun now that he had you all to himself. Or you were back home safe, and your loved ones were waiting for you just beyond the bedroom door.

But as the pleasant fantasy unfolded, it began to take a dark turn as though your own brain were acting out, trying to punish you for taking pleasure in such an undignified situation at the hands of such an awful person. A primal, unforeseen, and unmanageable fear flooded your mind, making you too scared to open your eyes, heightening all physical sensations. In your mind, you imagined the scene playing out. Your naked, weak body spread wide for all to see, the warm red lighting turning into hellfire, the man in bed with you into a demon. You weren't in your bedroom. You were in hell! Humiliated and treated like a whore by a demon, leered at by perverse faces who watched hidden from the shadows.

Abruptly, you locked up, your hands flying from between your legs, and you sat up, backing up against the wall to avoid knocking heads with Scout, feeling suddenly cold all over, like someone just poured an icy bucket of water all over you.

Scout looked at you confused, "Hey, chill out will ya! You're alright- What's wrong?"

Looking around the room self-consciously, you cleared your throat. The primal feeling of "something is wrong" had lifted, making you blank on exactly why you did what you just did. The feeling is much like suddenly snapping yourself out of a nightmare. You weren't in hell; there was no demon in the room with you and no shadowy figures watching you from the corners. You were right back in your unpleasant but expected reality. "Sorry, I uh- Just forgot about the camera for a second…"

He nodded, surprised to hear such a mild reason for the dramatic reaction. "Oh. You want me to cover it with a towel or something?"

You slackened, raising an eyebrow. "Will you cover the lens too?"

"Nope!"

Nodding, you sighed, "Never mind, I'm fine, I can keep going."

"Atta girl!" He congratulated you for going on with a pat on the shoulder as he sat up, crawling over to the lip of the bed where he could spread his legs and let them dangle down the side of the bed. Scout looked over his shoulder and gestured with his head, beckoning you to crawl closer as he patted the bed beside him. You realized a beat too late. Scout positioned himself, spread his legs wide, right where the camera lens was pointed, and waited for you to hurry up and get into place to do the same.

Softly, you padded closer on all fours as he spread his legs a little wider the closer you crawled. You were about to straddle his lap, facing him as Scout so often begged of you, when he put a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to pause.

"Nah, not like that- get on facing the camera. I wanna get a good view when I watch this back!" He didn't even really sound perverse as much as he sounded genuinely excited, but the hard-on between his legs was all the reminder you needed of his true intentions here, not to mention how overheated his body felt so close to yours. Awkwardly, you tried to situate yourself on his lap in this new position. It was too embarrassing to look at the camera and do this, so you kept your eyes down as you crawled out from behind him, letting Scout use his arms to help you stay balanced and guide you into place.

You must've looked as nervous as you felt. Scout leaned his face right next to your ear as he whispered, "Don't be shy, I've gotcha, I'm not gonna letcha fall. You're gonna look so sexy on tape, babe." His fingers drummed over and smoothed against your sensitive skin as he spoke, making it prickle.

With your weight balanced well enough on his lap, Scout's hands slithering up from your sides to cup your chest, groping against your tits with a teasing kind of playfulness. Even if he's wiry, he's so warm it makes you melt. Prompting you to mindlessly press yourself even harder down on his lap, feeling his stiff throb against your ass. His breath ghosts against your neck between kisses, you try to sync your breath to his, feeling the way it quickened every time you squeezed and palmed up his thighs.

The feeling of harsh teeth and a humid, wet tongue on your neck make you wince, mindlessly rolling your heat against Scout's lap, the instant reaction spurring him on all the more, as he took a hard nick to the side of your neck. You can feel Scout's trademark wonky teeth, coated with enough saliva to ooze out of his mouth, leaking all over you, forming thin trails connecting his lips to the wet spot he created, even as he pulled away. You were painfully pinned into place between Scout's mouth and his crushing grip on both your tits, making you groan in frustration as you felt trapped but unable to get any proper relief from either direction. But just as you were about to try and wriggle away, to get just a bit of space away from the man to catch your breath, Scout returned for another bite.

Intentionally, Scout aimed to target the already irritated skin. The pain intensified, and you felt yourself yelp as you began wriggling even harder to try and stop the pain. But Scout clung to you like a feeding leech, refusing to budge an inch.

The pain in such a sensitive area turned you on, but when you felt him drawing blood, your fear overtook your arousal. You didn't like how bold he was getting in front of the camera."F-fucking hell! Scout!"

To your disappointment, your attempts at stopping his abuse had the complete inverse effect. He let out a shallow moan, huffing as the breath got caught in his throat, grinding against the slick-with-sweat flesh of your backside, almost laughing with delight, "Beg again, just like that!"

"Sco-out! God! Please, more!"

"Beg harder- I wanna-God, I wanna hear you whine-"

You responded instantly, your brain well-past cock hungry and unaware of how pathetic you sounded, "Scout, Sc-scout! C'mon, please!" Fortunately, your muscles didn't have to strain much longer in that position, as Scout responded to your plea by thrusting fully inside, an action which would've been painful if not for your lustiness.

Feeling that maddening yearning between your legs finally satisfied, you couldn't help but let out a breathy sigh of relief, allowing your body to go limp, bouncing slightly as he continued to pound against your motionless body.

"Start touchin' yourself again, just like before- Go on and show off how freakin' hot you look when you come." Scout didn't need to tell you twice. One hand latched over one of his hands still covering your tit as you gripped the mound of skin through his hand while your dominant hand found your clit. Rolling the nerves between your fingertips, you felt the pleasure pick up in waves as your body relaxed into Scout, allowing him to keep your body nice and propped up for the camera while you chased your orgasm.

From the inside, Scout could feel how close you were just as well as you could. The end was so near for you, but you wanted it now, wanted to feel Scout fuck you even harder, treat you like an animal, and go as hard as he could. To encourage him, you begged again, "Hard as you can, Scout! Feels- ah! You feel so fucking good!"

In truth, you didn't even know if you gave him enough time to react before you were gripping down on his prick and riding out your high for all it was worth. Scout was so focused on not bursting before you all night that the sight of you at last climaxing over his lap practically made Scout come on the spot. But after watching you come to settle down from your orgasm, Scout was able to regain his thoughts well enough to complete a few more deep thrusts between your thighs before everything went white. All his muscles tensed as he came before slackening, forcing him to wrap both arms around your shoulders to keep from flopping backward. Scout's head felt all light and dizzy. He needed to take a second before he was ready to move. Keeping his eyes closed, he mindlessly buried his head back into the crook of your neck to continue panting heavily, offering a few more sloppy, gentle kisses as he caught his breath.

It was easy to stay like this. Scout wasn't acting pushy or demanding your submission; all you had to do was sit and support him. Usually, Scout could manage a near-instant recovery, but tonight, he sounded more spent than ever. And eventually, you lost track of time the longer you sat there.

After all that, your mind eventually began to wander. While you were responsive, aware of the space around you and what was going on, and even communicative in a small sense, broadly speaking, your mind had checked out. Despite all the invasion of privacy, lack of dignity, and bodily coercion, at some point, that little voice in your head that continued to remind you this was wrong, the self-blame and feeling responsible for letting him do this to you, apathy began to roll in like a stormcloud and block out your distress.

You were so tired, and on a primal level, you found the presence of another warm body in bed with you soothing enough to relax you, lulling you into an almost tranquil state. Your exhausted mind was no longer worried about Scout's hungry eyes against your naked body or the harsh red LED from the camera locked in on your location. The red towel covering the lamps and the red light illuminating the room stopped looking garish. It wasn't natural, but it felt oddly cozy and warm. You stopped paying attention to Scout altogether and became lost, staring out the window covered by the red blanket. Even behind the heavy fabric, you could make out the outline of the half-moon and a few bright stars in the clear sky.

By the time Scout finally pulled himself off the bed to clean himself up, you realized you had no idea how long your mind went blank staring at the wall. He offered you a hand out of bed, which you accepted, feeling pins and needles in your stiff joints as you followed him to the bathroom, trying not to look at yourself in the mirror while scrubbing yourself clean. Scout continued to chatter as he returned to bed, trying his hardest to get you nice and comfortable before he settled down.

Wrapped in a soft blanket, curled up at his side, you were at peace. A boundary was crossed tonight, and you knew you'd likely regret all this come morning, but at least it was over, and sleep wasn't far away. You weren't uncomfortable or in pain, but something in your gut didn't feel quite right. This wasn't how relationships were supposed to go, and boundaries like this weren't ever supposed to be broken, but then again, could you even remember the last time Scout had treated you like a boyfriend "should"?

He held you in his arms, told you he loved you, and called you beautiful, but it wasn't good enough. Nothing about tonight, about the relationship, and to be honest, almost nothing about Scout himself was quite right.

Nestled like a little chick in its nest, you allowed Scout to cradle your compliant body, feeling thankful for the soft fabric separating your body from his. You couldn't try to fight him back at all like this or defend yourself, but after all you'd just been through, what was the point? At least like this, it was all the easier to do what he wanted of you: lay back, keep quiet, and pretend you were hopelessly in love.

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cookies-over-yonder · 9 months

Text

the voice of empathy

Hermie is lying awake in bed when they hear it through the walls.

Sobs.

Taylor's sobs.

Shit.

- or -

Taylor's having a hard time, and Hermie provides some comfort... as best as they can.

Part 4 of The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Roommates

ao3

[title from Fish In A Birdcage]

♧

Hermie is lying awake in bed when they hear it through the walls.

Sobs.

Taylor's sobs.

Shit.

Well, they really shouldn't interfere. He probably wants to be alone.

Hermie knows they would.

…

It's all they can hear.

And it's loud .

Taylor really doesn't know how to be a silent crier, huh?

…

Hermie gets up.

They put on their glasses and slip out of the room and down the hall.

They're just outside the door now.

No. Maybe this is a bad idea. It's a bad idea. They should go back.

But Taylor keeps crying, and something compels them to stay.

So they give the door a light knock.

There's a small gasp on the other side, and now the sobs are stifled.

Jeez. Okay. He doesn't want to be bothered. Makes sense. So Hermie should just go ba—

"Taylor? It's Hermie."

Oh, why did they do that? Taylor's just gonna be even more upset now. And embarrassed. They just made things worse—

"Come in…"

Oh.

Hermie opens the door.

The room is lit with the soft glow of his colour-changing LEDs lining the edges of the floor. Taylor's body is under the covers, and his head is on the pillow, facing the wall.

And he's sobbing.

And oh, in person, it's so much worse to witness.

Hermie closes the door behind them and walks over to Taylor's bed, and… sits… at the edge of it.

"Um."

Are you okay? Stupid question.

What's wrong? Too personal.

"Do you… need anything?"

"I… I already took… painkiller," Taylor mumbles through his tears.

Ah.

Hermie is acutely aware of Taylor's chronic pain. And they know what it's like firsthand.

Hermie is sure that alternative pain relief suggestions would not help… but company might.

"Do you… uh… want to watch something?"

If there's one thing Hermie knows about Taylor for certain, it's that he loves anime. So with that, anime could make him feel better, right?

Ah, fuck, how could he even watch when he's in this much pain? They should have never ask—

"Okay."

Oh.

"My laptop is—" Taylor shuffles, presumably to point in its direction, but he stops short. " Ow. "

Hermie scans the room and spots it on the floor just next to the bedside table. "It's okay, I got it," they say, picking it up.

They shuffle to the space between Taylor and the wall and place the laptop on their lap. Taylor is still lying on his side, sniffling now, rather than full on sobs, but there's no way he'll be able to see the screen.

"Can I touch you?" Hermie asks.

"Mhm."

"I'm gonna move you so you can see the screen, okay?"

"'Kay."

Hermie carefully holds onto Taylor's torso, lifts him, and props him up against their chest. The pained noise he makes from the movement sends a pang of guilt down Hermie's spine, but it's gone once Hermie is done.

He's warm.

"There's face ID," he mumbles.

As soon as the power button is pressed, the laptop unlocks itself. Convenient.

Hermie navigates Taylor's Crunchyroll app, and scrolls through their options until Taylor mumbles, "That one."

It's some idol anime, and Taylor was already in the middle of an episode.

The characters are singing and dancing in blindingly bright colours, and Taylor's gaze is focused on the screen, but Hermie's gaze is locked on him.

There's still tears sliding down his cheeks, but he seems to have calmed down a fair amount.

Hermie wraps an arm around Taylor, and rests their cheek on the top of his head.

How anyone could fall asleep to this, Hermie isn't sure, but after a while, Taylor is definitely out, and they carefully shut his laptop closed.

They could go back to their room now, but if they shift then Taylor might stir, or they might hurt him by accident, or both, so they slide their glasses off, place them on top of the laptop, and stay put.

♧

#dndads #hermie unworthy #taylor swift dndads #fic #hurt/comfort #angst #chronic pain #♡#dndads fic #cookies writes and cookies wrongs #🥰💖#the mortifying ordeal of being roommates

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freedomseeker91 · 1 year

Text

Welcome To The World Avery Jane Mitchell....

Chapter: One-Shot In The More Than Good Enough Universe

Title: Welcome To The World Avery Jane Mitchell

Summary: Beca and Chloe officially name their daughter as they introduce her to the world.

Rating: F for Fluff

Warnings: None.

Making her way down the corridor to her wife’s hospital room, there was a lightness in Chloe’s step that carried her to her desired location as if she were floating on air. Her daughter was a little over 12 hours old and Beca had spent most of that time in a heavily induced sleep, waking up briefly on two occasions to nurse before drifting off again.

Chloe had spent several relatively comfortable hours on the pull-out sofa bed, but found herself too hyped up on adrenaline to sleep soundly so she alternated between catching a couple of hours here and there and sitting next to her wife’s bedside, keeping an eye on both her wife and daughter.

By the time morning had rolled around, she could feel the muscles in her back aching and decided that a walk would do her good. She had ambled just far enough to find a café that served breakfast and picked up something for Beca and herself to eat, knowing the other woman hadn’t consumed much in the last 24 hours between labour and surgery.

The hospital food was fine but Chloe wanted to make sure her wife had something more nutritious and satisfying to wake up to. Beca was a notoriously bad eater when stressed or sick and Chloe knew post-surgery, that her wife wouldn’t have much of an appetite, but she hoped to entice her with some of her favourite breakfast treats.

After the ordeal she had been through, the least she could do for Beca was make sure she was well fed. The next several weeks would be mainly reserved for rest and relaxation and Chloe was determined to make things as easy as possible for Beca until she was healed enough to get back to her regular routine.

Both Chloe’s parents and Beca’s father and step mother would be in town for a couple of weeks and had already offered up their services to help ease the load and Chloe was grateful, because she wanted to spend as much time with her new little family as possible without distraction. Having extra hands around to help with some household chores until they were settled into a routine would really give them that extra bit of time to just be present with their daughter.

With Beca on strict doctors’ orders not to push herself too hard for the first couple of weeks, she would be relying a lot on Chloe to pick up the slack with any heavy lifting. Even holding her baby for the first couple of days came with its own list of rules and regulations. She wasn’t to lift a car seat, no bending down, no standing for long periods of time if she was holding the baby, no climbing in and out of bed several times to feed, and where possible, for the first couple of days, she needed to sleep in a reclined position as opposed to flat on her back.

Beca had to pace herself and build herself back up again. Aside from the obvious hardship her body had been through with the emergency c-section, her body was also acclimating to the blood transfusion she had received. She would be groggy and fatigued for some time and until that had passed, she was to proceed with care.

And care is exactly what Chloe would provide. TLC on high dosage was her speciality, her baby and baby momma would be well looked after. The vet had worked out a schedule with work that would allow her to be home for a couple of weeks, retuning for several to carry out any backdated surgeries, bring on some new hires and catch up on paperwork, before taking a career break for a year.

Having worked her way up to a partnering stakeholder in the practice, it was the perfect time to finally take a break. She had worked hard to get to that point and the birth of her daughter was the perfect excuse to finally step back for a bit and focus on herself.

After spending several years in what felt like an uphill struggle, Chloe was looking forward to being able to hit cruise control on life again. Being in a financial position to be able to take that much time off work was also a blessing Chloe wasn’t taking for granted, but she knew both herself and her wife had worked hard to be able to achieve this luxury.

As she stepped inside the hospital room, she smiled when she noticed that Beca was awake and staring at their sleeping daughter in the bassinet the far side of the bed. When the brunette heard footsteps behind her she turned her head and grinned at her wife. Even though she was exhausted she still looked beautiful to Chloe, more beautiful than ever.

Chloe approached the bed and leaned down, planting a kiss on her wife’s waiting lips before raising both her arm to show off the takeout bag coffee tray in her hands.

“I brought breakfast. Pancakes, crispy bacon, and scrambled eggs and mashed avocado on toast,” Chloe grinned. Beca gazed up at her with a raised brow.

“Maple syrup?” she asked and Chloe winked at her.

“Of course. Only the best for my baby momma.”

As Chloe set the items down on the wheeled table at the foot of the bed, Beca used the remote by the bed to adjust herself into a more suitable position for consuming food. When the bed was in a more upright position, Beca began adjusting some pillows and hissed at the throbbing pain in her lower abdomen. Chloe looked at her with furrowed brows, hand coming to rest on her wife’s sheet covered leg.

“You okay?” she asked, watching Beca for any further sign of pain or discomfort.

Beca breathed through the uncomfortable wave.

“Yeah, I’m good. I might need another dose of this bad boy,” Beca said holding up the button that administered pain relief, “but I’ll be good until after I eat.”

Chloe nodded but kept watch on Beca until she was settled again and more comfortable. When she felt that her wife was indeed more settled, she removed her coat and handbag and deposited them on the sofa before moving the table with their food up towards Beca and taking a seat on the bed the opposite side of it so they were facing one another over breakfast.

Chloe removed all the items and scattered them around the table. They had a habit when eating take out of just picking from one another’s chosen meals and sharing. When Chloe opened the container of crispy bacon, Beca’s mouth literally watered. It was only just hitting her how long it had been since she’d last eaten.

She removed the lid of the takeaway coffee cup, a heavily frothed latte with chocolate sprinkled on top. Chloe had taken to getting the sprinkles added to compensate for the lack of actual caffeine. At first Beca had though it was a ridiculous notion but she had actually grown fond of it over time. They munched away on their breakfast making idle chit chat and taking moments to just fondly observe their new little girl.

“So, are we still good with Avery as a name?” Beca asked, resting back against the pillows as Chloe moved the table out of their way now that they were finished with their meal. The redhead then perched herself down next to her wife, swinging her legs up on the bed and throwing her arm around the pillow Beca’s head was resting on.

When browsing through books of baby names they had both loved the name Avery as they felt it was a nice solid name. Not too flashy or out there but still unique in its own way. The fact that it also meant noble and wise was something they also appreciated.

They knew when picking a name that they wanted something gender neutral, something that people couldn’t attached preconceived notions to merely by reading a name on a piece of paper. They wanted their daughter to have every opportunity in life to excel free from the constraints of labels. Avery just seemed perfect. There had been one or two other names thrown in the mix but after seeing their daughter for the first time, they knew Avery was the right fit.

“I think it’s perfect,” Chloe said, gazing lovingly between her wife and daughter as Beca sighed.

“Now all we gotta do is come up with a middle name,” Beca said, her mind already exhausted before it had even committed go the challenge.

Chloe reached down and grabbed a hold of her wife’s hand, the other one wrapped around Beca’s pillow now soothingly combing through brown locks of hair.

“I think I know what her middle name should be,” Chloe said, and Beca mumbled a quiet ‘oh yeah’ back at her and Chloe nodded.

“I was thinking we should call her Jane, after her grandma.”

The room went silent as Beca processed what her wife was saying, her teary eyes roaming over towards her daughter sleeping in her bassinet before glancing up at Chloe.

“Yeah?” Beca asked, as if she thought Chloe’s suggestion was merely a fickle thought and not a sound suggestion. Chloe merely squeezed her hand as a loving smile crossed her lips.

“Yeah, I do. And if we call her Avery Jane, we could call her AJ for short, keeping the whole gender-neutral vibe going. It’ll be totes awes when she’s in high school. Plus, she’ll get to have her angel grandma with her.”

As Beca became overwhelmed by her tears she started nodding her head, using her free hand to wipe at her cheeks as she squeezed Chloe’s hand back for comfort.

“Avery Jane, it’s perfect,” Beca managed to croak out around the lump in her throat and Chloe shot her a beaming smile as they realised their daughter had officially been named.

“A perfect name for a perfect little girl,” Chloe replied, leaning her head down to rest atop Beca’s.

Suddenly she stood up from the bed and moved to the bassinet, having noticed that her new-born daughter was starting to rouse. Reaching into the bassinet, Chloe carefully lifted her swaddled daughter into her arms and made her way back to the bed, taking up her original position so that Beca had the perfect view.

The brunette reached up a hand and stroked her daughters’ soft tufts of brown hair and gazed adoringly down at the tiny human she had only recently delivered.

“What do you think sweetie? Are you an AJ?” Beca asked, her voice soft as silk as she spoke.

The little girl let out a little hum of contentment as she kicked back in Chloe’s arms, settling in for a long snuggle and both new moms chuckled, the redhead turning to face her wife.

“I think that’s a yes from AJ,” Chloe replied before leaning down as pressing a kiss to her daughters forehead, giggling as AJ’s tiny little mouth swooped sideways briefly in a half grin just like her wife’s before falling into a relaxed slumber.

An hour later, Beca’s hospital room was filled with grandparents and their friends who lived in the city while other family members and friends linked in on facetime as they were all introduced to the newest addition to their world.

Chloe was sat perched on the edge of Beca’s bed, the brunette propped up by pillows with AJ nestled on her feeding cushion between them facing everyone. Chloe carefully slotted her pointer finger into her daughters’ hand, and guided it up and down in a little wave.

“Everybody, this is our daughter, Avery Jane Mitchell. Everyone, this is AJ,” Chloe beamed, Beca smiling as her wife made the introduction.

As the room fell into a chorus of coos and expressions of joy for the couple, Beca and Chloe shared a tender kiss as they revelled in the outpouring of love for the new little girl. Avery Jane Mitchell was well and truly welcome addition to their crazy little world.

#Bechloe #Pitch Perfect #One-Shot #More Than Good Enough Series #Welcome To The World Avery Jane Mitchell

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simplytheevebest · 2 years

Text

Spiraling

Alternate titles: "I'm Having a Bad Day, so Guess What? So is Farah" or "I Use a Lot of Metaphors." I'm so sorry Farah my darling. Apologies if anyone seems OOC.

Like clock work, the summer months draw to a close, the hazy, quiet warmth of Alfea's halls reignite with the bustle of returning staff, catch-up chatter filtering through the formerly empty space. Lazily attended-to paperwork now reaches priority levels. Farah's mornings start no earlier but she's required to actually start: no more quiet cups of coffee, watching the sun rise, admiring a certain Specialist's early-morning training from the safety and anonymity of her suite. She rises with efficiency now, the familiar routine of dressing and pinning up her hair with the same meticulous detail she used to pay to her battle armor. Every year for the last sixteen years, the time arrives when she must return to duty and schedules with more rigidity than she allows herself during those free months. Sixteen years of complacency, sixteen years of a familiarity she's taken for granted.

This year is very much the same, at least in theory. The paperwork takes greater precident than before; she doesn't have an assistant to handle deliveries of inventory anymore but Sky and Terra and Sam are more than happy to help, especially if it means she isn't the one lifting the boxes of books and carrying Ben's floral samples. Saul's early morning training sessions still take place, though not as early as either of them is used to. Now when Farah wakes, Saul is there with a cup of coffee ready and waiting, a silent support and appraisal of her well being before he leaves her side. The changes feel subtle in that they slide seamlessly within Farah's typical return-to-school routine. But then the day before students arrive dawns and Farah wakes feeling not entirely herself.

She wakes too early, the sun barely reaching above the trees and a deep unidentifiable ache in her bones and muscles that have felt too strained in recent days. She can hear the steady beat of rain on the roof, a welcome and anticipated summer shower Ben's been praying for; it's also the cause of her pain, and she rubs absently at her knee, another at a twinge in her once-broken neck, marking the time on her bedside clock: four-thirty-six in the morning. Plenty of time to fall back asleep, but she's not going to, she knows that.

She swallows the pain killers dry, moving on stiff steps from the bed to the bathroom, easing back beneath the blankets to stare at the ceiling while Saul slumbers peacefully beside her. And as the light creeps across the carpet, her mind wanders, edging closer to that dark dip she usually teeters far enough from the edge not to risk falling in. Typically, Saul is there, physically if not also mentally, with a firm grip on her waist to haul her back as needed. Her hand is never empty for long, not with her students so eager to reach for it. She's kept busy enough that the cliff's edge isn't a worry; it's a barely-there precipice. But this morning, her mind is idle. This morning, her heels stray so close to that steep mental drop she can imagine the crumbling stone beneath her feet.

Another year, and she barely survived the last one. She technically didn't survive the last one. They'd finished the year strong, a school united in loyalty and grief, but the fear had still been palpable, a virus spreading through the students that'd remained until the end, not pulled out by their parents or recovering beyond the walls that'd housed their trauma. Farah has done her best not to dwell, to put one foot in front of the other for the sake of the others, if not also herself. If she allows herself to dwell, she'll spiral.

She's spiraling.

How is she meant to look the students and staff in the eye and promise protection? How is she meant to encourage moving on from last year when she can't? How can she expect their trust, their respect, considering how drastically she's failed them? If a single student shows up at all, it's an undeserved reward for her incompetence. She doesn't deserve to even hold the title of headmistress after everything she's been through, everything she's done or not done. The secrets kept, lies told, fear and mistrust fostered. It's her fault. It's all her fault. She would weep, if it weren't for the all-encompassing numb weariness that settles over her the longer she succumbs to the gravity of her own thoughts.

Saul grunts, a long, slow breath drawn through his nose that signals his return to consciousness; Farah feels the familiar warm hum of their bond waking with him, and she clamps down on the darkness of her thoughts with an iron fist. By the time Saul blinks at her with a sleep-clouded gaze, his smile is soft and lazy, no indication he's aware of her hovering breakdown.

"Morning."

"Good morning."

"You're up early," Saul glances at the clock: six-thirty. Farah musters up a smile that isn't completely forced.

"Not by much," Farah lies; she switches off the alarm, set for six-fifty.

Saul takes advantage of her shifted position to wrap an arm around her waist, hauling her closer to press a kiss to the shell of her ear.

"Everything alright?"

The confirmation she knows he's looking for, that she's not alright, catches in her throat. He rests his chin against her collarbone, that look on his face she knows he gets when there's no one else to see them like this, like he thinks she's hung the moon and stars. Now is not one of the times she feels the warmth of such a look, however: it leaves her feeling guilty and ashamed and undeserving. She so badly wants to confide in him, knows in her heart and her mind there's no reason she can't, but she can't. She wants to, but the words won't come. They swell and stick tight behind her teeth, a silent dam she doesn't have the energy to rebuild, today of all days. Because as soon as she starts, she won't be able to stop, and the words will tumble and flow, gain momentum like the proverbial snowball, and the tears will follow, and she can't afford it, much as she may want to. Not today.

She's careful to keep her mind clear, as gentle and calm as the waves she practices picturing to calm the tumultuous thoughts of others threatening to invade and quiet her mind. It's a practice she's used since her own Alfea days, before Rosalind's more extreme methods took over, and a trick she's implemented again just recently when the sudden resurgence of her magic was too overwhelming following her resurrection. The levity in her tone is forced, but not detectibly so when she smiles at the man she adores, and who adores her right back, knowing she's breaking his unsuspecting heart keeping this bottled up. When he discovers her ruse, as he's likely to, his anger will be non-existent, his disappointment crippling, and his own hurt more painful than any wound she's been afflicted with.

"I'm fine."

She follows her words with a kiss pressed to his nose and a smile he returns easily.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

He sits up, then presses his full weight to her chest so he can pepper her face with kisses until the weight in her mind eases and she's swallowing back her mirth. She indulges him in a proper kiss, watches fondly as he slips a shirt over his naked torso and disappears into the kitchen. She hates how quickly the smile drops from her lips, but she can't help it. Not today.

"...missing a batch of aconite but not to worry there, it hasn't been swiped, I've got an invoice from the company about a delay and- Farah?"

She blinks, aware in that simple action that her lids have dipped lower than is acceptable for a conversation with a colleague, let alone a friend. It's exhaustion, plain and simple, and as the morning hours drag on the effort of holding her head high grows harder and harder. The rain lashes hard against the windows, a mirroring of her overwhelming emotions. She clenches a fist loosely atop her checklist, woefully unfulfilled, and manages a bland smile for Ben.

"I'm sorry. I am paying attention-"

"You and Saul," Ben gripes, "No appreciation for the finer details of horticulture."

It's a joke, a tease, and it doesn't fall flat, but it slides easily beneath the cracks in her emotional armor, poisoned with unspoken things she doesn't hold Ben accountable for not saying because she knows he wouldn't. But she hears them all the same, those venomous adders snaking into her mind reminding her of her failings as a friend not to humor Ben in this most basic of interests, something he shared with dear Rose. But now with her gone, why, knowing the pain of her passing, does Farah find it so difficult to lend an ear? Beyond inventory, beyond invoices and potion supplies, why does Ben put up with her?

She's still spiraling, riptide drawing her out to sea, caught in a current of her own making. She keeps her head above water by sheer force of will, but she's slipping.

"Farah?"

"I'm fine."

The lie falls easier from her lips with every additional time she utters it, twice more to Saul at breakfast when he'd caught her staring out the window at the rain, and once even to Terra, the bewildered earth fairy tossing out steadying hands when her pseudo-aunt almost walked straight into her, brows furrowed in concern as she'd asked after the mind fairy's well being. Farah, far more familiar with lying to her students, hadn't hesitated a second before reaffirming -a futile attempt to convince herself, too- that she was "fine."

Ben's brows are furrowed just like his daughter's, gaze a little too lingering, a little too appraising. Farah forces her smile to be softer, but it feels strained, and she purses her lips to cover it. Storm clouds are gathering behind her eyes, between her temples, rumbling with upset and the strongest pressure for tears she's felt yet. She takes as slow a breath as she dares through her nose, careful to keep it steady. She's prepared to brush the moment aside, perhaps confirm exhaustion, as Ben is probably expecting, but her friend beats her to the punch. The invoices are set aside and he rummages through the pocket of his forest green cardigan, handing Farah a handkerchief she knows has dried many a childish eye of crocodile tears. She takes it, with the robotic instinct of one being handed something regardless of her puzzlement as to its offering; when she turns a critical eye to Ben, his smile is soft and sad.

"You're crying, my dear."

Despite the handkerchief clutched in a vice-like grip, she swipes her free hand across her cheek, feels both the trickle that replaces what she's just removed and the dampness on her fingers. The breath she takes now is shuddering and she dabs at her eyes with the handkerchief futiley, the evidence of her tears releasing the flood she's been holding back all morning.

"I don't know why I'm crying. I don't know what's wrong with me," she admits, trying to brush the moment aside -should she blame hormones?- but Ben tuts, coming around the side of her desk to rub soothingly at her back.

"Nothing's wrong with you," because he knows what she really means, and the admission has her tears falling harder, faster, as she knew they would, silent grief turning to stifled sobs Ben muffles against his shoulder when he turns her to him for a hug.

"Nothing's wrong with you," Ben repeats, "I've had a feeling this was coming."

"How could you possibly have known that," and it's less a question than a demand for an answer because she doesn't do this. She doesn't fall apart for no good reason. She feels Ben's chuckle against her cheek, his hands still tracing soothing paths up and down her arms.

"Because I know you, Farah, and I know when you're upset. Saul mentioned you weren't quite yourself this morning, but he didn't want to push you if you weren't ready to share."

And she feels foolish now for thinking he wouldn't have noticed, for no one knows her as well as Saul Silva, and vice versa. She huffs not-quite a laugh, throat blocked with emotion and nose stuffed with congestion. She draws back from Ben's embrace, sniffing hard and dabbing at her eyes again, smudging mascara across the faded fabric.

"I'll wash it," she murmurs forlornly, fingers toying with the fraying edges and Ben chuckles again, crouching to take the handkerchief and wipe her eyes properly.

"And it'll certainly come out. Rose charmed it herself never to stain."

"Everything is tarnished," she murmurs in weary explanation, and Ben leans back, arms draped over his knees.

"How so?"

"Rosalind. Everything," Farah waves a hand noncommittally, "Alfea was meant to be a safe space, a place the children could learn without fear, but it isn't, not anymore. I've failed them. I abandoned them to her influence and neglected to adequately pick up the pieces left behind."

"Might I ask that you not be quite so harsh on my best friend?" Ben demands, and Farah blinks, more startled tears tracing clear tracks down her cheeks.

Ben stands to lean one hip against her desk, "You see, she's had quite the terrible year, confronting demons from her past, digging up old traumas, not to mention having herself dug up after she was killed by her former mentor. It's in my best herbologist's opinion that you go easy on her."

"Ben-"

"Might I remind you you couldn't walk on your own power a few months ago?" Ben continues, "And not even moments after you woke from your inconceivable resurrection you were demanding information on the well being of your students. You nearly gave yourself a stroke worrying after Bloom, and you nearly gave Saul and I a coronary sneaking off as you did after Rosalind a second time. And you nearly died again. For good Farah. I don't know that you fully grasp the consequences of your own martyrdom."

"It was never my intention to be a martyr-"

And there's a bit more strength in her disagreement, but Ben interrupts again.

"Intention is nine-tenths of the law," he quotes sagely, "But in this case that one-tenth holds far more weight. You may have intended the outcome of Rosalind's first attack, but you had no way of anticipating the nature of her second. And I don't know that you've let yourself think about it. No," he corrects, "I know you haven't. Because you've never given your feelings any consideration when there are others involved, and now it's all catching up with you."

Ben ducks his head to catch her eye, and Farah feels shame heat her cheeks at the realization she's been avoiding his gaze.

"There is nothing wrong with you," Ben repeats, again, "There is nothing wrong with prioritizing the feelings of others, but there is also nothing wrong with allowing yourself to feel your own feelings. And nobody blames you, nobody thinks less of you for it. You're allowed to cry and be upset at what is quite an upsetting thing."

"I am upset," Farah confirms with another sniff, fingers twisting the handkerchief Ben had returned to her.

"As you should be."

"I was terrified."

"Quite understandably."

"I feel so useless and- overwhelmed," and the tears begin anew, Ben reaching for her again without hesitation. It solves nothing, not really, but it's cathartic, and Ben's right, it's overdue. Like unblocking a culvert destined to be refilled with debris, but for the moment, her mind feels refreshed, troubled waters running clearer with the silt settling back on the river bed.

"Do you feel better?" Ben asks when the well has run dry, and Farah does feel well enough to pout, respond indignantly:

"No."

But then she sighs, fingers catching at the pins in her hair when she tries to run a hand through it; she contents herself with twirling those loose curls around her face, twining them round and round her finger.

"Yes. But I don't know why."

"You don't have to," Ben advises, "Sometimes it isn't about deciding why something helps, only that it does. There's absolutely no reason why hot chocolate and biscuits at midnight helped Sam and Terra with nightmares, but it did, no matter what the parenting books said about sugar and bedtimes. It's enough that it makes you feel better, it doesn't have to make sense."

Farah sighs, confronted now with itchy eyes and paperwork sure to irritate them further, and far fewer hours left to accomplish all she needs to before the start of term. But before that same feeling of overwhelming can creep back up to block her throat, Ben speaks.

"I believe Saul should be finished setting up the training grounds," he cranes his neck as though he can see out the window, but they both know he can't. "I'd say it's time for a cup of tea, a snack, and then we can put that 'headmaster' title to good use and have him tackle some of this. No reason you can't share the load."

"No," Farah concedes, "That sounds perfect. Thank you Ben, I mean it."

"I know. And you're welcome, my dear, any time."

I have no explanation, other than I have been having A Day and somewhere along the way it just got to be too much for no explainable reason, but suddenly everything was so much worse. And then I cried and felt so much better even though nothing changed because I always remember what the mother in Princess Diaries says which is "you've been hurt, so you just cry, okay?" And sometimes you just need that, even if you don't know what hurt you. Anyone else have days like that? But I thought you know who else might feel this way? Farah. And then I self projected so many words. And I know the prequel book said Farah only cried once at Aster Dell, but I reject that.

#eve best #fate the winx saga #ftws #fate winx saga #fate: the winx saga #farah dowling #saul silva #rob james collier #ben harvey #fate fanfic #long post #farah dowling x saul silva #farah x saul #silrah

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tiodolma · 1 year

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Discussing this alternate Merlin AU had been very fun. This is such a cool sandbox. This is my last ask, but I was thinking about Merlin and Morgana's first kiss. What if... It happens because Arthur tells them mommies and daddies are supposed to kiss good night?

Morgana and Merlin are panicking internally, because this isn't one of those things they do. But Arthur keeps insisting, so Merlin just pecks Morgana in the mouth and proceeds to hightail the hell out the room. Morgana is left speechless. Later, much later, she and Merlin argue about said kiss. 😂

Who knows maybe they kiss a bit more, determined to prove that them kissing doesn't mean a thing. 😏😏

"Arthur... where did you learn all this?" Merlin cautiously asks.

"Nimueh! She told me mommies and daddies kiss each other if they love each other. You love each other right?" Arthur looks up at both the dark haired mages that were sitting by his bedside.

IM GOING TO FUCKING KILL THAT BITCH Morgana broadcasts to their mind link, while she maintains a sweet smiling facade to their young charge.

Peace Morgana please... Peace, Merlin entreats to her. Panic, crawls up up in his blood as he looks at Arthur's big blue puppy dog eyes. How in the Triple Goddesses name did Uther's spawn have such endearing traits? This must be Lady Igraine's doing, he is sure of it.

"Don't you love each other, Mom? Dad?" Arthur eyes are starting to fill with tears now.

Merlin, against all better judgment, grabs Morgana's hand and shows their clasped hands to Arthur, "See we love each other."

Morgana nods at Arthur too while she rubs his tawny blonde hair.

Arthur claps. "Now KIss!"

Goddamnit Nimueh Merlin closes his eyes, then grabs Morgana's chin to plant a kiss to her lips. Morgana's eyes widen.

Merlin counts to three and releases her. His blue eyes looking deep into her shocked green ones.

"You..." Morgana whispers.

Merlin whips his head to Arthur "Was that okay?"

Arthur flops down on his pillows. "Yes!"

"Now go to sleep" Morgana orders the boy shakily. Merlin watches as she presses a goodnight kiss on Arthur's forehead before hurrying out of the room.

"Goodnight dad." Arthur says. As usual, Merlin feels a surge of emotion at the title. He's trying to push back whatever happened just a few moments ago. He rubs at Arthur's head and tucks him in.

"Sleep well, my prince." Merlin says as he leaves one candle burning.

When he closes the door to the prince room, he sags on the wall. He just kissed the Lady Morgana. He just kissed the Lady Morgana. He just kissed his sworn enemy, the darkness to his light, the hatred to his love, his sworn enemy, the one person who hated him above all, the one who was most like him, the one woman who intrigued him and fascinated him and challenged him like no other.

This would never had happened in their original lives. There had been too much hurt, too much pain between them, it would have been impossible. But their new lives here have changed them, transformed them.

Gave him hope.

..............

Morgana keeps rubbing her lips. What was that. What was that? She had been so angry, so furious at Nimueh, at young Arthur, at Merlin... but then when his lips touched hers... the storm in her mind had ceased. It was disconcerting. Not even her magic bracelet could give her that comfort. Even the valerian and the chamomile and whatever mixture gaius used to mix for her anxieties couldn't do that. RIght now she feels calm, bewildered, like still calm sparkling waters. It's odd. What the hell has Merlin done to her?

...could he do it again?

#lol #alternate merlin #is this uh. ficlet #ooh 511 words #and then morgana instigates a fight coz she thinks he bewitched her lmao #no girl your magic is finally settling down hhhh

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kootiepatra · 2 years

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#FFxivWrite2022 - Day 20 Prompt: "Anon"

A bit ham-fisted, I'll admit, but my days are bonkers for the next week, so the first idea I get has gotta be the first idea I write. More shippy nonsense.

Alternate title: The Author Shakes These Two Gently, Yelling, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU", Despite Being the One Who Wrote Them That Way

=================

Aymeric watched her go, his heart a tangle of joy and grief. He had not expected to see her, and it showed—he was only now really doing the mental calculations of the quantity of ceruleum he had promised her, and his throat felt slightly raw from the volume he had spoken at. But still, a cure for tempering? What kind of price could even be put on such a feat?

And what price for the opportunity to finally, at last say something to her, which he had let slip through his grasp yet again?

Of course, it would not have been proper today. Not in front of Lucia and the Vanu chieftain, nor in front of whatever gawkers happened to be standing around the airship landing. Nor would it have been seemly to drop the conversation on Keimwyda as they were both obviously rushing to other business. But now they were walking their separate ways, and he had not told her. Again.

It was always something.

He had been so, so close to his goal at dinner, when the unexpected had struck. He at least could absolve himself somewhat for that missed opportunity.

He could have spoken to her upon Alisaie’s recovery, but there was the pressing business of the “Warriors of Darkness” to attend to.

He could have spoken to her before she departed to Othard, but she was setting out on such a long journey, and communication would have been difficult. He had planned to confer with her upon her return.

He could have spoken to her ahead of the battle for Ala Mhigo. He tried to impress upon her how honored he was to be a part, and how unconditional his support for her was. He could not tell if she perceived his deeper meaning, or if she chalked it up to only the words of an ally. Would it have been proper for him to say more, though, as the fate of her unconscious companions hung heavy in her mind?

He could have told her after the battle. He had indeed thought about it, long and hard as he waited at her bedside for her to awake. But when she finally had awoken, and he ran to be with her, he could not bring himself to do so. She was injured, and confused, and he was overwhelmed with gladness that she was not lost to him like the others. But he had to return to the front, and she must, of course, be allowed time to rest and get her bearings.

It would just have to wait.

And then she had ventured unto an entire other world. He knew not if it would have been even possible to reach her. He could do nothing but simply await her return.

And now here she was, but there she had gone, and he found himself waiting again for a good opportunity.

May it be soon.

Unknown to the Lord Commander, the Warrior of Light walked away with similar thoughts.

It had taken her plenty long to realize her own feelings for him. In light of them, however, in hindsight, so many things made sense. She remembered how she had felt towards him as she saw him gazing upon the Churning Mists. She understood what those feelings were now.

She had suspected he might harbor affections for her, of course, when he had invited her to dinner, and she had cautiously been deliberating whether she should allow his overtures. But there was simply no time to consider it further when Thancred and Alisaie were announced to have arrived in the city, the latter on the brink of death.

The shock and confusion of the Warriors of Darkness had indeed occupied her full thoughts for a time thereafter. And then the final, complete loss of Minfilia had left her and her companions reeling.

She had not realized how long and involved the fight for Ala Mhigo and Doma would be, nor how long it would keep her from Ishgard. The longer she was away, the more she suspected Aymeric would certainly not simply be waiting for her, and she shrugged the possibility out of her mind. She had never really expected to become romantically involved with anyone, anyway.

But then she had seen him in the Lochs, and had been surprised by how much she found herself reading into his words to try and ascertain if he had truly given up on her after all. Did she even want him to still broach the subject? She wasn’t sure. But in any case, she would have to give that proper thought after the battle.

The battle in which she entirely blacked out, and was whisked away into a “vision” she did not yet understand. And then she had woken up in Ishgard.

Her heart had leapt to see Aymeric racing to her bedside as she struggled to piece together where she was or how she had gotten there. She knew not the full story, but she could only imagine the lengths to which he had gone to bear her all the way here. Ala Mhigo was hardly next door. It was only as he stood to leave, and looked down at her smiling, softness in his eyes, when she realized.

Oh. Oh no. I do believe I may be in love with him.

But of course, she could not keep him—he had to return to the front. So she kept her peace and let him go. She had plenty of thoughts and feelings she needed to sort out anyway.

The journey to the First was its own matter altogether. She had thought about entreating Feo Ul to bear messages to him, much as they did to Tataru, but she had no idea how he might react. Nor did she entirely trust Feo Ul to bring back a reply that would communicate such a sensitive and nuanced topic accurately. Keimwyda would need to speak to him herself upon her return.

…If she could work up the courage.

It was only occurring to her now, walking away from the airship landing, that she possibly could have said more. Or anything, really. But she was not the best at spontaneous speaking under any circumstances, especially not with something this vulnerable. Besides, ‘twas not as if she could have derailed such an obviously important diplomatic visit.

But she could have asked to speak with him later, she realized.

She wished to kick herself. But what was done, was done. And she had ceruleum to fetch.

Another day, then.

#THESE LOSERS #FFxivWrite2022 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv #wolmeric #pining #this is why they didn't get together until after six-point-frikkin-oh

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whispersafterdusk · 2 years

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Prompt #8: Tepid

"What troubles you?"

Edmont blinked and lifted his attention from the book open in his lap. "Hmm? I wasn't aware you were awake."

"I have been for awhile now which is why I know you've been staring at that same page for the better part of an hour."

A hint of red spread across his face as he watched Revkr leverage himself up further on the pillows; Edmont was just one of many who took up vigils next to the Warrior's bedside as he slowly recovered from taking a void-enfused scythe to the gut. Many long, silent, agonizingly fearful hours at first, seated back far enough to let the gaggle of chirurgeons and menders access to the man's sickbed but close enough that Revkr would never be alone when he woke.

That he'd been so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he'd missed the man stirring...

Edmont closed the book and bent to sit it on the floor near his feet. "How are you feeling?"

"Same as earlier," Revkr answered. "Exhausted beyond measure. Bored of bed. Aching from my navel down."

"Still..." Edmont murmured, shaking his head. "It kills me to know you're in pain still."

The knight chuckled. "'tis better than the alternative. Now that we've established naught has changed with me, tell me what has changed with you."

"What makes you think something troubles me?"

"Aside from your staring, I can see it in your face -- we've known one another long enough to know, I'd say."

"I suppose," Edmont chuckled, letting it trail into a sigh.

"Does something ail your sons?"

"No, no - they are fine. Artoirel has settled into his new title and role admirably, and Emmanellain...he stumbles, still, but he is coming into his own. He has especially grown given his experiences in Garlemald."

At Revkr's appraising look Edmont cleared his throat, and glanced to the door at the far end of the room. "I am surprised Finia has not-"

"-is it your wife?"

Edmont fell silent and turned back to the man; Revkr was one of his oldest friends and Edmont could tell his moods just as easily as Revkr could read his own -- something that was working against him in the moment as the knight had immediately hit upon what Edmont had only moments ago been turning over in his head. "...yes, and no. It is nothing to be concerned with."

"Is it truly nothing, or is it merely something you don't wish to speak about?"

With a heavy sigh Edmont slouched in the chair. "I do, but I hardly know the words to use."

"Is she ill?"

He shook his head. "No... At least, I am not sure. She has been..."

Here he paused, as it WAS difficult to truly put into words what had been bothering him these last several months, or...by Halone, it had actually been nearly a year now.

At the end of the Dragonsong war, not long after he had stepped down as Count, he had met her at one of many meetings of nobles and clergy alike, as they had stumbled as a nation through the upheaval and shock of their past laid bare. She was from one of the lesser noble houses and a widower, same as he; she'd been so shy at first but had warmed to him as they endured the dreary gatherings. He'd appreciated her vibrancy, her cheerfulness, her kindness... One thing had led to another and they'd come together in a mutual desire for companionship in their respective retirements.

In those first few years things had been happy; they brought light and laughter to each other's lives, though it had never escaped his notice that she'd always been distant to his sons.

It was that distance that seemed a problem now, as she was extending it to EVERYONE, Edmont included.

"I don't believe I ever asked you your opinion of her, or of my choice in marrying her."

Revkr shrugged. "Truth be told I barely know her. Her reception of me has ever been...tepid, so to speak. I could never tell if she couldn't figure out what to say to me, or if she simply did not care for my company."

"And therein lies the problem: she has begun treating all like that and has been sometimes combative as well over the last year or so, getting worse and more withdrawn with each passing day. I caught her being outright nasty to Emmanellain the other evening over some minor misstep. It is... It is not like the woman I married, to carry on so."

"Was it truly a gradual change or perhaps one more sudden and recent?"

"...that is the question, isn't it. At first it seemed like she merely didn't want to deal with the minutiae of overseeing a house -- which was understandable. She did not come from a house so large as Fortemps and I know my first wife found it sometimes overwhelming to keep track of everything. Her personality was as it ever was, though she would cancel on social gatherings more often than not. She always had time for me, and seemed to crave our solitude more than ever, until...not even that now seems to fully please her."

With a pained noise Revkr forced himself upright and Edmont was up and halfway out of his chair at the movement. "Don't you dare try to get out of that-"

With a wave of his hand Revkr shooed him back and laboriously swung his legs out from under the bedsheets; he scooted forward just enough to allow his bare feet to brush against the fine rug that was half under the bed. He could not quite straighten himself and Edmont worried for a moment that he would topple forward

"Hush - I am bored to death of laying on my back. Do you think she has taken ill and is trying to hide it?"

Hoping he didn't look as defeated as he suddenly felt Edmont returned to his chair, but remained on the edge of the cushion -- this conversation and Revkr's movement and seeming frailty had him uncomfortable. "What reason would she have to hide it? It does not make sense."

Revkr nodded at that and was silent for a long moment, then lifted his head enough to look him in the eyes. "...has she found another, perhaps?"

Edmont let out a short, bitter laugh. "Wouldn't that be poetic? No...no I do not believe so. She so rarely leaves the manor and never without an escort, and I do not believe any of those employed within the house would keep such a secret for long especially if it were a paramour coming to my home to see her. ...I just...do not understand this change, and if I try to broach the subject, no matter how gently or even indirectly, she takes offense and rushes off upset."

"...I am sorry, Edmont. Would that I was in a better position to...to...I don't even know what I could do. She clearly has never had desire to speak to me even before now."

"Even still, I... I do feel better, having gotten that off my chest. Carrying on as though nothing is amiss is rather tiring, and may be there IS no answer to it, except for whatever she herself decides. I don't know her mind and I won't until such a time as she enlightens me."

Revkr nodded and opened his mouth to say something further, and in that pause Edmont watched the color drain from his face and he lunged to catch him by the shoulders as he started to - thankfully - tip toward the pillows. "Lay down, you madman!"

"Just a little dizzy, I'm f-fine..." Revkr protested weakly as Edmont helped him lay back into the bed.

"You most certainly are not."

"I am so sick of bed...of sleeping all day."

"You were nearly disemboweled! You need to recover! Properly!"

Revkr huffed. "Yes, mother... You fuss as much as Finia does."

"With good reason," Edmont snorted, straightening out the blanket before pulling it up over Revkr's chest. "Would you rather deal with me or with her?"

"I'd rather be able to put my own pants on without assistance, thank you."

With a laugh Edmont sat on the edge of the bed to arrange the pillows behind the man's head. "In time, friend, in time. -- there. Is there anything else you need at current?" Revkr shook his head and Edmont returned to his chair. "I thank you for being willing to tolerate my woes...and, a thought occurs to me, one that I feel could be very offensive, but it is also related to something I don't believe I've ever asked you."

"I find it hard to believe you, of all people, could offend me."

Edmont paused, debating; Revkr was someone he could, unconditionally, be open and honest with, and had been over the decades of their friendship. He believed Revkr felt the same but this question that had come to the forefront of his mind was incredibly personal but had, admittedly, been something he'd wondered at over the years...was this the place and time to air it? With the man recovering from near-death?

After a few breaths he swallowed and then cleared his throat, mind made up. "Considering my woes at home, I...almost envy you. And I wonder...have you never thought of marriage? Of finding a wife and settling?"

Revkr looked surprised a moment, then thoughtful. "...you're right, I don't think you've ever asked me that. And, as for the answer...every so often I give thought to it, or have given thought. In my younger years those I'd considered didn't survive the war, and while there's been one who still persists in my heart they've remained out of my reach all this time."

The latter part was delivered very matter-of-factly, in stark contrast to the more wistful tone of the former... "Out of your reach? Who in the world could be out of the reach of a noble and now hero of the realm?"

The man just smiled, and then his eyes started to droop closed; how very convenient to fall asleep now, Edmont found himself thinking, followed then by a warm rush of gratitude toward his old friend -- he wondered if he'd ever told anyone else that, or if Edmont alone bore that knowledge... It wouldn't be the first time they had traded intimate facts to one another that no one else knew, because they weren't nearly so close with anyone else.

Edmont waited for Revkr's breathing to slow before grabbing his book and tiptoeing toward the door. Sticking his head out into the hall he could see the top of Finia's head coming up the stairs -- he supposed she was coming for her own shift at her brother's bedside. The Stormforge manor certainly didn't lack for people to stand vigil though judging by the silence it was later than he realized.

After collecting his coat and bidding Finia a good night he headed out into the chill and when he arrived home the manor was silent; he found it strange that there was no one in the study, in the parlor, no one in the dining hall or the main office. Was it that late that everyone would be abed?

As he climbed the stairs to his bedroom it occurred to him that there was a time when his wife would have stayed up, regardless of the time, to greet him when he returned home. It left a sort of hollow feeling in his chest, and briefly he wondered if he would have been better off just...throwing himself in the floor at Revkr's bedside and staying there for the night -- it would've been more comfortable and welcoming than the bed he was about to climb into.

She was laying with her back to his side of the bed and didn't stir as he readied himself for sleep and then slid underneath the covers beside her. He gave the back of her head a single look before rolling to his side to put his back to hers; as he closed his eyes his thoughts wandered back to earlier -- who could it possibly be that Revkr would consider out of his reach? And for how long... Was it a recent or prolonged pining?

With his own marriage seemingly fading out of importance, for whatever reason, Edmont instead had a desire to see his friend finally happy; his wife was stonewalling him -- why not redirect that energy into learning the identity of whoever this person Revkr was in love with and subtly see if there was anything mutual there? And as cruel as it seemed, perhaps if she felt neglected his wife would come clean with whatever it was that ailed or bothered her.

Whether that happened or not though Edmont had a very real need to see his friend happy and content -- he deserved that and more after saving the world, after all.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #edmont de fortemps #wol

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ktheist · 4 years

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(why) we got married | m

synopsis. they say the 7th year of your marriage is always an uphill battle - but with the existence of your prenup coming to light thanks to taehyung’s lawyer slash family friend’s slip of tongue - first it reached your and his families, and then your family’s close friends and then your family’s close friends’ friends until - almost everyone is speculating on the grounds of you and taehyung’s marriage being anything but love.

you’re not sure if you’re even going to make past the second year mark in your marriage. but is the reason you got married really as important as why you choose to stay or leave?

muses. chairman!taehyung x stewardess!reader

alternative title. as you are.

inspired by. the 1 by taylor swift

genre. arranged marriage au with a pinch of drama and angst

words. 12.5k

warnings. explicit content

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

in your defense, neither you nor taehyung made an elaborated plan to deceive both his family and yours with the marriage which yes, had been founded upon a contract. but that’s not the point - the point is, your father and brother never sat down with taehyung and had a man-to-man talk. and his mother never sniffed out your reason for marrying her son being his abundance of wealth. but when all comes to light, thanks to taehyung’s lawyer slash family friend who made a slip of tongue - your parents and his were the ones most vindictive about who’s digging whose gold.

and to be completely frank, you were one article away from calling up your mother and telling her that you seduced taehyung into marrying you - just so she’d stop baring her fangs at mrs. kim. these days the headlines keep blowing up your mother and mrs. kim’s completely-by-chance meeting at a five star restaurant that erupted into manic yelling and pointing fingers.

“what did you say, you-” the audio bleeps for a split second before your mother in law’s voice comes back on, “-it was your daughter that seduced my son!”

“you crazy-” the audio bleeps again, “-you better watch your mouth or i’ll-”

the remaining seconds of the video are filled with bleeps that make it hard to even understand what either woman was saying. a wave of regret floods your chest as you scroll down the words strewn out into a juicy, tea-spilling commentary on your and taehyung’s past - the writer seems to pick up the minor little details that, in hindsight, leaves a big fat question mark out in the open.

when exactly did ___ ___ and kim taehyung start dating?

the answer was never.

the two times you and taehyung were photographed together was at a cafe near your office and the other, near his penthouse wherein you were discussing the terms of the contracts by yourselves. the one near taehyung’s penthouse being the final stage where you both signed it on your ipads. to the naked eye, you probably looked like you were on a date and being young professionals, it was only a given that both of you had some sort of electronic on you at all times - even during dates.

everyone just assumed you were together and with the assumption of being together, comes the conclusion that you were deeply, madly in love. was it the way the picture caught you two looking at each other with smiles on your faces? was it it’s sister picture that stilled you in a frame where you’re looking at your ipad and taehyung looking at you with the same - possibly remaining - smile from the moment the first picture was taken? that, you will never know.

but so it goes, you started going to socials together because taehyung needed some cleansing from his... charm-filled past. he used to go to those with different partners each week, and the previous woman that went with him always ended up refusing to talk about it or boasting about her ‘relationship’ with him. that was of course, after yoo now-kim jeongyeon got married three years ago. he used to attend those socials with her for the most part.

but someway, somehow, his public record was clean of any drama.

you would know, you’ve seen the man in action with your very eyes. on your 7th social event together, son chaeyoung had marched up to you and him like a ticking time bomb, red-faced and flaring nostrils and all. you were about ready to stand your ground when taehyung softly touched your hand that was around his arm and asked if you minded if he left for some fresh air.

of course you didn’t - respectfully, you couldn’t care less what taehyung does as long as it didn’t bring a negative light to you and him and the dynasties you both carried over your shoulders. everyone had their eyes wide open and ears perked for what was to come when taehyung walked chaeyoung out to the hallway. but nothing happened, and you were left to mingle on your own until he returned, looking devilishly handsome as always and strutted up to you with an air of refined sureness.

chaeyoung didn’t come back with him but everything remained quiet - not even a dramatic “stay away from my man!” at any point of your contract. you never asked how he did it - you thought it involved money, but over time, you realized it was just kim taehyung and all the things that made those women attracted to him. and just like a flame, he’d burned the moths’ wings until they couldn’t flutter over to him anymore after your wedding.

“uh, miss, we’re here,” the driver calls, meeting your eyes through the rear-view mirror.

it takes you a few moments to close the cover of your ipad and shove it into your handbag before pulling out bills that’s worth more than your car ride, “thanks, keep the change.”

and with that, you hop out of the cab, ready to put on a facade of grace and confidence. the staff who knows you greets you with a range of emotions, some with unhinged admiration from day one, others with curiosity on what’s truly hidden beneath those darken ray bans - without a doubt, aware of the drama going on between their boss’ mother and their boss’ wife’s mother.

either way, you make sure to return each smile and greeting like you always do. red lips sewn across your face like an ever smiling doll.

it’s only once you’ve entered the elevator and luckily left to your own devices, do you let your shoulder sag, the smile downturned into a frown all the way until a ding echoes into the small compartment and a red ‘8′ flashes on top of the doors.

you don’t fail to fix the secretaries a smile, relief flooding over you at how their warm - or was it profession-required - greeting hasn’t changed even after the rumors spreading about your inevitable divorce - of course, purported by you and taehyung’s mothers.

“son, if you don’t divorce that woman right away, i-i,” and here you see for yourself, the woman who called you ‘my daughter’ with the most loving voice, stuttering into a fit of rage, “i don’t think i can face my friends anymore - that bitch jihye has been slandering our family saying you used her daughter to get hold of the company!”

mina is about to knock on the door and announce your arrival when you hold a hand up before placing an index finger to your lips. she doesn’t need to be told twice when she nods once and steps back to leave you eavesdropping on your mother in law and husband.

“that’s fair,” there isn’t even a stuttered beat in his response.

“what-”

“that’s part of the reason we got married,” he goes on, “and ___ needs some help setting up her brother with some connection so it works out - and mom, please refer to ___ and mrs. jeon by their names, ___ is still my wife and mrs. jeon is the woman who raised her.”

“y-you-” mrs. kim stutters out in disbelief just when you decide to make your presence known, hand on the door, “you ungrateful child, oh my- oh my-!” you walk into the sight of the woman falling backwards with mr. ji the kims’ lawyer stretching his arms out to catch her, shouting “madam!” while taehyung launching himself across the room, “mom!”

mrs. kim ends up hospitalized.

“it was a case of stress and overworking that should go away with a good few days’ break,” chairman kim who also opts to assume his seat as part of the hospital’s doctor and a family friend of taehyung’s, fixes you with a reassuring smile.

the stethoscope and white robe gives off a more professional vibe than the sophisticated air you see him wear at family dinners.

“that’s a relief - it’s nothing life-threatening,” the smile you return doesn’t seem to sit right with him as his eyebrows knit together and a cloud seem to loom over his face.

“it’s really not in my place but,” he pauses, probably weighing out the pros and cons of offending you with what he’s about to say - but he doesn’t need to worry too much because after today, you probably won’t be seeing each other at dinners any time soon, “me and jeongyeon,” he means his wife and taehyung’s childhood friend, “are here for you if you need to talk - i know mrs. kim can be a little unreasonable at times, but give her some time. don’t give up on her.”

you nod once, murmuring a hollow ‘thanks for that, seokjin’ before watching the man strut down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps accompanying his leave. only when you’re left with the sound of your breathing, do you finally allow chairman kim’s words to sink into the deepest depth of your heart.

it’s not an easy task to keep your heart still and unbothered by your own mother in law’s words. even now, you can still hear her embellishing her headache, back ache, joint pains and every sort of non-fatal pains she has enough to get taehyung to stay by her bedside - so he doesn’t go home. doesn’t go back to the place where you two have built for yourselves.

and yet you can’t help but agree that - “if you’d divorced her just like i told you, i wouldn’t have fallen so ill!” she sighs, just as you’re about to slide the door open.

all of a sudden, the image of the delicate woman swaying and tumbling towards the ground flashes at the back of your head and you instantly recoil, as if the door was made from fire.

the fear of worsening mrs. kim’s health at the sight of you has you backing away, choosing to wait at the seat in the hallway instead. seconds stretch into minutes and minutes into hours until you feel your body being shaken.

your eyes which you never noticed fluttered close - snap open only to gaze at the face of an angel - a concerned one at that judging from the way his eyebrows knit together. and then you’re hearing the smooth baritone of his voice. you almost pulled out your phone from your purse to ask if you could have it recorded so you could listen to it as a lullaby.

that is, until you realize the angel’s disheveled wavy hair and eyes that look like they’re well on their way to falling asleep standing.

“taehyung,” the name slips out of your mouth with a surprised gasp as you note the pristine pastel background of the vip section, body jolting to sit up from your previously slumping position.

“have you been waiting all this time?” he takes a seat next to you - and only then do you notice the unkempt mess that he is.

the first few buttons of his shirt is undone whilst it hangs over his shoulders, untucked, tie hanging loose over his chest as he drapes his blazer over his arm. the sight is almost alien, especially coming from someone who can’t even stand a crease in his shirt.

“what time is it?” you wonder, reaching for your phone while he checks the rolex on his wrist - which proves to be faster than rummaging through your bag.

“seven-thirty - you’ve been waiting here for more than five hours,” and just your luck, right as the words hit the air, your stomach decides to remind you of the meal you’re about to miss if you stay here any longer.

the heat rushing to your cheeks a second later is immeasurably hot, “o-oh, okay.”

clearing your throat, you ask, “so how was mother? seokjin already told me but i wanted to hear it from you that she’s okay.”

“you know how mom is - keeps saying her head hurts from the fall even though mr. ji managed to catch her halfway,” in any other circumstances, you and him would have found humor in how your mother in law’s overembellished diagnosis to gain attention from you and taehyung - but this time, it’s only one of you she wants that from.

it doesn’t stop you from chuckling though, “it sounds just like her - maybe i should make some ginseng chicken soup to help her get better... or beef seaweed, you know, her...”

swallowing the lump in your throat is a feat - and unfortunately, you’ve failed terribly as taehyung gather you his arms.

only then, do you realize you’re sobbing like a child, emotions running wild as everything comes crashing in like a storm - his mother, your family, the whole fucking tabloids that’s being written and ready to be posted in the next few hours and the fact that the marriage may have been a fraud, but the bonds you made along the way had been more than just business. mrs. kim was a mother to you as much as yours is to taehyung. there may have not been any love between you two but you cherish his family like he cherishes yours.

“i’m sorry - for causing a- a scene - for causing mother to f-faint-” you weep and weep.

in your crying fit, you barely notice the way his arms tighten just the tiniest bit as he sways you left to right gently, one hand on the back of your head caressing your hair as he whispers something along the lines of “it’s not your fault” and “we’ll figure it out together.”

and so for the nth time in your one year of marriage, you’re banding together to capture mrs. kim’s heart again. the first time you visited her with taehyung, she narrowed her eyes at you and demanded taehyung explain as to why he didn’t come alone through the very same eyes next second.

when the man pretended not to notice and even placed a hand on your lower back just as your steps faltered in a ‘i’m with you’ kind of way, she opted to stare out the window while you unpack the broth you made onto the table. the portion you poured into the bowl you brought was getting colder by the minute as you spoke to her, “mother, i made beef seaweed soup, it’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

the only indication that she was listening was the way her eyes scanned the bowl of broth in front of her and proceeded to keep them on the window until you had to leave.

and so goes your second and third visits being received with shoulders made of ice a kind of silence that never fails to make your stomach churn with a sort of nervousness you should have felt when you meet your future husband’s parents for the first time. but the first time you met mrs. kim, your chest was filled with nothing short confidence and woo her you did along with taehyung’s relatives and closed friends. at the time, you didn’t think what you were doing - fooling everyone into believing that you’re marrying each other for love - would come biting you in the ass.

if karma existed then this probably you getting what you deserved.

on your fouth visit, you’d come alone because taehyung had an urgent meeting to attend. mrs. kim spared you a once over just like a rabbit who voluntarily and follishly hopped into the lion’s den.

“mother,” you offer her a smile, “how are you feeling?”

when silence is the only response you get, you quickly rummage through the paper bag you’d brought with you, “have you eaten? i made chicken soup-”

“don’t bother,” her voice cuts through the air like a blade. eyes as piercing as spears, “sit down, i know taehyung has an urgent meeting - it’s the only way to get him off my back.”

you’re not quite sure what she means but you have an inkling that the reason her hostility has yet to reach its pique is because taehyung has been giving her subtle looks to ‘mom, be nice to my wife’.

with a nod and a smile that seems to be glued to your face, you ask, “how was the bibimbap yesterday?”

though she didn’t cut you off, her response doesn’t exactly shed hope to your efforts being paid off when she dismissively says, “i gave it to mr. ji.”

the immediate ‘oh’ that tumbles out of your mouth is purely reflexive even though you know she’s never touched the meals you packed for her. but having her admit it is a different kind of heartbreak.

“i see,” is all you can say as you feel tears prick your waterline, a lump in your throat.

“this,” she places a folder of documents she seems to have ready by her bedside into your hands and without any explanation, sends you off with, “if you have any conscience at all, you’d sign these papers and stay out of our lives. even though i never read the contract but i’m sure a smart woman such as yourself would’ve thought to include the alimony as well - you understand what i’m saying right?”

you tried to say something - anything but at that point, the look in her eye already paints a picture of you clinging onto taehyung’s wealth. and yet you still tried, “m-mother, i-...”

but no words come out and as though her point had been proven, she’d huffed out a sigh and tuned you out like she always did on your previous visits.

so you walked down the hallway with shades covering your tear stained eyes and a skip to your step that oh-so-badly wishes to break into an unceremonious run to a place where nobody knows you. where nobody looks at you with rounded eyes for the briefest moment that easily translates to mrs. kim ___, wife of kadore’s chairman who married her husband for money.

but all you can afford to do is keep your head up until you reached the bathroom door, check each stall one by one to make sure no one’s inside before you finally set down the document and your handbag on the sink. the first sob hits the air as soon as you see the woman in the reflection’s reddening eyes and smudged makeup.

it takes you several breath-holding, eyes-shutting and a couple more sobs breaking through the cracks of your walls before you can finally pat some powder onto the patch of skin under your eyes and on your cheeks where most of the damage was done. by the time you’re back in the hallway with shades darker than the night sky, you find your feet melting and becoming one with the floor at the sight of a man with jet black hair standing at the reception.

and almost as though sensing the heat of your gaze through your ray bans, the man turns around to reveal a pair of doe brown eyes and the smile you’re so used to seeing now missing in action and replaced with a straight line.

“jungkook...”

“how’d you know i’d be here?” you start once you’ve both placed an order for your drinks at the counter.

“how long are you going to keep doing this?” instead of answering your question with a real answer, jungkook heaves out a sigh, eyebrows knitting together in vexation as he fixes you with one of those ‘i’m not telling mom and dad but this is our problem now’ kind of look.

“how ever long it takes,” is all you say, reverting your gaze to the smooth surface of the table.

“are those the divorce papers?” you refuse to look at him but you know he’s burning holes inside the beige colored folder sitting underneath your handbag on the seat between you and him.

“i don’t know,” you shrug, shoulders squared as you meet his eyes through your shades, “i haven’t opened it yet.”

but jungkook being jungkook, he takes that as a bare affirmation, choosing to interrogate you on a different topic, “have you seen what people have been saying about you?"

“i don’t really care about what people say,” is all you have to offer.

“you haven’t,” he nods in conclusion, “they’re saying you can’t have enough of your husband’s money... they’re saying you’re coming here everyday to grovel over his mother’s feet to let you stay married - that’s how i know you’d be here. and judging from the looks of it, they’re not too far off.”

it takes you a good solid minute to stomach the new found information. you haven’t been checking social media because of those same exact malicious comments but that was just the beginning of a downward spiral of your reputation - you never thought your efforts and hard work of burning your fingers on hot stoves and redoing dishes to get a perfect one would be met with an assumption of groveling over mrs. kim’s feet all for your husband’s money.

“god, i need a smoke,” jungkook huffs, receiving a look from the waiter that’s setting your drinks down. only after she’s gone does he present you with another set of questions. “was he the one that paid off dad’s debts? all of them? even the loan sharks?”

“that...” you nod once, failing to keep your head high as you twirl the straw of your frappe around but don’t even take a sip, “and the money i said i had saved up and lent you to start your company,” you quickly add,“- but taehyung doesn’t care about that - he wouldn’t accept it even if you wanted to pay him back twice the amount.”

“then why are you...” it’s the way his voice breaks at the end that makes you look up only to see a man whose eyes are a little sunken and cheeks a little hollow - almost as if he hasn’t been sleeping nor eating well because of his foolish sister, “why are you letting that woman trample all over you like this? wouldn’t it be easier to just get a divorce-”

“that woman is my mother in law, jungkook. at least, practice the same level of respect you’ve been preaching about,” you speak over him - it’s funny how taehyung once stood up against the same woman you’re standing up for, for you.

when all that follows is silence, you go on. this time, in a much demurred tone, “and it’s not about letting myself get trampled over... if mom found out you lied about something and she’s acting like mother does because she’s hurt, would you just go on with your life like nothing happened?”

it takes a moment for him to register what you said before taking on a much less hostile tone though still just as firm, “___, this is your life... i don’t know what kind of ‘happy family’ delusion you’ve been living in but i’m willing to bet all my money that it’s not taehyung that gave you those papers to sign and made you cry in the bathroom stall for thirty minutes-” he throws you look, “yeah, i saw you go into the washroom after coming out of her room. i was gonna call you but you looked like you had to take a huge dump so i waited but we know that’s not the case now.”

silence lapses between you for the umpteenth time before you stubbornly announce, “i could’ve been taking a dump - you don’t know.”

the sight of jungkook’s jaw dropping and hitting the ground is laughable, if not for the fact that he’s shaking his head five seconds later. vexed. irritated, “this is getting ridiculous - we’re going home. now.”

and he doesn’t mean the penthouse that you and taehyung shares.

shooting up, his hand grasps your wrist and he would have dragged you all the way to the car if you hadn’t protested.

“jungkook, no - i’m not going anywhere,” pulling your hand back, you stand a good one head shorter in front of your brother which doesn’t do much for your cause.

“___, if not for you then do it for mom and dad - they’re getting too old to be worrying about their one and only daughter’s marriage prospect,” he tries to coax, knowing full well your heart would wither like a flower at the mention of your parents worrisome nature - especially when your business is out in the open no matter how hard you try to hide it, “and you haven’t been answering their calls either.”

“i know, i just-” before you can even finish your sentence, a flash of garnet and bridal pink catches your eyes.

“____... jungkook, i didn’t think you’d be in korea. how are you?” taehyung’s warm baritone is laced with confusion as he stares at your brother and then at you for a sort of explanation but before you can even open your mouth, jungkook’s already has his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, “yeah, well someone’s gotta clean up the mess you started. ___’s coming back home with me - back to her real home.”

“i’m not - stop saying that and let me go,” you tug on your wrist only to wince at the pressure of his grasp, “jungkook, you’re hurting me!”

“hey, let my wife go,” taehyung takes a peaceful step forward, “we can talk ab-”

“oh no,” the laugh tumbling out of jungkook’s mouth drips with malice, “no, see, you lost your knight in shining armor privilege after you quite literally lied to our faces about how you’ll take care of my sister until ‘death do you apart’ when all it took was mommy dearest pretending to get sick while everyone labels my sister a gold-digging wh-”

you taking a step forward with a balled fist, is completely instinctive and you would say taehyung prancing towards the dark haired man with a fist that actually hits the mark, was also instinct-driven. except that he probably has better aim and his punches hurt more than yours ever would.

the first one, you admit was satisfying but when your brother ends up on the ground with your husband throwing blow after blow, you have no choice but to intervene.

“taehyung, stop!” the shriek that echoes against the walls almost burst your eardrums. you would have believed it to be mrs. kim if not for the fact that she’s nowhere in sight and you’re the one with your hands grasping onto your husband’s arms, trying to hold him back from sending blow after blow onto your brother’s half-conscious face.

“taehyung, don’t stop,” you frown, taking a seat next to him while swiping the ice bag off his lap before gently pressing it to his darkened jawline, “seokjin said to keep the ice on the bruise for at least an hour.”

“ahhh - ow - ow-!” the man whines, eyes screwed shut as his grits his teeth together but doesn’t recoil from your touch.

“maybe you should’ve thought twice about throwing a punch at a trained boxer,” you shake your head, lips curling into an inevitable smile.

after taehyung’s had a round of punches in, jungkook managed to flip them over so that he’s the one pinning the elder man down. the events that unfolded after that were the least bit pretty. the nurses and doctors attending nearby patients rushed to the two struggling men and then there’s you, shifting the shouting to your brother to “god damn it, jungkook! stop being a dick!”

it took five men - doctors and just-arrived guards alike - to pry your brother off your husband who still tried to get a punch in and was held back by seokjin who finally arrived at the scenes with half a mind to knock the both of them out as he calmly orders for jungkook to be dragged into one of those empty rooms akin to the one mrs. kim is staying at.

because taehyung was the one who started the fight, seokjin decided that an ice pack would do for the taller man whilst he treats jungkook and orders the other doctors to go back to their post.

picking up the mixture of garnet and bridal pink roses, he stares at their wilted petals for the longest moment, face painted with dejection. they must have been specifically ordered for mrs. kim-

“these are for you,” your train of thoughts halts in its track at taehyung’s words. his hand levitating midair as though unsure of whether to hand the bouquet to you or toss them away, “or were,” then he captures your gaze and you don’t think you can ever find your way out of the maze he’s able to hold you captive in with just his eyes, “you deserve fresh flowers specifically plucked from its stalk - you deserve a whole garden, actually-”

“taehyung,” your free hand covers his as if to say, “they’re lovely, thank you.” placing the ice pack down, you cup both hands around the flowers, bringing them to your nose, “and they smell wonderful - i love pink roses.”

“i know,” the tiniest smile peeks from his lips, “you told me that.”

“i did?” you blink, surprised.

“at our wedding reception, you got a little tipsy and started sobbing because the roses were blush pink and not bridal pink,” the sound of his chuckles drums in your ears like hymns just like it did a year ago.

back when you were decked in an elegant off shoulder white gown after changing out of your wedding dress. you’d stood in the sidelines while your families and friends danced to their hearts’ content to the sound of the music. white champagne in your hand, the background beginning to turn fuzzy and your thoughts began to get louder.

it didn’t help that the object of your frustrations was smack dab covering every inch of the vicinity from the gargantuan rose covered backdrop, to the tiny vases in every single table.

the sob hits the air like the first raindrop. you had to clasp your hand to your mouth as if you were about to cough to hide your mouth stretching into your crying mouth - you don’t know how to explain it but your lips tend to morph into an unshapely sight whenever you cry and covering it when you feel the waterworks coming has always been second nature. as for the tears - they were concealable because the lights were dim enough.

but then there was someone next to you - he just popped up out of nowhere really and because you were standing in the darkest corner, you couldn’t pick out any defining features besides his height but you didn’t have much time to ponder on that as his question fills your eardrums, “so, how does saying goodbye to the bachelorette life feels like?”

“it’s terrible,” you’d wept some more and he shifted on his feet slightly, as though noticing the tear in your voice but luckily for him, he didn’t even have to ask because you were spilling your innermost thoughts out loud, “they- they gave me blush pink and garnet roses- i want bridal pink and garnet roses.”

“oh,” distinctively rang in your ears among the sound of instruments and joyful laughter.

then comes another input, “i didn’t know they messed up your request,” and you didn’t know why he’d sounded like he was about to murder someone.

“yeah and,” you sniffle, “- and i didn’t wanna say anything because- because i don’t wanna be that bratty bride who picks on every little detail.”

that morning, you woke up to a box full of roses and they were the lightest shade of pink. taehyung was already awake and offered to ring up breakfast for the both of you after he’d bid you a good morning and a “something came in for you.”

the gifts were prearranged to be sent to the penthouse instead of your suite but then again, there were chocolates and champagne bottles that made past the hotel doors because of its edible nature - the roses too... their fleeting livelihood seemed like you’d enjoy them better in your hotel room than a week later after you’d come back from your honeymoon.

the card didn’t even leave initials but had ‘roses for a rose’ playfully written in cursive black ink. your heart blooms a garden but your head is what makes you search for your newly wed husband, only to see him looking at you with a tender smile - one that you thought manifested because of your own involuntary smile when you’d read the note.

“i don’t think these are for us,” you could feel the frown setting into your features, causing taehyung’s own brows to furrow.

“i think these are for... me,” and so you told a tale of a woman with ambitions rather than stars in her eyes, who felt a compulsion to at least tell the truth to her husband and the stranger whom she met at her wedding. of course, omitting the teary eyed part and the blush and bridal pink roses part.

taehyung had easily chuckled while the staff set down plates of delicacies on the round meant-for-two-people-on-a-honeymoon table, saying, “he has fine taste - they’re from halls & tara,” after the staff left.

it didn’t occur to you that the h&t initials on the top right corner of the card stood for the most well known florist in seoul until he’d pointed it out, which could only mean he’d been suspicious enough to take longer than a glance at the flowers.

“do you mind if i keep them? at least, until they’re not as fresh anymore.” you quickly added the last part.

“you can keep them in a vase and have them live longer... why? are they not the shade of pink you wanted?” he blinked once, hand halting midair as he was about to take a mouthful of pancakes.

“well- no, they’re perfect actually - i love them,” you almost stutter in your haste to explain while trying to be casual about how devastated you would be if- “it’s just that... i really didn’t know him or who he was- but he obviously knew me because it’s hard not to know the lady of the day- i’m not breaching any terms-”

it’s the way the trickles of laughter filling the otherwise silent room that got you to clamp your mouth shut. the way kim taehyung looked so ethereal and majestic in the pristine black and white setting of the room.

“i don’t mind,” he’d clarified a moment later, eyes twinkling with the remnants of laughter, “i understand why he’d want to desperately send you these if only to see you smile softly like you did - you look beautiful when you smile, by the way.”

the compliment had caught you off guard and your heart might or might not have somersaulted but if there’s anything seven years of becoming a stewardess has taught you, it was to always prepare an adequate response to every situation - and at that time, kim taehyung was infamous for his quick wits and reputation with the ladies. of course, words sweet as honey would come easy for him.

“thank you,” and so were the words of gratitude on your part as you schooled a smile and dug into the pancakes your husband made.

but sitting on the black leather couch, holding onto a similar colored bouquet, you can’t help but blurt out, “that was you? i was bawling my eyes out because of some mismanagement to my husband who didn’t even recognize?” something between a disbelieving scoff and an irony-induced laugh escapes your mouth, “why didn’t you tell me?”

taehyung’s shoulder line shakes as he shrugs, hand going up to scratch the back of his head as he drops his gaze, as if searching for the answer only to look back up into your eyes with a, “i didn’t think you’d be as happy if you knew it was me,” his gaze falters, like a bud of fear blooming behind his irises,

“why wouldn’t i be?” you blink once, not quite understanding where he’s coming from.

that is, until a small smile slips onto his lips and it’s heartbreaking to witness and even more devastating to know you’re in no place to let your arms gather him into a hug like you wish. to kiss his forehead until his worries disappear.

he twines his fingers with yours, thumbing the diamond on your fourth finger, “i’m sorry that i took away your choice to marry for love - that’s a bit corny isn’t it?” he scrunches his nose and you can’t help but giggle, “it’s not just some short term contract since we both agreed divorce is never in the equation,” neither of you believe in tainting the sanctity of marriage - no matter what cause it was founded upon - with separation, “but god, the things you’re going through right now - i promise i’ll make things right.”

taehyung’s eyes tend to appear in different shades along with his emotions - though you know it’s most probably the lighting. dark brown is for when he’s scrutinizing the hollow smiles and empty compliments he gets at functions. but sometimes you find yourself catching hazel.

like right now, as they capture yours and look at you as if you’re the only one he sees.

“taehyung...” you thought you knew what you wanted to say when you said his name but as you get lost in the midnight dessert of his eyes, you’re not sure if you can even muster so much as a squeak without falling apart.

and that’s when a knock reverberates into the air like thunder, forcing you to jolt away from the man until no part of you is touching any part of him.

“hey,” a somber voice greets as jungkook leans against the doorframe, “so they fixed me up and the chairman wants me gone in,” he looks down at his wrist, “two minutes and fifty-three seconds.”

blinking away the remnants of the emotions away, you stand up, giving the man a once over. his button up is marred with a trickle of deep red a few inches over his chest, hair matted and face sporting different stages of bruising. the bleeding’s stopped for the most part.

“you’ve definitely seen better days,” you announce, walking around the couch to get to where the man is rolling his eyes at.

“sorry for calling you the w-word,” that’s definitely wasn’t what you were expecting which prompts the belated, almost suspicion induced,“...okay.”

“i did that because i needed to confirm something,” he goes on, eyes flitting over your shoulder where you know your husband is staring right back, burning holes inside your brother’s head before he looks back at you, taking a full 180 in attiude, “and don’t worry about mom and dad - i’ll take care of them.”

it takes you a moment to digest his proclamation, all the whilst hyperly aware of the hand that makes its way on your lower back as a familiar dior scent fills your senses, “so you’re not gonna drag me home?” as though disbelieving the words that came out of your mouth, you add, “that’s all it takes? a few punches to the face?”

the twitch of his eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by you. nor does the deep breath he forces himself to take at the blatant insult and insinuation of your future boxing lessons to which he warns, “don’t get any crazy ideas,” then he turns to the man next to you, “i let you hit me - let’s get that out of the way first.”

and before either you or taehyung manage to get a word in, jungkook hand comes flying to your forehead, a loud sound of skin smacking against skin echoing throughout the room as you tumble backwards with an audible “ow- hey!”, barely noticing the much larger hand that’s covering yours. inspecting the patch of skin where jungkook just flicked.

without even an apology for the uncalled for assault, he nods at something over your head, probably taehyung, “you take care of my sister, you hear me? cause there won’t be a second time.”

and then he’s gone like the wind - you would have tracked down that wind and give him a taste of his own medicine like you did when you were children. you’d jump on his back and attempt to bite a chunk of his head if your nannies didn’t pull you apart - but right now, you couldn’t escape taehyung’s hand on your waist even if you wanted to.

“let me see,” he instructs, gently coaxing your hand to unclasp the patch of skin on your forehead so he could softly blow on it.

you stay like that, standing at the doorway with your bodies too close and taehyung refusing to unhand you until your cheeks are replaced with a different kind of heat than the anger you felt for your god forsaken brother.

“god he’s an ass - you should’ve messed up his face more,” you huff, and you don’t know why - maybe it’s the way you stomp your foot, maybe it’s the way your cheeks tend to puff when you’re feeling vindictive or maybe it’s a mystery locked in taehyung’s head that you’ll never know but his chuckles sound like hymns in your ears.

and you thought that was the end of the electrified sensation on your skin where his touch lingers until you feel a pair of the softest lips on your forehead, right where the flick was supposed to throb. a grinning taehyung looking back at you as if asking, “my nanny used to do this to me when i bump my knee against a furniture...” a flash of worry blooms in his eyes for the briefest moment before he voices his concerns, “hope the magic still works.

the sight is heartwarming. endearing even. and you can’t help smile, cheeks hot, “it does - it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

and just as you thought he’s about to release you from the torment of having your heart skip multiple beats at a time and step back, he presses another peck on your forehead. a smile gracing his features, “another one for good measure.”

it’s a surprise your legs are still holding you up with how jelly-like they’ve become.

“th-thank you.”

mrs. kim discharged herself a week after the fight but not without standing in front of the hospital with her frilly fur coat and gucci handbag while she looks at the camera and consequently straight into the screen, “i have yet received a publicly apology for what jeon jungkook did to mine by the jeons. my taehyung couldn’t even kill a fly, let alone start a fist fight-” she shivers uncontrollably as though overcome with chills, “such a barbaric, uncivilized act can only come from-”

“you’re watching that?” a smooth baritone fills the room as a figure struts in beige slacks and oversized creme sweater, “again?”

he sits on the edge the backrest of the couch, looking down at you with an expression that makes your stomach churn. with butterflies or guilt for breaking your promise to stop checking out these articles, you don’t know.

“sorry,” you mumble, placing the ipad down a few inches from your feet as you bring your legs up against your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, “worrying about how the press twists mother’s words comes from the plentiful of time i have on my hands after being sacked, i guess.”

it’s been a week since you’ve received your new schedule. to which you received a call right after to head to the headquarters in the heart of seoul only to be told that-

“___, you gotta understand, this whole fiasco going on with your family... it’s giving the airline a bad rep,” mr. bang leaned back against his recliner, his eyes hiding behind the beam of his glasses, “people are leaving bad reviews on the website that has absolutely nothing to do with our services but has everything to do with you and your husband.”

he meant the growing dissatisfaction upon the revelation of the artificiality of you and taehyung’s marriage.

nobody’s caught jungkook and taehyung in a video but there’d been witnesses and ‘sources’ affirming the two getting into a fistfight at the hospital. and so another record has been made in your long list of family drama.

“sir, please,” you could feel your eyebrows joining together from the sheer frustration and reality anchoring into the pit of your stomach, “i’ve been working for korean air -for seven years now- check my reconds,” hope blooms in your chest as you suggest the idea to your superior, “i’ve never been late, never had a customer complain about me, never made any mistakes prior to this-”

“it doesn’t matter what you did before this, ___,” he cut you off, voice heavy with emphasis.

but you weren’t backing out that easy, “please, it’s not fair to lay me off for something i have zero control in.”

at your wording, the man physically flinched, almost as though struck by a spear before he shook his head, denying your claims.

“you’re not fired,” he corrected, “you’re on paid leave... until everything calms down.”

it took everything in you not to let the frown slip onto your face. first it’s paid leave and then it a one month notice before they officially sack you - you’ve seen how this played out one too many times.

so you smiled, “with all due respect, mr. bang, how long is ‘until everything calms down’?”

the man’s shoulder line jolted as he shrugged, lower lip jutted out in a nonchalant nature, “that depends on how you choose to solve it, ___... i assume you are working on a solution, yes?”

it was a trick question. if you answered the affirmative, it’d be admitting what mrs. kim and almost everyone have been demanding - a divorce. if you answered no, then you’re as good as jobless.

“my husband and i are working on it,” was all you say.

when taehyung found out later that night - he was livid. he was a phone call away from calling up mr. ji to sue the airline for discrimination. it took you stealing his phone away and running around the penthouse until you made him promise that he’d listen to you first.

he did, and you’d wanted to wait it out and see because, “there isn’t any damage to build our ground on anyway because i’m not fired yet.”

“well, dinner’s ready ” taehyung’s soft as silk voice tears you apart from your memroies, hand levitating midair until you take it, hoisting yourself up.

taehyung pushes himself off the couch, walking on the other side with your hand in his. it’s comical but endearing all at once and you giggle at how neither of you are willing to let the other go even though you’ll have to once you reach the four-people dining table.

“thank you,” you say as you lower yourself on the seat while he pushes the chair in for you.

home cooked meals have become a norm for the both of you ever since that day taehyung punched jungkook in the face. at first, you insisted that you should be the one cooking since he was injured but he stayed with you in the kitchen and you talked about your day and reminisced about your childhood and how you similarly had nannies that forbade you from coming into the kitchen.

then there was the peck on the top of your forehead he started doing a few days ago after you were sat and before he went around the table to get to his seat that’s across from you.

“did you go shopping today?” he asks in between cutting up the steak which he stole a whole plate from you into mini slices.

“yeah, with hwasa,” you nod - the woman had been all too delighted to see you after mismatched schedules and ghostly texts because of life and work getting in the way.

“the friend from high school?” taehyung surprises you yet again as he places your plate back in front of you, this time with the pieces all cut into edible bites. you’ve never mentioned hwasa to him - but it’s not a lie that she’s your closest friend from high school who got accepted into the same training programme as you at the beginning of your career.

“thank you-” you shoot him a smile before picking up the fork and knife, “and yeah, that’s her. we haven’t seen each other for months so we kind of went a little crazy with the dresses.”

he doesn’t look up when he speaks his next words which is why you have a trouble digesting them as you involuntarily blurt out a, “sorry- what?”

“the dresses you bought,” he reiterates, an amused smile on his lips - possibly because of your almost-choked state, “- can i see them?”

“oh,” clear your throat once, sipping down the red wine before chuckling nervously, “hwasa bought dresses - didn’t.”

taehyung hums, head tilting to the side as though trying to capture your avoidant gaze, “then put on whatever you bought that i saw lying on your bed - the door was open when i passed your room.”

at that moment, to say your heart quite literally crash against the floor, would be an understatement. it takes you a minute to gather yourself, another to force out a laugh as you attempt to brush the thought of taehyung seeing the black and red laces from savage x fenty hwasa adamantly insited you get after a story time on why you decided to get married to how something has definitely shifted between you and taehyung.

but no amount of gushing and squealing about made up scenarios brewing from hwasa’s little head could prepare you for what’s happening right at this moment.

“oh those?” a chuckle, “those are aren’t even worth showing.”

and just as you thought he’ll let the matter go like he would when you dismissively mention something that he inquired about, taehyung takes a full 180, eyes clouded with a sort of emotion you don’t dare delve into, “that’s for me to decide,” he takes a sip of the wine, pushing his chair back as he stands up, “i’m done,” with that, he places his plate down where geom, your mixed breen papillion and silky terrier shouts out an appreciative woof at the pleasant surprise.

patting the canine briefly, he turns to you, those clouded eyes seeping into your soul, “put them on - i’ll be waiting in my room.”

his footsteps echo against the walls as he ascends the stairs and disappears into the hallway where his room lies across from yours. it is a whole solid minute later, once you hear the door of his room click shut, that you make a beeline for the couch where your phone lies lonely.

dialing up the only person you know you can hold accountable for, you quite literally scream at the ‘hell-’ with a “hwasa, he wants me to put the lingerie on and show him!”

while your voice drips with dread, the other woman, choosing to be willfully oblivious, screams into your ears, “oh my god - oh my god. then what are you doing calling me?! go put them on!”

and that’s how you end up holding in a breath while deliberately repeating hwasa’s not so helpful pep talk of ‘you’re the hottest’ and ‘kim taehyung will be wrapped around your fingers by the end of the night!’

“but it’s been over a year - i’m not sure if i even know how to moan!” you’d protested while pull the strap of the garter around your thigh.

that was half an hour ago.

now, you’re debating on whether to knock like you would have before you started cuddling into the other while watching tv. but before that, you’d never did anything together unless it was family dinners and gatherings.

so you opt for pushing down the handle. the sharp ‘click’ being the only announcement of your entrance. taehyung’s walls are a deep shade of maroon almost black with the lights on its lowest setting. the sound of music playing in the background barely registers in your mind as you focus your attention to the figure that’s pushing himself up from his laying down position.

you resist the temptation to run and hide under the comfort your covers - an opposed response compared to your confident stride, placing one foot after the other until you stand a good two feet away from the bed and taehyung.

“what do you think?” the smile brandished over your face is nothing like your racing heart whlist you do a little twirl- but then again, you’ve always been such an actress.

“if the world were made of diamonds, i’d choose the rose before me... because you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever laid eyes on,” you wonder how he doesn’t even blink as those words pour out of his mouth, hand finding its way in the dip of your waist. staring. admiring.

“always the charmer,” you want to curse yourself for the unoriginal come back yet taehyung doesn’t seem to notice as he lets you push him to the bed whilst his eyes undress what little piece of clothing you have on as you crawl on top of him.

your toes curl at the sound of taehyung’s excruciatingly slow exhalation - almost as though he intends for it to caress your ears and seep into your pores before settling into the pit of your core.

the sharp charm of dior fills your senses as you place kisses on his neck, tucking his flesh between your teeth ever so gently, not expecting the delectable surprise that slips out of his mouth.

who would have thought kim taehyung was a moaner?

the giggle that trickles out of your mouth is blamelessly involuntary but catches his attention nonetheless, “what?”

“oh, nothing,” you nibble on his earlobe before whispering into his ears, “just thinking of how cute you’ll look moaning for me.”

and you’ve easily add to the long list of things you won’t forgive yourself in the morning. yet you still caress his growing size through his pants, giggling when the delicious sound hits the air for the second time.

“take it out,” he whimpers after one too many teases, “please.”

“only because you said please,” the way his chin tilts to follow your lips after you pecked them doesn’t go unnoticed by you but you clasp your hand against his chest, pinning him down with a shake of your head “uh-uh, you get up when i tell you to.”

the excruciating ‘fuck’ that leaves his lips is what truly lights up the flame in the pit of your stomach. you watch as his hand goes up to run through his hair in a sexually frustrated nature but doesn’t attempt to push himself up after that.

it only takes a few pumps for the clear fluid of precum to trickle over your hand, letting you smear all over his hardened dick and causing it to glisten underneath the luminescence of the room.

sparks shoot through your core and strike your heart into an erratic rhythm when you lower yourself over him, holding the slit of the black lace undergarment apart until he’s hitting every delicious inch inside of you.

you’ve barely even started to move when you break out into a cry, falling into his arms like a puppet whose strings got cut off. the arms around you are gentle as they hold you against him until you’ve come down from your high.

by the time you push yourself up, your knees are still trembling yet you nod when he cups your cheeks and forces you to look into those concern filled eyes, “are you good?”

“i’m fine,” the sniffle is probably the last thing you need to convince him, “i lost myself for a moment.”

this time, it’s his turn to chuckle, lips curling into a smirk, “it’s completely understandable to admit that you couldn’t hold out for more than a minute because i stretched you out so good.”

you want to protest - want to gain back the control you lost when he hit that sweet spot not even, yes, as he says, a minute into taking him in. but one single thrust right against that same exact spot and you’re whimpering in utter submission and devotion.

“that’s what i thought,” that damned smirk is the last thing you see before you succumb to his every wishes and command until you find yourself with a strong arm banded over your stomach, another arm reaching for a pillow and puffing it up before you feel yourself being gently lowered face flushed into it - the smallest gesture of tenderness that you didn’t expect to witness when you decided to tease him in the beginning.

the yelp when taehyung’s hands slip under the strap of the garter, doesn’t even manage to form fully when a moan replaces it as he yanks the garter and consequently, your ass against him, forcing you to swallow his entire length in one stroke.

“god, you’re so big,” if you were a little sober and a whole lot more conscious, you would have added that into the list of things you said that you would cringe at in the morning.

but you’re already one orgasm down in the foreseeable long list of orgasms that kim taehyung promises you as he sinks into you, moaning out your name like a holy mantra.

“i know you love it,” he agrees oh so innocently for someone who’s about to thrust into you like a godless being.

five strokes in and you’re cursing and screaming out in pleasure, hands gripping onto the duvet for dear life as you feel you convulse into a state of toe-curling euphoria. the way taehyung stops moving and trails down butterfly kisses down your back until the tensed muscles in your lower abdomen simmers down into pleasured twitches, doesn’t go by you.

“you can move now,” another sniffle, but this one has completely and irrevocably succumbed to your rawest desires.

it’s the soft chuckle and the one last peck on your left shoulder blade that has your heart stuttering. ungodly opposite to the way he moves his hips as he thrusts into you without so much as a warning - your last two orgasms were just preambles. ones out of the many that night that has you writhing and moaning in pleasure. some of which were incited by sides of you, you didn’t know existed.

the last thing you recall is taehyung gathering you in his arms like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you even in his sleep now that he’s had a taste. it’s endearing and daunting all at once. because for the first time since your marriage, you’re afraid of losing him.

a few days after that, you’re tying away on your macbook when taehyung comes home looking less like the man you knew. his hair, disheveled from having run his hand through them more than his hair gel allows. his eyes, carrying a sort of weight that latches onto him like parasites - or maybe that’s just the papparazzo that you noticed have been following you around. their numbers have decreased considerably after the rumor of taehyung hiring a team of lawyers which was no rumor at all.

it was the morning after you woke up with tingly legs barely able to function like it should and muscles sore but a sort of fullness in your chest when you noticed the man whose arms are wraped around you like a protective cocoon as he faintly snored away.

then came the muted sound of your phone from the other side of the hallway where your room door beckons you into its domain. it wasn’t as obnoxiously loud since it was at least twenty feet away and you would have ignored it and gone back to bed if not for the short interval signaling the person calling had finally reached the mailbox or hung up on their own. that was, before they hit call for the second time.

slipping out of taehyung’s arms, you trudged to your room with half a mind to give whoever this caller is a piece of your mind - god’s sake, the flashy red digits on your alarm clock stares at you at 5:23 in the morning.

“this better be good, hwasa or i swear-” before you can even finish the woman is already screaming into your ear like she’s being chased by an axe murderer.

“oh my god, oh my god - have you seen the news?!” except no woman chased by a murderer would sound this exhilarated, she went on before you could even get a “no one in their right mind would be checking the news at ass crack-” out.

“oh shoot, it’s still 5 something in korea, isn’t it?” she gasped - if you weren’t on paid leave, you’d be in hong kong, probably sharing rooms and getting tipsy in some club there, “but anyway, kadore’s chairman is suing insight, pullbbang and other websites for slander!” she shrieked.

"what?” you could feel the muscles on your face pulling into a contorted confusion but

after hanging up and telling hwasa you were going to look into the matter some more, you’d come up with multiple articles stating a similar fact as your overly enthusiastic best friend did. still in denial, you’d confronted your husband about it- he was still sleeping soundly when you strutted in and shook him up to which he confessed, eyes droopy and face puffy. the sight was so foreign to you because you were used to seeing him fresh and suited up but you’d found yourself making a little space in your heart for barely-just-woken-up-taehyung to reside in.

first came anger - you didn’t ask for him to do this, “what would everyone think if i went to you crying about a little bit of criticism for something i did do?” then came confusion because what exactly did you do that was so horrendously heineous to warrant these websites to write such malicious statements about you?

taehyung had seen every flash of emotions that pooled in your eyes and tugged on your fingers - you weren’t sure if he’d meant it but it successfully pulled you from drowning in your own thoughts, “i told you i’d make things right - these people won’t be able to say another word about you unless it’s the truth- that you’re a hardworking, amazing woman who deserves everything she has and yes,” he fixed you the most tender, sleepy smile “that includes the money i make - what’s the point of working if i can’t even provide my wife with the best?”

taehyung tosses the beige tuxedo onto the handrest of the couch adjacent to where you’re sitting with one leg up in nothing but a loose fitted sweater that hangs off your left shoulder. the half empty wine glass lies untouched on the coffee table since you’d put it down.

with a thump, he sinks himself into the leather material of the couch, hands cupping his face, as though if he rubs it hard enough, the deadset frown would go away.

before you know it, you’re padding over to the couch he’s on, hands finding their ways onto his shoulders, massaging the noticeable tension in his muscles until a grateful sigh slips out of his mouth, hand guiding your own to his lips where he presses a kiss on your knuckles.

only when you go around to take the spot next to him, hand smoothing out his hair, do you finally say, “is it the board again?”

mina has been keeping you updated on the turbulence that was caused by your fraudulent marriage being exposed. the chairman seat became taehyung by default when he got married as per his father’s will. but the board members have been vocal about abrogating his rights to succeeding kadore.

“there’s talk about votes demoting me to director,” he’s never sound so fragile - in taehyung’s long list of fluctuating interest from women and men to art and sculptures and to yatches and sports cars, kadore is probably the only thing he’s ever taken seriously.

you would know - seeing him decked in armani with soft wavy hair contrasting his strong features, weren’t your only reason for accepting his proposal of marriage. it had more to do with the way he spoke about the company. in a dimly lit room just like now, with a wine glass in his hand and the cityscape underneath that gave an illusion of stilled fireflies scattered all across the city, taehyung had spoken of his unforgivable regrets. the deals he’d let pass by. the merges he’d settled with instead of aiming higher. the brands he didn’t reach out to.

those regrets birthed fears and those fears were what made him even entertain the notion of a beneficial marriage.

or as the board likes to call it, an atrociously wickedly schemed marriage.

“they won’t have a ground to depose you to a director’s position if they can’t provide a solid reason,” you say and he blinks, clueless, hopeless.

it’s almost as if you’re facing a whole different man.

“what do you mean?”

“i’m talking about us doing what we do best,” you fix him a smile - one that probably needs a little convincing and grounding but a smile nonetheless, “we show them that the kims aren’t to be messed with,” you pause, letting the silence settle into brimming suspense before finally saying, “it’s been awhile since we’ve made a public appearance together, hasn’t it? how does lunch sound like?”

and so goes your multiple appearances in the most top notch restaurant together. the lack of chauffeur wasn’t intentional but helpful nonetheless to prove that the chairman was hopeless and irrevocably mad for his wife that he’d drive all the way to wherever she was to pick her up and then drive them to the designated restaurant instead of the convenience of meeting at said restaurant from wherever you both were prior to that.

then there was the hand holding, hip grabbing and not going a minute without smiling and giggling about what the other said. to outsiders, it would have looked as if things hadn’t been all that different - except you’d finally came out of your 1 billion doller cave after the whole ‘fiasco’ with your families. but it was the little hand kisses and forehead pecks in between taehyung making mini runs to get to your side to open your car door.

and the ‘how was your day’s and which are followed by a ‘you’re still deadset on working, huh?’s each time you told him about your in-the-work resume since you’re ‘at the risk of getting a notice of resignation any time soon’.

“what if you started your own business? i could buy a whole building in nonhyeon-dong that you could make as your headquarters?” he offers in between twirling the pasta around his fork after you insisted that- “my job is the only thing that i’ve got going on for me to prove that i’m not a gold-digger that everyone thinks i am.”

“i was thinking more like travelling from place to place like...” you shoot him a ‘you know’ smile before adding, “a cabin crew.”

“one of korean air’s biggest shareholders are letting go of her stock because her color pencil business isn’t doing so well these days,” he nods, deeply contemplative, “they’re gonna be sacking a few employees if they don’t get buyers by the next two months,” he surmises with a concluding nod to which you end up laughing and almost choking on your food.

picking up the water on your right, you quickly gulp it down before clarifying as to why you found his statement so funny that you’d risk your esophagus in the process, “no, tae,” that nickname is also one of the little things that just happens - you don’t miss the tuck in the corners of his lips when it slips off your tongue, “it’s sweet of you to want to buy me a share of the airline i’m working for but that’s the thing, it’s your money,” you reach out for his hand, smiling when he meets yours halfway.

a warm pressure engulfs your hand as he squeezes briefly, “and i told you, what’s mine is yours.”

“likewise,” you fix him a grateful smile, “but i like flying. i like being a cabin crew - on top of holding onto my job to prove people wrong, of course.”

the longest pause hovers over you like a grey clouds with taehyung’s beautiful but contemplating eyes holding you captive. as though trying to take you out part by part, trying to figure you out.

“then, what would you like me to do?” the question catches you off guard, like being hit by a wild baseball even though you’re walking right next to a baseball field, “you’ve always been so good at taking care of yourself - when you broke down in front of me... at the hospital... i didn’t know what to do-” his lips quiver just the slightest bit, almost as though holding back invisible tears, “tell me what to do. because it feels like everything i do isn’t the slightest bit helpful. ”

all of a sudden, the sands of time seem to have stopped, levitating midair within the dip of the hourglass. it’s daunting but heartbreaking at the same time - the sight of raw fear and uncertainty that’s pooling within taehyung’d eyes like unmoving river - you never knew your attempts to hold up your values reflects as a declaration of nonessential to taehyung’s own attempts to reach out to you.

“i don’t need you - to fight my battles, to solve my problems for me - though i’m immensely grateful that you did,” you say after what feels like an eternity, “but i want you so... stay as you are, supporting me like you’re doing now.”

“i don’t know if that counts as support - i’m not doing anything,” he counters, eyes downcasted until you reach out your other hand to cover his that’s already holding your left hand.

“you are - you never invalidated my feelings of wanting to work, you encouraged me to do bigger things and that means you believe in me - maybe i will take up that offer in the future but right now, i want to keep doing what i always have been,” you fix him a smile, “and i want to do it with you by my side.”

the tiniest of smile that slips onto his face tells you that his heart is still in a state of unrest. unconvinced. but he’s trying as he nods, “if that’s what you want,” and you thought that’s the end of it. until the foreshadowing “but,” that comes a second later, “i’m not gonna stop worrying and trying to fix things - we’re married, your problems are my problems too.”

the chuckle escapes your mouth signifies the good natured jest of your next words as you summon your hands back, already missing the warmth of his much larger ones around you, “well we weren’t exactly on that term until just recently.”

a shadow casts itself over taehyung’s handsome face as he picks up his fork, “that’s something i’ll regret for the rest of my life - not getting to know you beyond the contract sooner.”

“everyone makes mistakes,” you shrug before taking a peek at his expression as you mention a certain free spirited woman, “besides, you were too caught up with jeongyeon on our first year of marriage.”

she had been one of the few people who’d managed to bring out a side of taehyung you never knew existed.

boyish. bratty. someone who actually bicker and whines about the littlest things and everything that was on the opposite spectrum the crisp, suit-wearing, slicked back hair, charming man you married. sometimes, when you go out to dinners or the little moments when you find yourselves alone while attending functions, you see glimpses of that playful, boyish side of him. the human side of him.

over time, you realize that that’s also part of what makes taehyung... well, taehyung. it’s just only recently that you start seeing more than glimpses of these sides behind closed doors.

the way his eyes widen is enough for you to know that you’ve hit the nail right on its head. if the incomprehensible stuttering isn’t, “that... i was... we didn’t-”

“i know,” you fix him a jesting smile, “you may be a certified charmer for the most part but you’re not a homewrecker, tae.”

lunch goes on with you talking about how your father and brother are thrilled to have you and taehyung over for your monthly dinner. to which the man was partly confused and partly shivered in his seat at the thought of sitting down at a table with two of your favorite men in the world no doubt shooting him daggers while you’re not watching - or pretend that you don’t notice.

“i can’t avoid father forever,” he laments, finally giving into his fate as you walk out the restaurant, “and i have a lot of owning up to do to your family.”

“as do i,” you hum in agreement once before murmuring a ‘thank you’ as he holds the car door open after tipping the valet.

it’s only five minutes into the ride, once the car rolls to a stop at a red light does he turn to you, “you know, you don’t have to... with mom, reconciliation is a two way thing and she...” you notice the way his grip tightens around the wheel, eyes darkening as he breathes in, grounding himself “- she even made you file for divorce.”

the papers she’d given you that day still lied in your drawer, hidden away from taehyung’s pyromaniac hands. you’d caught him almost setting them on fire when you he found it lying on the counter after he’d returned home. all because spent a good chunk of the afternoon staring at it before leaving it to take a hot bath, not realizing taehyung would be home any time soon. ever since then, he hadn’t been on speaking terms with mrs. kim. turned down offers for dinners and luncheons, as he had directly told her in front of you through a phone call, “...not until you apologize to ___ first.”

“tae, mother was hurt by our lies and i understand why, i can’t promise i’ll be as accepting if i found out the daughter-in-law i cherished so much didn’t marry my son for love like i thought they did,” you lightly pat his hand that’s on the gear but instead he captures your fingers between his and guide them to his lips as he traps you within those beautiful eyes.

“you’re too kind for your own good, you know that?” there they are again, hazel underneath the light. but clouded with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint.

but before you can even muster a word, his eyes are already focused on the road as the car propels itself forward. but he doesn’t let go of your hand. he keeps it twined with his between yours and the gear. almost as if he didn’t want to be apart from you if he could help it. and neither could did you as you rub tiny motions into the back of his hand.

in your defense, you’ve stolen a precious gem from her that no money or gold could ever replace. and no matter how much you cherish the bond that formed after hours spent on shopping, tea times and mother-daughter (in-law) vacations, you’re not kind enough to unwrap him from your little fingers.

a smile curls on your lips as you guide taehyung’s hand to yours, placing a kiss on his knuckles and watching as his own lips tuck at the corners.

you’ll just have to make it up to mother some other way.

note. if you enjoy this then please leave a comment either below or in my inbox! and check out the other members’ installments to the series filed under ‘verse’ on top!

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indianamoonshine · 3 years

Text

Strawberry | Chapter 13 | Common Tongue

Summary: This chapter is titled after a Hozier song. Take that as you will.

Rating: M. If I see anyone minor interacting with this or hear of anyone reading it, I will block your ass.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople @literallydontlook

“I’m a virgin,” you had said to him one night.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing because, to him, you were the same with or without having slept with someone. Din knew that - had you chose him - it would be an honor. He would think no differently of you either way, and that even if the two of you never had sex, he was glad to have met you.

Now he thinks he may be addicted.

Part of him really wishes that you hadn’t gone this far; that the innocence would have lasted until whenever it was that he forced to leave. Because now he was in over his fucking head.

Behind the shed, you’d grabbed his hand and palmed yourself against the cotton of your underwear. The song of cicadas did a humbling job of masking your little pants or the way you whimpered beneath him. And, sure, Din did everything in his power to break traditional norms, but he wasn’t going to fuck you behind a shed for the first time. His heart broke when he separated himself from you and you whined underneath your breath in protest.

“Come on,” he huffed, lungs attempting to keep up. “Let’s go.”

Three minutes.

That’s how long it took to run from the main house to the cabin. Three goddamned minutes was a record. You don’t recall running that fast since becoming an adult. If your high school gym teacher has witnessed the velocity in which you just sprinted, she’d be amazed.

It was good old fashioned motivation.

Fortunately, Din’s barely taken his hands off of you so he managed to catch your clumsy ass when you tripped over the lip of the front door. The two of you had chuckled against the other before he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. You place a hand upon your cheek in feign distress. “But I think I may need to lay down…”

Your tone, which is laced with suggestive demure, has Din raising a brow. “Oh yeah?” he growls.

You nod sweetly, lips still pressed against his. “Mm hm.”

You’re so goddamn beautiful.

When he presses you against the plushness of the sheets, he admires the way your hair fans about you and frames your face. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips plump from his kiss, the natural pout of them more pronounced now that he’s bitten and sucked at the flesh. The brilliance of your skin glows beneath the yellow light, neck joining the expanse of your bust which heaves with endurance. He kisses down your pulse point until he reaches the neck of his t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

“Can I?” he whispers against the hollow of your neck, fingering the edge of the fabric.

“Yes.”

You’ve never been this exposed to anyone other than the occasional friend (when changing) or your sisters (also when changing). It’s been so long since you’ve gone outside of yourself - into the very thick of reality - so when he asked if he could reveal you to it, the urgent “yes” surprised yourself.

Still - it’s another kind of anxiety; not violent, but in the way. When he’s stripped the shirt from your body - carefully, as though he were unwrapping a priceless antique - it’s a natural instinct to cover yourself, confident of the way you weren’t.

“Take all the time you need,” he whispers against the flesh of your neck. “I’m a patient man.”

It should’ve been enough and maybe in an alternate universe it was. Maybe that version of you threw all misogynistic beauty standards out the window into the night, but in this present day-in-age, you took a minute to go over the mental checklist. What if you weren’t to his standards? What was the situation like down there? What would you do if he wasn’t all that you decided him to be?

How long would it take to heal from that?

Before your mother died she took your hand and made you promise: I will do everything I can to feel joy, as fleeting as it may be. There are lessons to be learned. She’d made you chant it in a monkish way, as though preforming a ceremony in the sterility of a hospital room strung with cheap tinsel and a sad, plastic tree at her bedside. You’d understood what she meant then like the way a student might understand the components of Ancient Greek; not until it is utilized can its full potential make any sense at all.

The philosophers - and your mother - be onto something.

Something like a muffled version of his name slips lazily through your lips. And while it’s dissected, pulled apart with a lazy and tense breath, it’s the first time his name has sounded poetic. Din never thought of himself this way; that his person could ever inspire such an organic response as the way you unwound beneath him. He’s laid with women before - three, he thinks - but he’s not positive he’s ever experienced a woman before.

Xian was good at what she did and she knew it; Din wasn’t oblivious to that but it lacked a certain something. The other times his body has been weaved together with another’s was faceless; just hookups he’s tried so desperately to forget. Hazy nights in which he woke up to in the morning, their backs to him, and identity indistinguishable. Eventually he just stopped trying.

It wasn’t until now with your fingers clutching at his hair that he realized how the act - the very dance itself - could be purifying. How it could wash away the very worst of similar experiences and how it made something that always felt cheap now priceless. The body is a temple, his elders would always say, and it never made any sense to him. The body is a fortress made to withstand hurricanes and torpedos. It was no place to kneel, to worship, to inspire anything other than sheer refuge.

How ironic, as kneeling was the very thing he was doing now.

Irony wasn’t the word. Fateful, he supposes, as he tastes the fruit that’s always been so forbidden to him. Your thighs clench around his head and the fingers that have been stroking his hair grip the sheets, white knuckling the starched weave, until a gasp is caught in your throat. And then there is nothing but the pressure of ignition until it crumbles around you, fizzing the air with something akin to champagne bubbles.

There is no nasally whine that follows afterwards like there always had been before you. No wild “yes!” that pollutes the air. Just the instability of a weakened chest, the grasping at air, and the delicious feel of your hand enveloping his after having pulled it from your sex.

You weren’t a stranger to penetration though this was was with exceptions; no one had ever done anything to you with foreign or, well, domestic objects. At the age of eighteen, your friends at the time had dragged you to the building on the east end of town that never officially existed until legality said that it did. La Boudoir Rouge was the place ‘vodka aunts’ went to cure the blues, bought mysterious items, and then hid the pink bags in the back of their closets.

So, yes; sex was a foreign exchange policy you’ve never found yourself involved in, but you knew the dynamics. You’d bought equipment and even enjoyed it more than you’d initially expected. Penetration wasn’t at all strange to you.

This made it easier, you think, as Din finally slides in. There was a stretch of course, and it took you a moment to get comfortable enough to brave any movement. Din drops his forehead upon yours, letting out a strangled breath through his nose, as you struggle to come to terms with the size. He’d given off an energy but…

“It’s so big,” you gasp once he reaches the spongey part of you. It feels stupid, it falls short on a botched intake of breath, but it’s the truth.

Din’s composing himself, silent in his endeavor to mold himself within you. His arms are pressed on either side of you, body flush against yours with his pelvis meeting your pubic bone. There’s another moment of silence before he kisses at your temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

A smile graces your lips, though your eyes are clenched. “That’s an understatement.”

The pace is fast, sweat inspiring. It drips down your neck until it falls in the valley of your breasts and Din wants so badly to lick it from your skin, but he’s too distracted by the way you clench around him. It’s ironclad - it’s the best goddamn pussy he’s ever had.

He wants to tell you that but he’s unsure of how you’d react. You’ve been letting out delicious gasps and moans reaching an octave you’d never reach sober, but not you’re coherently vocal enough for him to say it outright.

And then you breathe it in a pathetic whine: “It’s yours, Din. It’s yours.”

He almost stops, but his body is hellbent on seeing this through. Whatever the fuck this was; a spiritual experience maybe. Perhaps he’d died after the last mission - broken and buried underneath mounds of dirt - and now rests in paradise where he fucks his way through eternity.

A raw, animalistic response possesses him, the fistful of flesh from your hips is replaced by the swell of you cheeks. He embraces you softly, but sternly enough to incite a whimper.

“What was that, chica bonita, huh?”

You throw your head back as he slams his hips against yours with more force, the excitement conjuring a great wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins. You try to speak but it fails to materialize.

He was balls deep and you were still shy by your interjection.

“What’s mine, sweet girl?” he whispers, mouth tickling along your collarbones. The contrast of gentle words and barbaric thrusts is something he’s never experienced during sex. Ever.

You let out one more mouthwatering whine before saying: “My pussy is yours, Din. Take it. Please, please…”

Suffice to say, that’s what does it. The two of you cum at the same time, like a synchronized dance, clutching one another so tightly it leaves red ribbons. Your fingernails had dug into his forearms and his at your waist in which his hands wrapped around. He lets out a deep, broken growl as you whimper, shaking like a leaf, and he pulls out just in time to paint your belly with pearlescent threads.

He collapses on top of you, knocking the wind from your fragile body. You’re absolute jelly beneath him, crumbled into bits, and would never be the same. Let’s stay here forever, you want to tell him.

Din presses his face into the hollow of your neck, listening to the rapid pulse beneath flushed and thin skin. Then he kisses the blood flow beneath once, twice. “My gorgeous girl…”

Stay with me. Stay with me.

You wrap your arms - which have settled from the convulsions - around his neck and hug him tightly against you.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

#din djarin x reader #din x reader #strawberryfic #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din x y/n #din x you #mando x y/n #mando x you

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thexanwillshine · 3 years

Text

a;lskfjdk

Author: thexanwillshine (twitter, ao3) Pairings: Levi x Hange Cross-Postings: AO3 Notes: made for Day 2: Confessions of Levihan Week 2021

“But Levi,” Hange whines as she slumps her head on the back of her sofa and closes her eyes. “Kissing scenes are so tricky to write.”

Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s almost 5:30 in the morning. It could also be because he's tired from lack of sleep. Whatever the case, Levi Ackerman’s filter completely disappears when he asks, “Do you need a demonstration?”

Levi Ackerman can argue that every writer he’s met is always a little bit more eccentric than the average person, but no one proves his theory more than Hange Zoë.

Hange wakes him up in the middle of the night, voice screeching on the phone in her excitement. He responds groggily—as one does when their sleep is disturbed at an ungodly hour by an overly-excited author who acts as if they’ve just found out the answers to the universe—and tries to keep himself sober enough to understand what in the goddamn fuck Hange was talking about this time.

“Levaaiiii,” she says, drawling out his name in a manner that was both annoying and endearing, “I’ve figured it out!”

He can almost imagine the look on her face: starry-eyed in her joy, mouth stretched wide into a grin, fingers shaking as she bounces in glee, shifting her weight from the heels of her feet to the tips of her toes . . .

And Levi exhales in both relief and the tiniest hint of delight, because this is exactly how he wants Hange to be: happy .

Nevertheless, he replies “Figured what out?” snarkily.

Hange’s response comes out quickly, as if she needed to say everything that had to be said in the span of five seconds or less. “So you know how I’ve been trying to write a fiction novel because I wanted to get out of my comfort zone?”

Levi hums in acknowledgement as he fixes the covers over his legs before turning on his bedside lamp. He leans back on the bed frame and closes his eyes to listen to her ramble.

“So I was thinking, I wanted to write a romance novel, because you know how people fall in love and stuff?”

“No Hange, I’ve never heard of that concept in my entire life,” Levi says in a deadpan voice.

Hange laughs, because of course she would know that’s his pathetic attempt at lighthearted conversation. Levi is glad that she knows him better than most people, and it is this sense of familiarity that made him feel particularly comfortable when graced with her presence.

“Just because you’ve never fallen in love before doesn’t mean it’s not real, Levi!” Hange tells him in jest.

Wrong, Levi thinks.

“After all, you’ve probably never wanted to kiss someone your entire life!”

Wrong, Levi thinks.

“Sure, Hange.”

He rolls his eyes at her teasing, because yes, Levi has fallen in love—and maybe, just maybe, he’s still on the road to understanding what it meant to treasure someone far more than just a regular friend.

He shakes off such thoughts before maneuvering Hange back to the initial reason why she had called. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

“I finished,” she proclaims on the phone, her voice proud, “I finished writing the first ten chapters.”

Levi blinks in confusion before sitting straight up, the information processing in his mind that was still a bit drunk with sleep. “You what?” “I couldn’t stop writing,” Hange told him sheepishly, detecting the slightest hint of concern in her editor’s voice, “I’ve been writing for the past 24 or so hours. Maybe more.”

Levi grunts in annoyance, pulling the covers away from his body and jumping out of his unmade bed. He runs a hand through his dark locks, sighing. “Four-eyes, you need to get some sleep.”

“But Levi,” Hange says in protest, “I need you to read my draft. There are some parts I just don’t think are super natural.”

“And I was sleeping like a regular human being,” Levi retorted as he shrugged off his shorts. After that, he put on jeans that he had recently washed before patting down the shirt he was wearing in a pathetic attempt to get rid of the wrinkles that had accumulated while he tossed and turned in bed.

“Oh my gosh, Levi, I didn’t realize the time!” Hange replies, and he can almost feel her guilt starting to set in. “You should go back to sleep,” she immediately adds. “Take care of yourself!”

Levi slips on his rubber shoes and grabs his umbrella before answering. “Coming from you? Not that credible.”

Hange laughs light-heartedly, and his heart flutters just a tiny bit. Levi pushes the feeling away almost as quickly as it had come.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, almost dreading the reply.

There was none.

“Hange,” he calls, but there’s still no response. “Hange. Answer me,” he says firmly, prodding her on. “Have you eaten?”

The laughter that comes out from the other end is nervous. “Woops.”

Levi sighs. He opens his car door and slips inside smoothly, grabbing his keys from his pocket and starting the engine. “Hange, you’re supposed to eat.”

“Sorry,” she tells him honestly. “I really didn’t want to ruin my momentum. I can’t believe I forgot.” She mumbles her second sentence, sounding almost deep in thought. “I’ll go find food now! Want me to email you the working draft? You can look at it in the morning when you wake up.”

“No need,” Levi tells her, placing his phone on his dashboard and accelerating his car. “I’m on the way.”

“Levi!” Hange exclaimed excitedly as she heard her doorbell ring at around four in the morning.

She rushes to the door in delight, opening it to reveal Levi standing in front of her, a paper bag in his hand and a jacket half-heartedly slung over his shoulder.

“Hi,” he greets calmly, before walking inside and letting himself in.

Inwardly, Hange thanks whatever god is out there for her foresight. Her unit was relatively clean since she hadn’t really done anything since Levi’s last visit. The place seemed to pass Levi’s health protocols, since he sat on her couch and placed the paper bag on the table right across from him.

“Eat,” he tells her, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hange grins, before plopping down beside him and opening the paper bag. “What did you get me?”

“You’ll see.”

She raises an eyebrow at his ambiguity, before taking a glimpse inside the paper bag.

The smell of quesadillas immediately fills the room, and Hange lets out a soft squeal, taking out the food from the bag quickly.

“Oh my gosh,” Hange says as she nudges him on the shoulder. “You also got me onion rings! You know me too well, Levi.”

“Unfortunately,” Levi responds sarcastically, and Hange laughs almost automatically.

As Hange hums in glee, picking apart the paper wrapped around the food items, Levi maintains his silence. They stay like that as Hange eats. Every so often, she would comment about how the amount of cheese was perfect and how the onion rings just about melted in her mouth. Levi alternates between watching her eat and scrolls through his phone placidly.

Soon, he chooses to break the silence. “So where’s your draft?”

Hange is munching on her last piece of quesadilla when she glances in his direction. “Oh, it’s on my laptop! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you, this food was just so good.”

Levi stands up and heads on over to Hange’s room, gently pushing the door open and scanning the area for her laptop. On top of her unmade bed was a half open Macbook Pro, which he gently took before returning to his seat beside Hange.

Without hesitation, Levi opens the laptop and inputs the password. For some reason, Hange made it his birthday—1225—because she claimed that no one would guess such a random date. He is greeted with a blaring Google Docs document entitled “a;lskfjdk.”

“Nice title you got there,” he comments, and Hange chuckles.

“I didn’t want to think of a title yet, okay!” Hange pouts, and Levi nudges her foot gently in an attempt to comfort her from his own teasing.

He scans the document first before reading it. Hange is a good writer, but fiction is an entirely new genre for her. Immediately, he notices common habits from writing research papers leak into her new work: overexplaining, using words that are too formal for her target audience, sentences a little bit void from emotion.

He takes note of these comments on her notes app before going over her draft again, this time more meticulously than he had done previously. During this time, Hange finishes eating, wraps her trash and tosses them all inside the paper bag before standing up and dumping the entire thing inside her garbage bin.

“Levi,” she calls as she washes her hands through the sink faucet. Levi gives her the smallest hint that he’s listening by raising his eyebrow, but he doesn’t take his gaze away from her laptop. “I’m going to take a shower,” she announces, and he waves his hand dismissively.

Hange smiles to herself. Levi is always nagging her whenever she would accidentally hyperfixate on her writing, but he acts the same way when reading her works.

When Hange stepped inside the shower, Levi was already conducting a deep dive in her third chapter. The gears in his head slowly begin to turn as he begins to analyze her work.

The story revolved around the tales of the people who went to the clinic. The first chapter was a brief introduction on who the main characters were: There’s Janelle, a bright-eyed psychologist whose passion influenced the people around her. Together with El and Bea, her trusted assistants studying under her guidance, they would aid the people who went to the Hopiatria Clinic seeking care.

Meanwhile, the second chapter featured a child who felt as if she was being blamed for the death of her mother by her father. Her mother had died in a plane crash shortly after the young girl wished that her mom could go home on her sixth birthday. Janelle talks to the child gently while El and Bea provide emotional support, offering the child toys and biscuits whenever the need arises.

The third chapter was trickier, and it was there that Levi noticed a twist in Hange’s writing. The story revolved around a boy busy getting her doctorate, and a young girl who had been in love with him ever since they were in college. It’s the young girl who comes to Janelle’s office, and she relays the tale of her unrequited childhood romance to the psychologist.

The young girl is passionate, and wanted to take a step forward in order to guide her towards falling out of love with her best friend. Janelle presents two suggestions: (1) confession, while being fully-open to the possibility of rejection, and (2) accepting rejection without confession. The young girl decides to go with the first option, but to her surprise, the boy returns her feelings.

Everything seemed well-written up until the end of the chapter, where Hange had written,

And then they kissed.

Levi scrolled down the page, tilting his head to the side in slight confusion. That’s it? He thought, trying to find the rest.

Everything had been so well-described; from the girl’s internal turmoil—caused by her fear of destroying their friendship and the pain that came with unrequited love—to the boy confessing his own emotions for her.

The ending was anticlimactic, to say the least.

As he blinked at the google document in confusion, already typing out his comment on her notes app, Hange emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was loose on her shoulders, wet from her shower. Wrapped around her waist is his bathrobe, which she had borrowed from him long ago and never bothered to return it.

Levi scoffs as he glances in her direction. Here she was, parading with the cloth on and rubbing that specific fact in his face.

“Hey,” Hange greeted, smiling as she ran a hand through her brown locks, “How’s the reading going?”

“It was okay until the third chapter,” Levi says honestly, pointing the laptop screen in her direction. “The ending’s anticlimactic.”

Hange hummed, pursing her lips together. “Yeah. I didn’t really know how to end it,” she tells him as she opens her cabinet and grabs a few pieces of clothing. “Give me a bit, I’m going to change.”

She disappears into her room and Levi focuses on her story, trying to think of a way to spur Hange on and perhaps actively improve the ending’s writing.

Hange emerges in a loose t-shirt (which was, once again, his) and shorts. She sits down right beside him, leaning over his shoulder to glance at her laptop and read the specific line that particularly irked Levi.

“It’s that one, right?” Hange asks, pointing at the last sentence. “And then they kissed.”

“Yeah,” Levi responds, shaking his head. “Everything was so well-written up ‘till that point. You were able to describe the emotions perfectly, and the narration’s not that bad . . save for a few paragraphs that maybe should’ve stayed in your research papers.”

Hange chuckles. “Old habits die hard,” she responds, before taking her Macbook from his lap and transferring it to hers. “So what should I write?”

Levi shrugs. “I’m just your editor. You’re the writer.”

Hange pouts. “Yeah, but I don’t know how to make this better.”

“Maybe describe the scene more,” Levi suggests. “Everything ended so abruptly. Every emotion you’ve created and built disappeared in that one line.”

She nods in agreement. “But Levi,” Hange whines as she slumps her head on the back of her sofa and closes her eyes. “Kissing scenes are so tricky to write.”

Hange’s eyes shoot open immediately, and Levi’s face turns red just as quickly.

“F-Forget it,” he says, interrupting her just when he saw Hange open her mouth to speak. Any semblance of calm in his body disappears immediately, and his heart starts pounding against his chest in a rhythm that reminds him too much of a beating drum.

Hange, however, looks elated.

“You want to kiss me?” she tells him in excitement, blinking at him. “I’d like that. It could help me write this scene, you know.”

Levi looks away. “It was just a spur of the moment question.”

“So, you’re not going to kiss me?”

He actively avoids her gaze because he can already see from his peripheral vision that she looks sad, disappointed even. He grunts in response, closing his eyes and focusing his attention on a random spot on the wall.

“Oh,” Hange replies, “Well, I thought it was a good idea.”

Contrary to popular belief, Levi does want to kiss Hange. More than anything.

There were many reasons why: Because she looks so handsome and beautiful at the same time, and her very smile could light up any room she’d walk into. Because she says his name in the most endearing way. Because she understands his flaws. Because she has one of the kindest hearts he’s ever seen. Because she welcomes him with open arms, not a single thread of hesitation in her mind.

Most of all, it was simply because she was Hange.

He steals a glance in her direction, and she’s slightly fiddling with the hem of his shirt, her head downcast. Her sad expression tugs at hi

Levi thinks he’s already in this too deep, so he decides to speak.

“Did you want me to kiss you?”

From his periphery, he sees her look up at him so quickly he thought her neck would break. “What would you do if I said yes?”

He doesn’t dare turn his head in her direction when he replies quietly, “What do you think?”

“Would you kiss me?” Hange asks inquisitively, tilting her head to the side.

Levi’s heart skips a beat.

“Maybe,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper. “If you’d let me.”

Hange is silent for a moment, and Levi thinks this is it, I’m going to be rejected, but he feels a gentle finger touch his chin and turn his head in Hange’s direction.

He is met with her brown orbs, shining just a bit in what seemed like hidden glee. He cocks an eyebrow at her then, confused.

“I’m letting you,” Hange says, laughing. “Kiss me, I mean.” Her face is already slowly nearing his, and he can almost see the way her thick lashes brushed against her skin.

Slowly, Levi raises his head just a tiny bit and responds against her lips, “Okay.”

Hange smiles and closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck as he does the same around her waist. She tastes like the peppermint of her toothpaste, smells like his shampoo (which he had kept in her apartment since he always found himself staying over), and felt warm as her skin made contact with his. Hange's lips are gentle, slow, and a little shy—so different from how she usually is. Levi knows it’s because she doesn’t want to scare him off, so he makes the first move and nips at her lower lip, taking it between his teeth and sucking it gently.

She lets out a moan, and Levi takes this as a sign to continue. He slides his hand over her back, and she shudders and deepens the kiss at the same time. Her tongue meets his, and they battle for dominance. Hange’s hand sweeps over his undercut and pushes him towards him, and it is then that he lets out a sound that vaguely resembles pleasure.

After a few minutes, Hange whispers “Levi,” as her lips make contact with his. He hums in response, pulling his lips away from her and connecting his forehead with hers.

“Hange,” he says, breathless.

“Is this you telling me you like me?” Hange asks, closing her eyes.

He doesn’t form a reply through words, but he nods and closes his eyes as well.

“Great,” Hange tells him, pecking his lips with her own. “Because I like you too. Ever since I met you, I’ve liked you. Even though you were so rude to me on the first day of college.”

He chuckles silently in relief, pulling her closer to him before placing his chin on her shoulder. “Think you’ll be able to write the ending now that you know what a kiss feels like?”

Hange laughs, and it vibrates against his shoulder as she hugs him tighter. “It’s exhilarating. I probably wouldn’t be able to put into words how good I feel that you like me back.”

“Try,” Levi teases.

“Well . . . you know that alternative title I wrote for the fictional novel?”

Levi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “The keyboard smash?”

Hange nods. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I feel like right now.”

a;lskfjdk.

#levihan #levi x hange #levihanweek 2021 #LHW 2021 #LHWeek Day 2

134 notes · View notes

potter-imagines · 4 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet (Fred Weasley)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Notes: I will be having more posts coming soon, I’m sorry for the delay !!

Warning: Obviously, as assumed by the title, mature content. NSFW below.

Word Count: 3.9k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Fred is extremely sweet and caring when it comes to aftercare. He is the first to leave the bed, but only so he can grab a wet towel and clean you. While doing so, he’ll scatter kisses across your skin and along your inner thighs. In terms of cuddling, he is the one to initiate it and refuses to loosen his hold on you. His hands will run through your hair as he holds your head against his chest until you both fall asleep. To George and Lee, it’s more common to wake up and see you sleeping in Fred’s arms, then for them to wake up and see him alone. Fred loved having you spend the night and practically begged you to every night. It wasn’t for the sex- you spent a few months dating before physical affection was even introduced- he just constantly found himself thinking about you and missing you when you weren’t near.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Fred’s favorite body part on you is your neck and ass. During these intimate moments, his lips remain attached to the skin of your neck for the most part. Love bites will scatter the surface, small bruises forming on your neck but the sensation was addicting. Fred will drag his tongue along the marks as he admires his work. He loved fucking you from a position that will always allow him to have a grip on your ass. He prefers you laying flat on your stomach fully at his mercy. It takes Fred a little while to warm up to smack your butt but once he does and hears your aroused reaction, it becomes one of his favorite kinks.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

LOVES to cum on your body- literally anywhere as long as it’s on you. You guys aren’t really up for having him finish inside of you. As amazing as it sounds to the both of you, neither one of you are prepared for children so it’s too big of a risk. He’ll usually pull out right as he’s about to climax and cum on your ass or stomach. Don’t worry, he always helps clean you up. Every once in a while he’ll finish inside your mouth and this is by far his favorite. The warm sensation of your mouth is just too much for him to handle. Not to mention he loves seeing you swallow once he’s finished.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Fred’s dirty secret is that he’ll sneak into your dorm room every once in a while and steal something from your drawers. It’s usually a fancy lace thong or some sort of clothing you own. You typically don’t get to spend all of break together so he likes to brig something to remember you by when he’s busy touching himself. Yes, he has masturbated with your panties multiple times but this is something he will never admit to you and is dead set on taking to his grave. He likes to close his eyes and wrap your clothes/thong around his hand while he thinks back to the last time he saw you in it. This is usually enough to get him off within minutes.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

You are both each other’s first but Fred still had a bit of experience. He had reached second base a few times and had a decent grip on what was to come next, but you were the first girl he decided to go all the way with. You knew he had a girlfriend before the two of you got together so you assumed he had already had sex before.

The two of you tip toed the line for weeks on end before you eventually pushed for the next step. While you guys were making out on his bed one night, you’d run your hand across the zipper on his slacks which caused Fred to nearly leap off the mattress. He’d be extremely nervous, which is an odd sight on Fred. It would be in this moment he’d admit to you that he was a virgin. He’s typically confident and a bit arrogant so you were surprised to know he had yet to have sex. Although, it came as a relief in a way. It would make the both of you feel more comfortable knowing there would be no judgement or room for comparison.

Fred would take the lead for the most part your first time. Probably missionary, just so he can have the chance to take all of you in. Plus it gives him a breathtaking view of you. He’d be a bit fidgety and nervous the first time. But don’t doubt Fred- this man is a quick learner and his cocky nature redeems itself the next night.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Fred is a sucker for doggy style and cowgirl style with you facing him. With doggy style, Fred can’t get enough of the view. He can see your perfect face moaning into the bedsheet, and your ass smacking against his hips. He wouldn’t last long fucking you this way. He’d finish hard with a breathy grunt on your back, his cum dripping on your skin. When you were on top, Fred still demanded control. He’d lift his hip so he was still the one fucking you. Your knees would press together at the overwhelming feeling bubbling in your stomach. He loved when you sat fully on his dick and would grin. This was the few times he’d allow you to make the moves. He knew you got yourself off grinding on his dick so he didn’t stop it. Besides the feeling of you cumming on him was far too good to deny. Sometimes he’d force your knees apart so he could have full access. Fred would pin your feet and his sides and thrust up into you until he pulled out and finished on himself.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Fred most certainly has his moments during these personal, intimate moments. Sometimes he’d accidentally let a random thought slip out like, “You smell like strawberry cake from dinner… it smells really good, love. Did you have some?” You’d just stare up at him in confusion before the both of you started laughing at his random remark. It was sure a mode killer for the seriousness of the situation, but this would lead to the sex with Fred that left you giggiling and smiling the entire time, which wasn’t a terrible alternative at all.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I’d like to think Fred Weasley is a groomed man. Hygiene is important to Fred. He doesn’t like feeling stinky or gross in bed, especially when you always smell like lavender and strawberry, and this goes for his hair down there too.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Honestly, it totally depends on the vibe. It’s never just fucking- there’s always love invovled. But some nights are more intimate than others. Like when you’re sad and Fred takes his time kissing every inch of your body and making you feel like a princess. In these intimate moments, Fred will press his forehead against yours as he thrusts into you sweetly. He’ll hold your hand while his head is buried between your thighs. No matter your position, Fred always finds a way to snake one arm around your frame. He loves to hold you during these sweet moments.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Since the two of you began getting intimate, Fred hasn’t had a need to masturbate as much. Of course during break when the two of you are separate for long periods of time, he can’t help but jerk off to the thought of you. He’ll usually do this late at night when everyone is asleep or in the shower. He has a handful of photos in his bedside table of you. Most are innocent, happy photos. Two, on the other hand, are very much R-rate images. It’s a little secret kept between the two of you. The thought of Fred masturbating to you when you were apart during the summer really didn’t bother you much. You’d rather have him touching himself to the image of you rather than some random girl.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Fred Weasley is a man of many kinks, and many unexplored ones as well. He has a lot of little kinks, like light choking, back scratches, hickies, hair pulling, strip tease, high sex, drunk sex, etc. The more, larger kink of Fred’s would be light humiliation. Nothing major, just dirty talk between the two of you. This includes teasing, orgasm denial, and Fred being in full control, and you listening to every command he gives you. He loves being the dominant one. In these demands, he never takes anything over the line. They’re all sexual acts he has gotten approval from you for as to never make you uncomfortable. I think Fred would develop a daddy kink later in your relationship, a while after Hogwarts. Like when the two of you are living together in his apartment and he’s a successful businessman; yes, he will have a daddy kink.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

When the two of you are still at Hogwarts, your go to spot is Fred’s dorm. It is the safest, easiest option and holds the least risk. When you are feeling adventurous, you’ve found your favorite spot is behind the Shrieking Shack. Fred scouted the location out on one of your many trips to Hogsmeade and you found it was perfect. You were free to be as loud as you pleased. Students who did pass by and heard the screams would scurry away blaming it on the ‘ghosts’.

When you were out of school, the two of you found that you quite enjoyed having Fred fuck you over the counter of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Mornings were a bit risky so you usually found after closing hours to be the best time. Fred would shove you into the wooden counter and turn you around so you were facing the door. With ease his hands unbuckled your jeans and he basically ripped them off, shoving you forward once again so your chest was flat against the wood. Without warning he’d start pounding into you mercilessly, the sound of your hips constantly slapping against the surface. The sound became a warning noise to George that screamed at him not to come downstairs.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

One way to really get Fred going is to play a little innocent game of flirting. Ron and Harry were typically your go to victims. If Fred was busy with friends or not paying attention to you, you knew giving your attention away to a different boy would certainly gain his.

You’d saunter over to the two younger boys and squish between them on the couch, placing one hand on each of their knees. They’d immediately freeze, a bashful blush painting both their cheeks. You’d bat your eyes and squeeze on their legs as you chatted away, waiting patiently for Fred to notice. It would take three minutes top before Fred is standing in front of you interjecting himself into the conversation by dragging you off the couch and up the stairs to his dorm room. Your plan always worked but it came at a large cost. A, not able to walk straight for a week, cost.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

One thing Fred is strongly against is harm or excessive force. You’ve verbally expressed to him that you enjoy when he chokes you but Fred is extremely cautious never to take it too far. He refuses to ever lay a hand on you anywhere but your ass. Slapping you is def something he is not comfortable with. He just doesn’t like feeling as if he’s hurt you- it’s not exactly a turn on to him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Both. He is basically a god when it comes to giving oral. Fred never leaves you disappointed in this department. He’ll go down on you for twenty minutes at minimum. Although he’s the one pleasuring you, he finds pleasure in the taste of you on his tongue and your body moving at his touch. He’s pretty skilled and will switch between delicately eating your pussy, to roughly fingering you as his mouth sucks on your clit. His hands are either laced with yours, or pinning your hips down to the mattress. It’s unpredictable with him. The only certainty is, he won’t stop until you’ve finished and with Fred, there is no need for faking anything.

When it comes to you giving Fred oral, he’s never once asked. He feels it’s more of a present and never wants to feel like he’s forcing you. When you do go down on him, it’s absolute heaven. Fred only lasts five minutes or so in the warmth of your mouth. He can’t help but lift his hips into your embrace, eager for more. It drives him crazy when you flick your wet tongue against the tip of his cock. Or when you press your tongue against his tip then slowly drag it down to the end of his shaft, leaving a wet trail. Like he will cum in seconds.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This totally depends. Fred likes to jump between, all in the same night. His time is pretty consistent at thirty minutes, but the pace is spontaneous. One thing Fred lovesss to do is make you squirm and hold control over you. When he can tell you’re about to unravel and orgasm, he’ll abruptly halt his speed and just rock his hips slowly. It was beyond frustrating but the climax was worth it. He also likes to catch you off guard by starting fast and sloppy right off the bat. It’s such a turn on to him when you beg him to go faster and he always grants this wish.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Eh, Fred isn’t huge on quickes. To him, making love to you is still making love, but he would much rather take his time and go at his own pace. Quickes happen about three times a week, maybe four. Some weeks are busier than others, and it can be difficult to spend quality time with Fred during the Quidditch season. When Fred is busy with practice, school, and matches, quickes seem to be the only love making that can fit into his schedule. You two still find time for each other but it’s not always spent fucking.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

In terms of risk, Fred is always up for the thrill of getting caught. Trying new things is his speciality and he loves exploring new sex adventures. The riskiest the two of you have gotten was either in the Gryffindor Common Room on the main sofa, or on the kitchen floor at the Burrow during summer break. Probably in the common room seeing as that was the only time the two of you had gotten caught in public. Of course George and Lee had walked into multiple questionable scenes, you two had only been caught once outside of the bedroom. During your final year at Hogwarts, Fred and George had made the decision to leave early to pursue their dreams of opening their own joke shop. Your boyfriend spent months begging you to leave with them and move into their apartment, but you sweetly refused each time. You promised him that once you finished at Hogwarts you’d move in with him and help the twins with their shop, which he eventually stubbornly agreed to. About a week before Fred and George were planning to ditch Hogwarts, Fred and you ended up making out on the couch in the common room. It was a late Sunday night and most students were asleep so you two figured you could fit a quick love session in. The kissing led to clothes coming off which eventually led to Fred positioned overtop of you and adjusting himself at your entrance. Once he found his way, Fred’s hips began pushing deeply inside of you. Your eyes fell back as a sultry moan escaped your lips. Fred kissed you sloppily in order to mask the sound of him fucking you. Not even five minutes in, George came walking down the steps casually in search of his twin.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Fred can go as long as it takes to make sure you’re fully satisfied. It’s usually like 2-3 rounds on average, but he is never against more. Nothing is ever too fast with Fred, he likes to take his time fucking you. Every once in a while you’ll have a quickie before a Quidditch match or during breakfast. These would usually last five-ten minutes top. It’s enough to keep him settled for a class or two but the second he laid eyes on you walking into his last class, he knew he needed more. Five minutes just wasn’t enough to fully admire your body. Fred would rather have longer rounds where he can make sure he’s made you cum as well. He’ll typically spend thirty-fourty minutes fucking you hard, then an hour or so cuddling you before repeating the cycle.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

While you guys are still at Hogwarts, owning sex toys was nearly impossible and just down right embarrassing to get caught with. Being exposed in front of all your classmates and professors was the last thing either of you wanted. Fred of course would get over it within hours but you knew you’d never live down the awkward shame. Once the you graduated and moved in with the twins above their shop, sex toys were introduced here and there. Fred found more gratification in pleasuring you with his hands, mouth, or dick, so he often neglected the use of toys in the bedroom. If it was something you wanted to try, he was more than willing to participate.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Fred Weasley is the biggest tease you’ll ever meet. He can help himself, it’s in his nature. Especially if you turn him on in public. Wearing any type of skirt, or clothing of his, in public will surely get you in trouble with Fred. He’ll sit beside you in the Great Hall and slowly slide his hand up your thigh. He wouldn’t stop until his fingertips were grazing the material of your underwear. Soon enough his fingers would dig under the barrier and begin rubbing small circles around your clit. He’d have you on edge for most of dinner, trying his best to keep the attention of your friends off the two of you. After sometime of playing with your folds, his lanky fingers would trace your outer lip, then two of them quickly dove into your tight hole. The pace was fast right off the bat making your body squirm in surprise. His eyes never even glanced at your but you knew he was fully paying attention to you, and only you. A small moan would pour from your lips when the pleasure grew to be too much. Every once in a while he’d send you a dangerous glare, silently warning you to be quiet. At the sound of your moans growing more careless, he’ll begin taunting you by slowing the speed of his fingers and leaning closely whispering,

“I know you want to cum, angel, I can feel your legs shaking. But you’re gonna have to wait, I’m not done with you yet.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

When Fred is drunk, you’re pretty sure ever the Slytherin students in the dungeons could hear his grunts and groans. He’s extremely verbal while intoxicated and doesn’t give a shit if anyone hears him. He doesn’t care- he wants everyone to know how fucking amazing you are and that you’re all his. When he’s sober, Fred usually gets vocal when he orgasms or when you’re giving him head. He gets especially loud when it’s just the two of you alone. If George and Lee are sleeping, he’ll groan and whisper dirty words in your ear. He really doesn’t want them waking up and catching the two of you- but it wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

During your summer break before your final year at Hogwarts, you spent two months with the Weasley’s. Fred was over the moon to have you. Molly had a bed made in Ginny’s room for you so it was set that sleeping together in his bed would be impossible. Instead, Fred and you spent most of the summer sneaking around finding new spots in the home, and in the grassy land outside to make love. You shared a handful of sweet, delicate moments that summer. Fred made love to you softly in a field about a mile out from his house. He brought a blanket and set a picnic before the two of you began having sex. He pushed the food aside and pulled you down on the blanket so he could sneak in between your knees. Unexpectedly, his wet tongue pressed against the folds of your pussy as he started to fuck you with his tongue. He carried out eating you passionately for another ten minutes then gently took his time making love to you and watching you orgasm under his touch.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Let’s just say, you are very impressed with Fred’s size. You expected him to be on the larger side due to his height, but he’s got width too. You have yet to be able to fit his cock fully in your mouth, but it’s something you’re working on, and something Fred is very pleased with.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Fred Weasley is one horny bastard. He is willing and ready to fuck you whenever, and wherever. Wanting a quickie before class? Fred knows the perfect broom closet! Need some unwinding before bed? Fred is more than willing to drop to his knees and eat you out- something he had done multiple times in the Gryffindor common room after hours. You returned the favor frequently much to Fred’s approval. Whether this was a quick bj behind a tree by the Black Lake, or a handjob under the table during class, you always found a way to blow his mind… and well, other things.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It typically takes at least two rounds to wear this boy out. Fred runs purely on adrenaline and when he fucks you, this is at a high. Although after cumming twice in a short amount of time, he’ll usually pass out with his arms latched around you within minutes. When Fred falls asleep, he is knocked out. It literally takes yanking him off the bed to wake him.

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

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Prompt # 19: Addiction

@sicktember Alternate prompt #4: Stay

Title: Unexpected Developments Part 2

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Find Part 1 under prompt # 8. Mr. Darcy is sick in bed and miserable. Elizabeth is trying to look after him, but his bad mood gets the better of him and tempers flare. Will sweetness or stubbornness win out in the end?

Elizabeth Bennett was the only guest at Netherfield who wasn't in bed with a cold. The virus Jane had caught riding to attend luncheon with Caroline had spread around the whole house, but it seemed Eliza was immune. Mr. Darcy had been the last to fall ill, and Lizzie had discovered him sneezing in a corner over a day ago while she remained perfectly healthy. It was fortunate she had discovered him though, for the servants were rushing hither and yon at the beck and call of their ill master and his sister, and poor Mr. Darcy would have been overlooked completely if Lizzie hadn't taken him under her care.

Lizzie, for her part, was glad Jane's cold was much improved from the days prior. Since Jane needed little tending now, she had given Lizzie her blessing to give most of her attention to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, for his part, was very accustomed to having a houseful of servants to do his bidding, and was little accustomed to being ill, strong and virile as he was. Because of these things, he was not the easiest patient, though he truly tried to make an effort to curb his frustration and not take his misery out on Elizabeth. Her lack of symptoms clearly perturbed him, however.

"How is it you are still in perfect health while I and everyone else are laid up with this beastly chest cold?" he griped that afternoon while Lizzie fussed around, tidying up dishes and rags from his bedside. If Lizzie wasn't accustomed to his voice by now, she would have had trouble understanding him, for his nose was stopped tight with congestion, and his voice raw and weak from coughing, rendering him nigh unintelligible.

She giggled to herself. "Well you see, I believe I've already had this cold, for in the week prior to Jane's arrival here, my father, some of my other sisters and myself caught cold. We were envious of Jane's good luck in not falling ill at the time, but it seems it caught up with her in the end."

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy muttered sourly with a slushy sniffle.

"Oh don't be cross. It isn't so terrible lounging in bed all day, being waited on hand and foot is it?"

"Yet when I find myself miserable in body, I find my mood tends to follow," he groused.

"Hmm." Elizabeth moved to his side, caressing his flushed face gently with the pad of her thumb. "It's just as I thought. You're only irritable like this when your fever is up, and indeed you are overwarm again. Jane's fever wasn't nearly so persistent."

"How fortunate for me," he mumbled to himself. Elizabeth tried to ignore his bad temper as she fetched her basin and rag. She wasn't fond of sarcasm, and his attitude was irking her more than she cared to let on. Tenderly as ever though, she began bathing his face and neck to try to bring down his miserable fever.

The cold water on his face made him gasp slightly, which became a cough, and the coughing only seemed to agitate him more. He usually enjoyed his face being bathed, but today he drew away from the rag.

“Perhaps we should try another method for treating fever, since this does not seem to be effective,” said the sick man. His speech was curt and tense with foul temper.

Elizabeth gave him a long look, trying to keep her own temper under control. “What would you suggest, sir? We have tried willow bark, which made you feel more ill, and you will not have any other poultices,” she said in a measured, warning way.

“There must be something we haven't done yet. I would do anything to rid myself of this beastly cold, that came from *your* sister, I might add! You just said you already had this cold. Think of something else to try!”

Elizabeth flew to her feet, tossing down the rag. “Perhaps you should go plunge yourself into an ice bath! That will surely help the fever, and I’m sure it will do wonders for your coughing and sneezing as well! But you can draw it yourself, and you can see to your own meals and entertainment too. You clearly feel my efforts are inadequate, so you can tend to yourself from now on. I am through with smoothing your insufferable pride and being a target for your bad mood. Good day, sir!”

With a whirl of skirts, she was out the door without a glance behind her. Elizabeth went straight to her room and lay down in the cool and quiet, for she was exhausted and careworn from nursing for a week straight. She fell asleep immediately and didn’t wake for several hours.

She felt much refreshed when she did finally emerge. She first went to look in on Jane, who was overall back to normal, but was getting bored sitting around and eager to go home. On questioning the staff, they learned that Caroline had mostly recovered as well. Mr. Bingley was recovering slower, but getting better all the time. The sisters wished him a speedy recovery by way of the servants, for as soon as he was recovered, they would be able to return home.

After visiting with Jane for some time, Elizabeth desired to find a quiet corner and read. To her chagrin, she realized she had left her book in Mr. Darcy’s room. She did not relish seeing him again so soon after they parted so badly, but she had no choice if she wanted her book back. With a sigh, she made her way to his room with hesitant steps. She knocked softly before entering, which felt odd since she had been coming and going freely for two days prior. His hoarse, weak voice bid her come in.

He was in quite a different state than he had been a few hours before. Where he had previously been fitful and agitated, now he seemed weak and lethargic. Even in the dim light she could see how sweat-matted his hair was, and the dark ring on his pillow. He lifted his head up to see who had entered, and his sleepy eyes flickered with confusion upon seeing her.

“I only came to get my book. I apologize for disturbing you,” she said stiffly, hardly looking at him. She snatched up the volume from the table where it lay and turned to go back out, intending to say nothing else.

“Wait.”

She paused, and turned slightly, her good breeding winning over. “Yes?”

He sat up a bit straighter, coughing weakly as he did so. “I am deeply sorry for how I behaved earlier. My treatment of you was inexcusable after all you’ve done for me these past days--” Here he had to pause to press his handkerchief to his dripping nose before he could continue. Elizabeth waited silently. “I was a beast and feel very much like a fool. Please forgive me,” he managed, mumbling through the damp fabric. His eyes shone earnestly above the hand holding the linen in place.

Her face softened. “I accept your apology, and thank you for it. No one acts quite themself when they’re ill, so I gladly forgive you. I’m sorry too for my part in all of it.”

They shared a tiny smile as he tended to his nose with a thick, gurgling blow, and she knew she was forgiven also. Immediately the tension between them was cleared.

Now that they had made up though, she was reluctant to leave him alone again, for he looked so weak and forlorn and in need of care. However, she was a woman of her word. She spoke as she moved to the door, putting her hand on the knob. “You must rest, Mr. Darcy, so I'll leave you be. I truly apologize for waking you.”

“Miss Elizabeth?”

Once more she turned to meet his eyes.

He held out a shaking hand. “Please… stay.”

She slowly returned to his side. “For what purpose, sir?”

“I… I desire your company… and your aid. You are… a far better caregiver than I, and I was a fool to imply otherwise. It… it won't happen again,” he croaked thickly.

Seeing the effort he was making to be overly polite softened Eliza's heart further. She let him take her hand in his warm grasp, a smile playing around her lips. “If you insist. I will stay.”

He smiled also as he drew her hand toward himself. "Here, let me show you something," he snuffled. He placed her wrist against his neck, just as she had done many times over the past few days. He sighed softly as their skin made contact.

“Your fever has broken,” she murmured happily. “You are cool at last.”

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?” she asked, withdrawing her hand. “Did you plunge yourself into an ice bath after all?”

He stifled a cough before he could speak. “I… tried willow bark again, as you recommended. I felt worse… at first, but I fell asleep to ease the symptoms. When I woke, the fever had left me, and I felt… much clearer in mind. The fever was causing my foul mood, as you insightfully noted.” Yet another long speech, and now his voice was barely audible as he sniffled furiously and trembled with fatigue.

“Yet you seem somewhat worse for wear, for you’re completely exhausted, poor man.”

“This illness has left me weary to my bones, it is true. Yet I could not have slept soundly tonight knowing I had offended you. It would be an understatement to say I was very glad when you returned, though I did not expect or deserve a second chance.” His eyes were getting heavier by the moment, and he yawned almost before he finished speaking, reclining back against his pillows once more.

Elizabeth brushed the sweaty curls from his forehead as his eyes drifted closed, then let her hand rest on his cheek for a moment, reassuring herself that his fever was truly gone. He lazily covered her hand with his, a content smile flickering across his face.

She couldn’t help but smile in response, though he couldn’t see it. “Take some rest, Mr. Darcy. All is forgiven, and I will be here when you wake.” She gently tried to pull her hand away from his face. He quickly interlaced his fingers with hers to prevent this.

“You’ll truly stay?” he murmured sleepily, sniffling.

Leaving her hand on his cheek, she perched on the edge of his bed, so close their hips were almost touching. She saw him smile again as she did so.

“Of course I will,” she murmured back, her eyes never leaving his face as he peacefully drifted to sleep.

#sickfic #sicktember2021 #alt prompt 4 #everyone is hotter with a fever

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valuedabovehoardedgold · 3 years

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😏

The windows rattle, wind lashing at their frames as rain sluices down the glass panes in heavy sheets. It's bitterly cold, the chill of the midnight storm barely beaten back by the glowing hearth.

Situated directly across from the window in the hopes heat will spread effectively, the embers spit and sputter, flaming eyes slicing through shade and shadows.

You tucked away in bed with a book hours ago when the clouds first rolled down the mountains, knowing with the keen instinct borne from a life lived dealing with inclement weather, that the storm would settle over your small town like a plague.

Unrepentant, unrelenting, unyielding.

It wouldn't let up for hours, if not days. And what better way to spend the foreseeable future if not by firelight, bundled warm and cozy with a book as the elements unleashed their rage. A far better alternative than staring at the wall and listening to the wind's howls, to be sure.

With a low hum, you place the bookmark and close the cover. Your tired eyes, strained and drooping with every dry click, trace over the inlaid title and your fingers stroke over the worn spine. You've read it back to front millions of times, the story springing to life before your mind's eye in new ways with every iteration.

There's always something new waiting for you in those yellowed pages, and isn't that simply fascinating? It's your most treasured possession for this reason, and perhaps for another...

Karl'd given it to you before he'd gone missing.

The bramble of his hair, a golden halo glinting in the midday sun, his eyes - smoldering with anger and some soft, unnamable thing, his tugging up at the corners when he bares his teeth, and shoves it into your hands with a barked, "Just - Just take the damn book already."

A palm soothes over the gut-wrenching ache digging into the hollow of your chest. It hasn't gotten any easier thinking about him, and yet - you can't not. When they find him, you'll have so many things to share.

You can tell him all about your favourite character, the plot holes that drive you crazy, and how you think of the first and only time you kissed every time you hold it's comforting weight in your hands.

And if - if they don't find him...well, he deserves to be remembered. "Oh, Karl," you sigh, placing the novel on your bedside table with an affectionate pat. "I hope you come home soon..."

It's as you're hovering between sleep and wakefulness that some dreamy fear takes hold. Swift, sudden, all consuming as it grips you tight and refuses to let go.

Your heart gallops in your chest, a wild, unbridled creature. Blood rushes to your head, adrenaline flooding your veins as your stomach twists and your eyes snap open.

The shadows cast along the floor stretch thick and heavy over your bed, spindly fingers smothering the light of the dying fire with every popping sizzle. Everything is as it should be, the room unchanged in every way and yet...

You swallow around the lump in your throat, your tongue sticking like molasses to the roof of your mouth. Fingers clutch so tightly at the blankets, they begin to cramp as wild eyes, wide and swimming with terror, scan your surroundings for any discrepancies.

It seems silly, but you know.

"He - Hello?"

You're not alone; the prickle of all your hair standing on edge, the skittish instinct of a prey animal imbedding itself into every inch of your body. Something is here with you, lurking in the dark. Watching, waiting.

"I know," you say, cursing the fact that your voice trembles with every syllable, "I know you're there..."

A low rumbling starts up from the corner of your room, the blacker than black form of some hulking creature masked by shadow the only confirmation that it's not all in your head.

"If you come any closer, I'll...I'll...I'll scream! I swear I will."

The momentary crack of thunder, whip lightening following in its wake, proves detrimental. A second of distraction is all it takes for the unknown entity to spring into action.

It darts for your bed faster than you can blind, and slams a broad palm over your lips to smother the scream building in your throat. You whine, thrash, try to get your teeth into the meat of its thumb.

The intruder hisses, nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks as they squeeze your jaw so hard it aches. "Shut the fuck up already."

Everything in your freezes at that low baritone, the frustration threaded through every harsh word. The panic leeches from you, leaving you suddenly exhausted as your body slumps in disbelief. Air rushes from your lungs, puffing over the back of his hand.

The shaft of moonlight breaking through a gap in the clouds already confirms what you know to be true. Now that you're not blinded by raw fear, your assailant becomes heartbreakingly familiar. The rough glide of his fingers, the heat pouring off his body, the scent of mountain soil and sweat heavy in your nose.

Karl's eyes - they burn through you from beneath his heavy brow with mutinous hellfire. Anger and malice and lust pulling you in, searing you to the bone with their intensity. There are several scars gouged across the once smooth planes of his face.

Gone is your soft, albeit rough around the edges friend and in his place stands something new, something better left asleep. He's so familiar and so different in equal turn. The sense of loss cripples you, tears welling into the corners of your eyes. Your trembling fingers ghost over the thick, white tissue bisecting his features.

Who?

Once he's assured of your silence, the grip clamping your mouth shut slackens. His fingers linger on the slope of your cheek, the pads rough with grit. The scent of iron clings to him like a second skin, stinging your nose.

"Karl, I - what happened to you?"

The smirk he shoots you offers no comfort. A cold, cruel twitch of the lips that sends a thrill down your spine. Dread the likes of which you've never known unfurls in your chest, blackened tendrils sinking bone deep until you quiver under his assessing gaze.

He's never looked at you like that before...so covetous. Famished. And you suddenly feel altogether underdressed, naked and vulnerable before him in your lace gown. The unease in his presence is new, unwanted and unwelcome.

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes, striking out at the first sign of retreat like a bloodhound. His grip is an iron band around your wrist. "None of that now."

"Let - let me go."

"So cute...Should've done this a long time ago."

You jerk your wrist to no avail, the panic returning double. Your breath rattles from your lungs in ragged pants, your lips slack, your eyes wide and watering. The scent of fear floods the room, so thick you can taste it on your tongue.

"Karl!"

"Shh, you'll be fine. Now it's time to open up my coming home present."

ROOD ASS, WHAT THE FUCK HOW DARE, YOU GIVE ME BOTH ANGST AND HORNY???? MADAM WATCH YOURSELF!

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x female reader #I HAVE BEEN ATTACKED #WHOMST THE FUCK #submission

82 notes · View notes

lumosandnoxwriting · 3 years

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Navigating Fatherhood - Fred Weasley

Title: Navigating Fatherhood Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Summary: Fred knew being a dad would be an adjustment, but he never imagined it would be this hard. Early mornings, tantrums and meltdowns are all new territory for him, and each time something goes wrong he can’t help but feel like a failure. Complete and utter exhaustion seems to be his new normal, and he can’t seem to keep up with his kids’ ever changing moods. Luckily for him he’s got the best co-parent in the world who knows just how to make him feel better. And it helps that the good parts of being a dad certainly outweigh the bad ones. A/N: first part of the dad!fred mini-series!! I really wanted to showcase some of the more difficult times I think Fred would experience as a first-time dad to small children, but also make sure to show some of the more tender parts as well! Feedback is always appreciated!! Tags: @feltondarling @pandaxnienke @raerae27 @thefifthweasley

Series Masterlist Based on Honey, Flowers and Pinky Promises

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“Oof,” Fred groans as a little elbow digs into his thigh. One of his eyes slowly opens and he can’t help but smile when he sees Phoenix looking up at him sheepishly.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Phoenix whispers as to not wake up Y/N.

Fred yawns and sits up a little. The room is still dark, so he figures it’s only a little past midnight. “That’s alright, little man. Come here.” Fred opens his arms up, melting as Phoenix crawls up the bed and onto his chest. He wraps his arms around the little boy in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “What’s wrong, Phoenix? Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Because I’m done sleeping,” Phoenix answers, looking up at Fred.

Fred chuckles and brings a hand up to stroke his son’s fiery red hair. He’s only been in Phoenix’s life for a few days and Fred can’t believe how much he already loves him. Every time he thinks his heart can’t fill with more love, all he has to do is look at Phoenix or his sister and it swells ten times bigger.

“What do you mean you’re done sleeping?” Fred asks, his tone light. “It’s only,” Fred pauses to look at the clock on the bedside table, and he has to do a double take to make sure he’s seeing it correctly. “It’s 5 am?” Fred is still exhausted, as if his head had just barely hit the pillow before Phoenix crawled into bed with him and Y/N.

The door to their bedroom creaks as it slowly opens then, and a moment later Fred can see Electra’s head poking through the opening. She smiles when Fred’s eyes meet hers, and she runs into the room to launch herself up onto the bed. Electra crawls up towards where Fred and Phoenix are, pushing her hair out of her eyes and Fred lifts one of his arms up so she can burrow into his chest as well.

“Good morning, Daddy!” she greets happily before turning to her brother. “Mornin’ stinky.”

“Good morning to you too butt face,” Phoenix greets, sticking his tongue out at her.

“It’s wonderful to see you Angel but what are you two doing awake?” Fred asks, causing both kids to look up at him. “The suns not even awake yet.”

Electra gives Fred a look, and he can’t help but chuckle at how confused she looks. “What do you mean? We always wake up before the sun! The we get to say good morning to it when it finally wakes up too!” Phoenix nods along in agreement.

Fred raises his eyebrows. The last time he’d been awake at 5 am was because he didn’t go to bed until 6 am. “You guys get up this early every day?”

Y/N laughs then, causing Fred to look over at her. She rolls over to face Fred, a bemused smile on her face. “Every single one,” she answers, stretching out her limbs. “Good morning my monkeys.”

“Good morning Mummy!” Electra greets happily, crawling off of Fred so Y/N can cuddle her into her chest.

Fred reaches down to stroke Y/N’s cheek, a soft smile appearing on his face when she turns her head to press a kiss to the palm of his hand. “Mornin’ love. Hope we didn’t wake you up.”

Y/N shakes her head with a chuckle, reaching out to ruffle Phoenix’s hair. “Don’t worry about it, Freddie. I’m so used to waking up this early my body just kinda does it on its own these days.”

“Really?” Fred asks in disbelief. But he can tell that Y/N is being truthful with him just by her appearance. Her eyes are already bright, not an ounce of sleep still clinging to them and her voice is clear. Fred can still feel the heaviness of exhaustion in his eyes and his voice is still deep and grumbly. “I feel like I barely slept.”

Y/N gives him a small smile. “It’s okay, Freddie. You’re still getting used to all this.” She sits up then, and both kids look over at her. “Come on then, monkeys. Let’s head downstairs while your Dad gets some more rest before he has to go to work.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Fred insists. He’s already missed out on so much of their lives, and just a few nights ago he’d promised Y/N, Electra, Phoenix and himself that from that moment on they were going to be a family, and it’s a promise he intends on keeping. “Let’s go do some coloring, you guys can make me some pretty pictures to hang up in my office.”

Fred clutches Phoenix to his chest as he stands up and settles him on his hip. Electra abandons Y/N and runs at Fred, jumping into his outstretched arm. He starts to head downstairs then, both twins giggling as Fred tickles their sides.

By the time Fred actually has to start getting ready to leave for the joke shop he feels like a zombie. Coloring only kept Electra and Phoenix occupied for so long, and Fred has spent the last hour and a half alternating between chasing them around the living room and tossing them up in the air and catching them. Thankfully they got distracted in a game of hide and seek and Fred was able to sneak upstairs.

“Blimey. What have I gotten myself into?” he muses with a shake of his head as he starts to head over to where his suit is hanging up. This is the first time that Fred has spent the night, and while Y/N did warn him that the twins can be a bit much in the morning, a 5 am wakeup call was not what he was expecting. He gets dressed slowly, already plotting how to sneak upstairs to his bedroom for a midday nap without George noticing. Today is their long day at the shop, they’ll both be there early to restock, and Fred is sure he’ll never make it to closing time without at least one nap.

Fred has just started to do up his tie when the bedroom door swings open and Electra barges in.

“Found you!” she shouts, looking around the room. When all she finds is Fred, her smile turns into a pout. “Oh, sorry Daddy. I thought Phoenix was hiding in here.”

“It’s alright, Angel,” he assures her with a chuckle. He sits down on the end of the bed to pull his shoes on, watching as Electra climbs up to sit down next to him.

Electra reaches out to grab Fred’s tie, her eyes focused on the blinking pin in the shape of the shop’s logo on it. “Woah,” she sighs, sounding completely mesmerized. “That’s so cool!” When she looks up at Fred her eyes are wide, and he can’t help but laugh.

“You think so?” When Electra nods wildly Fred leans down to kiss the top of her head. “I’ll get you one, then, Angel. Then you can match with Daddy.”

“Wicked cool,” Electra announces. She watches Fred tie his shoes for a moment, a frown on her face. “Why are you getting all dressed up?”

“I’ve gotta go to work, Angel,” Fred explains. He kisses her on the top of the head one more time before heading to the dresser so he can fix his hair in the mirror.

“Work? What do you mean you have to go to work?” Electra asks, her disappointment evident in her tone. “Mummy works from home, why can’t you?”

When Fred turns around his heart breaks in his chest. Fat tears are rolling down Electra’s rosy cheeks and her lower lip is wobbling. “Oh Angel,” Fred coos, reaching out to her. Fred picks her up and holds her against his chest, one of his hands rubbing her back to try and calm her.

Electra presses her face into Fred’s neck as she sobs, her breath coming out in sharp pants. “I don’t want you to go!” she wails.

“Shh. It’s okay, baby,” Fred soothes, starting to gently sway her back and forth. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay? And I’ll have a pin just like mine for you to wear. And we’ll play together, and I’ll tuck you into bed and read you a bedtime story.” He pauses to press a few kisses to her forehead. “Does that sound good?”

Electra’s sobs start to quiet down and she pulls away to look at Fred. “I guess,” the little girl sniffles. “Will you be here tomorrow when I wake up?”

“Of course, Angel,” Fred promises with a smile. “I’ll be here every day when you wake up no matter how early it is.”

Electra holds her pinky out and Fred immediately hooks his around it, squeezing tightly.

After a few days of waking up early with the kids and going to bed late after finishing up some work Fred is practically dead on his feet. Normally he’d stay at the shop to take care of the day’s paperwork after closing, but ever since he found out about the twins he’s been skating out right after closing and taking it home with him. Between helping Y/N with the kids all evening and dealing with the massive amount of paperwork he always seems to have, Fred figures he’s only getting four or five hours of sleep before the twins are crawling into bed to start their day all over again.

“I don’t know how you did it on your own for so long,” Fred sighs as Y/N cuddles into his side. The kids are upstairs playing before bed and they’re having their first quiet moment alone together since the night they got back together. “Even with you to lean on I feel like I’m falling behind.”

Y/N looks up at Fred, smiling when he kisses her on the forehead. “You’re doing great, Freddie. The kids love you and all that matters to them is that you’re there with them and that you love them too.”

“I do love them. So much. More than I ever thought I could love anything,” he says softly. “But you make everything look so easy. It makes me feel like I’m never going to be good enough for them.”

Y/N sits up so she can look at Fred properly and grabs his face in her hands. “It wasn’t always so easy for me, Fred. I can’t tell you how many times I would mess up or forget something and end up crying endlessly. I spent a lot of time feeling like the worst mother in the world while the twins were growing up. Being a parent takes time to get used to, you gotta figure out what works best for you and your kids. Hell, I still feel like there’s loads more for me to learn as they grow up. All that matters is that you’re trying, Fred.”

Fred leans down and capture’s Y/N’s lips in a slow kiss, letting the movements of their mouths melt all of his stress away. She’s always known just what to say to talk Fred off of a ledge, and while his chest is still tight with worry, he doesn’t feel it as strongly anymore. Fred’s just started to deepen the kiss when the phone rings, and he pulls away with a groan.

“Your Mum has the best timing,” he jokes, pulling away from Y/N so she can go answer it.

“It’s time for the twins to go down anyway,” she chuckles. “Can you go up and start getting them ready? I’ll join you in a bit.”

Fred nods but stays on the couch until Y/N disappears into the kitchen so he can watch her hips sway as she walks away. Once he’s alone Fred bounds up the stairs, determined to get the kids to bed quickly in the hopes that he and Y/N can spend some time together in bed. There is a stack of paperwork that needs his attention on the kitchen table, but he can deal with George being cross tomorrow if it means getting to spend some time alone with Y/N.

When Fred reaches Electra’s doorway he leans up against the frame, just watching the twins play together for a moment. They’re talking to each other excitedly, passing toys between them. Fred never thought this would be his life at 22 but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He still can’t believe that these two pure, cheeky little Angels are his and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with them.

“Daddy!” Electra says suddenly, pulling Fred out of his thoughts.

Fred smiles down at her, opening up his arms to grab her off the floor as she runs at him. “Hi, Angel. Long time no see.” In reality, it can’t have been more than 30 minutes since Fred saw them last. He’d been helping Electra and Phoenix with some kind of art project when they both got bored and abandoned it to head upstairs to play.

“You’re so silly, Daddy! We just saw you downstairs!” Electra reminds him with an eyeroll.

“You’re right Angel, my mistake,” he chuckles pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Have you guys been having fun?”

Electra nods and wiggles in Fred’s grasp so he’ll let her go. Once her feet are back on the ground she’s running back towards her brother. “Load and loads and loads of fun!”

“Uh huh!” Phoenix agrees happily. “We built a tower, and then we knocked it down and then built it again. Then we played restaurant but that got really boring, so we’ve been playing with our stuffed animals!”

Fred nods along as Phoenix talks, amazed at how much energy they have in their tiny bodies. He makes a mental note to send his mum the biggest box of chocolates he can find as a part apology, part thank you for dealing with him as a child as he steps into the room. “I’m so glad you guys are having fun! But it’s time to start getting ready for bed now, okay?”

The energy in the room goes flat as both the twins turn to look at Fred.

“No, it’s not,” Electra insists, picking up one of her dolls.

Fred sighs, clearly this is going to be harder than he anticipated. “Yes, it is. Now let’s all clean up your toys so they’re ready for you to play with tomorrow and then we can get ready for bed and pick out a story for me to read to you. Sound good?”

“Sounds rubbish,” Phoenix responds, making both him and Electra laugh.

“Come on guys, let’s start cleaning up,” Fred encourages. He starts to pick up some of the things strewn about on the floor, trying to ignore the way Electra huffs at him.

“But I want to keep playing,” Electra whines, giving Fred her best puppy dog eyes.

Fred’s insides melt at the adorable look on her face, but he knows that if he gives in now he’ll regret it later. “I know you do, sweetheart. But it’s time for bed.” Fred pauses to put some of the things in his hand in their proper spots. “You guys can get up tomorrow and play all day, but for now it’s time to clean up.”

Phoenix and Electra share a look before they reluctantly start to clean up.

“Good job guys,” Fred praises, hoping it will motivate them to keep doing.

When they don’t say anything, Fred frowns and helps them pick up the few remaining things on the floor. This is the first time he’s had to be stern with them, and while he knows it was the right thing to do, he can’t help but feel like he’s messed up somehow. Fred continues to get them ready for bed, trying everything he can to get them to say something. But they continue to do as he asks in complete and utter silence, angry looks on their faces.

“Alright, what book do you want Daddy to read?” he asks quietly as they settle into Electra’s bed. Getting the twins ready for bed has somehow exhausted Fred even more and he’s ready to just read them a story, take Phoenix into his bed, and kiss them both good night.

“We don’t want you to read us a book,” Phoenix grumbles, looking up at Fred.

“Yeah, we want Mummy to read us a book. She’s nice to us,” Electra adds with a huff.

“Oh,” Fred says softly, feeling defeated. All the worries Y/N had washed away come flooding back, and Fred’s chest tightens so hard it feels like he can barely breathe. “Alright then. I’ll send her up.” Fred heads towards the door, pausing in the entryway so he can turn to look back at them. “Goodnight. I love you both.” He waits for a moment to see if they say anything back, and when they don’t he heads back down towards the kitchen, his heart heavy in his chest.

Much to Fred’s surprise, when Electra and Phoenix come to wake him and Y/N up the next morning, they both snuggle into his chest first. He thought they might still harbor some anger towards him, but they both demand he hug them 5 times before he leaves for work in the morning, and they’re both waiting by the front door to jump into his arms the second he gets back in the evening. It confuses the hell out of him, but he gladly accepts the snuggles and kisses.

“Alright, what movie are we watching?” Y/N asks as she enters the living room, a giant bowl of popcorn in her hands. It’s Friday evening, and they’ve decided to start a tradition to solidify their new family, so from now on every Friday will be family movie night.

“Frozen!” Electra announces excitedly as she bounds over to Y/N, a DVD case pressed close to her chest.

“Daddy’s never seen it! Can you believe that, Mummy?” Phoenix asks as he climbs up onto the couch, pressing himself as close to Fred as possible.

Y/N shakes her head with a laugh, handing Fred the bowl of popcorn so she can take the DVD from Electra. “I can’t, baby. We’ll have to be sure to sing the songs extra loud for him, okay?” She settles onto the couch, waving her wand to get the movie set up. “Come here, Ells, sit next to me.”

Electra doesn’t move from her spot in front of the couch. She’s facing Fred and Phoenix, her arms crossed and a deep pout on her face. “I wanted to sit next to Daddy!”

“Snooze you lose!” Phoenix taunts, sticking his tongue out at her.

“You can sit next to Daddy next week, Electra,” Y/N suggests softly. “Just come sit next to me so we can start the movie.”

Fred watches in amusement as Electra turns to glare at Y/N. Last night both Electra and Phoenix wanted nothing to do with him and now tonight they’re fighting over who gets to sit with him. He tries his best to keep the smile from his face, not wanting to encourage her behavior, but he’s struggling. It makes him feel good that his kids both love him enough to fight for his attention.

“But I wanted to sit with him tonight,” Electra whines.

“Here Angel, how about this,” Fred starts, causing her to look at him. Fred hands Y/N the bowl of popcorn so he can pick Phoenix up and move him closer towards his mother. “We’ll all move down a bit,” he continues, moving down the couch so he’s sitting next to Phoenix again. “And now there’s room for you on Daddy’s other side.”

Electra smiles brightly and scrambles up onto the new spot Fred created for her. She immediately snuggles into his side before looking up at him happily. “I love you Daddy.”

“Love you too, Angel,” Fred responds, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead.

Phoenix makes a noise, snuggling into Fred’s other side. “I love you too, Daddy!” he announces.

“And I love you too, little man,” Fred says with a chuckle, kissing him on the forehead as well.

Y/N rolls her eyes fondly, her chest warm from the amount of love she has for the three of them. “Are you monkeys finally ready for the movie to start?” When all three of them nod she waves her wand, letting the opening song begin.

Electra and Phoenix both start singing along excitedly, and Fred kisses his plans of falling asleep goodbye.

“You sure you’ll be alright with them by yourself?” Y/N asks, eyeing Fred wearily.

Fred rolls his eyes, hitching Phoenix up onto his back higher. While bedtime had been a disaster the other night, Fred has been feeling more optimistic after family movie night. Clearly both Phoenix and Electra love him, and while he still feels like he can barely keep up with them, being able to spend this time with them and bond with them makes it all worth it.

“Y/N, we’ll be fine,” Fred assures her. There’s some kind of issue with one of the ads Y/N had written for tomorrow’s issue of the Daily Prophet and she needs to head into the office to take care of it.

“If you’re sure,” she responds, shrugging on her coat. “They can color or play with their toys but absolutely no screens and no sugar. It’s too close to bedtime,” Y/N reminds.

Fred chuckles and leans down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Y/N. We’ll be fine. Right guys?”

Electra cheers from where she’s gripping onto Fred’s leg and Phoenix nods wildly over Fred’s shoulder.

“Daddy is the bestest Daddy in the world, Mummy! We’re gonna have loads of fun,” Phoenix promises.

Fred bites his lip, trying to contain the emotion he feels buzzing around in his chest. He’s had a hard few days parenting wise, but hearing Phoenix call him the best dad in the world has certainly made the struggle worth it. “See? Go on, get to work and sort everything out like you always do. And when you get back everything will be fine.”

“Alright, alright. I love you my monkeys, okay? You might be in bed when I get back, but I’ll come in to give you kisses, alright?” Y/N reaches over to ruffle Phoenix’s hair before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Electra’s head.

“Love you!” Both twins shout as Y/N steps into the fireplace, watching in awe as green fire swallows her up and takes her away.

“Hey Daddy?” Electra asks sweetly, plopping herself into Fred’s lap.

Y/N has been gone for nearly an hour and so far everything has gone smoothly. Fred brought their large box of blocks down from Phoenix’s room, and they’ve all been sitting on the floor together building random structures for the twins to knock down before building something else and repeating the process. Bedtime is quickly approaching and while Fred is a tad nervous that he’ll have to go through it alone again, he’s optimistic that it will go well.

“Yes, my Angel?” Fred responds, pressing a light kiss to her hair.

Electra looks up at Fred from under her eyelashes and the softest look she can muster is on her face. “Can we pretty, pretty, pretty please have some ice cream?”

Fred gives her a look. “No, sweetheart. It’s too close to bedtime.”

“Please,” she begs, sticking out her lower lip.

“No, Electra,” Fred says firmly. “And that’s the last time I’m going to say it.”

Electra glares at Fred and scrambles out of his lap, her cheeks turning red at her frustration. She storms over to where Phoenix is standing and knocks over the tower he’d been working on.

“Hey!” he shouts, his little fists clenching up. “What did you do that for?”

“Electra,” Fred scolds. “That wasn’t nice. Apologize to your brother.”

“No,” she responds firmly, kicking some more of the blocks. “I want ice cream!”

Fred sighs and stands up. “Alright, that’s it. It’s time for bed, let’s go.” Fred moves to grab Electra’s hand and she slaps it away, stomping her feet.

“No! Not until I get my ice cream!”

Fred fixes her with a firm glare. “This is not appropriate behavior, Electra. I said no ice cream and that’s final.”

Electra’s face is red with anger, and Fred can see tears welling up in her eyes. Her fists are clenched at her sides and when she stomps her foot again, several things in the room fly off of their shelves and move in every direction across the room. “I want ice cream, now!” She starts to scream as she rips pillows off of the sofa and the frustrated tears start flowing down her cheeks.

Fred ducks as a picture frame comes flying at his head, his mind moving quickly to decide what to do next. If the other night had been disastrous, this is nuclear. The living room is slowly turning into a giant mess and Phoenix grabs on to Fred’s leg in fear.

“Fine!” Fred says suddenly, grabbing his wand from his pocket. Electra is still crying, but several of the things that had been flying around the room clatter to the floor. “I give up. Eat the damn ice cream.” With a wave of his wand the freezer opens and the pint of ice cream inside of it starts to float over towards them. A spoon from one of the drawers joins it, and all of Electra’s anger disappears as she grabs them both out of the air.

“Daddy,” Phoenix says quietly, tugging on his pant leg.

Fred looks down, his heart breaking at how upset his son is from his sister’s meltdown. Tears have started to roll down his cheeks and his bottom lip is wobbling.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” Fred coos, gathering him up in his arms. He hugs him close to his chest and starts to head towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s get you into bed, yeah?” Fred rubs Phoenix’s back as he takes them upstairs, his mind racing about what to do about Electra.

20 minutes later Fred is finally heading back down the stairs after getting Phoenix to fall asleep. His shoulders are tense, and his mind is still trying to figure out what exactly to do with Electra. He’s never seen a meltdown quite like that before and he has absolutely no idea what to do. Fred’s never had to punish a child before and this is certainly the worst place to start.

“Why aren’t you in bed, Electra? And why in the world are you eating ice cream?” When Fred finally reaches the living room he can see how mad Y/N is just from her body language. Her shoulders are tense, and her hands are planted firmly on her hips.

“Daddy gave it to me,” she answers calmly, licking her spoon clean.

“I can explain that,” Fred says quietly.

Y/N turns to look at him, her eyes narrow. “I thought this wasn’t your first rodeo, Fred? And yet this room looks like a bomb went off and I’ve got a kid not in bed stuffing her face with ice cream.” Fred opens his mouth to respond, but Y/N puts her hand up to stop him. “We’ll talk about it later.” She turns back to look at Electra. “Bed, now Missy.”

Electra begrudgingly gets off the sofa and heads towards the stairs, putting the ice cream and her spoon in Fred’s outstretched hand. Fred watches as she stomps up the stairs, Y/N following close behind. He sighs heavily before shuffling to the kitchen to put the ice cream away. Once the freezer is shut tight he waves his wand so the living room can start to put itself back together, before collapsing in a chair at the kitchen table.

“Can you not yell at me,” Fred asks when Y/N comes into the kitchen a bit later. “The past 45 minutes have been hell on earth, and I can’t take anymore yelling.”

Y/N sighs as she hoists herself up onto one of the counters. “What happened, Fred? You were so confident when I left and now you just look, broken.”

“Everything was going so well. We were all playing and laughing, and then Electra asked for ice cream. And I said no. And she asked again, and I said no. Then all hell broke loose. She went full meltdown. Crying, screaming, shit was flying all around the room. I didn’t know what to do. Phoenix was scared, she was throwing pillows all over the place, so I gave her the damn ice cream.” Fred runs a hand through his hair before he looks over at Y/N. “Which I know is probably the worst thing I could have done but I just needed her to calm down and then Phoenix was crying, and it was all just one huge shit show.”

“I’m so sorry, Fred,” Y/N says softly. “Electra can throw some explosive tantrums and I should have warned you. And I shouldn’t have left you alone with them. That was my fault.”

Fred rubs his forehead, trying to relieve some of the tension in his head. “They’re my kids too, Y/N. I should be able to handle them on my own. But the second something goes a little wrong my mind goes completely blank. I’m a terrible father.”

“Freddie come over here.” Y/N’s tone is firm, yet gentle and Fred slowly makes his way over to her. When he gets close enough her legs wind around his hips and she pulls him in. “You are not a terrible father,” she starts, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re a new father. There’s a difference.”

Fred buries his head in Y/N’s neck, taking a deep breath in. Her scent of honey and flowers overwhelms his senses, and Fred can already feel himself starting to relax. “I love them both so much that I think my heart is going to explode. And I thought that would be enough but I’m very clearly in over my head.”

“Then walk away,” Y/N says flatly, surprising Fred. “Walk out the front door and never come back. “

Fred pulls away from Y/N’s neck and grips her face so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. “I would never do that, Y/N. You have to know that.”

Y/N smiles at Fred, rolling her eyes. “I know that you dummy. You know how? Because you’re not a terrible father. A terrible father would walk away when things get tough.” She grabs Fred’s chin and tilts his head down to kiss him on the forehead. “Becoming a parent is a huge adjustment, Fred. And honestly you’re doing amazing, love. I promise you that. You know how I know?”

“How?” Fred murmurs, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Because Electra and Phoenix are giving you a hard time. I know it sounds weird, but kids tend to be extra naughty for their parents,” Y/N chuckles. “They could be throwing the biggest tantrum for me and the second my mum walks in their all smiles and hugs and kisses. They’re testing your boundaries. It’s what kids do.”

“Who knew being a parent was so confusing?” Fred muses with a chuckle. He leans down to kiss Y/N softly. “I couldn’t do any of this without you, you know.”

“Well duh, I’m the one that gave birth to them,” Y/N jokes.

Fred rolls his eyes, letting his hands wander to her hips. “Well yes obviously. But that’s not what I meant. You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better, to motivate me to keep going.”

“I will always be there to motivate you and support you. Because I love you, and I love our family and I can’t imagine a future that doesn’t have you three in it with me,” Y/N admits, a pink blush on her cheeks.

“I love you too,” Fred whispers. “And I love our kids. And our family.” Fred pulls Y/N into a slow kiss, trying to convey every feeling he has for her through his mouth. “I used to dream about having this life with you. And now that it’s come true I’m never giving it up. I promise you that.”

Fred comes up behind Y/N as she stirs something on the stove, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Hi, love.”

“Hi Freddie,” she greets with a laugh. She tilts her head back slightly, allowing Fred to kiss her briefly. “You’re up to something.”

Fred gasps in fake shock. “Me? Up to something? Couldn’t be,” he teases. His grip on her waist tightens and he starts to press a few open-mouthed kisses to Y/N’s neck. “I just couldn’t help but notice how quiet the house is.”

Y/N lets out a quiet moaning, letting her head fall ever so slightly to the side to give Fred more room to kiss. “Yeah the kids are out back running around.”

Fred hums as he kisses Y/N’s neck, smirking when she shivers. “I think that means we should sneak upstairs for some, mummy and daddy time,” he suggests. While Fred expected that they wouldn’t be having sex every night as they adjusted back into their relationship and into this new normal, he had figured he and Y/N would have been intimate again by now. But with Phoenix and Electra always sneaking about, the closest they’ve gotten is some heavy petting while making out in bed before they both practically pass out.

Before Y/N can respond there’s some kind of commotion outside before one of the kids bursts into tears. They break apart and just as Y/N reaches the back-door Phoenix is approaching, his hair damp from the light snow that started to fall, and tears streaming down his cheeks. Y/N squats down and holds her arms out for him, and to both of their surprise he pushes right past her and heads over towards Fred.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Fred coos, leaning down so he can pick Phoenix up. He settles him on his hip before he starts to wipe away some of his tears, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I-I fell down and hurt my elbow,” he gasps in between sobs.

“That’s no good. Want Daddy to kiss it better?” When Phoenix nods Fred presses another kiss to his forehead before gently placing him down on the counter. He helps him out of his jacket before slowly rolling up his sleeve. Fred leans down to press a few kisses to his elbow. “All better?”

Phoenix nods at Fred with a smile, sniffling through his last few tears. “So much better! Thank you Daddy.”

Fred tickles his sides a bit, laughing as Phoenix starts to giggle. “You ready to go back outside and play with your sister?” Fred helps Phoenix put his jacket back on before putting him back down on the ground.

“Love you!” Phoenix shouts as he runs back out into the yard.

“I can’t believe he just did that,” Y/N muses with a shake of her head as she comes to stand with Fred.

Fred chuckles and pulls her into his chest. “I detect a bit of jealousy in your tone there, Y/N,” he teases. He hugs Y/N tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s the first time one of them has chosen to get help from me over you, did you know that?” Fred’s chest feels like it might burst from how happy he feels.

“See, love? You’re navigating this fatherhood thing just fine,” Y/N responds, pulling him down into a kiss.

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley fanfiction #fw #golden

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