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adore-laur · 5 months

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DADRRY: PART ONE

— just harry being a doting dad & husband 🍓

——

Saturday nights haven't been this peaceful in a while. Harry and your daughter left home about an hour ago to attend a father-daughter dinner organized by a group of parents at the daycare, so you're left by your lonesome to enjoy a relaxing time without your child's newly developed and daily tantrums. She's two-and-a-half years old, meaning it's out with the newborn bliss and in with the "Terrible Twos" phase every mom has warned you about.

She was always an easy baby; she never cried for too long or was fussy too often. There's no doubt that she's still the sweetest little thing, but some days, it can be a nightmare to deal with her. You're thankful for her otherwise reserved nature, but even then, a toddler will do anything to get what they want, and your daughter is no exception.

Nonetheless, you and Harry handle it as a team. The both of you choose to deal with her sudden outbursts by using a calm and understanding approach. She listens most of the time. If she got one trait from her father, it's the ability to be an annoyingly good listener and hang on to every word you speak. With Harry, it's always complete eye contact, well-placed affirmations, and asking all the right questions. You suppose it's because of his job, but he claims he was just naturally born with it.

Having been together for seven years, you and Harry have lived a beautifully intimate life on the coast of southern California, consisting of no neighbors, a secluded beach, and your little family of three. Harry works as a sous chef at a restaurant on the outskirts of town. He used to be the head chef before your daughter came into the world, but the wearisome hours he worked then would have never worked out with being a new father. He still hasn't accepted his old title back, much to your secret dismay. When he decided to demote himself, he suffered from a salary decrease and disappointed comments from co-workers. He didn't care, though. He had told you that if it meant he got more time to spend with you and the baby, he would selflessly accept the consequences.

During your postpartum days, he promised never to have a shift that had him arriving home after five in the evening unless necessary. It was a promise to always be with you for dinner, to watch the sun dip down the horizon, and to fall asleep next to you. He sometimes comes home in a palpable mood of frustration after a hectic shift, but as soon as he walks through the door and sees his girls, it's like magic the way his visibly tense shoulders sag with relief.

There are instances when both of you need an independent getaway, but most of the time, it's the three of you together in your domestic bubble of love. You've never known a man quite like Harry. Nothing compares to his heart or drive to be the best possible husband, dad, and son. Also, you appreciate how he's so attentive and gentle with every part of your lives and how he'd go against that gentleness if needed to fight tooth and nail for his family. You've built a life worth living with him. He's yours entirely.

And yes, his daughter has stolen some of that love, but each night before you fall asleep, it's like he can transfer every ounce of love in his precious heart to you with a simple touch. Or a single glance topped off with the softest kiss.

As you sit alone by the blazing fire, you realize that nights spent by yourself no longer appeal to you. You want your family next to you all the time. You want your daughter to ask a million questions, mostly incomprehensible blabbering, but it melts your heart anyway. You want to watch Harry cook dinner, always putting on his actual chef coat and reading a recipe in a terrible French accent just to make your daughter laugh. You want to watch him put a spaghetti noodle below his nose to act as a mustache, or watch him keep your daughter on his hip while letting her add an ingredient to a dish. Then, when she does, he looks at her with faux surprise and tells her she's better at his job than he is.

Yet when your chef husband isn't home to make delicious food, you're stuck making frozen pizza. You considered having a glass of wine with it but decided not to because waking up on a Sunday morning with a pounding headache and a cranky toddler at the breakfast table is not something you want to deal with.

With a reminiscent glint in your eyes, you finish the last slice and think about what they could be doing now. It's a little after seven, so you assume they're done eating dinner and socializing with the other dads and kids. Harry had said the restaurant was connected to a botanical garden, so they might be walking through it. Your daughter is probably exhausted. She woke up at five this morning and has been hyper all day, asking if she could go to dinner now, even if it wasn't lunchtime.

You decide to text him and ask if he could take some pictures in the garden. Your and Harry's camera roles are filled with images of your daughter.

I hope you guys are having fun! Please take some pics of you both at the botanical garden. Miss and love you. Get home safe.

You shut your phone off and stare at the moonlit water, waiting for your favorite people to come home.

——

Harry is waiting for the check when he gets your text message. His phone screen lights up, displaying his lock screen, a photo of him and his baby girl on a hotel bed in Italy. They're both wearing fluffy white robes and are passed out from a long day of swimming under the sun and eating a boatload of food.

That family vacation was six months ago. It was her second birthday, so he wanted to go somewhere special. Let's just say that being a chef at a nice restaurant has its perks. He had saved a lot of money after he started working more hours. Then, one day, he secretly bought three plane tickets to the Amalfi Coast.

Harry wants to go back more than anything. He has never felt more content and full of love (and carbs) anywhere else except for Italy. He swears he gained ten pounds from that trip alone, and he blames it on his daughter, who begged for raspberry gelato and ciabatta bread every chance she got. He had wanted to go back to the gym to lose weight, but you changed his mind when you told him on the last day in Italy that you found his new body attractive. You had also whispered in his ear that his thighs were thickening, and it was making you hot in the face.

So, naturally, he took you into the shower, had you ride his thigh, and then made you come twice in twenty minutes.

But that's beside the point.

Harry reads your text, smiles, and then responds: Of course, love. We'll be home soon. We're full of spaghetti and love you very much.

It's getting late, so he settles on taking the little rascal for a stroll through the gardens before she zonks out. He untucks his black shirt from his trousers, leans back against the chair, and rubs his hands over his stomach. It was a spaghetti dinner with seemingly endless garlic bread, so they both feel the after-effects.

Harry lets out a dramatic sigh that catches his daughter's attention. "Are you full?"

She mimics his position while nodding with a pout on her face. He laughs and starts folding his sunglasses in his shirt pocket, which he wore before it started getting dark out. He pushes their dirty dishes toward the middle of the table to make things easier for the busser. He then leaves a fifty-dollar bill as a tip.

Reclaiming his credit card from the checkbook and putting it between his teeth, he grabs the coloring sheet the restaurant supplied and tucks it under his arm. He knows she'll want it on the fridge.

He returns his credit card to his wallet and asks, "Ready to see the pretty flowers before we leave?" She hums a yes, and he can't help but reach across the table to pinch her cheek fondly before standing. "Let's go, sleepy girl."

She lifts her arms in a request to be carried, and Harry picks her up with a groan. He's only thirty-one, so he really shouldn't be struggling to carry his daughter, who weighs the same as a sack of potatoes. He supposes working in a kitchen and hunching over counters all day for the past decade might have something to do with it.

He hikes her up on his hip while she snakes her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. She'll be asleep in a matter of minutes.

After he pushes their chairs in, he waves goodbye to the other daycare fathers before making a beeline for the commercial kitchen to bid adieu to the staff. He's friendly with some of them since he's a local chef himself, and he always tries to show his appreciation to chefs. He knows firsthand the hard work and stress of successfully running a restaurant behind the scenes.

Harry pushes the door open using his elbow and quickly catches the gaze of the head chef, whom he has talked to a few times at past culinary conventions and events. He takes his free hand and covers his daughter's exposed ear since it's noisy in the kitchen, with metal clanging and orders being shouted.

"Hi," he says, smiling politely at the head chef. "We're heading home, so I just wanted to give my thanks. The food and service was excellent."

"Harry, it was good seeing you!" he replies cheerfully, reaching under a stainless steel countertop. "Stop by again soon. We love having your family here."

"Will do, man. I'll bring my missus next time."

Harry plans date nights every other week, usually finding restaurants he's never visited in the So-Cal region. You've told him he gets endearingly talkative when explaining certain establishments' different cuisines and recipes. The restaurant he's at tonight has always been a favorite because he's taken you there a handful of times when the both of you were still in the early stages of dating. He even worked there as an assistant chef for two years.

On the third date he took you on, if he remembers correctly, he may or may not have convinced his boss at the time to let him take you back to the kitchen so he could show you how to make chocolate-covered strawberries. You'd told him you had made them before, and he blushed while mentally facepalming himself; he thought he was being clever. That didn't stop him, though, because he ended up pulling something out of thin air. Turn up his charm, so to speak, by saying that his version of the classic recipe was extra special.

Well, he had lied.

They were just any old regular chocolate-covered strawberries, but he pushed up his sleeves (metaphorically and literally) and used fancy chef jargon to try to impress you. It worked… at least he thought so. Later, you admitted that you were actually just ogling his biceps every time he dipped the fruit into the melted chocolate.

Once the strawberries were finished, Harry wrapped them up nicely and drove you home from the date. He fed you one before you got out of his beat-up Subaru, the only thing he could afford as a broke assistant chef. He will never forget you walking to your front door, half the strawberry still in hand, and then seeing you suddenly turn around to return to his window to feed him the last half. He had taken it in his mouth, chewing after taking a strangely erotic bite. He smirked at you and glanced down at your lips, which were stained a glistening red from the tart juices.

"You're something else," he'd said sincerely, his voice a raspy from work.

"And you just scored another date with me."

From that moment on, he was gone for you.

After shaking hands with the other chefs, Harry leaves the restaurant and walks to his Bentley. He rationally decides to skip out on the botanical garden tonight because he wants her to be fully awake to see the blossoming flowers.

He unlocks the back door and gently straps her in, tucking her favorite blankie under her chin as she sleepily blinks at him. His heart melts into a puddle. "Let's go home to mumma, okay?" he murmurs, brushing her wispy hair back with a delicate sweep of his fingers. "I had such a fun time with you tonight."

She yawns as ferociously as a toddler physically can, then lunges her arms forward for a hug. Harry hugs her the best he can with her being in the car seat. He inhales her apple-scented shampoo while pressing kisses to the side of her head and then pulls away, poking her button nose with his thumb.

"Love you this big," he says, spreading his arms as wide as possible.

She giggles and copies his gesture. "Love big too," she replies brokenly with her sweet voice.

Harry puckers his lips and kisses the air before sliding into the driver's seat. He takes out his phone to send you a quick update: She's in a spaghetti coma, so we're coming home now. We can go to the garden as a family next weekend.

Pressing send, he smoothly pulls out of the parking lot and drives along the coastal highway with slightly cracked windows. He listens to his daughter's soft snores and thinks of you the entire way home with a dreamy smile.

——

You're still sitting by the fire, its flames dying with flickering embers, when you hear the garage door grinding open. You grin, immediately feeling warmer now that they're back home.

You had briefly gone inside to get a juice pouch for your daughter just in case she came back awake. You also spontaneously decided to make chocolate-covered strawberries since you felt sentimental while reminiscing about the honeymoon phase of your relationship with Harry.

The sound of footsteps sifting through the sand makes you turn your head. You find your husband with a sleeping angel clung to his side, his shirt untucked, and no shoes or socks on; he probably didn't want sand in his loafers. The shadow of scruff on his face is more noticeable, and the orange light from the campfire dances off his features. He looks at you, a soft smile gracing his lips as he carefully treads through the beachgrass to reach you.

"I've got a delivery," he whispers, sitting next to you on the blanket you spread out. "She's unconscious and full of spaghetti, so I don't think she'll be useful to you."

You laugh quietly and stare at your baby sleeping peacefully. Your knuckles stroke her round cheeks as you ask, "How was it?"

"Good. I ate my weight in pasta and bread, but it was worth it. We had fun."

You sling your arm around his waist and pat his stomach. "I'm glad you guys spent some time together."

He hums thoughtfully, unbuttoning his trousers to release the strain. "I need to start watching what I eat and cut down on the carbs. Otherwise, I'll look like Santa in five years."

He says it like he's joking, but you know he's been insecure about his weight since you were pregnant. He naturally put on sympathy weight during the nine months you carried the baby, and then afterward, it simply reached a point where he never had time to work out, whether being too busy working or spending his free time with you and the baby. He ate healthily, but some nights, he caved and ate carbs like there was no tomorrow. Plus, he's a chef, so you can't necessarily blame him for enjoying food.

When you met him seven years ago, he was twenty-four and had skinny legs and a slim torso. But if one thing hasn't changed about his body, it's his strong arms. They've held you through several situations — hugging you whenever you needed a companion, feeling the natural warmth radiating from him. Or holding your baby girl for the first time, his black tattoos beautifully contrasting the precious pink blanket that swaddled her. He could easily cradle her in one arm, fitting perfectly in the crook of his elbow like she belonged there. She still does.

Or, arguably, your favorite, which is when he holds your body up, your back pressed against his chest as he fucks you like no one else can. His bicep across your collarbones with his hand gripping your shoulder like he's physically claiming you, and his other hand gripping your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach…

You're getting carried away.

The point is that his body is lovely. He still has abs from being generally fit and strong thighs that can chase after your daughter during playtime. His back muscles are masterfully sculpted from the physical exertion that goes into being a chef. His flawless face, too, but that goes without saying.

"I love your body," you say, wanting him to feel good about himself. "No matter the changes it's gone through. I adore all of your soft parts."

He looks at you, trying to hold back a smirk. Of course, his mind immediately went to a dirty place.

"I'm being serious. You're allowed to have insecurities. Remember when you felt bad eating all those carbs in Italy? What did I tell you?"

Harry gazes at the ocean tide. "I was thinking about that at dinner tonight. When I saw my lock screen, I thought about that trip." He sighs and adds, "I don't know why I'm insecure when you're the only one I try to impress."

You stare at him with nothing but adoration swimming in your eyes. "Are you feeling these insecurities because of the dinner? With all the dads there?"

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. "Why are you so fuckin' smart? I swear you're too good for me," he says with a breathtaking smile.

"I just want you to talk through these things," you explain, touching his neck. "I know how miserable it can be to keep those thoughts bottled up until the bottle breaks."

Your thumb strokes along his jaw as you continue, "You're thirty-one. It's never too late to realize those insecurities and either come to peace with them or work on them. You know I'll always help you with whatever you decide."

Harry exhales through his nose and settles his forehead on your shoulder. "Never stop talking to me," he says sincerely, kissing your skin tenderly.

You pinch his chin with your thumb and pointer finger. He moves his head to gently nip the pad of your thumb before kissing it. "I love you."

"I know it," he whispers. "I just compare myself to rich, douchebag dads that own literal corporations and would probably ask me to be their personal chef in their ridiculous mansions if they knew what I did for a living."

You offer him a sympathetic smile. He shouldn't look down on his career. It pays well, but it's nothing compared to the So-Cal dads who own Lamborghinis and have a million different job titles.

"Harry, don't make me use my mom voice." "you say in a scolding tone.

He grins delightedly. "I don't mind."

"I've been with you for seven years. I was your girlfriend, married you, and pushed out a baby because I wanted a family with you. Your job doesn't matter to me in the way you're thinking. I love that you're a chef. When you first told me, I told my friends how hot I thought it was. I still find it hot."

He's full-on blushing now. You continue, "You come home and are in such a good mood most days. Do you know why? Because you love what you do. You love the people, the food you make, and the environment, which matters most. Not money or how many cars you own. Without hesitation, you made the difficult decision to step down from being in charge so we could start a family together. You have no idea how much that meant to me. Now you have a daughter who watches you cook her favorite meals and loves you insanely. That's what you should be proud of. And that's what all those other dads should be jealous of."

Harry's gaze flicks between your eyes before he kisses you with so much passion you feel dizzy. You kiss him back, and he inhales like he's breathing you in. Your daughter is still asleep, so you pull away before it escalates.

He finishes with a big kiss on your cheek, then rests his cheek against yours. "I love you so much," he whispers into your ear for only you to hear. "I'm pretty sure you just gave me a love boner."

You laugh, feeling his dimple form against your cheek. He leans back to look at you and shakes his head. "No joke," he says with infectious laughter crawling up his throat. "You just made me hard by telling me how much you love me."

You roll your eyes playfully before standing and stretching your back. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get her to bed."

Harry stands and hikes up your daughter a little. With a frown, he glimpses down at his pants when he realizes they're still unbuttoned. He obviously can't button them with one arm preoccupied with sleeping beauty, so you help him. You lift his shirt an inch to kiss his soft stomach first, then rest your chin on it and look up at him with a smile. After admiring his handsome face for a moment, you button his pants.

Your daughter is carefully passed from his arms to yours for a brief cuddle session before she has to be tucked into bed. Harry throws an arm around your shoulders and guides you inside the house. His steps falter when he retrieves a coloring sheet and gives it to you. It's a simple one that restaurants provide, and this particular one has a scene of two bunnies frolicking in the grass. It is what it is for a toddler with no concept of artistry, and you smile proudly when you take it from him. You'll hang it on the fridge with her other scribbled creations.

Harry opens the porch door and lets you inside first before locking it. He turns on the lamp in the living room. Then, as if reading your mind, he grabs tape from the junk drawer and attaches the drawing to the fridge. While he tidies the kitchen, you head in the opposite direction toward her bedroom.

After a few minutes, you see Harry in your peripheral vision and pat the floor in invitation. He kneels beside you, his knees cracking. He dramatically lets out a fake cry of pain, and you silently laugh while flicking his chest. He opens his mouth in offense, acting as if you just insulted him, to which you just shake your head and gesture zipping his mouth shut. He slyly smacks your ass, and you give him a warning glare before standing and kissing your daughter goodnight.

Before you leave the room, you get revenge by tickling Harry's sides from behind and then quickly running out of the room. You know how much he hates being tickled, but you were feeling the mutual playfulness that always trickles around bedtime. You reach the bedroom, hearing his heavy footsteps down the hallway. He pokes his head past the doorway to the master bedroom. You look at him with wide eyes and sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his next move.

Harry saunters through the doorway, looking around and nonchalantly whistling a tune with his arms behind his back. He walks to the connected master bathroom, your eyes trained on him the entire time. He turns around to close the sliding door just enough so that you still have a partial view of him.

"What?" he asks innocently, catching your eyes in the bathroom mirror. He's messing with you. And making you sweat.

"What are you doing?" you retort, crossing your legs partly to act unaffected and to ease the ache between your legs.

He casually leans against the door jamb. "Let's see... someone left me with quite a problem, so I thought I'd take care of it before bedtime like the gentleman I am," he says smugly, maintaining a stellar poker face.

"What do you suppose I do while I wait?" you reply, confident enough to play his game.

He deeply hums while standing straight and removing his trousers. With his thighs on display, you admire the tattoos there — a tiger on one and your name on the other. "I suppose you could get some sleep. Perhaps read. Whatever you'd like, darling, I'm not picky." He now stands in black boxers and a loose T-shirt. So cocky.

"And what will you be doing if I decide to sleep or read?" you challenge, sliding up on the bed to lean against the headboard.

Harry lets a smirk take over his face as he says, "What would you like me to do, honey?"

"I'd like you to not be in there alone."

"Will you be a good girl while I take care of the little problem you gave me?"

"Of course, baby. You know I always am."

One side of his mouth tugs up as he slowly nods, seemingly agreeing with you. "Always so good," he whispers just loud enough to hear. He inhales deeply before turning around frustratingly slowly, finally pulling his shirt and boxers off. He's tan from the daily sunshine, and his back muscles flex with each subtle movement. Your mouth quickly goes dry.

He disappears to turn the shower on but leaves the door open, which you know is an invitation. You had already changed into your silk pajama shorts and a tank top while he was in the kitchen, so you shut your bedroom door before entering the bathroom.

Oh.

The sight has your breath hitching. Harry's silhouette is behind the steamed see-through shower door. One hand on the wall, the other... well, he didn't even wait for you. He already started. You hear his quiet groans being stifled by his mouth buried in his arm, causing hot and bothered tingles to prickle your skin.

You don't think he sees you yet, so you take your pajamas off and quietly close the bathroom door. For some reason, you suddenly remember you have chocolate-covered strawberries in the fridge. You leave him to his fun and quickly grab a towel to wrap around you before walking to the kitchen. You open the refrigerator, grab two strawberries, and then shuffle back into the bathroom. As you drop the towel, you realize he's still going. You didn't think you got him worked up that much just by talking about how good of a person he is. Each to their own.

After hastily eating one of the strawberries, you gently knock on the glass. Harry stops abruptly and rests his face on his arm. He slightly cracks open the door to see and hear you. It takes everything in you to not look down.

"Hi," you say quietly. "I'm here."

He's breathing heavily, water dripping down his slick body. Wet strands of hair fall over his forehead as his eyes bore into yours. "You are, aren't you?"

You subtly glance down at the problem you gave him; it's throbbing and needs assistance. You're sure he will disapprove of you interrupting his session with a dessert offering.

With your eyes focused on the floor, you absentmindedly draw a heart in the steam evaporating on the glass shower door and say, "I made dessert when you guys were gone." When spoken out loud, your sentimental baking idea seems stupid. "I almost forgot about them and then remembered they were in the fridge, so I brought you one. I was reminiscing about when we started dating and thought about the strawberries. Anyway..."

You're rambling too much. He was pleasing himself, and here you come, waltzing in with dessert while stumbling over words like you just met him. You need to get it together.

Harry is still looking at you with his chest heaving, his left arm taut, and his large hand pressed against the shower wall while his other hand still grips his cock. His piercing eyes have become darker, and they peer down at your hand holding the strawberry. The chocolate at the tip is gradually melting. His eyes travel even further down to your bare legs, then to the heart you drew. His lips twitch.

When his gaze meets yours again, his tongue presses into his cheek before he straightens his posture. He steps toward the crack in the door and leans slanted against the shower wall, his naked body shamelessly in full view.

You wait for him to interact with the Strawberry of Nostalgia, but he just looks at you smugly. Jutting your hand further, you indicate that he should take it again. It feels like he's secretly judging you. He's barely said anything, and now he's gazing at you like he wants to eat you for dessert.

"The chocolate might melt off since it's pretty steamy in here," you mention with a nervous and breathy giggle.

Harry regards the strawberry again before moving his head toward you. "Yeah?" he says with a wicked smirk.

"Yeah," you reply, refusing to look into his eyes. "They haven't been in the fridge for very long."

He laughs huskily, then clears his throat. "Well, I'm waiting right here, darling. I'm not a huge fan of melted and mushy chocolate-covered strawberries."

So… he wants you to feed it to him. Like you did all those years ago when you first realized you were so gone for him. Good lord.

The steam in the bathroom is not helping your feverish body temperature. You take a few deep breaths before touching Harry's swollen lips, which you assume he's been biting on to suppress his noises. He maintains intense eye contact with you as he slightly opens his mouth. You guide the strawberry into it, and he bares his teeth while sensually biting the fleshy fruit.

Once half of it is in his mouth, he tilts his head and chews slowly. He groans, his eyes rolling back. "So fuckin' good."

You eat the other half to move the tension along, then throw the leafy stem on the ground. On trembling legs, you step away and admire the water droplets on Harry's lips that turn pink from the juices.

His thumb and pointer finger wipe the creases near his mouth. He then reaches through the door's crack and brushes his slick thumb across yours before sucking on it. In desperate need of relief, you clench your thighs and shakily exhale.

"I'll be good," you plead, utilizing your angel eyes to get him to give in. "I won't touch you, but please let me watch."

Harry tuts. "Are you sure you'll just watch? Or are you going to be a brat like you were with that little stunt you pulled earlier?"

It's no surprise he's still hung up on the tickling. His ego can't take what he dishes out. God forbid he teases you because you know his precious pride will be crushed as soon as you do it back.

You bite your tongue and promise yourself to be good for him. "I'm sorry for doing that. I didn't mean to be a brat. I swear I'll behave this time."

He beckons you by curling his fingers inward. "Come here, then."

You slide open the door further until you can squeeze through, then shut it tightly before standing across from him. The shower is spacious with a built-in bench the both of you have done your fair share of indecent activities on.

"Hey," Harry says lowly. "Be my good girl and sit. No talking or touching, okay? Watch me until I finish."

Nodding, you obediently sit on the bench and cross your legs to relieve the subtle pressure growing between them. You glance at Harry with innocent eyes that you know will weaken him. He gives in for a split second when he leans down and places his hands on either side of your thighs, nudging his nose against your cheek before kissing it roughly. You try not to smile at his momentary infirmity.

"Stay put, or I'll walk out of here and go straight to bed," he warns, resuming his position you walked in on, except this time he's right in front of you. His palm on the shower wall closest to you with his other gripping his cock.

This is going to be torture.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #dadrry #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

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jaegersdevil · 7 months

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like real people [megumi fushiguro]

megumi fushiguro x reader

summary: love can still find you even in your darkest hour. w/c: 1.7k a/n: megumi and reader are in their early/mid-twenties. this is a little different from anything else i’ve written in terms of the language, but i think i'm happy with it. i'm a bit scared to post this. i hope it makes sense, and if it doesn't, tell me, please :) warnings: angst, idiots in love, both parties emotionally hurt by past relationships, insinuations of past relationship abuse (megumi), ooc megumi, it's 4am idk please let me know.

“Is it so wrong to wish to love and be loved in return?”

No words came before you. To say you weren’t expecting this conversation would be a lie — it was a long time coming. After the party, after you had blatantly brushed him off in front of his friends, Megumi couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation for why you did what you did. After months of dancing around each other, why couldn’t you commit to what you wanted when it was so very clear, Megumi?

“Megumi,” You weren’t oblivious to his lovelorn stare or his fingers fidgeting.

“Please,” He begged, stepping closer to you, his hands clasped before him.

You screwed your eyes shut at his vulnerable state. Was it easier to remain ignorant of your apparent and lengthy tension? Perhaps then you wouldn’t feel so guilty about the impulse to leave.

But, standing before a man who had a hard time sharing his emotions and choosing to ignore them rather than help? You wouldn't do such a thing.

“It’s not wrong, per se, Megs,” You started, eyes trained on the hardwood floor, never meeting his pleading ones. “Maybe naive.”

A sharp intake caused a shiver down your spine. “Naive?”

You chewed heavily on your bottom lip and couldn't keep your tears at bay. "I just learned you planned to get engaged when we met, Megumi. What was I meant to do? I didn't want your friends to think I was exploiting your emotions. How I never knew until now..."

Megumi sighed and looked away, shaking his head. He wanted to say that meeting you saved him. How you dug him out of the ground and breathed life into his delicate lungs brought him back to life. If you had never met, he would still be six feet in the dirt, a ghost of who he once was. Do people love others who have been damaged so severely that the idea of love itself is considered terrifying and not comforting in the slightest?

"You know they wouldn't think that of you. And I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed and afraid. I know that isn't a good enough excuse for you because you've been in my life for so long, but it was better to keep it quiet. I don't know!"

He tried to keep his voice steady, always one to hold back his true feelings until he was behind closed doors — and even then, he would force them back inside.

But, as he looked at you, Megumi believed the possibility of admitting he loved you was far closer than anticipated. However, the fear you wouldn’t reciprocate burned in his bones so profoundly he feared they would turn to ash inside him. All he wanted was to love and be loved without the devastating consequences he had suffered before — if love without pain existed.

Nonetheless, Megumi couldn't seem to shake the feeling of emptiness that had been plaguing him for weeks.

“Will we ever be normal? Will we ever kiss like real people do? Will I ever get to hold you without the looming fear that you’ll just pack up and leave?” He thought out loud.

A flight risk. You gave him a bitter smile and nodded.

“That’s all I am to you? Someone that you’re scared to be with because I’ve never ‘stuck around’ for anyone else? Do you ever wonder why I left them?” You raised your eyebrows in question. When Megumi didn’t answer, you finished. “Because they were assholes who just wanted someone to use, and I was at their disposal.”

Megumi grimaced at your choice of words but understood. It had taken him almost a year, but he finally understood your greatest anxieties. “I would never use you.”

You sniffled, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I know that, but I'm still paranoid. Leave before you get left, isn’t that what they say?”

The room was silent for a moment while you both collected yourselves. In contemplation, Megumi ran his hands over his dark hair, and you picked at your nails.

“I’m sorry,” Megumi mumbled, wiping at his cheeks where stray tears had left salty trails. “I’m sorry for offending you. I didn’t mean it like that. My anxiety is not on you at all; it’s not your fault, and I’ll apologise for the rest of my life if that will make up for my sheer ignorance.”

You shrugged half-heartedly, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’m sorry for calling you naive. It’s not true. Love is humanity’s greatest desire, and you are entirely valid for wanting such things, especially after your ex..." You narrowed your eyes at him softly.

Unspoken words hung in the air like smoke. His past relationship was calamitous, and her name was never spoken amongst his friends again after they found out what had happened. She was referred to as ‘she who must not be named’ in his friend group, but that was the only joke. Nothing she did to Megumi was laughable.

The kitchen light was flickering, you noticed. You'd have to change the bulb.

“I bet you regret meeting me,” He smiled fleetingly. You looked at him quizzically. “Anyone else wouldn’t be insulting you in your kitchen.”

“I'll never regret meeting you, Megumi,” You took his hand in yours. “And you didn’t insult me. Yes, it hurts, but it’s a harsh truth I have to swallow. I have to understand that not everyone is out to get me. It'll take some time, but I wish to get there someday.”

“And I'll help you believe that, okay? I won't leave you. Not now, not ever, because you are my favourite person, darling. And should I ever leave you, let me die the most painful death because you deserve a great deal of love — more than I could ever give you, but I will try my best, alright?”

You nodded, reeling with the weight of his words. He spoke with such comprehension it had you reeling — had he ever confessed his feelings for someone like this before? So thought out and with a pleading look in his eye that made your chest hurt?

Instead of wondering about him, you pulled Megumi closer by his jacket collar, which you realised he never took off when he got to your apartment. Pushing the jacket over his shoulders, you placed the garment on the kitchen counter. Your tear-stained cheeks were glossy under the yellowing ceiling light, and Megumi pulled you back to him, running his fingers over your face to wipe away the streams.

A switch flipped, and suddenly, it felt like the world would end if Megumi didn't tell you his deepest longings. He would lose you if he didn't express how much he had come to care for you. You couldn't take chances in a world full of Jujutsu, especially when the one you loved was tiptoeing the line of death every day.

“I don’t want to not be with you, and it was never my intention to insinuate that. I have a lot of love to give, but I’ve given it to the wrong people in the past who never acknowledged or appreciated it. But I’m ready to give it to you,” Megumi muttered. It required abundant courage to say it, but Megumi was glad he didn’t hold back once it was out — his father would be disgusted if he saw his son now.

The room's atmosphere had changed dramatically, and all hostility once felt in your stomach had dissipated. This was a time of reassuring each other that their greatest fears would not trouble them as long as they were together.

“I adore you,” Megumi whispered, his heart beating out of his chest. “And I’m not just saying that because of our argument. I’m telling you that I never meant for us to end; I was just getting started with you when I walked through that door tonight. Never mind if you brushed me off at some stupid party.”

Your face heated with shame at the memory. “I'm sorry, I panicked.”

Megumi nodded in understanding. “I know. And I’m here to tell you that there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll be on your side, always.”

Lifting your head from his chest and resting your finger on his lips, you shook your head. “My turn.”

Megumi’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he nodded.

“Enough consoling me, okay? You need to know that you’re the one for me, too, so you don’t spiral again and start doubting my love for you and your own for me,” Megumi flushed. “You are the most remarkable man I’ve ever met, and no amount of scepticism would deter me from you because you’re all I want. I love you, okay? I will live and die for the moments we share because I treasure them the most out of everything I do. You are love, and I want to drown myself in you for the rest of our lives if you let me.”

It was silent. Megumi’s heartbeat was so quick he almost couldn’t feel it. You love him.

You ignored his blank stare and continued. “You don’t have to say it yet, but I know you do. And if it turns out you don’t love me as much as I, you, I will live on my own for the remainder of time because I know that I had the most incredible love in the universe with you, and I would be content with that. Nobody else could make me feel the way you do.”

Megumi squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars and then sighed. “You mean so much to me. I’m sorry I can’t find a way to tell you yet, but I will. I know it in my soul.”

“You already have,” You hugged him tighter, and Megumi rubbed his large hands up and down your back.

The kitchen light had stopped flickering.

“Why can’t we have a relationship like real people? Because I’m starting to think we’re living in some sort of hallucination together,” You mumbled, giggles slipping from your lips.

Megumi’s chest vibrated with low laughter, but the action rattled his bones. “We’ll figure it out. We're not like real people anyway.”

—

playlist: like real people do - hozier — this is me trying - taylor swift — labyrinth - taylor swift — snow on the beach - taylor swift (w lana del rey)

#megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro imagine #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk #megumi x you #megumi angst #— ann writes!

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le010n11 · 1 year

Text

Kiss from a rose. Neymessi fic.

“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”

Leo wasn't a vocal person at all, his closed circle knew how it wasn't easy for him to express his feelings through words. Everytime he tried to talk the words would get stuck in his throat making him feel nauseous. Instead Lionel preferred to sulk in his own room alone. Even tho Luis knew Leo liked being alone, this time he wouldn't let that happen. Luis hated seeing his dearest friend suffering like that. He hated seeing him grieving alone. An idea came to mind, to ease Leo's pain and make him get over the other man.

Leo thought it was the most stupidest thing he had ever heard. Nonetheless, he tried it without telling Luis of course. Luis would know anyway, but not now.

For a start he sent a huge beautiful bouquet of lilies, with no notes attached and no name on it. He knew there was a big possibility for Neymar not to receive his flowers, nevertheless he didn't care. He sent them and wished for the best.

The next day, while stalking Neymar's Instagram stories, skipping his pictures in the Paris saint Germain kit, they made Leo feel horrible. The last story was a photo of the bouquet he sent, with a text saying “Obrigado meu amado fã! mas por que lírios?„

A very smart and genuine question from Neymar, Leo didn't expect the younger to ask such a question, he was genuinely impressed Neymar caught what he was trying to do.

As the articles he read on Google said, lilies symbolize grief and loss. Lilies couldn't express his feelings better, Leo was grieving the departure of his loved one. It wasn't easy for him, it wasn't easy on the rest of the team but he suffered the most. He felt like a part of his soul left his body when the other left with little to no explanation.

Lilies were the perfect flowers for their current situation, for Leo they meant mourning but for Neymar it meant rebirth.

It took Leo awhile to think about his next bouquet of flowers. He was still trying to understand how he felt about Neymar. He wasn't mad anymore, he was confused on why Neymar left in the first place. He was confused and lost in his own head thinking about Neymar and his unexplained reasons. Finally Leo chose, he chose sending basil.

Suarez found choosing basil was funny, the only thing he knew about basil was they were used in food. “Sending him ugly basil? No wonder why he left.” He joked, trying to lighten up the mood a bit but it made Leo more irritated, sometimes Suarez got on his nerves. “Basil are holy and sacred, they aren't just for cooking Luis.” he said, organizing the flowers, trying to make them look pleasing. He knew the younger wouldn't find them that amusing but he wanted to send a message and he hoped Neymar would receive it. “They are for good wishes. ” He explained, even tho he was still hurt about Neymar's departure, he wished everyday Neymar would have a good career in Paris. As much as he hated Neymar's new club, he always prayed Neymar could shine there just as he did at Barça.

Neymar said he would use them for cooking on his Instagram stories, which made Leo think how Neymar and Luis were so alike. Both were stupid enough. Maybe the idea of expressing his feelings with flowers wasn't the brightest but he did feel better after sending them, they made him connect with his feelings and tell Neymar his unspoken words.

Leo thought so hard about his next ones, he wanted something beautiful yet screamed his deep devoted feelings for Neymar. red chrysanthemum were the winner. They were so bright red, almost made Leo blind by how bright they were. They screamed love and passion, Leo was still in love, deeply in love and what was better than bright red flowers to show how madly in love he was. “Do you ever think Neymar will guess who send flowers to him?” a genuine question he always had on his mind since starting this. At first he was okay with Neymar not knowing who sent those, but with every bouquet, he wanted Neymar to know about his feelings, still he wasn't ready to reveal himself.

Neymar got injured, a nasty tackle injured him badly, making him miss lots of important matches. Leo's heart was torn, he hated how players hurt Neymar in order to stop him. It wasn't Neymar's problem he was so good and players didn't know how to stop him from doing amazing on the pitch. What made Leo more devasted was how he wasn't there to help his little boy, he wasn't there to comfort him, hug him and whisper sweet words to him to try and ease his pain. Luckily he had a way to show his support to the younger.

Gladiolus meant strength and faithfulness, Leo knew how strong Neymar was. He faced lots of injuries yet he never lost his faith. He was strong, determinant to get better for himself and his fans. He always got back stronger than ever, Leo was always speechless by Neymar. Everything about him made him in loss of words.

Neymar wasn't surprised by the flowers no more, instead he started to think it wasn't a random obsessed fan sending him bunch of different flowers, it was a letter, especially for him. His injury gave him time to rest and think about the flowers he was receiving. He started by searching the names of the flowers and it's symbolism. diving in different articles, he never thought flowers could mean too much. He almost guessed who sent them, nonetheless he preferred being in denial till the other gather the courage and reveal himself.

Leo never thought seeing Neymar again on the field would make his heart go warm and his stomach feel tingly. For him it was the most beautiful sight to be seen. Neymar was back from his injury, showing off his skills and playing gracefully on the field. Leo was proud of his boy. A big blue salvia bouquet was sent, with a short letter and words of encouragement. He knew by now Neymar would have guessed who sent him all these different flowers.

One day Leo woke up, a bouquet of yarrow flowers on his doorstep with a letter attached.

“I am more courageous than you Leo, I love you in spite of everything. I'm sorry.”

Yarrow flowers are a symbol of bravery, courage and everlasting love.

And Luis's idea backfired.

Pic of flowers mentioned .

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vampirologist · 1 year

Text

okay here are my thoughts on ensouled angel versus spike (plus discussion of spike’s chip)

so I often see the argument “spike didn’t need a soul to change/be good,” “spike chose to change while angel didn’t,” or making a direct comparison between angel’s soul and spike’s chip as evidence for the former argument and well let’s look at that from my pov!

a big point of angel’s ensoulment it that it did not automatically make him a good guy. this aspect is a major part of his backstory. what his soul did was give him consciousness of his actions, and guilt from those actions. his soul was punishment and therefore he had to suffer- that’s literally the point of his existence as an ensouled vampire. in his early ensoulment, he fed off humans he felt were deserving to be fed from, such as rapists and murderers. there are instances where he kills people while ensouled (such as in s5 of angel when he shoots one of the men working for him under wolfram & hart and the events that happened during the 50s in “are you now or have you ever been”). angel’s soul does not inherently keep him from feeding from live humans or killing them, he actively chooses not to due to the consciousness of having guilt and the ability to control his vampiric nature based on morals. he felt so bad about feeding from a man who had been shot to death instead of getting him help that he literally lived in the streets for two decades in repentance. he’s clearly shown struggling with his vampiric urges but controls them due to his ensoulment (the whole “angel” episode in s1 of buffy demonstrates this multiple times, like when he vamps out when kissing buffy and does it again when he’s holding joyce after darla feeds from her). he initially has a negative view of humans that has been shaped by his long lifetime and events like in “are you now or have you ever been,” where he actively helped out a woman for her to turn on him to save herself, and he then lets a demon feed upon the residents in the hotel as he is disillusioned with them after they formed a lynch mob again him (but he later comes to forgive her when she had lived her life full of guilt about what she had done). buffy is the catalyst for him that sparks his journey to make amends. and he uses what buffy helped him with to help others like faith. angel is literally a depiction of a man struggling with addiction, and he has to actively keep his addiction at bay lest he can spiral back. he refers to angelus as a different type of entity as it’s this aspect of himself he’s disgusted by but is nonetheless part of his past and is something that could always return if he’s not careful. it’s him without his inhibitions and having these traits whilst a human (excessive drinking, violent, hyper sexual, striving to have some type of power) be exacerbated once he becomes a demon.

spike on the other hand was in fact forced to be good in some capacity beyond moral reasons. in contrast with angel’s soul, his chip literally keeps him from harming humans by producing incredible pain, and he finds this out after wanting to actively harm willow. needing a way to feed (and a way to stay in the show) he begrudgingly teams up with the buffy gang in exchange for protection, blood, and money. over time he becomes obsessed with buffy and gets along more with everyone else. he’s allowed to be around them because he can’t actually hurt them as he literally has a chip in his brain that prevents him from doing so. the chip also conveniently lets him harm other demons, so he’s a valuable asset to the team. furthermore, he gets ostracized by other demons for helping buffy, so they’re pretty much all he has at this point. he does nice things but they are things that are extensions of buffy, such as him being beat to a pulp by glory for not revealing that dawn is the key, and helping take care of dawn in general when buffy died. this is not to say he doesn’t like. genuinely care about others but it’s because they do have that specific connection to buffy that he cares about them. spike has known about the trials to get his soul but only does so after he sexually assaults her and she’s reasonably angered and hurt from it. true, he’s portrayed as being shocked by his actions but he immediately goes to deny that he would never do such a thing despite his prior behaviors with buffy (stalking, stealing and smelling items from her home, his shrine, letting her use him violently and sexually, gloating about their relationship to riley, telling her that she came back wrong as the chip doesn’t affect her now which also means he could overpower her in this scenario!). he did not make an effort at all before that to get a soul, it’s only after he’s done this act that forever changes their dynamic and the trust they have built up. that is until she realizes that he got a soul to be worthy of her and forgives him. and in his ensouled state, there is not the obvious difference that was present with angel and angelus. sure, he initially feels a lot of guilt but he’s not remorseful to the extent angel was after he got ensouled. he’s shown to just naturally be a more humane vampire prior to his ensoulment compared to someone like angelus (as detailed by the judge saying he and drusilla reeked of humanity, while angelus didn’t), who wasn’t necessarily a “good” person while alive to begin with. outside of the show, we know that soul lore is just really murky and you can tell decisions were made early on in the show without thinking of how they would have to later develop upon it. but the idea of vampirism that has been presented in the show where it retains the personality and memories of the person but not being quite them do suit angel and spike as soulless vampires and does explain the more humane nature of spike as a vampire. so yes spike did feasibly not need the soul to change, but he had a literal buzzer in his head that went off when he did vampiric actions towards humans. he does not get the chip removed until he’s ensouled. that, combined with buffy’s influence, changed him. angel did not have that network of people like buffy to help him until he was a century into his ensoulment, and he actively chose to change when given the chance by whistler. it’s a key point of both angel and spike that it was buffy that helped them change. which is why I enjoy spike joining angel in s5 because it’s like you’re a champion now are you ready to prove it when it doesn’t involve buffy? when there’s no tangible reward besides doing the right thing? it lets him continue that champion arc without being hinged to buffy

#okay here’s my messy thoughts xx #ik they’re both still morally grey characters but like. this is on the aspect of ‘change’

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vrishchikawrites · 3 years

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Are you still taking prompts?

Cause if so, I'd love to see a time travel fic where post-canon WWX and LWJ get yeeted back into their younger bodies, and land just before the GC transfer. And Post-Canon WWX - who's had some years of being a part of a loving, supportive family, in a non-toxic, non-abusive environment; and therefore no longer has any misconceptions about how much the Jiangs were not his family - takes one look at JC lying there on the table in the cave after WQ knocked him out (and is now in the middle of prepping for surgery); and just goes, "LOL, yeah; nope.😆 Been there, done that; 10/10, would not recommend.😝 Hey, WQ - change of plans!😎"

(Except, you know, not written like crack. 😉)

Not necessary to include, but a fun idea:

JC gets dragged along to the past as well because he has WWX's GC; so whatever sent them back mistook him for part of WWX and brought him along.

So when he wakes up from the anaesthesia, he freaks out about not having a GC anymore. And WWX has this whole story ready to tell young JC about how, "Oops, sorry; you can't have a new GC after all" - but this is Post-Canon JC; so he knows about the transfer, and knows that this means that WWX decided not to do it again.

Which means he ends up screaming at WWX about, "How dare you not give me your GC!"

So WWX feels exactly zero sympathy.

(Before that happened he was maybe feeling a little bit bad for young JC; because that JC hadn't done anything too bad yet - but he already knew how it would turn out if he went through with it. And he was not giving up his chance to cultivate to immortality with his hubby; just so that JC could Feel Like A Real Man, and go on to murder his way through life again.)

What would be really, really great about this, is if WWX had brought JC to Qinghe or Gusu; or somewhere the other cultivation sects involved in the SSC had gathered, before JC woke up. Planning to leave him there where he would be safe. So when JC wakes up and starts screaming, everybody hears him.

And they're all like, "...WUT."🤤

"You expected him to do what?!?"😲😨😱

So instead of all the sympathy and compassion, etc, that he would have gotten over what happened at LP (that he probably did get the first time), or for losing his GC; basically the entire allied cultivation world as a whole is collectively side-eyeing him.

IDK; I just think it would be really funny.

But mainly, I just want to see WWX a few years post-canon; having the chance to do it all again, and choosing not to go through with the GC transfer. LWJ going with him is because the thought of post-canon LWJ losing his WWX makes me sad; and I want them to stay together. 😋

Post-Canon JC going back and getting stuck with the coreless body he deserved is just for my own catharsis.

(The rest of that idea is simply for the lulz.) 😉

(I decided not to include JC traveling back in time. Hope this works and satisfies you!)

“No, I don’t.” Wei Wuxian sees Wen Qing blink and stare at him while Wen Ning stills in the process of making Jiang Cheng comfortable.

“What?” Wen Qing asks but rethinks it immediately, “No, no need to answer that.” She starts packing away her instruments immediately like she’s glad that Wei Wuxian has changed his mind. He looks at her and feels aching fondness rise in his chest. She must be frustrated that he made her go through all of that trouble and yet she still chooses to move before he can change his mind again.

“What… are we going to tell Jiang-gongzi?” Wen Ning asks tentatively but Wei Wuxian notes the faint look of relief in the boy’s eyes.

“We’ll tell him the treatment wasn't possible,” He says, glancing at his… former shidi. It isn’t an easy decision to make, because he knows Jiang Cheng would suffer for it. A part of him feels like he’s being unnecessarily cruel by denying Jiang Cheng his core.

But he has already paid his debt and it cost countless people their lives. Jiang Cheng’s actions didn’t just lead to the death of the Wens. Lan Zhan had told him about the numerous ‘demonic cultivators’ Jiang Cheng had pursued relentlessly. Even his love wasn’t certain how many people died or were tormented to insanity because of Jiang Cheng’s persistence.

While Wei Wuxian doesn’t intend to let the situation get so out of hand, it is apparent that Jiang Cheng can’t be trusted with power.

He is worried about how Jiang Cheng would react. Wei Wuxian had promised him a core, after all. But whatever happens, a powerless Jiang Cheng is safer for everyone.

“We’ll tell him that rebuilding the core is impossible because Wen Zhuliu destroyed his meridians as well.”

“He has,” Wen Qing points out, “I was about to repair them.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, “And can you repair them still? Without transferring the core?” That would certainly help Jiang Cheng heal faster and accept some spiritual energy transfusions. Wen Qing looks at Jiang Cheng with a frown and nods.

“Wei-gongzi… what changed your mind?” Wen Ning asks as Wen Qing goes to work immediately. Wei Wuxian knows that if he has to help the Wens, he needs to tell them the truth. While Wen Ning would trust him and accept his explanation without too many questions, Wen Qing wouldn’t be so easy.

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, getting his thoughts in order. When he opens them again, both of the Wens are looking at him with frowns.

He grins wryly and spreads his hands, "I have a tale for you, my dear friends."

Jin Guangyao needed to have his last 'hurrah'. He just couldn't leave them be, even as he died. Whatever he did, whatever tool he used, it sent a shockwave of Resentful Energy that would've killed them all.

As always, Wei Wuxian stepped forward to protect people. As always, Lan Wangji stepped forward to protect him.

Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth and changed his plan at the last moment. At first, he wanted to absorb the energy and channel it somewhere else. But with so many people just lingering instead of running, he needed a different solution.

His mind flashed, he saw Jiang Cheng, and decided.

A forbidden array formed.

"I needed something that would use up all of the Resentful Energy and protect everyone, including Lan Zhan."

"So, at the last moment and on the verge of dying, you chose something as improbable as time travel." Wen Qing deadpans. Wen Ning is looking at him with wide eyes. Strangely enough, both look like they believe him. Well, he did mention a few things, personal incidents, that he had no way of knowing if the Wens hadn't told him.

Still.

"I'm not the one for regrets," He says softly as he looks at Jiang Cheng, "But I thought that array was the safest solution. It doesn't harm the current timeline so everyone is safe. Lan Zhan, I know, wouldn't mind following my lead in this." He did regret taking Zewu-jun's brother away from him after such a traumatic event but there really was no other option. Not with Jin Ling so close and so many innocent people in the vicinity.

Wei Wuxian is quite certain that the blast would've destroyed everything around them, including the innocent people around the Guanyin Temple complex.

The siblings exchange glances before Wen Qing returns to Jiang Cheng's side, preparing to work on his meridians, "You're going to change things." She observes, "Save people?"

"Save you and Wen Ning. Save Jiang Yanli. Save innocents, yes."

Wen Qing freezes.

---

Lan Wangji doesn't know what Wei Ying did but he trusts his beloved. When he finds himself in the past, just before the Sunshot Campaign begins and shortly after the fall of the Lotus Pier, he doesn't hesitate.

He knows that his brother is safe and his uncle is managing things at Cloud Recesses. But he also knows that somewhere out there, his beloved is preparing himself for a risky, painful procedure.

Wangji can't let that happen. He thinks back on everything Wen Ning shared with him about the incident, particularly the location of where it occurred. He's probably too late to stop the transfer but perhaps not late enough to stop the Wens from finding Wei Ying.

It takes him days to reach Yiling without the aid of Bichen but he manages and immediately heads towards the approximate location Wen Ning had mentioned.

"Wei Ying," He breathes softly when he spots his beloved shopping for some supplies. He hadn't anticipated finding him so soon but is grateful nonetheless.

Wei Ying is dressed like a peasant and blends in well with the people around him but Wangji can recognize him anywhere.

Dressed discreetly and without his forehead ribbon, Wangji too is inconspicuous. He moves swiftly towards Wei Ying and catches his elbow, eyeing the people in red and white uniform at the far end of the street warily.

"Come." He whispers.

Wei Ying doesn't say a word, just paying the vendor and following Wangji into a more discreet location.

Wangji looks at his beloved's face, drinking in his bright silver eyes and sharp features with acute relief.

"Wei Ying, you… you look well." Strangely so, for someone who has just given up his Golden Core.

Hope stirs in his chest and Wangji reaches for Wei Ying's wrist.

His love's lips quirk in amusement, but Wangji ignores him, focusing on sending his spiritual energy through Wei Ying's meridians.

A strong core pulses in response.

"Wei Ying," Something bright and triumphant burns in his chest and he resists the urge to pull his beloved into a crushing embrace.

He would've supported Wei Ying's decision to give up his core and cultivate with resentful energy again. He knew it wasn't evil or harmful now.

But Wei Ying chose himself. His beloved had finally chosen to save himself.

"Aiya, Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying laughs, "If you keep looking at me like that, I'll do something quite shameless and embarra-"

Wangji kisses him.

He cups that precious face, pulls him close, and slides his lips over soft flesh in a tender expression of love he can't contain.

Wei Ying chose himself.

---

Jiang Cheng returns from his trip to the mountain with a thunderous expression on his face.

He disregards Lan Zhan and grabs Wei Wuxian's arm in a tough grip, dragging him away from the crowded tea house. Lan Zhan follows without a word, his expression frosty and eyes on Jiang Cheng.

"Your Grandmaster," He spits, "Is just as useless and worthless as you. All she could do is repair my meridians! My body was too damaged for anything else, she said!"

Wei Wuxian knows Wen Qing wrote the note they left by Jiang Cheng's side but he hadn't known what she had written.

It must've been reasonably convincing for Jiang Cheng to be convinced.

"That's-" He searches his mind to find words that would be appropriately sympathetic. Saying 'that's too bad' would be just rubbing salt on an open wound.

He may dislike Jiang Cheng, but some of the childhood affection still lingers. He doesn't wish to hurt his former shidi.

"I didn't know," He says finally, his heart throbbing in sympathy at Jiang Cheng's devastated expression. He briefly reconsiders his decision but Lan Zhan shifts discreetly by his side and Wei Wuxian remembers why he made that decision in the first place.

Jiang Cheng had been unworthy of the gift he had been given.

His shidi snarls and turns to Lan Zhan, "What are you doing here, Lan er-gonzi," He snarls, "Coming to triumph in our misery?"

Lan Zhan looks at him flatly, "I came to assist Wei Ying."

"Came to assist Wei Ying," Jiang Cheng mocks, his expression tight and furious, "Well, you're welcome to take him away! There's nothing left for him to destroy. Everything is gone. He invited the wrath of the Wens on our heads to protect you and that led to the destruction of my sect. He couldn't even repay that debt. His Grandmaster failed."

Jiang Cheng turns hate-filled eyes towards him, "You are a curse. My father should have left you to rot on the streets!"

"Jiang Wanyin!" Lan Zhan warns but Wei Wuxian places a hand on the Second Jade's arm to halt him.

"I'm taking you to Meishan to be with shijie." Wei Wuxian says calmly, "And then I'll go join the war efforts."

Jiang Cheng sneers before turning his head away, silent.

Wei Wuxian does as he says. He leaves Jiang Cheng in Jiang Yanli's care and heads to Qinghe with Lan Zhan. The war goes differently than before. He manages to kill Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao early, which gives them a big morale boost. But that's the only thing that goes their way for a long time.

"I'm going to use it," He tells Lan Zhan once, when the scales tip dangerously in the Wen's favor.

Lan Zhan studies him before nodding gracefully, "I will help."

There's no way to avoid using his cultivation method, not if he wants to keep people safe. He's more careful and restrained this time and he doesn't create the Yīn Hǔ Fú. But Mo Dao is Mo Dao. It attracts disapproval from people regardless.

Wei Wuxian doesn't care and Lan Zhan stays by his side without paying any heed to the grumblings of his clan. He goes to sleep every night with Lan Zhan's guqin notes in his ear and meditates every morning with the Cleansing purging the Resentful Energy from his body.

With a powerful and active Golden Core, Wei Wuxian can't use Mo Dao liberally without risking Qi Deviation. But he uses enough to help them win the war.

Wei Wuxian successfully retakes Lotus Pier and Yunmeng from the Wens. Jiang Cheng's hatred doesn't diminish and even Jiang Yanli grows distant after a while. Jiang Cheng's suffering and downfall hardens something in his soft shijie.

Wei Wuxian accepts that consequence quietly.

He hands Lotus Pier back to Jiang Cheng and stays on the front lines, leaving most of the freshly recruited disciples behind to protect his former martial siblings. When the war ends, argues to keep the Wen cultivators in better conditions. He makes sure everyone knows how much the Jiangs owe the Wen siblings, and saves the children and elderly.

With Jiang Cheng out of the Cultivation World and Wei Wuxian's reputation as a war hero, saving the Wen remnants is easier than it had been before.

---

Everyone is baffled when Jiang Wanyin names a new head disciple and Wei Wuxian never returns to Yunmeng. People gossip, sect leaders question, and new Jiang disciple flounder.

Neither Jiang Wanyin nor Wei Wuxian confirms it but it is clear to everyone that the Jiang Sect has, foolishly, kicked out its most powerful disciple. YunmengJiang remains wealthy but the Sect's influence diminishes significantly once Wei Wuxian leaves.

Other Sects, big and small, scramble to find Wei Wuxian, ready to offer him a place and get a powerful cultivator in their ranks. Letters pour in promising wealth and prestige.

Wei Wuxian ignores them all and settles in Cloud Recesses. He's content to teach a group of eye-wide Lan ducklings now to deal with resentful energy and limit the risk of Qi Deviation. He takes them on Nighthunts, teaches them real-life lessons, encourages creativity, and becomes a well-loved senior.

New YunmengJiang disciples aren't near as strong as their predecessors without someone to teach them properly.

People gossip and speculate as the years pass. They hint that he is wrong to leave his former sect behind but he doesn't care.

Wei Wuxian has Lan Zhan and Lan Sizhui. Wen Qing and Wen Ning live happily in a small farming village not far from Gusu. They intervene before Jin Guangyao kills Nie Mingjue. They save Lan Xichen from heartache. Jin Ling is born and has both of his parents.

That's all he needs to be happy.

YunmengJiang is no longer his responsibility.

#short prompts #time travel au #wei wuxian #lan wangji #no golden core transfer #anti jiang cheng

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shelbystories · 3 years

Text

Tommy Shelby - Ephialtes

Ephialtes: noun; [Ef-ee-al-tez] a nightmare.

War seemed to follow Tommy wherever he went. Violence was not uncommon to the Shelby's, and every other day it seemed someone wanted to pick a fight with the Blinders. When they would learn to back down, Tommy knew not. The Jews, the Italians, not even the Russians had managed to overthrow them. Still, despite how used to this life he was, Tommy never got accustomed to the nights.

Nights for Tommy were long, rarely filled with any actual sleep. Instead, the war haunted him, flashbacks and memories trawling through his mind any time he thought he was relaxed. And being one who was far from able to vocalise his emotions well, he found it hard to talk about, so he didn't. Rather, Tommy chose to suffer through his nightmares alone. Emotions only made for enemy opportunity, and Tommy would not allow himself such a weakness.

That was until you came along.

Tommy, as reserved and reluctant as he had been, couldn't deny that he had grown to love you. Love never on the agenda where he was concerned, and Tommy had denied it fervently at first; it had taken Arthur's pushing for him to finally cave in and admit that, for the first time in his life, someone had properly worked their way into his heart.

You'd found work behind the bar in the Garrison whilst the boys were at war, your mother knowing their Aunt Polly quite well. She was happy to let you help, and soon you became a staple figure amongst the frequenters of the pub, able to pour a drink and entertain all the same. Business ran smoothly, and customers were happy, so they kept you around.

You'd first seen Tommy the day after they had come back, and to say you found him handsome was an understatement. You had seen his blue eyes, soft yet hardened all at once. There was a man in there, under the façade he chose to present, and part of you wanted to get to know that man.

"Careful with that one, love," Polly had leant over and whispered to you. "He's not your normal kind of man."

Sending her an incredulous look, your reply gave you away, spoken in a tone that said every word was a lie. Not your intention, in your head it had sounded very defiant and strong.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

A lie it surely was, and Polly knew it a mile off. She had simply laughed, shaken her head, and turned her attention back to her cigarette. Despite your claims, your eyes had drifted back to the man in question, who's own eyes were on you, a soft glance your way. He made no move to smile at you, but you swore his eyes lit up that little bit more. Polly was right, he wasn't your normal type of man, Tommy Shelby. But, the heart wants what it wants.

That was just over a year ago, now. A year later and you were by Tommy's side. The family had welcomed you with warmth, happy that he had finally found someone to put his trust in and to love. Arthur joked that you'd made Tommy too soft, and John would bully you for one thing or another. All in good faith, of course, you knew that should any harm come to you, they would back you up without question. Finn adored you, too, you'd sit with him for hours and talk about anything and everything; usually it was when the boys had kicked him out of the back room of the pub whilst they had a meeting. On the times you'd met Ada, she had also seemed to take to you, loving how you would play with Karl when she had business with Tommy. A couple of times since, she had offered you to walk with her and Karl through the park.

They were family, and you couldn't have been happier or luckier to have the lot of them in your life.

Tommy currently lay awake again, eyes staring wide at the ceiling once more. Beside him, your sleeping form had lay, breathing evenly. It brought some comfort to him. In the small light from outside, your face was lit with a soft glow, and Tommy stared for a while. You looked like an angel, and to him you were. Tommy never did know why you stuck around, or why you had chosen him, but he was thankful nonetheless that he had you. You had stuck by him through the good, the bad, and the very rock bottom, something he would neither expect nor wish from anyone. He didn't know how you did it, how you managed to cope with him at his best, let alone his worst.

He had leant over and ran his hand over your face, twirling a small piece of your hair in his hand, not wanting to wake you. Sighing, Tommy stood, only now realising he was sweating. Walking to the mirror, he stared at his reflection. Eyes reddened and skin glistening, he took a deep breath.

"Fuck," he spoke low to himself, voice hushed. Head in his hands, he tried to shake off his mood.

You'd rolled over ever so slightly and realised there was no one there. Your subconscious woke you with slight panic; such a life meant you never knew whether Tommy was simply taking a piss or he'd been kidnapped. You noticed him stood near the wall and a part of you relaxed. His form was hunched over ever so slightly, and in that moment, you knew. Standing, your feet padded over to him, his body remaining facing the wall. Your arms wrapped themselves around his waist and you buried your head into his back, feeling the tense muscles he was holding relax slightly.

"Hello," you said softly, leaving a small kiss between his shoulder blades. "Nightmares?"

Tommy didn't have to say anything, and you nodded to yourself. Taking his hands, you moved yourself in front of him to look up at the man you loved. One hand cupped his face, and Tommy placed his forehead against yours.

"Would you like to talk about it, love?" you enquired, the hand that rested on his cheek now holding the back of his head. Again, Tommy didn't speak, instead choosing to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Such vulnerability was something Tommy couldn't stand showing, but he needed you in that moment.

"Let's get back in bed."

Taking his hand once more, you led him back to the bed and climbed in, Tommy hesitant for a second or two. You opened your arms, and he crawled in beside you as you wrapped the cover over your forms. Tommy lay into your side, head facing the ceiling as you ran one hand through his hair. Glancing up at you, his eyes shone as he spoke, barely above a whisper.

"Thank you, Y/N, I apologise if I woke you."

You giggled slightly, and his face turned a little confused.

"You and your priorities, Tommy," you said, placing a kiss on his forehead and smiling down at him. "You know I hate it when you thank me for things like this, I don't need a thanks. We'll get through this together, won't we?"

"Yeah," his voice lower, suggesting he was finally tiring. "Yeah we will."

A shift in the bed, and Tommy was curled against you, arms draped over your waist and legs entwined messily with your own. A few moments later, and you felt his body relax. Looking down, you saw his eyes, those beautiful eyes that had drawn you in at the start, had closed and his breathing had evened itself out. Rest had overtaken him.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby."

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader

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alicedopey · 3 years

Text

The Wallflower

Gorgeous moodboard made by the talented @naaladareia Thanks babe !

Fandom: Vikings

Pairing: Hvitserk x Plus-size reader

Genre: Modern AU, Drama, Angst, Romance

Words: 1742

Warnings: Angst, some self-depreciation (barely)

Summary: The only thing you wish for is to dance...

A/N: Here is my contribution to @youbloodymadgenius 1k Celebration. I’ll let you find out which famous line I picked up, it would spoil the plot. This might turn into a multipart series, depends if you like this one or not.

Your boss was a flirt. Well, one of them was, to be exact. When every employee of the food company you were working for had learnt that two young Danish men had bought the firm from your very American boss, brows were raised. What would they make of it?

Two years later, it turned out they had drastically changed it and made it one of the most famous brands of Danish food in the United States. Those different brothers seemed to complete each other and formed an effective duet.

Ivar was very professional, blunt, harsh sometimes but his mind was swirling with ideas and he knew how to deal with all the competitors his company could cross path with.

Hvitserk was…quite the opposite. He was the cook so he was very creative and more easy-going, funny, smiling and very friendly. Sometimes, he was even too friendly; you reminded yourself as you heard a fit of giggles coming from your other female colleagues on the other side of the room where Hvitserk was probably telling one of his silly stories or praising the women with endless compliments.

It would be a lie to pretend that he was not very charming but contrary to most of your colleagues, you did not take the praises coming out of his mouth very seriously. It was just in his nature to flirt with every girl he met and that also included an older and heavier woman like you. In your mind, Hvitserk could not date a woman like you but rather a perfect looking woman who would shine next to him. It was perfectly fine. Your curves were not everyone’s cup of tea but you did not mind because they were yours and you loved them – well, more like learned to love them.

“So…what did you decide to do for your reunion this weekend?”

Your brows furrowed at your closest colleague’s question and your eyes looked away from Hvitserk. “What do you mean? I already told you I was going.”

“Not that.” Lisa scoffed. “Did you find someone to go with?”

“I did not look for anybody. I’m going alone.”

“You can’t do that.” She replied in a categorical tone. “This would be highly humiliating.”

Lisa was known for being overdramatic over many things so you were not surprised she was reacting this way.

“I was single at the time, you know.” You tried to reason patiently with her. “So, it won’t be a surprise for them if that still is the case fifteen years later.”

Her eyes widened. “You are kidding, right?” She exclaimed a little bit too loud for your liking. “You have to…okay, you know what? I will help you find someone. In fact, I think my brother is free this weekend. I can ask him, he wouldn’t mind.”

“No, thank you.” You had already met the man. He was nice and handsome but not very discreet, just like his sister. “Besides, I don’t like the blind date thing.”

Lisa leaned forwards and whispered, “Pay someone then…” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Right. Paying for a man to play your date, way to boost your ego. You knew Lisa meant well but the more she kept suggesting things, the more humiliated you felt. “No.”

She looked at you as if you were too stubborn for your own good. “You know, having a date means you would be able to dance…”

You sighed. She clearly knew which weak spot to strike on. “Lisa…”

“Good morning, ladies!”

The two of you startled at Hvitserk’s voice. “What’s the topic today?”

“Convincing Y/N to bring a date to her high school reunion.” Lisa answered without thinking. She instantly mouthed an “I’m sorry” as Hvitserk looked at you questioningly.

Thankfully, he did not have the time to make any comment as Ivar entered the room. Every employee ran back to work and even Hvitserk left hurriedly to join his brother, which brought a smile to your lips.

¤ ¤

The rest of the week went in a blur. After her little mishap, Lisa did not insist on the date issue and Hvitserk did not mention anything either. He probably did not care or even remember it for that matter. So, that Friday night, you got dressed with a nice dark blue dress, high heels, called for an Uber and arrived at your high school, ready to have a good time.

The moment you entered the enormous gymnasium of your old high school when the party was taking place, you were brought back to the past. Some of your friends instantly greeted you and you were all so happy to see each other again and share some memories that none of you really lost too much time thinking about your current marital status or your professional situation.

There was a huge buffet to enjoy, the music was a nice reflecting of the past parties you had attended. Everyone enjoyed themselves on the dance floor, especially you.

Dancing was a real joy and a great opportunity to express yourself. When you were dancing, you forgot everything and everyone around you to just focus on the music and how it made you feel free and finally yourself.

Then, slow-dancing time came. This was the moment when you had to get out of the picture and go back to your usual spot, against a pillar or a wall.

Being curvy had its flaws when you were a teenager. You could not say you had suffered from bullying because you had a strong personality and was not afraid to fight back when you needed to. No. The worse part was during the parties. No boy would invite you to dance, even amongst your friends. It looked like friendship had its limits. You thought things could change with time since teenage years were always considered as the hardest ones when you did not fit in completely. You were clearly wrong. You were an adult now and no men wanted to dance with the fat girl. Nothing had changed and nothing would.

You watched the couples on the dance floor with a sting in your chest. It was probably time for you to go home instead of brooding like you usually did.

“Care to dance?” Your eyes turned away from the dancing couples to meet those of the owner’s voice. Your jaw opened slightly when you saw Hvitserk Ragnarsson standing in front of you dressed in a dark suit, his middle length hair tied in a loose bun.

“Come on.” He extended his hand. “Nobody puts baby in a corner.”

You smiled and put your hand in his. Hvitserk led you to the dance floor. He pulled your curvaceous body against his hard one, his hand on the small of your back and the two of you gently swayed to the music. This was completely new to you, it felt so nice. Tears were welling up in your eyes so you closed them for a few seconds. When you opened them back, the green eyes of your boss were looking at you with gentleness and concern.

You smiled. “Why are you here, Mister Ragnarsson?”

“Hvitserk.” He replied. “Why don’t we enjoy the night, first? I promise I will answer all of your questions afterwards.”

You nodded. Hvitserk winked at you.

¤ ¤

The two of you did enjoy your night. After sharing a few dances, Hvitserk met your friends. He introduced himself as your boyfriend which led you to choke on your drink. Nonetheless, you did not correct him, secretly enjoying the fact that some of your friends were watching you with some obvious jealousy. It was a nice change for once.

At the end of the night, Hvitserk offered to drive you home and you accepted. The ride was silent, awfully silent but you did not wish to break this silence. You felt almost afraid to ask him why he was here because you did not want to discover this was out of pity.

Almost too soon, he parked in front of your little house and turned off the engine. You knew there was no other chance to escape explanation time.

“You did not have to do it, you know.” You finally said, your eyed fixed on the windshield. “As I said to Lisa, I don’t mind going alone. I certainly do not need…”

“Pity?”

This made you look at him. “Exactly.”

“I don’t do the pity thing, I only do what I want to do. And I can assure you I wanted to be with you tonight…I just wish you would have asked me.”

You felt a little bit comforted at his words but choose not to read too much into them. “Thank you, then. I had a great night.”

“I did too. Would do it again whenever you want to.”

Once again, you chose to ignore any deeper meaning behind his words and simply smiled at him. He smiled back.

“So…can I get a good night kiss?”

You burst out laughing at this. Now, that was more like Hvitserk. You chuckled, leaned in and kissed his cheek. His facial hair tickled your lips. Then you realized what you had just done, meaning pecking your boss on the cheek and abruptly straightened up. Heat was creeping up your neck and ears. Hvitserk was looking at you with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

“I did not know you had watched Dirty Dancing.” You blurted out to embarrass him. He chuckled though.

“I never did. I heard it from one of the ladies at the office. Guess I spend too much time in marketing.”

He winked and you felt yourself blushing again although this time, you smiled at him.

“Good night, Hvitserk.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You got out of the car, walked to your front door, opened it then closed it behind you without even looking back at him once. You did not wish to show him he had charmed you even more, particularly because you were convinced he was not interested in you at all.

But Hvitserk’s eyes never left your body, enjoying its every curve until you had disappeared behind your closed door. Then he started his car and left, a satisfied smile lingering on his lips.

Tagging (please tell me if you want to be added or removed): @naaladareia @tephi101 @gearhead66 @therealcalicali @ivarswickedqueen @akamaiden @peaceisadirtyword @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @mblaqgi @captstefanbrandt

#fanfiction #vikings #hvitserk x plus size reader #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk ragnarsson #Hvitserk #youbloodymadgenius1kcelebration #angst #plus size reader #romance #modern au

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kiribakuhappiness · 3 years

Note

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

Ahh, this question is always so interesting!

First I just want to define the terms above - in case some people aren't aware of their meaning!

Planner: Relatively self-explanatory, a planner is someone who plans out their entire story from start to finish before they even think about writing it. Character backstories, settings, relationship connections, timelines, order of events and their significance, important symbolic details, everything is entirely fleshed out before that pen hits that paper or before those fingertips start tapping away at that keyboard!

Pros: - No need to stop writing for every new plot point/chapter - Generally very well fleshed out characters and scenes. - Plenty of room for constructing well thought-out foreshadowing.

Cons: - Takes a lot of time and effort before the writing process can even begin. - Generally very difficult to tweak details later on, as it creates a domino effect regarding the remainder of the preemptive planning.

Panster: Coined from the term "by the seat of one's pants," a panster is someone who gets a vague idea for a story and takes off running with it. No direction or planned events needed, just their juicy inspiration and a blank document! Pansters are also usually known for writing scenes out of order.

Pros: - Lots of creative freedom. - No feeling of being weighed down by a predetermined path/plot. - Great technique when writing a story that will contain a lot of plot twists.

Cons: - So. Much. Editing. - Will generally end up doing everything that a Planner would do, just later on in the game. - Character motivations + plot structures can suffer by becoming cloudy and unclear/unexplained.

Planster: Probably the easiest to identify/define after learning about the other two, but a planster is someone who is a healthy mix of both! Most writers are plansters, as the range is much more varied and so, by default, contains the medium average. Plansters will get a new story idea, make a few notes or plan out a few important scenes/details, and then use that like a vague roadmap for their stories similar to the dodgy early-2000's Google Maps Directions.

Pros: - A healthy amount of creative freedom when coming up with new scenes and characters. - Easier to make midcourse adjustments in regard to plot devices, foreshadowing, etc.

Cons: - Writer's block can set in when struggling to connect one vague predetermined plot point to the next.

As for my answer, I am very much a Planster, leaning more towards Panster! Usually when I come up with a new story idea, it's a very vague concept, but a concept nonetheless.

So, take Why Is Everything So Weird With the Lights Off? as an example!

When I started that fic, my only notes going into it were these (copy + pasted from my notes app):

Bakugou appears at Kirishima's door; he's been drinking (third year, reasonable age to engage in such activity). Kirishima's first time seeing Bakugou drunk. Bakugou has come to confess his feelings - Kirishima can't imagine why Bakugou would think that midnight on a school night is a good time to strike up a conversation, but what kind of friend would he be if he turned him away? Kirishima's chivalry to be a good friend battles internally with his desire to be with Bakugou as the night progresses. Bakugou is uncharacteristically touchy and honest about his wants to hang out with Kirishima (internally, he's frustrated that he keeps fucking up his attempts to confess, and so tries to stay later and later to get it right). "'M not fuckin' comfortable," he [Bakugou] says [from the makeshift bed on the floor], louder and firmer, as if that will change anything. From beginning - no attraction/romance detected between them. As story progresses - lines start to cross and blur and Kirishima's buried feelings for Bakugou become more apparent to the reader. (Their relationship has started to subtly change, as all relationships tend to do.)

As you can see, there's very little in-depth details here. I don't really go into long-winded explanations and I don't really focus on anything regarding the setting or plot points. Of course, the type of notes I take and the amount of attention to details I give vary drastically regarding the project, but the entire idea is at least glossed over so I don't forget it, and I always try my best to be firm when considering Character Motive (ie; Bakugou drunkenly arrives with the one and only goal to finally confess his feelings to Kirishima), the rest of the fic and all of its minor details come as a result from these motives.

I'll give another example where I went into A LOT more detail, again, copy + pasted from my notes app! Disclaimer: major spoilers for unwritten chapters regarding Fighting Tooth and Claw to Get Back to You.

[Upon UA Katsuki + Fantasy Katsuki meeting for the first time]

"It is fucking winter?"

"Yeah. It's fuckin' winter."

[Right before they switch back] - UA Katsuki experiences a darkness where he finally meets Barbarian Bakugou face-to-face. They approach each other, movements mirrored, and it's UA Katsuki who raises a hand out towards him first, which Barbarian Bakugou hesitates to accept (he is resentful and ashamed of UA Katsuki and believes him to be ignorant and immature). But UA Katsuki needs to know what happened right before the switch, he needs to unlock that memory, and Barbarian Bakugou is reluctantly curious about his unwavering determination, so they clasp their hands together in a strong grip and are thrust into a new place - sunny and filled with green grass. The barbarian clan is there, Dragon Eijirou included, as they prepare to train for several moons straight before migrating away for the winter. Barbarian Bakugou and Dragon Eijirou leave to go train on their own, unbeknownst to them that Eri is following. They banter for a bit and kiss before bakugou wraps an intimidating hand around his neck and jaw. "Are you going to fight me or not?" Dragon Eijirou grins at that, still giving him a sultry, distracted look despite the fingers clasped threateningly around his neck. "What do I get if I win?" He teases. Barbarian Bakugou smirks before he gives Dragon Eijirou's head a light shove in the opposite direction, who steps out of his space again just as easily as he had entered it. "Off, you dumb lizard," Barbarian Bakugou grumbled, still looking amused before he reached over and pulled the glinting, golden sword (All Might) from its holster on his hip and brandished it towards Eijirou, whose red eyes glisten with a new kind of want as he stared at it - the dragon part of him yearning to collect such a valuable treasure. "You would look good as a King, Katsuki," he tells him. Katsuki's smirk grows wider. "And you as a dragon, if you'd ever hurry the fuck up." He gave the sword a vague sway through the space between them and Eijirou's eyes flash dangerously. "Come and take it from me. I know you want to," Katsuki goaded. Eijirou turns into a dragon and they fight.

[Choice made when Imperial soldiers attack during their training session (mentioned at beginning of story by Sero)] - All Might (sword) is falling off the cliff's edge, while Dragon Eijirou is about to get shot by a piercing arrow. Barbarian Bakugou chooses to try and save Dragon Eijirou (abandoning the sword and his future Kingdom), who calls out "NO" even as a dragon who shouldn't be able to speak (he doesn't want Bakugou to lose his throne just for him), which causes Barbarian Bakugou to stop abruptly in shock. The arrow is shot and pierces Dragon Eijirou's underbelly. He lets out a loud roar before he plummets down into the forest out of sight (leading to his capture). Barbarian Bakugou sees red, reaching down to grab the nearest abandoned steel sword (one shown at beginning of story that UA Kirishima shatters) that he then uses to swing down and slice into the shoulder of the soldier that had shot Dragon Eijirou. More soldiers descend into the valley. Katsuki hears a scream and turns to see Eri lying on the ground, terrified as a soldier holds up a crossbow at her. "TO THE END OF ALL DRAGONS!" The man yelled (revealing that Eri, in the fantasy timeline, is also a dragon, and explains her fondness for Barbarian Bakugou when she joins their group and observes how he treats Dragon Eijirou with kindness instead of prejudiced fear). Barbarian Bakugou's feet move without thinking as he lunges in front of Eri, just as her fingertips reach out and graze along his shoulder before everything goes black.

When UA Katsuki awakes again, he is in the hospital on campus, and Kirishima is sleeping in the chair beside him.

[fantasy setting, after the switch back. Barbarian Bakugou - despite still being offered the throne for Musutafu - declines. Izuku and Todoroki are preparing to go back to the kingdom with the news of the vanquish of the Imperial Army, gazing out at Bakugou's barbarian clan as he absently moves about the crowd, barking orders and preparing his clan for travel. Dragon Eijirou joins them to watch as well.] "I am surprised to learn of Kacchan's abandonment of the throne. I thought there was nothing in this world that could replace his desire to be King," Izuku mused out loud to him. "He would have made a great leader."

Dragon Eijirou grinned from beside him. "You're wrong, Izuku," he states simply. "He already is a great leader."

Because of the complexity of the story, with all its many plot twists and such a large cast of important characters, my notes are far more in depth here than they are for my other fic - however, these notes wouldn't necessarily be structured enough to be considered a Planner-mindset, as there is still plenty of room for added details, dialogue, etc.

Phew! What a fucking post :,D a big ole chonker - I hope you enjoyed reading at least, if you've made it this far! 🧡

Fanfic Ask Game - send me a question! ☺️

#fic ask game #kiribaku #writing #personal #asks

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nelapanela94 · 3 years

Text

Hi!

Levi X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, abortion, and swearing.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Y/N and Levi had been dating for a year. At the beginning, they had managed to keep their relationship a secret, but one evening, Hange caught them in the captain’s office making out. Y/N sitting on Levi’s lap and their shirts partially unbuttoned. They let out a deep sigh as Hange excitedly ran across the hallway shouting “You all owe me, it’s time to pay”. And it didn’t take long for the rest of the scouts to learn about the two.

Some people found them adorable; and others, who used to flirt with Y/N and send little presents to her, took their distance afraid that Levi might kill them with a glare. Despite their relationship was not a secret any longer, PDA was kept to a minimum. They would walk with their pinkies intertwined, caress their thighs under the table and stealing kisses when nobody was looking. Nonetheless, behind closed doors they couldn’t stay away from each other. Even when Levi was occupied with paperwork late at night, he would allow Y/N to sit on his lap and rest her head on his shoulder.

Everything seemed lovely and perfect, but lately Y/N had been distant to the black- haired captain. Even though she promised she was fine, he sensed the tint of distress in her eyes and voice.

Doesn’t she love me anymore? Is she getting bored of me?

Sometimes, Levi overthought about his relationship with Y/N and gave in into his unfounded insecurities, wondering about what Y/N saw in him in first place. Y/N was a sunbeam, with a caring and approachable personality, she was popular among the scouts. On top of that, she was born into a merchant’s family from Stohess District. Her parents, naturally, expected her to marry another merch’s son in order to expand the business.

At the other end of the spectrum was Levi. An ill-mannered, unapproachable man from the Underground City, without a family name, and last but not least, a former thug.

“Levi, you’re the only one I want” She always reassured him with a bright smile. Yet he felt he didn’t deserve her. What life could he offered? She was raised surrounded luxurious goods, expensive clothing and jewelry, never worrying about how to earn the next meal. He could not give her the life she was used to.

You’re the only one I want. Nobody else. They’re not like you. They’re not you.

Behind that stoic demeanor laid an insecure boy who was afraid of not being enough. Perhaps, that is why Kenny abandoned him back then.

Moreover, he was deadly terrified of losing Y/N. He had lost important people in his life, his mother, his closest friends, comrades, but the mere thought of losing Y/N drove him crazy.

A knock on the door disseminated his thoughts.

“It’s me Levi” Y/N slowly opened the door and came in.

“I need to tell you something” they said in unison.

“You first” She stood in front of his desk.

“You”

“You, Levi” He sighed and gave up. Arguing with her would not take it anywhere.

“Do you believe... I mean” he gulped. Why does he have to stutter when it came to her? “Do you think this... we... you and I are going somewhere?”

She raised a brow. “Will you take me on vacations?”

Levi inwardly facepalmed.

“I mean, do you see a future with you and I … together?” The last word trailed.

“What’s with that question? Of course, I do, you silly”

“What about your family? I doubt they want a former thug married to their daughter”

“Well, I can’t care less” She shrugged. “If I have to give up my inheritance, I’ll do it without a second thought” She frowned. “You know you’re the one I want” She leaned and pinched his nose.

“I don’t want you to suffer because of me” he stood up from his chair. “I can’t give you the life you deserve. Not now”

“Hold on” She shook the head and frowned. “What concept do you have of me? A spoiled brat who’ll make a tantrum for not getting a new pair of shoes? Or that I’m only with you to spare time before my parents choose the perfect suitor for me?” Tears of anger and disappointment formed in her eyes. “That’s low”

“That’s not what I meant...”

Damn.

“Levi, if you want to break up with me for your stupid, unjustified insecurities, do it then” She rubbed her eyes, and restrained from throwing a punch onto his face. “One more request before I leave. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me”

Levi’s eyes held her gaze. It was intensed, but not a single word came out of his mouth.

“Alright” she sobbed. “I don’t need a coward next to me” She turned around and headed towards the door.

“Oi! Wait! What was it? What you had to tell me” his voice was about to crack.

“It has nothing to do with you now” She replied and closed the door behind her. She sped up to her quarters, covering her mouth with both hands, hence nobody could hear her sobbing.

Levi was left agape, his jaw quivering and his gaze still glued to the door. His eyes were teary and red. He clenched his fists and cursed himself for being a jerk.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Hey, go get some rest Y/N” Moblit said with concern.

“I’m almost done, it’s alright”

Y/N was working with Moblit in the lab, transcribing the most recent findings of one of Hange’s investigations. “You have a nice handwriting”

“Thanks” she smiled. “Well, no one here can top your drawings. I guess we make a good team” she chuckled.

“You could’ve taken more days”

“No, it’d been a week and I was already missing the scouts. Besides, my family is quite suffocating”

Y/N had taken a leave due to appendicitis a week after her breakup. Shadis didn’t want her on the field until fully recovered; therefore, she was assigned to office work meanwhile. And about Levi, they avoided each other. He would take the longest path to his office, and she would sit at the furthest table during dinner.

They couldn’t be more immature.

Y/N grumbled when Commander Shadis ordered her to join Levi’s squad to capture a titan for Hange’s research. Of all available cadets, it had to be her. It wasn’t a difficult task; thus, it wouldn’t take long.

Nevertheless, things didn’t go as planned. Y/N had made a single mistake that almost led the operation into a tragedy. But Levi was there and saved her.

She woke up in the infirmary. Her abdomen was wrapped in bandages, and she whined when she sat up, resting her back against the headboard.

Levi came in minutes later, and judging by the expression on his face, he was far from content.

“What the hell was that?” He sternly demanded.

“Don’t be loud” She groaned, covering her ears.

“You almost fuck it up. Not even a rookie would have made such mistake”

“Sorry” she rolled the eyes. “Why did you come back to save me then? If you wanted me out of your life, you could’ve gotten rid of me for good” She nonchalantly shrugged.

“What’s wrong with you, Y/N?" His brows furrowed. "You're not the same since you came back from your leave”

“My boyfriend dumped me, is it a valid reason?”

Levi grunted. “you’re into opioids because you’re heartbroken?” he approached her bed and drew a small container out of his uniform pocket. Y/N’s eyes wide opened, then scowled.

Busted.

“Were you sneaking in my room?” She was cold sweating.

“You were too suspicious lately, Y/N. Sneaking out of the headquarters at night, being lethargic and tired during the day. And don’t get me started with your irritability. I had to follow you”

“Why?”

“Because I still care about you” he confessed, averting the eyes.

“Well, I don’t need you to take care of me” She crossed the arms over the chest, and bit the inside of her cheek.

He took a seat at the edge of the bed. “I won’t tell anyone about this shit.” He put the container back in the pocket. “I just want to know why” His eyes displayed his concern.

“You’ll despise me if I tell you” She looked away.

“It can’t be that bad”

“Believe me, It can. I...” her eyes became watery. “I made a terrible decision Levi, and I just wanted to forget” Her voice trembled.

“You can trust me” He placed his hand on hers.

“Levi” She began. “You don’t have to forgive me. You can hate me. Kick me off wall Rose without gear if you feel like”

“What is it?” He was growing impatient.

“That day, at your office I... I stopped by because I had big news for you” She gulped. “I was dead scared to drop that bomb, but the matter involved the two of us” Heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked up at his steel gray eyes. “I was... I was expecting, six weeks according to the midwife” His eyes went wide. “The appendicitis wasn’t appendicitis. One of the cadets knew someone in Trost who could help me out” Levi couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. A churn feeling invaded his chest, and the pressure made it hard to breath. “I was so angry and hurt I didn’t think twice” She burst into tears. “I was alone and scared. And I still regret it.”

He moved closer and hugged her tight. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, soaking his shirt with tears.

“I’ve been tormented by what it could’ve been. You and I and...”

“Shhh... don’t say it” He caressed her hair.

“I was too scared, Levi. I didn’t picture myself as a single mother and my parents would’ve turned their back against me. Then, guilt was eating my soul; I needed the fastest way to forget”

She didn’t want to see his face. She knew his heart was screaming out in pain, disappointment and ire.

Levi could not blame Y/N, though.

Maybe if he had let her talk first, if he hadn’t been that coward, the story would have been different. He also felt a hint of guilt within himself.

“In my brain, I knew it wasn’t the right moment. In my heart, however, I started imagining and dreaming about what could’ve been”

“Stop tormenting yourself, it won’t change anything” He whispered. He pulled apart and placed a hand on her cheek. “I can’t forgive you because there’s nothing to forgive. I’m not going to lie, it hurts, but I can’t blame you.”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Mine” Levi growled leaning over, resting his forehead on Y/N's.

“Mine” She whispered.

He pulled off of her with a groan. She laid on his bed, drained and exhausted. Levi settled next to her, both panting, staring up at the ceiling.

“I missed you” She managed to say, still recovering her breath. He took her hand, interlacing their fingers, and placed soft kisses on the knuckles.

“I missed you, too”

“I received a letter from my parents. They want to meet you”

“Do they?”

“Yup! And don’t worry, they’ll like you. Besides, my little brother looks up to you”

She rolled on her side and placed a kiss on his cheek.

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Gracias, Arigatou!

#levi x y/n #levixreader #levi shingeki no kyojin #levi fanfiction #snk levi #aot #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #levi attack on titan #i should be working

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years

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Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

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deberiaestarescribiendo · 3 years

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Bloody is the path for revenge. An Oberyn Martell x GN!reader. Game of thrones Space AU.

#Writer Wednesday 05/05/2021

Thanks again to @autumnleaves1991-blog for this, I’ve never being this prolific in writing in my life and actually have been more consistent in it thanks to this

Summary: King’s Landing is a ruthless place, a big mass of a planet city where the less fortunate tries to survive in the lower levels and the rich thrives on the top playing their dangerous games. Many years ago, the Lannisters claimed the power from the Targaryens killing everyone in their way men, woman and children even if they were innocent of their family’s crimes; Ellia Martell and her children were amongst them, and since then his brother has tried to bring to justice those who ordered her killing. But you know there’s no justice in this world and if Oberyn tries to do anything to the Lannisters they will respond in violence and threatening his life. The life of the one you love the most

Word count: 4,4 k (One day I’ll write something short for Writer Wednesday but today it’s not that day)

Warning: Cannon divergence from the show and the books, violence, mentions of blood, shots, and explosions. +18 SMUT light descriptive sex (mention of penetration, orgasms and kissing but nothing too explicit)

A/N: What the fuck is this? You may ask, well I don’t know what to tell you, my friend. I swear I didn’t smoke anything writing this just thought how to twist a little the image we got for this week. I decided to change Ellia’s murder by the way, she’s shot dead, plain and simple, I’ve always been left with a terrible sensation every time I read/watched the show or books and they mentioned how she died. If you feel the same just know there’s no mention of rape in this or any kind of sexual violence. This is my first time writing for a gender neutral reader PLEASE PLEASE, let me know if there’s some mentions of the readers gender or something I have not seen. The only detail is that Oberyn is bigger and taller than you, the rest is pretty vague.

“Don’t leave me alone in this world”

“Never”

He says that but he kisses you as if it is his last day on earth. His plump lips force yours open until he’s caressing your mouth with his tongue. A moan resounds in his chest over yours and you feel you heart beating fast, he always ignites a fire inside of you as the blazing core of the earth burns and moves creating earthquakes and changing the shape of the earth. And he has change you, shape you into a different person, you’re wilder, more sure of yourself, passionate and freer, embracing all of you without shame. His love has burn you new as a phoenix. So because of it all, you cannot possible let him leave your bed, you cannot let him die or even come close to it. There’s no way.

You open your eyes when he separates himself from you and you see a sweet smile shining on his face, his eyes still close lingering in the pleasure of having kissed you, of being held in your arms, locking your hands on his strong and broad shoulders with the remaining heat between your bodies. You woke up crying, dreaming of blood and violence and before you opened your eyes, he was hugging you so tightly that all you could think and feel was him and his warm skin.

“My love” he whispered in your ear and then you turned desperate to kiss him to feel that he was still there with you

“I had a nightmare that you left me before I woke up” you cried and brought his weight over your body

“Shh, shh” he hushed and kissed your forehead “I’m still here and...” your lips cut whatever he was about to say and you held his handsome face in your arms and then you let your hands wander over his body: his tense muscles, his scars on his tanned skin, he tried to stop you feeling how your tears still rolled over your cheeks but you begged and plead “Love me please, please I need you in me” and he can’t refuse. You made love slowly, deep and precise thrusts, mouth over mouth murmuring sweet nothings and praises. You fell asleep as soon as he finished, feeling so full of him, so relaxed and warm, relishing in the heat he has left in you.

Hours later, you felt how he moved and that he was about to get up, but you reached for his arm and now here you both are, your nails pressing deep on his arms.

“Let it go, please. You can stay with me, find another way. I don’t want you to die”

“Today it’s not the day I die” he smiles at you fondly brushing his knuckles over your face

“You don’t know that” you shake your head, your voice sound squeaky “Those bastards don’t know what honor is, Oberyn, you keep thinking you will find justice. There’s no justice in this dreadful place”

“I will make my own and please, my love, don’t underestimate me. I know my enemy, I’ve known them since they decided to kill my sister and his children, observed them patiently and now it’s time for them to pay for their crimes” when he mentions his family his jaw clenches and his deep eyes somehow become darker glowing with sorrow and anger.

“We could think of other way...”

“There’s no other way”

King’s landing is a massive chunk of metal, of buildings that top one another until the city raises kilometers away from the ground, leaving a clear distinction between the lower levels where the poor people survive and the highest part where the elite look upwards always climbing to the sky above and the stars crushing and stomping on the less fortunate. You’re somehow in the middle of it. You live in a beautiful needle like tower, a golden palace called Sunspear, in the south part of the town from your apartment balcony the impressive domes of the Red Keep shine from afar and your stomach turns.

The gigantic castle is the center of all, a bleeding heart in the middle of the immense planet city and it harbors the Government, the Power, the Judge and Punisher of this terrible place: the Lannisters. A criminal family wrapped up in golden clothes, golden hair and melted gold in their jewels. But criminals nonetheless, just rose in the right moment and killed the right people; one of them your lover’s dear sister, Ellia and her children.

The late rulers of the city, the ones that conquered and settle on this earth on the first place, the Targaryens, ruled with an iron fist with their Dragons technology, metallic robotic beasts that surveyed, killed and control the city without the need of any man and soon only their shadow over the sky made people tremble and any thought of protest, criminal plans or illegal activities remained on the lower slums where they could not reach as freely.

But crime grows like an infection and soon enough there was a Targaryen king that thought that the end justifies the means and that there’s only one way to get rid of a putrid member; amputating it. So the Dragons did control the slums, burning them down to the ground. Those drastic measures had consequences and of course soon the protests against their cruelty grew stronger, and the protests leaded to insurrection and the Lannisters presented themselves as the golden saviors only to be even crueler than those they had usurped.

And those who were related in any way to the Targaryens were killed without a trial, like Ellia, trapped in the Red Keep by an unsatisfactory marriage to one member of the family. And Oberyn tried, ran to the castle to beg mercy for her innocent sister when the Coup succeeded but ended just collecting her corpse. “She was caught in cross fire” they said but her wounds were clearly a mark of an execution, and seeing himself alone in a chaotic world without allies and without enough power, Oberyn waited, observed and mourned, let his rage grow stronger and deep, a pain like thorns in his chest that even though it hurt, it didn’t compromised his kindness.

He found you in that state, a broken man with a warm smile like the sun, and you were a street rat, a slum orphan kid that lost everything even before you were aware of what family, love or possessions meant. You survived however you could, you were not proud of your beginnings, you were not proud of how you met him: trying to rob him.

“I don’t have much, love” he had said, not threaten at all of your weapon pointed at his chest

“You’re one of those top bastards, of course you have. Give me your rings” you blurted. He complied with a smile and tossed the golden rings to you; but the one on his thumb. “All of them” you spat

“This one, if you please, I’d like to keep. It was a gift from somebody that it’s not longer with me” he said and something in your chest moved after years and years of creating a hard armor over your feelings.

“Alright, now empty your pockets” you said bending down to gather his rings and in that he moved faster than you had seen anybody react and in a swift movement he got you cornered on the wall and disarmed.

“You have to always choose your opponents wisely, my sweet” he said really close to your face. You moaned, tried to think that the sound coming from your mouth was out of fear and his bigger and heavy body over yours, but deep down you knew that his amber perfume, his deep voice and those eyes had awaken something else in you. “You look positively famish and neglected of many things, my sweet. Come with me” And you did and you will always follow him since that day. But today he has chosen a path that you cannot keep. Today your fears had come true, you have always think that your love could cure him, that it could be stronger and enough to calm his need for vengeance. But it is not.

History tends to repeat itself and now the Lannisters are suffering the same fate they created for their predecessors. They’re in their lowest point and they’re destroying themselves from within, betraying their own family members, and when Oberyn saw this as his perfect chance to finally plot his vengeance, you saw that dark pain eating the light, the love, the passion and the kindness, dominating everything else that was in his heart. Now he only sees vengeance and the cold blade of justice cutting their throats.

The sun pierces the pollution and the clouds in an orange and pink palette announcing the beginning of a new day and the trial starts at midday. They’re accusing Tyrion, the youngest of the Lannisters’ siblings, and demanding the death penalty for killing the heir to the throne. And Oberyn in a surprising turns of events has accorded to represent him on the trial or that’s what everybody thinks. The oldest law in the planet, one settled since Aegon Targaryen, the conqueror, is that a defendant can have a final statement before his sentence and everything he says in that moment must be taken in to account if he, by any chance, confesses other crimes or accomplices in the crime being judged.

Oberyn could never bring Ellia’s murder to justice but if Tyrion confesses that he heard his father give the order to kill Ellia and her children then he cannot be killed until that crime is investigated and judged thus saving, for the time being, his life and giving Oberyn the chance of presenting his case against those who killed his family. In a fair world, that could work. But you know his honor and idealism clouds his judgment, they will never let Tyrion confess in public how they ordered to kill innocent children in cold blood, they will never let Oberyn win. They’re desperate now, less concern about their public image and much more drastic in their measures; another thing they have now in common with the past rulers. They’ll do anything to remain in power, and those little legal tricks won’t be enough to stop them. They will take any means necessary to remain in power. Anything.

“We should be going, sir” the security guard announces from the digital pad on the door

“My love” Oberyn adjusts his tunic, an old gold fabric that resembles the million sun panels that covers Sunspear and he looks as the sun, he warms your life, gives you the energy to wake up and you wish this sun, your sun, never sets and leaves you in the dark “If you don’t want to come, I’ll understand”

You run to him and grab his forearms “I will never leave you. I’ll be there as long as you need me”

Weeks before the trial

Even though you’ve climbed on the social ladder and also in a literal way, you are and you will always be a street rat, a lower scum and in that you know many like you. And they’re useful, you know people that could do anything, that know how to find anything or anyone. The lower levels are a wild jungle of metallic junk, holograms screens selling whatever you wish for and dangerous people. But you know your way there and navigated the streets until you found what you wanted.

“So it’s pretty damaged, I had to reprogram everything and search for parts anywhere and those I didn’t find I had to customize” Chips explained uncovering the thing inside his garage. Chips is your friend, shared the same dirty full of lice bed in the orphanage, he didn’t have a name and was given one by the caretakers but preferred the nickname you gave them. He was always since he was a little kid playing with some wires, chips and computers parts and now he had created a place in the slums, mainly because of what he did it’s not really legal. He hacks technology, can get himself inside any web, any software and devastate any system he wants. He does it all in this dirty garage, lighted in neon lights that you don’t know you he stands it, every wall is covered in screens, old technology and devices you don’t understand.

“You know anything you need I will pay double, Chips. I need this working properly, it’s extremely important” you said

“Thank you, Chips” you nodded

“And it will, you will have complete control over it on your holo bracelet” he assured and gave you the small black device that you tied around your wrist “When it is time, you just have to activate it” and he showed you the control app on the floating screen over your hand

“Do you really want to do this? You can’t control the consequences once you active it” he asked eyeing the thing with a worried look

“The consequences if I don’t use it will be far worse”

The trial

“Father, I wish to confess” the short blond man says on the stand, he’s secured inside a protection field that is otherwise invisible except when the neon lights from the ceiling hit it and it shines with a bluish light.

The hundred something audience member gasp in unison and you know the whole city has had the same reaction whilst watching in it live stream in the millions of holoscreens around King’s Landing.

“I didn’t kill Joffrey, but I wish that I had” he spats and the people present scream and insult him. Oberyn stands by his side and you cannot see his face from your seat in the grandstand but his fists are clenched and his posture is tense. “He was a vicious demon, a murderer and sadist as every member of this family”

“Tyrion if you do not wish to confess this is useless” Tywin Lannister, the patriarch, moves in his seat uncomfortable.

“As I was saying, father, he was a murderer like his family, like you” people rise from their seats now, you stay in your little corner while the crowd waits for the rest of the confession with their mouths wide open “You ordered, years ago, to kill in cold blood innocent people, you ordered your beast” he points to the corner of the big throne room where the tallest man you’ve ever seen stands among other guards “to kill every woman, children or baby that was related to the Targaryens, servants or noble; like Ellia Martell and her children”

“Silence!” Tywin raises from his seat, his pale skin is red, a sharp contrast to his all black tunic “Take the prisoner back to his chamber until a sentence has been declared”

“Wait!” Oberyn walks towards the center of the scene with his hand raised “The defendant has confessed being witness to a crime, by the old law of Aegon, the conqueror; he cannot be put to sentence until that crime has been judged. And you, Lord Tywin, will have to address those accusation in a proper trial” You see from the corner he has a smirk on his face while the older man glares at him with his eyes full of hate.

“Isn’t it that convenient for you?” Cersei Lannister cries from her seat, the mourning mother has been quite the whole trial but her eyes red and weeping had been fixed on her brother and now Oberyn with the same anger. “You’ve spreading those lies and accusations for years and now you conspire with my murderer brother to hurt my family” her voice break and the audience gasps again clearly entertain with this turning of events

“Accusations that now have to be clarified in a trial as it was always dismissed by your authority” Oberyn responds pointing with his finger to the whole Lannister court

“It was a time of war, an unfortunate accident” Tywin hisses

“Well now you could prove it and end those accusations, don’t you?” Oberyn smiles wildly but it feels like more like a viper openning its mouth to show you its weapons before biting.”I demand that the defendant is released from your custody and it will remain with me until trial”

“That’s surprising, are you accusing us of plotting to hurt him in anyway?” Tywin tilts his head to Oberyn, challenging him, and you know he has something in mind. You’re so tense that you don’t realize you were not breathing until your chest hurts. You activate your holobracelet looking at the small bottom waiting for the perfect moment.

“I’m saying he’s accused of a heinous crime and clearly has gained the hatred of the people, being here could make it really easy for anybody to hurt him while on custody. So I suggest a secured and secret location for the moment”

“Tyrion has the means to escape and leave the planet; we could not possibly let him go” says an old man from the Council

“He will remain in the Red Keep” Tywin states

“I think I still have my right to testify, father” Cersei raises from her seat with a coy smirk

“You can give a final statement, yes” he agrees

“Oberyn Martell has agreed to defend my brother from this terrible murder, has been seeing with him before in very dubious places and now he accuses us of murder and plot to kill a prisoner in custody in order to keep Tyrion on his care. I think it’s fair to think that he could have some interest in this, maybe even be part of a larger plot against us, he has always hate our family for a crime we didn’t commit”

The uproar in the room is way stronger this time, some assistants can’t even be kept on their seats, and the guards form a line between the grandstand and the platform were the trail is taken place. You move, your heart beats are loud in your ear, as you go down the stand closer to where Oberyn stands.

“I firmly believe we should have a line of investigation on this, so you, Oberyn and your client should stay on the Red Keep until everything is clarified” Tywin doesn’t hide his pride. You knew that this will happen; they have neither honor nor a care for justice. And you knew they will find a way to hurt him if he ever became bolder in his way to get justice for his sister.

Oberyn is screaming something but you cannot hear him with all the crossed accusations and the audience, but the guards had walked towards him, they’re moving Tyrion from his stand and cornering your lover.

“Raise your hands, sir” they scream at him “Calm down”

You know their tactics, you know that any movement he will do can justify that they shot him down or hurt him. If he raises his hands they can say he was about to punch them, if he doesn’t he didn’t comply. Anyway Oberyn’s life is threatened. So you know it’s time.

You open the hologram screen on your bracelet and tap on the small logo with trembling fingers, until the screen shows an ACTIVITED sign in green.

You were a small child, probably a baby when you were met with one of those things, so you don’t remember how silent they are. It was made like that so they could strike any possible threats without given them the chance to escape. So the dust hits you first, before you or anyone could hear it. The right wall of the throne room collapses and you see the screens and the wires and the metal breaking and the ancient brick walls inside of them. A blazing sun hits second, a red and orange light until you feel the heat. That’s not the sun. It’s fire.

The beast enters and now you can hear it, its motors propel it inside the room and in doing so completely destroy the west side of the Keep. It actually looks like a dragon; a fearsome large metallic face spitting fire but the rest of its body is a triangular black shape more like the commercial flight transports but way bigger.

The clouds of dust makes it impossible for you to find Oberyn, you just hope he hasn’t been hit by the debris in the explosion.

“Oberyn” you scream and cough

You find some guards on the ground some of them evidently dead others are just knockout, and in the middle of it you find him, he had protected his head with his arms, his golden attire is dusty but you don’t see signs of bleeding. You bend down and try to get him up, but he’s heavy

“Come on, my love, we have to go!” he doesn’t respond and your heart skips a beat what if you killed him trying to save him?

But he coughs softly at first and then louder and raises his face confused and wander his eyes until he finds you “We have to go Oberyn, come on” he moves slowly but you gather strength and get his arm over yours and push him towards the abyss on the west wall. And you jump.

Being a slum rat you had always fear being on the top of the buildings, never actually looking from the border of the balcony when you moved with Oberyn, but now you jumped with your eyes closed, holding his body, the body of your lover, your whole life tightly against yours. For a moment you feel the emptiness of space and air until your body hits something hard.

“We have to fly faster; I think the whole building is going to collapse” Chips helps you take a seat on the flying car and you secure Oberyn on the seat beside you. He’s still dazed so he doesn’t say a thing; clearly he doesn’t understand what’s going on. You hope that you hadn’t inflicted some brain damaged. Chips speeds up the vehicle going in a sharp line downwards making the rest of the traffic move to let you pass and avoid a crash.

“We will have to hide on the slums for a moment” he screams over the speed breaking the air

No brain damage, his eardrums are broken but they will heal fast with the drugs Chips has bought in the dark market. He has a great concussion on his back and some scratches on his face, legs and arms. But he’s alive and well. You wait on a very uncomfortable chair looking at him, his tall and broad body doesn’t fit in that small cheap bed but for the moment it will have to do. He has been sleeping for a few hours now and when you’re about to doze off, he coughs trying to call your name.

“Sh, sh, calm down my love” you say when he tries to get up “Drink some water” you serve him in a plastic cup and approach the bed

“What?” he screams and contorts his face once he feels the pain

“Your ears” you pronounce every syllable so he can read your lips “Rest now, it will heal in a few hours”

He drinks looking at you confused over the cup and lies down again but he looks at you intently “what have you done?” he murmurs

You sleep a few hours, Chips keeps doing his thing drinking too much of those energy drinks. At least twenty screens shows different news reports, the images of the trial and the “terrorist attack” as they’re calling it thereafter.

“What have you done with it?” you ask

“I programmed it to self destroy after you deactivated it. Too dangerous on the wrong hands” he explains

“And who are you referring to with “wrong hands?” a deep and husky voice says behind you.

You see the horror in his eyes when he watches the images of the Dragon entering the throne room and burning and destroying everything on its way.

“Oberyn” you whisper

“What have you done?” he asks again, his brown eyes glow in tears

“I did what I have to do” you simply shrug “I couldn’t let you get yourself killed, those people were about to lock you on the Red Keep and next thing I know they will give me your dead body back as they did with your sister” your voice cracks once you try to approach him and he recoils in fear

“You’ve killed innocent people” Oberyn lets his body hit the wall and you see his legs shake still too weak to stand

“They were enjoying that mockery of a trial seeing a poor man being sentence to death” you defend

“And now they’re all dead”

“We’re still waiting for the reports but...”Chips adds but shuts it once you both look angrily at him

“Oberyn” you come close your hands open to him, begging to touch him but he shakes his head

“Oberyn please” you say again

“No” he refuses and now you see he’s crying, his shoulders shake and he covers his face on his hands

“Then listen to me” you face him still letting him have his space “I couldn’t live in a world where you’re not with me. I knew they will try to kill you and I felt powerless, I had to do something, I have to save you as you saved me years ago. I love you, Oberyn, more than my own life, more than my heart, my eyes and my soul and if I have to burn empires to the ground for you, I will and I did”

#Writer Wednesday #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn fanfic #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal x you #Pedro Pascal x reader #Pedro Pascal Characters fanfiction #GOT fanfic #ASOIF AU #ASOIF fanfic #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-14)

Word count: 2.1K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Fluff!

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: Here’s a sweet sweet chapter for y’all

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23. You’re the best

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

27th October 2008

“Where are we going?”

You peeped out of the window. Even though the landscape was familiar, you had never been to this side of the town. Sam was following the highway, so it was easy to keep up with the direction.

“You’ll see,” he gave you a sideways smile.

Contrary to what you had believed, Sam did own a car. Actually, it was more of a minitruck, but a mode of transport nonetheless. He said it was mostly parked out at Dean’s garage, since Sam hadn’t been around to drive it.

You hadn’t even known that the father of your to be child owned a car, till he turned up in Aunt El’s driveway to pick you up today, honking loudly with a huge smile on his face. The truck was nowhere as smooth as Dean’s Baby, but Sam seemed to like it. You rolled down the window and closed your eyes as the wind rushed through your hair.

The events of the past week came to your mind. The way Sam had stood by you, his hand tightly gripping yours as you broke the news to Ellen. She hadn't been happy, not even a bit. Sam took all her anger head on for knocking up her niece, without saying back a word. After she had exhausted herself and plopped on the sofa, face in her hands, Sam had kneeled by her and assured her that he had every intention of taking care of you and the baby, that you were his responsibility now. Even though aunt El hadn’t responded to him, she had mellowed out eventually, and started smiling even. In fact, the night before, she had come up to you to advise you about the terrible morning sickness you were suffering through.

The first trimester seemed to be a whole new ordeal in itself. The dizziness and bloating you could take. The vomiting however...

Jo had been a blessing through all this. She helped you in the mornings and after your aunt had stormed into her room, she had hugged Sam very tightly and congratulated him with a very sincere smile on her face. The scene brought tears to your eyes.

The one reaction that had actually blown your mind was Dean, who had stormed in the next morning and scooped you in his arms, his booming laughter brightening the house. You didn’t think you had ever seen anyone that happy. Even now, the memory of his hug and his words brought a smile to your lips.

I’m going to be an uncle! Oh, this is awesome. YOU are awesome!

“What are you thinking?”

You turned your head to see Sam smiling at you. He smiled a lot lately, like he was happy every minute of the day.

“Nothin.”

You could watch him smile like that all day long, the dimples digging into his cheeks and tongue peeking out to lick his bottom lip.

“Look out the window.”

You did and were awestruck by the expanse of water stretching along the highway.

“That’s the Clinton lake,” he said. “Dean used to bring me here for fishing. I was awful at it.” He scrunched his nose.

You gazed out at the clear blue of the water and the varying shades of green surrounding it. It was serene in a timeless way. Sam parked the truck along a shoulder and helped you down.

"Sam, this is beautiful," you breathed, taking in the perfect spot. It was the edge of the lake and the water lapped at the edges of what looked like a stretch of rocky land… almost a beach but not quite because it graduated into soft grass followed by a stretch of shadowy trees.

"Come." He pulled you by your arm, leading you to one of the biggest trees. You watched as he laid the blanket you had brought along and smoothed it out for you to sit on.

Sam busied himself with pulling out the eatables from the basket- A bag of cookies, two packed sandwiches- Chicken, because Tuna made you sick these days- fresh fruit juice and cheese and cracker, carefully laying them out. It didn’t miss your attention that his hands were shaking slightly. He was nervous.

It was predictable. Afterall, he had only found out a week ago that he was going to be a father.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, slowly nibbling at a cracker. “I don’t want to go to college this year.”

“What?” The napkin dropped from his hand. “But Y/N…”

“No buts,” you said firmly. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. I know we talked about me attending the classes while being pregnant and then hiring a nanny, but I want to look after the baby. I feel like I’ll be miserable all day in classes otherwise.”

He gave you a hard look, like he was choosing his words very carefully. “Are you sure?”

Everyone- especially, Sam- had been asking you that question a lot lately. Are you sure you want to have the baby? Are you sure you’re okay with this? Are you sure you want to move in with Sam? Just so many of them. Aunt El thought you weren’t mature enough to handle moving out of her house, so her questions were tagged on with uncertainty and condescension. You let her have it. Afterall, she was only concerned for your sake. When Sam asked the questions, though, it was always to define what you really wanted. To ascertain that you weren’t doing anything you didn’t really want to do.

“Mhmm.” You answered. You loved that about Sam- he never discredited your opinion. The final decision about your life was always yours. Always.

“There’s one other thing,” you said, slowly. “I want you to take that job in NY.”

This time he looked appalled.

“Hear me out,” you said, “I’m a big girl and it’s my decision to take a gap year. That shouldn’t stop you from pursuing the best opportunity you have. You won’t be starting there until February anyway. We have plenty of time till then to go figure things out, right?”

Sam placed a hand on your arm and gently beckoned you to him. Abandoning the cracker in your hand, you went willingly, stretching out against his long lean body, with your back to his chest. You leaned your head back so that it was resting over his shoulder. His hands automatically went to cover your belly and an unfamiliar warmth spread throughout your body.

He laughs more.

You recalled Dean’s words from a while ago about how Sam had changed. You didn't know him before you entered his life, however, now you did sense a change in him. He seemed… content. Sam was always grinning, and when it was just the two of you, he could help but always touch you in little ways, the pinky finger wrapped around yours, back of his hand gliding against the side of your arm or touching his forehead to yours.

It struck you brand new how incredibly gorgeous he was. Little ‘Chirp’ as you had taken to calling the baby in your head would be lucky to inherit those looks.

“You know, I’ve been doing some thinking of my own,” he said, trailing feather light kisses along the line of your neck, his hand traced the length of your arm till your hand was in his. Something small pressed into your palm, before his fingers closed over yours. You turned your hand over and opened it to find a beautiful ring nestled there.

Stunned, you looked at him.

His brilliant, beautiful eyes melted as he asked, “Marry me?” The unevenness of his voice was enough to almost undo you.

“Sam,” you whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” he urged. “Say you’ll marry me and make me the luckiest man in the whole world.”

There was something so primarily vulnerable about his face that you had to close your eyes. This might have been the part of your wildest dreams and almost every bit of you wanted to say- no, to scream- yes, but you held back, trying to cling to that one shred of reason that would not let you do this.

It would be the hardest thing that you might ever have to do, and looking into his eyes would make it impossible, so your eyes remained closed as you spoke. “You’re the best person I know, Sam and I know why you’re doing this. I love you for it, but I can’t let you do this only because the baby is on the way and you think it’s the right thing to do. Because it’s not. This will affect your future in ways we can’t even comprehend right now. I won’t marry you as a compromise.”

“You think I want to marry you because of the baby? As a compromise?”

The words were so flat that you had to open your eyes, if only to see his expression. He sounded angry.

But Sam wasn’t angry, he was incredulous.

Both of his hands came to cradle your face. “Y/N, I’m asking you to marry me because I’m utterly and hopelessly in love with you. You have consumed my thoughts since the day I first saw you. My dreams aren’t complete without you in them. I’m asking you because I’m beyond sure that there isn’t another soul that I would love as much. Hell, I didn’t even know I had the power to love this much.”

You were dumbstruck.

“Baby, I would have asked you to marry me a long time ago, if I wasn’t worried about tying you down to one place. You have wings so wide and you’ve barely even tested them. I’ve always wanted for you to fly and be the best version of yourself. Now, with the baby, and since you’ve already decided to move in with me, I can’t wait to call you my wife. That’s why I am asking you to marry me.”

“What about your job, your career?” You stuttered.

“Easy,” he said. “You want me to take up that job, right? Then come to New York with me. You’re taking a break year anyway. Don’t go back to NC Central. Apply in colleges that deserve someone as bright as you.”

You shook your head, trying to believe that this was actually happening.

“The money… I’ll never be able to afford it.”

“I’ll pay.” His response was so quick, it made you realise he had thought it all through.

“Sam, you know I can’t let you do that for me.”

He bent down to kiss the side of your face. “If you agree- and God, I hope you agree- you’ll be my wife. It’ll be my honor to help you through college. It’s a six figure salary. I wouldn’t even know what to do with that kind of money.”

Your throat tightened and tears made the side of your head ache. He was so incredibly selfless, and so in love with you. Yes, you had believed every word he had said. It was hard not to when he was looking down at you like that- as if you were a supernova, an impossible miracle.

“Yes,” you sobbed. “Yes, Sam Winchester, I’ll marry you.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” he exhaled, swooping down to kiss you with a passion that could have set the lake on fire.

He slid the ring on the third finger of your left hand. It fit perfectly, the diamond glinting in the sun. “Happy birthday, Darling,” he whispered against your lips.

“You outdid yourself with the gift, don’t you think,” you said hoarsely, nestled against his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin through the soft cotton.

You could feel the rumble of his throat as he chuckled. “What’re you talking about? You gave me the best present ever. A week ago I was only trying to crack the bar. Now I’m going to be a husband and a dad! I’m getting everything I could ever ask for.”

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” you said. “Little Chirp is so lucky.”

“Chirp?”

You beamed. “It’s what I call the baby.”

“Chirp,” he weighed the word again, smiling now, apparently having liked it. His hand had subconsciously reached to cradle your stomach.

Did things even get better than this? You wondered to yourself. The two of you could only try to place the entire world at Chirp’s feet, but he would sure rule your entire world.

*******************************

A/N 2: Like I said, the story gets a little slow, for like two more chapters. But trust me, it is necessary. I’ll try to post the next chapter a bit early ;)

PLEASE let me know what you think of this story?

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#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam x reader fluff #lawyer!sam #professor!sam #sam winchester reader insert #spn fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #Ana writes allu #anawritesspn #anawrites #q

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thatonesadending · 3 years

Text

Molly and Caleb get to talk about his return, and what it means. But then Beau has to come by and completely derail Caleb - There is Magic in Words; Chapters 6-7

“Thank you.” Caleb eventually said, breaking the quiet.

“Why are you thanking me? Last I checked, you are the one that did all the stuff worth thanking today, love.” Molly responded with a chuckle.

“For being … being you.” His words were so soft, as though he didn't want Molly to actually hear them. He lifted his head then, to look the other man in the eyes.

“Caleb,” he didn't know where to begin. He knew that Caleb wasn't talking about him being back in his own body. He was talking about all the sweet things Caduceus had told him about how the Nien remembered him. Molly was pretty sure they all were suffering a bit of memory loss due to grief, making him out to be better than he really was, but he found it sweet nonetheless.

“I don't know how to be anyone else, dear. Couldn't if I tried.” Molly said. That at least was true.

“Exactly.” Caleb took his hand from Molly’s knee, suddenly showing a bit of nervousness. How this man could go from spoiling him with incredible magic Molly couldn’t have ever imagined, to self-conscious was a mystery. Caleb seemed to make a choice, and continued.

“You are refreshing, if I am honest. There are not many people in this world who really mean what they say, and follow through with their actions. I might not have understood or agreed with the things you did, or even the way you saw the world, but your optimism and compassion that you treated others, it was - it is admirable. Even from that first night at the inn, I could tell you were genuine about things that mattered. For a man that proudly claimed to be a liar, I have never seen you bend the truth more than what was necessary. Never for selfish gain, but always to help others, never to betray. It took me a little while, but I trust you, and my trust isn’t easily won. That has not changed, not for me, and I am certain with a little bit of time, the others .”

Molly had no idea what to say. It was completely unexpected, however, something told him that Caleb was saying this more for himself than for him. There was a bit of a wrinkle around his eyes that looked as though he was in pain. Molly never did get to hear his story from before they all became the Mighty Nien, and he still didn't know all that happened while he was gone, but Caleb spoke like a man who had been let down far too many times. Molly wanted to explain how it was just easier for him to be brash and bold, because he chose to ignore consequences. That thinking of what could be was just too hard for him when he had already died once, and now that he died a second time … he wasn’t sure how he felt about his naivety. Instead, he chose to continue on the now.

“I trust you too Caleb. I knew you were a lot more than the shy, cowardly wizard that you wanted all of us to think you were. I hoped with time, you would realize it was ok to love yourself and let us care for you. I am a little sad that I missed the inbetween, but I am glad you are there.” Caleb chuckled at Molly’s confession.

“I am not quite, work in progress as it were, but you might make it a little easier for me.” Caleb was blushing, obviously still not used to praise. That was ok, Molly could work with him on that. He wanted to take the wizard’s hand, but he didn't want to push too far.

“Speaking of time and progress, how long has it been?” Molly had been avoiding asking anyone, because judging on appearances, it seemed to be a while.

“Almost a year.” Caleb replied almost flatly, as though he didn't believe it himself.

“Well fuck me sideways.”

They both laughed at the bit of brevity.

“Incredible. After a year, you all followed Lucien into this creepy fucking city, just to bring me back? How did that plan work?” He asked, the memory of the alley way still sending chills down his spine.

“Not exactly.” Caleb almost looked, ashamed. “We had been told that you were gone forever, and were actually following him to kill him before he could … it’s a long story for another day. We had no plan. I am very sorry for that. But it seems as if luck was on our side.”

“But if you didn't know, and didn’t have a plan, how - how did you call me?” Molly was bewildered. It was fine that they didn't actually come for him, but it made his return very confusing.

“A hunch? I couldn't be sure, but there had been a few moments when Lucien interacted with the others that … that I was sure I could see you. Certain words or memories seemed to trigger Lucien. Your face has always been the easiest for me to read of all the Nien, you were never very good at hiding your emotions. I could probably beat you at a cards.” Molly started to protest, but Caleb kept going.

“However I could not know that it was not wishful thinking, and I did not want to get the other’s hope up if it wasn't true and risk themselves.” Caleb looked so sad for a moment. “But I am a hypocrite, when it came to a moment of choosing whether to let them try and kill Lucien and never know, or to let myself hope, I did.” His hands had unconsciously gone to gently rub at his neck, where Molly could just now see bruised flesh, bruises in the shape of his own fingertips.

“Caleb! I am so -”

“Nien. It was not you. I am alright.” Molly still reached out to sooth the bruise, before realizing that Caleb probably didn’t want his hands anywhere near them. Still, the wizard reached out and took Molly’s hand in both of his before finishing.

“I did not know, but I tried to use every memory that I had of things you had said or done that had impacted us in some way. It worked, ja?” Caleb’s eyes looked glassy but was smiling, and Molly had to work very hard not to cry again.

“Ah, the kiss on the forhead. You are a genius. I am lucky you didn’t slap me first.” Was all he could think to say, while giving Caleb’s hand a squeeze. He had been a bit clumsy in that attempt to break the wizard out of the panic state he had been in all that time ago, not knowing what else to do, but it worked. “Wait, if you used memories and such, why the kiss? The one on the lips. We have never kissed before.” Molly didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation, but it was a little odd to him.

“Ja, yes, that.” Caleb looked suddenly very flustered. It was kind of cute, if unnecessary. Molly didn't mind, just wanted to know. “Ah, instinct? ‘What would Mollymauk do’ as it were?”

“That’s fair. I do like a good kiss.” He couldn’t help but grin at the full body flush that Caleb now had. “And that was a very good kiss Mr. Caleb.” The man pulled his hands away in embarrassment, but Molly wasn’t quite done flirting. “I can already see all the free drinks at taverns when I share this story. ‘I was pulled back from the dead with a passionate kiss from a very handsome wizard!’” He leaned back on his elbows as he spoke, just to get a good look at Caleb’s reaction.

“As long as you share some of those drinks, let’s call it even, shall we?” Some of the embarrassment had faded, and that just wouldn’t do. Molly was feeling more and more like himself, and had a bit more flirt left in him.

“I will get you all the drinks you want, love. But you will have to tell me where you learned how to kiss like that, which one of these assholes have you been practicing with? My money is on the dr-” but Caleb quickly cut him off, and Molly could see he took it a bit too far.

“Nien, no one. I, ah, have not kissed anyone in a very long time, but I promise you - I, er - I had not meant for it to be ‘passionate’, simply … I acted without thinking.” Molly could see that Caleb was about to apologize, but he was the one that should.

“Darling, it’s a compliment, really. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, just hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Worst ways to be greeted back into the world.” Molly tried to sound as carefree as possible. There was a little frown that appeared on Caleb's face, and Molly was worried he was still somehow fucking this up. But it disappeared, and he was thankful when Caleb turned to face him.

“As though you could think anyone would not enjoy kissing you Mollymauk.” Oh that was bold, he did like that. He was about to respond with something probably entirely too dirty, but Caleb stood.

“It is getting late, and you look to be in much better spirits, would you like me to fetch Yahsa now? Or I can show you to her room?” Right, he was still very tired, and the way he was lounging back looking up at the wizard was making him just want to fall back into the pillows and close his eyes, though Yasha’s company would make that a lot better. Besides, Caleb still had to show that grumpy Essek guy his room too. Molly had taken up too much of his time.

“Yasha will probably love this room as much as me, thank you.” He said. Caleb seemed to concentrate, and Molly remembered that he and Beau could still do that creepy mind talking thing. But he wasn't going to worry about that right now. It didn’t take long before there was a knocking on the door, and Caleb moved to open it. Without thinking, Molly jumped up to catch him before he could reach it. He embraced the other man, wanting to just one more moment with him.

“Thank you.” He knew it was silly, and it didnt really convey the gravity of what had been done for him. But he had to say it anyway. Caleb hugged him back, an arm snaking around his waist, and the other resting gently in between his shoulder blades, a cheek pressed to the side of his horn. “Always, Mollymauk.”

________

The moment Caleb turned back to the door to leave Mollymauk’s room, he felt the worry and stress creep back in. He didn’t want to leave. It was easy to be with Molly, his effortless charm and the fact that Caleb always seemed to know where he stood with the tiefling. Even as Molly had been crying in his arms, Caleb knew it wasn't because of anything he did, and that he would show the wizard what he needed even if he didn’t know how to put it into words.

Caleb had seen Molly rubbing his fingers where there should have been rings, noticed him frustratingly brushing his dirty hair back, and picked up on how he was avoiding his own reflection in the windows. These were all things Caleb could relate to in one way or another. The horrible skin crawling feeling of not knowing what to do in your own skin after someone had used you for their own purpose. He was just glad he was able to help a bit.

It was wonderful to get to see Molly get comfortable again, even if that meant he was still a giant flirt. But that also meant the incredibly perceptive Molly was back too. Caleb didn’t know how he managed it, but he always seemed to be able to crawl into people’s minds and see when they were lying, or holding back. It made him great with people, useful and getting information.

So for a terrifying moment, when he asked Caleb about that kiss and how it wasn’t a call back to a memory, he was worried Molly was going to see it on his face. That it was a memory, just not one Molly remembered, but obviously some part of him did. That was not their first kiss, but their second.

But it would have been too much, Molly had enough to get used to and learn about the Mighty Nien, and that would have only complicated things further.

Caleb opened the door to find Yasha standing there, positively beaming at him. Part of his stress washed away again. Yasha also knew, even better than Caleb, what it felt like to lose control over yourself, and hurt those you love. She had been doing so much better, thanks in large part to Beau, and Caleb felt grateful that she could now help her best friend heal too.

She started to slip through the door that Caleb held for her, but paused just long enough to say, “Beau would like a word with you.”

Caleb ran a frustrated hand through his face. He did not want to speak with her, he knew what she wanted. He floated downwards and sent a telepathic thought to her.

“Hallo Beauregard, I understand you would like to speak, but could this possibly wait until morning? I am quite exhausted.”

“Have you shown Essek his room yet?” Her quick reply came.

“Nien.”

“Then no. My room, now.”

He really was too tired for this. They had spent the day fighting the monsters of Aeor, then an Elemental, jumped through a portal, had two confrontations with Lucien, and only then tried to make camp in this terrifying city. It made a good recipe for heightened emotions and bad choices. He thought about just ignoring her, and going to the wizard that was waiting in his library. However, he knew she wouldn't leave him alone, probably send him telepathic threats of violence until he answered her.

Almost before he could knock, she was pulling him in, dragging him past the sitting room and into her bedroom where they were alone.

“So…” She started, crossing her arms angrily and tapping her toe expectantly.

“Beauregard, I am not sure what it is that you want of me-”

“I want to know why you made a room for a dead man in your fucked up hall of memories.” Caleb briseled, her tone full of accusations, and he had no idea where to start with them. He found that he was unable to lie to Beau without her noticing, so he led with a half truth.

“I started thinking about the tower right after Jester, Fjord and Yasha were taken. As a means to insure that it would never happen again if I could help it.” He paused, that was not a time either of them enjoyed remembering. “Molly was still with us, and his room was the easiest to imagine, he was not particularly shy about showing off his tastes.”

“So you made some weird red-room thing for him, a wall covered with dilldos, and that’s why you hid it away?” Her voice had yet to lose any of its sharpness.

Not exactly, he thought.

“No Beau,” He replied “It is a just a bedroom as colorful as him.”

“Then why not include Molly’s room down here with the rest of ours? You were not the only one grieving you know? We could have visited his room too.” She sounded just a touch hurt, and he knew why. He knew she blamed herself, foolishly.

Because it was not his room, it was mine. He would have rather died in that moment then to admit that to her. Then to explain how on hard nights of travel and battle, he would leave his own room on the 7th level once everyone had gone to bed, go to that room and open the large windows concealing the moon he had recreated, and would just talk to Mollymauk. Tell him how their day had gone, explain his worries for the others, or theories of their adventures. He would ask for advice, knowing he wouldn’t get it, but it helped to imagine his friend could hear him.

Other nights, when the guilt and regret were more than he felt he could handle, he would lay in the large bed and try and feel a little less alone. It rarely worked, but he did get some comfort from it. Because above all else, this room was a reminder of a possibility, what could have happened if Caleb hadn’t been such a coward. Had he not contemplated leaving all of them the night before, just barely deciding to stay, but not doing nearly enough to protect them. Mollymauk had died painfully, and he possibly could have lived had Caleb had just been a little smarter, a little braver. It was a reminder not to make that same mistake twice, because this room really could have been Molly’s had he just been better.

And then there were the nights where Caleb just had too much pent up frustration, too much stress to think clearly, that he would go to that room and …

He cut off his own thoughts, they were not helpful with the question at hand. Another half truth then.

“Because I was embarrassed. I did not know what to do with my, um well -” He knew he needed to give Beau more truth, she did deserve it, the two of them having shared so much pain together over the last year. And he knew he could trust her, but there were still things he did not trust himself to say out loud. “... my stupid crush. I believe that is how it is said in common.”

It didn’t shock him that Beau was not at all surprised, of course she knew. She waited for him to continue. She was rarely patient, but she could be unnervingly stubborn when she knew it meant she would get her way.

“When he left us, I had just started to accept that possibly it was ok if others cared for me. Not to expect it, but to let them. He showed me a kindness I had never experienced before. One without expectations, freely given with a care for permission. Open with his affection, however I was not ready at the time to confront how I felt about that at the time. His death was hard for me in a very selfish way. I have been trying since to pass on the lessons he gave me, even if I have been clumsy with it.”

Beau softened, her arms relaxed at her sides, and Caleb half feared she would hug him. But she didn’t, she did something worst.

“I am so sorry Cay.”

All was silent for several moments. Caleb thought about just turning and leaving, already having said too much without having to say goodnight as well. But Beau had no plans to release him yet.

“So what are you going to do about it.”

He would have rathered her punch him.

“Nothing.” He said, flatley. “We are both very different men. It has been a long time since we have seen him last. I have changed, mostly for the better I hope, but he has gone through something incredibly difficult and traumatic. Coming home after so much time has passed, to find that all your friends have moved on and you now wear the face of a man they tried to kill? Its bound to … fuck him up, as it were.” He paused, Beau was grimacing, but he could tell she understood. “What happens next is up to him. If he chooses to stay with us, or take him back to Trostenwald and his circus, it is up to him. He has earned that choice for all the ones he hasn't gotten to make.” He knew it wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, but it was the best he had.

She relaxed at his answer, but only for a minute. Caleb braced himself uselessly.

“So what about Essek?” Gods she was a menace.

“What about him?” His returned question just prompted more frustration from her.

“Oh you know, the other purple dude that just so happens to also be a super angsty wizard like you, that you have been shamelessly flirting with for days? The one that every time you guys are in the same room, we all have to suffer through the suffocating sexual tension? The one waiting for you to show you his ‘room’, not the guest room?” Each sentence was pointed and bared directly at him.

“Nothing.” He repeated, “I will admit a certain level of attraction, but I am not going to do something foolish as risk all of you. Not when we don’t really know where his loyalties will lie when we leave Aeor. “ It was a simplification of the truth, but still very much true.

“I am not sure you get that choice.”

“How do you mean?”

“Because he obviously has the hots for you dude. He has been working very hard to get into your pants, and I think for the long haul.” She was looking at him like he was stupid, and he resented that. Of course, he knew that Esske returned the attraction, and would've had to be blind to not to see it. He wanted very much to reciprocate, he wanted to drag the man into one of the various halls of Aeor, and finally put to rest his theories on how it would feel to kiss him. He had wanted the wizard to embrace him from almost their first meetings. Caleb could still feel the burning on the back of his skull from where Essek had touched him to guide his attention to the dodecahedron, unknowingly distracting him from anything by Essek’s hand. But he needed time, they both did. Time to know that Essek’s motivations were true and could be trusted. There was so much the two hadn't shared with each other, too many secrets and lies still. Too risky with the political and power games they both played to just ignore. Beau though didn't wait for him to answer.

“Hate to admit it, but I don’t want to see the guy get hurt. Not just because he can be a scary motherfucker, but because he is our friend.” She sighed “ And then there is Molly, and really don't want him to get hurt. You know he likes you back?” She asked, but she seemed to know the answer.

Yes, he did. He thought. Of course he noticed Mollymauk treating him much differently than the others. He had flirted, teased, much the same as he did with everyone. However he was a lot more gentle about it, never touched him if Caleb requested space. However alway remained within 5 feet of him if he was exposed in battle to protect him, rather taking a blade himself then Caleb. At first he thought it was a tactical thing, to protect the wizard who is very squishy. But when Molly continued to protect him, sometimes from himself, he knew Mollymauk had singled him out. He has been fairly certain that not even Molly knew how he himself felt, unaware of his different affection since he tended to live his life in the short term and on whims. But Caleb knew.

It had been uncomfortable, and he resisted, but the tiefling unconsciously started tearing down his walls. Then he died, things had changed, and now was very different from then.

“I know.” was all he managed to whisper. He said nothing more for a long time, just looking at the floor of Beau’s room.

“What do you want?” The telegraphed thought surprised him, but she must have known answering aloud would have been too hard. He dragged a frustrated hand through his face before answering,

“I do not know.”

“Well, you better figure it out before getting Essek alone in a room.” She didn’t say anything more, just turned and head to the bathroom he made her, leaving him to see himself out and figure out what he was going to do.

He just needed more time.

#critical role #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #cr2e136 #widowmauk #shadowgast #cr spoilers #essek theyless #love triangle #Caleb has two hands #cr2 #cr fanfic

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antlergraham · 3 years

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Summary: Hannibal finally knows Will- and he knows he's sick.

AO3: link in reblog

WC: 2.2k

It becomes a ritual for them. The night of Will’s appointments, they meet up once more in Hannibal’s home, prey already caught on the table and ready for Will’s violent outrage to tear them to pieces. The news says that the Wolf of Virginia has been active outside the kills the FBI has confirmed to be a co-authorship between the two most prolific serial killers on the west coast. It’s a lot to be killing, by Hannibal’s standards, even without Will’s extracurriculars.

“Speed often holds hands with sloppiness,” He tells Will over a meal of roasted thigh. Their victim this week is still alive, and whimpering on the dining room table while they eat on newly purchased barstools at the counter. Hannibal hates their very idea, but Will had suggested this, and had seemed so excited at what he could do to their kills if kept alive through the meal, and Hannibal is powerless to say no to him. “You should settle down before you get yourself, and by extension, me, caught because you lost your head.”

“I’m perfectly in control,” Will argues.

His voice falters, though, and the sick tinge to his scent strengthens in the air for just a moment. Sure signs he is not. Hannibal raises an eyebrow, a quiet but clear challenge, until Will lowers his chin and looks to the side.

“I don’t remember all of the kills they say I did. Not recently.”

“Do you remember any of them?”

Will pushes his food around his plate, something uncharacteristic of his usual ravenous appetite for their kills. He looks gaunt. His cheekbones appear to have sunken in more in the weeks they’ve been doing this, and his eyes- though bright- look colder. Evidently, he really is sick. Whatever it is, it’s getting worse. Will is getting worse.

“Some. Others I find out through the press, or because there’s blood under my nails.”

Finally he takes a bite, but he shudders doing it, and his lashes flutter in indecision. Hannibal worries, for a moment, that it’s his cooking, but then Will leans to the side and spits it out onto the floor. It’s rude, but it’s also Will, for whom Hannibal always makes exceptions. His first thought is not disdain for the behavior. It’s concern. As much as Will likes to flaunt norms, he wouldn’t spit something onto the floor just to see what happens, or because he doesn’t know better. In sum, this was not a chosen behavior.

“Are you alright?”

Will wrinkles his nose and draws his knees up to his chest, curling his body in the hardback chair. “It tastes like blood.”

“I thought you were fond.”

“I am. I am, it’s just-” He rummages through his mind for the words, eyes unfocused in his search. “I don’t think my mind and my body are friends anymore.”

He doesn’t touch his meal again, so Hannibal- trying to provide, to be a good Alpha- makes him a grilled cheese and replaces the decadent meal with it. Will smiles up at him, not reaching his eyes, and dutifully eats half before pushing it away and returning his gaze to the man still weakly struggling. He licks his lips.

“Do you still have taste for it raw?” Hannibal asks.

“No, but I want to watch him suffer.”

Hannibal ruffles his hair, even when Will bats away his hand. “As you wish, sweet Omega.”

The title still makes Will wrinkle his nose, but he no longer protests it as Hannibal picks up his scalpel and opens the man’s chest, ignorant of sloppy, dizzy pleas that get quieter and quieter. He harvests. Kidneys, another thigh, meat from the shoulder. He saves the lungs, calling out to be consumed, for last in order to prolong the agony and please Will. Most things he does nowadays are too that end.

What distracts him, when he turns to ensure Will is looking at him, is the blank look in his eyes suggesting he isn’t watching the show.

“One moment,” Hannibal tells the nearly-unconscious victim, and sets down his scalpel to go to Will. He discards his bloody gloves along the way.

When he kneels in front of Will, he cups his face and gently says his name, trying to get his attention. Touching him, he’s able to feel the faint tremors in Will’s face, his head moving and his cheeks twitching. It’s a seizure of some sort, he thinks, and carefully pulls Will’s chair away from the table so he doesn’t fall and hit his head on it.

There’s nothing he can really do to help Will at the moment, and yet, he can’t bring himself to leave his side. He just sits there. He holds him. He sits with him until Will’s head dips to the side a little and he blinks several times in quick succession.

“Alpha?” he manages. He sounds drunk. “I don’t…”

“It’s alright.” Hannibal strokes his hair, notes how warm his face is. “I believe you’ve had a mild seizure. You should rest.”

“Seizure,” Will repeats.

Hannibal moves to pick him up and carry him to bed. “Yes, a seizure.”

“Don’t touch me.”

He stumbles out of his seat and rubs his eyes. Will is pale and unsteady, but there is still fire in him despite his own confusion.

“I didn’t say you could touch me.”

“I was trying to help you-”

“No.”

He braces a hand on the table and looks so sick, so lost, so… small. This hardly feels like the man who put a hand on Hannibal’s throat, but even sick he is deadly. He has been killing in these postictal phases. That’s his missing memory. Right now, Will could kill him, and Hannibal-

He thinks he might let him.

Nonetheless, he holds his hands out in front of him and tilts his head to submissively bare his throat- a gesture intended to appease. Will seems somewhat alright with it, and doesn’t lunge for Hannibal, an Alpha who has become his latest prey. He doesn’t plead for his life, nor sink so low as to imply it, but simply waits for Will to decide whether or not he intends to be violent in answer.

It takes a moment, but Will sits back down and rubs his eyes again. “My head is pounding. Do you have aspirin?”

“Let me get you something stronger.”

Hannibal resists the urge to kiss Will’s forehead as he passes by, headed to his office for a stronger medication. It was easy to keep on hand, and more than adequate at helping sedate victims thrashing in pain. This will do better to ease the pain. He puts a single pill in his hand and returns, moving Will’s untouched wine glass away. Alcohol and opioids are not a good combination, especially for someone already unwell. He fetches water instead, and smiles when Will accepts both offerings without fight. His still dilated eyes fix on their victim, even though he makes no move toward him.

“He’s still alive,” Hannibal clarifies, “at least for a few minutes more. I was going to finish with his lungs.”

“Let me.”

It is impossible to resist. Hannibal steps out of the way for Will to unsteadily approach their prey, plunging his hand into the open chest cavity like one might reach into a drawer of miscellaneous items. It’s a searching touch. He pulls on something, gruesome in the tug at what Hannibal recognizes as intestines. This is not the way the Wolf of Virginia kills.

As though Will can hear Hannibal’s thoughts, he sinks his teeth into the flesh. It should not be beautiful, but it is, especially when it leads to a frenzy. With his mouth alone, Will destroys this man, eats his raw meat and spits blood on the floor. It will be a pain to clean. Hannibal won’t mind the hours on his hands and knees with bleach when it means he gets to see Will without any inhibitions. Will is not beholden to social expectations or his suppression of his own desires out of some form of social grace, even in murder. He is free. Hannibal loves him this way.

By the time he is finished, Will has decimated the corpse, and Hannibal is desperate to touch him. He knows better than to reach out without permission, however, and waits for Will to come to him, soaked and messy and with faraway eyes. As much as he is a threat, he is vulnerable right now, and it feels precious that Hannibal might see him this way.

“Will, darling Omega,” he murmurs, in his closest approximation to a purr. “You need a bath and rest.”

“Tell me where to go.”

Hannibal knows better than to offer help, though he allows himself to guide Will with a soft touch to the small of his back and give him the softest towels in the house. He turns on the water and feels its temperature on the soft skin inside his wrist. When its warm enough, he makes to leave, only for Will to take his wrist and look up at him with eyes made so much brighter by the contrast of the blood on his face.

“Stay.”

He leans against the counter and watches Will slowly strip, then lower himself into the hot bath and avoid plugging the drain. Hannibal hadn’t done so because he wanted Will to choose the scent he wanted for the bubbles, but it becomes clear Will doesn’t want to stew in his own filth. He scrubs at the blood on his body with clumsy bare hands until Hannibal offers him a washcloth, and then uses the tap to wet and rinse the cloth as he slowly bathes himself. It doesn’t take very long, but Will shivers by the time he stands up and reaches for a towel to wrap around himself.

“Can I borrow something?” he asks.

Hannibal leads him next to the bedroom, and helps him into soft briefs and silk pajama bottoms, a little large on his slim frame but comfortable based on the way Will’s eyelashes flutter and he balls the fabric in a fist.

“I don’t remember.” They sit on Hannibal’s bed together, just close enough for their knees to touch. It is chaste in comparison to all that they’ve done. “I don’t think I’ll remember this either.”

“You should see a doctor.”

He shakes his head, his drying curls bouncing slightly with the motion. “I don’t like people in my head, Dr. Lecter.”

“If you’re having seizures, I think someone ought to be.”

With a huff, Will slips into Hannibal’s lap and kisses him with fevered lips, effectively ending the conversation. He’s finally submissive, out of nowhere, letting Hannibal feel him up and claim his lips in a kiss. It feels good to control him. But it also feels wrong. He goes with it, though, happily nosing against the scent glands at Will’s jaw and enjoying the heavy aroma of his arousal, even through the fog of sick.

“Beautiful.”

Will smiles against his lips and bares his throat slightly, sighing when Hannibal peppers the vulnerable, pale skin with kisses. He could hurt Will right now, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to worship him. And as he lays Will’s pliant body out on the bed, intent on doing so, he realizes how completely wrapped around Will’s little finger he’s become.

It is a lovely position to be in.

“Alpha, your mouth…” Will doesn’t beg, but the plea is still in the words. “Now, please.”

Without a second thought, Hannibal gives him exactly what he wants, leaving kisses on his journey to pull down the freshly donned pajama pants and wrap his lips around Will’s cocklet. Evidently, by his squirming, he’s more sensitive there than Hannibal had initially believed. Of course he still puts in every ounce of effort he has in his body to make Will feel good, hooking one of Will’s long legs over his shoulder to get a better angle. Will comes with a whine in his mouth, and sighs as Hannibal swallows and wipes his mouth.

In moments, his eyes flutter shut, and his breathing evens out to sleep. While it feels like a remarkable show of trust, Hannibal is smart enough to recognize it as an addled brain seeking out comfort from a familiar Alpha. On some level, at least, it does mean that Will trusts him to take care of him when it’s too hard to take care of himself.

Hannibal leaves him to rest in bed while he cleans up. He bags up the unsalvageable remains to dispose of later, and kneels on the tile with a bucket of diluted bleach and a scrubbing brush. This is irritating, but not impossible.

He contemplates Will as he cleans the mess. Many others would be overjoyed by the sudden shift in behavior, but he misses the weight of Will’s control over him. Come tomorrow, it should return. Still, in spite of Will’s denial of wanting medical attention, Hannibal messages an old friend to pull some strings and get a brain scan for the next day. He can only hope Will sees the sense in it, while being all too aware of the unlikelihood of getting Will to do anything the Omega doesn’t crave.

#hannigram #Hannibal (TV)#hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal X will #will x hannibal #emwrite #bmitmfic #wov!series

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langdxn · 4 years

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devotion | fire and reign!michael x fem!reader

SUMMARY: It’s the first Cooperative meeting and Michael gets familiar with one delegate.

WARNINGS: Domesticated fluff, anxiety, a bit of comedy, severely shameless smut, vaginal sex, vaginal stimulation, Barry Manilow.

WORD COUNT: 2.9k (sorry I got really carried away with this one. I haven’t proofread it yet so apologies in advance!)

Striding into the Cooperative meeting hall with all the arrogance he could muster, Michael wrung his red leather-clad hands together, his gaze lingering on the streams of expressionless masks lining the conference table. Every face was obscured, a last-ditch attempt at anonymity for the first time in their charmed, infamous lives.

Their grasp at obscurity was futile. He’d seen the seating plan ahead of schedule. He knew he was to speak two feet away from Bill Clinton, that some kid called PewDiePie was perched halfway down the table, that Jeff Bezos sent his apologies for his absence mere minutes ago, that Julie Andrews requested a seat at the last minute and paid in cash.

The Antichrist shouldn’t suffer stage fright, but Michael hadn’t often addressed a number of people at once, least of all the most financially powerful mortal figureheads in the world. He meticulously prepared his speech the night before, scrawling the highlights on a scrap of paper he stuffed down his left glove, small enough to look inconspicuous when he retrieved it yet large enough to not lose it on the journey to the conference hall.

As his expensive leather boots clacked to the head of the table, Michael swallowed hard and forced his focus on Ms Mead’s advice - find a spot at the far end of the room to concentrate on and talk to it. He chose the far right corner of the seemingly endless table, an anonymous pair of black gloved hands that rested studiously on the glass table.

“Esteemed members of the Cooperative,” he announced, swinging his hands behind his back to clasp them together. The less they saw how they were shaking in their crimson incarcerations, the better.

“World leaders, tech giants, media moguls, cultural influencers,” he proclaimed, catching his breath, “and Mrs Langdon.”

His gaze hardened on the gloved hands in the far corner. The black-clothed figure leaned forward in its seat, revealing a golden face creating a stark contrast with the sea of masks. Cascading y/h/c curls framed the feminine face, mysteriously sparkling black lipstick and deep eyeliner outlining fierce y/e/c eyes. A revealing black dress draped over her figure, her chest pouring out of its low neckline.

A knowing smirk caught the corner of Michael’s lips as he nodded in recognition. He balled his leathered hands into fists and landed them authoritatively on the table’s edge.

“The rumours you’ve heard are true: my name is Michael Langdon and I am the Antichrist.”

———

“You know you don’t have to wear a mask, honey,” Michael comforted you as he leaned his elbows on the kitchen island, planting his chin on one balled fist. You glanced over your shoulder at him as you carefully flipped an omelette in the pan.

“I know baby, but it’s the first one and I want to make a good impression,” you giggled. “After all, they’re the ones who sold their souls already. Mine’s still up for sale.”

Michael snickered under his breath, standing straight and gliding his way over to you, snaking his arms around your waist and squeezing gently, relishing the embrace.

“Is that so?” He breathed into the nape of your neck, dropping a loving kiss where his words ghosted so sensitively that goosebumps haunted your skin. You jerked the pan over to a nearby plate, tipping the omelette out and returning the pan to a cool hob ring.

“But should I wear makeup underneath? What’s the dress code for this sort of thing?” You tugged at the collar of the baggy black shirt draped over your frame — Michael’s from last night, how he adored seeing you shuffling around the kitchen the next morning wearing his discarded shirt after your night between the sheets.

“Darling, you could wear a garbage bag and I’d still be the happiest man alive to introduce you as my new wife,” butterflies flitted between both your stomachs as he called you that word you’d waited so impatiently to hear drip from his tongue.

“I also take it I’m not sitting next to you?” You enquired half-heartedly, knowing any distance between you pained you both no matter how formal the situation. Recalling the times you sat beside each other for dinner at Madelyn’s house, how Michael’s hands charted their course towards your inner thighs before starters even hit the plate.

“So who am I going to be rubbing shoulders with tonight, Boy Wonder?” You ducked into his embrace as his breaths laced your neck with shivers.

“Let me see,” he pondered, as if conjuring the seating plan in his mind. He settled for retrieving a document from the pocket of his velour jacket and pulling it in front of you. Scanning the plan from over your shoulder with a hum under his breath, he nodded towards the red marker pointing to your seat in the farthest corner.

“That’ll be Zach Braff on your left, so no getting any ideas,” he squeezed your hips in jest, “and David Hasselhoff at the head of the table in front of you.”

“Really? You’re trusting me to sit facing The Hoff? Oh honey, your trust is severely misplaced,” you cracked, gripping onto his remaining hand that rested on your hip.

“Oh I’m sorry my darling, would you prefer Barry Manilow on the left?” He tickled you gently, tossing the sheet of paper into the air and watching it cascade to the tiled floor beneath you. “How on earth do you know all these people anyway? They’re all just names to me.”

“That may be because I didn’t age a decade overnight, Mr Langdon,” you joked, “I grew up on pop culture, that’s all. You were born after all these people became popular.”

“I also didn’t run a globally successful Tumblr which single-handedly forced the entire internet to stop talking in peaches and cucumbers—“

“Eggplants, Michael, they’re eggplants,” you giggled heartily into your hand to stifle a full-scale laughing fit. “Did the Antichrist just admit he married me for my influence?”

Michael scoffed, landing a sweet peck of agreement into your neck.

“Speaking of influencers, exactly how much power do you have in choosing new Cooperative delegates?”

“Providing they’ve sold their souls to my father already, it’s an open court. Who do you have in mind, baby?” He cooed into your ear.

“I think it would serve us well to save Benedict Cumberbatch. Hell hath no fury like Cumberbitches when they find out Sherlock was exterminated by the Apocalypse.” You turned to face Michael with eyebrows raised, proffering the omelette plate before him.

“I’ll take your word for it, Mrs Langdon. Anybody else?”

———

Michael had barely got to the crux of his introduction to the Cooperative before disembodied voices grew concerned. Each member wore a voice manipulator built into their identity masks, a second, painfully virtual line of defence that reminded you of Robocop having a domestic. It wasn’t until you could hear their discordant mechanical voices over your husband’s that you focused back into the room.

“What about my wife?”

“What happens if the Outposts are overrun?”

“Will I get to see my kids again?”

“What if the missiles don’t kill everybody?”

“When will it be safe to walk around on the surface again?”

“Will we die down there?”

“What’s your backup plan?”

Michael was nervous, almost obsessively wringing his palms in an effort to disguise the shaking that had consumed him. He was drowning in a blur of desperate, panicked queries firing from all angles — for the first time in your relationship, he looked lost. Powerless. Terrified. Aimless syllables tumbled off his tongue as he tried to regain composure.

He couldn’t lose them. Not yet.

The sudden, ominous clink of your stilettos across the polished floor immediately silenced the cacophony. You strode elegantly and purposefully toward the head of the table, relishing every second of precious silence from the present number as you made your way to your husband’s side.

“What my beloved husband is attempting to articulate is that our repopulation plan is foolproof,” you ran your hand across the top of Michael’s leather coat, resting on his left side and gently leaning on him as if the angel arriving on his shoulder to save the day.

“We’ve eliminated all possibilities of unsatisfactory reproduction for the new world. We’ve limited the number of British survivors in order to reduce the risk of poor dental health — no offence Mr Cumberbatch, wherever you may be seated,” you searched in vain across the faceless entities lining the table in the hope any glimpse of body language could give your chosen one away.

“Your families will be as safe as we can possibly keep them, with the help of your investments and the security you use on a daily basis above the surface.”

Your vision darted pointedly to the far left corner of the table.

"Mr Smith, you and your wife will be situated in Outpost 4 while Jayden and Willow will reside in Outposts 1 and 2 respectively. That way, if any Outposts are compromised, we won’t have an overpopulation of Fresh Princes of Bel Air.”

A collective yet nonetheless strained chuckle filled the air.

“As for your safety against the rabid cannibals that the rest of the human race will no doubt be reduced to, that all depends on how much you’re willing to contribute to the cause. I’ll hand you back into the capable hands of Mr Langdon.”

Michael turned to you with a smile of relief and appreciation, you let loose a casual wink of reassurance before stepping back to return the floor to him.

Michael breathed in sharply and assumed his power stance, crimson leather palms pressed flat on the gleaming table, focus now fixed on the masked figure at the opposite end of the room.

“Turn to page six, section one - Outpost Construction."

———

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you back there,” Michael sighed through both his hands, wearily wiping down his face in an attempt to erase the last few hours from his memory.

You pushed aside Michael’s hastily discarded red gloves and draping leather jacket, some desk lamps and leftover instruction manuals on the table to perch on the edge, drawing Michael between your legs by the waistband of his coat.

“You did just fine without me, my love,” you cupped his face in your hands, his angelic curls tumbling around his countenance as you planted a loving kiss on his full, if slightly bitten lips. He drew you in even closer, his kiss deeper than the azure blue of his eyes he had now clenched firmly shut.

If there was one thing you knew Michael loved more than anything, it was kissing you. When you handed each other washed dishes after dinner, when you waited impatiently in the queue at the grocery store, when you finally found something decent to watch on TV. He adored locking his lips against yours at any possible opportunity, crashing teeth and dancing tongues. He worshipped the power he had over you when you were compelled to close your eyes to kiss him, the freedom he could use to surprise you while you so innocently shut out the rest of the universe.

“How can I ever repay you, Mrs Langdon?” He breathed into your mouth as he towered over you, one hand roaming your hair and the other ghosting on top of your knee.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way, Mr Langdon,” you charmed, kissing him again as deeply as possible. This time Michael refused to separate from you, maintaining the searing connection between your lips.

Hitching your black silk dress up your thighs agonisingly slowly, Michael opened one eye to savour every centimetre of your legs revealing before him with subtle gasps catching on the tip of his tongue against yours. As the hem reached your hips and exposed your core, Michael moaned greedily in your mouth.

“No panties?” he hummed as your teeth clashed, “no wonder you were so fucking sassy earlier.”

Meeting no obstruction, his soft fingertips wasted no time in trailing between your thighs and finding their home pressed gently onto your clit. As soon as his skin made contact, your hips bucked and you felt a stream of your arousal escape your folds.

Michael could smell it before he felt it. His fingers coursed down to collect the precious droplets, raising his digits to your conjoined mouths so you could both taste you.

“You’re so fucking wet for me baby,” he cooed down your throat, his lust-blown voice reduced to a husky croon. You opened your eyes to meet his for a brief moment but your gaze was met not by his cerulean tones, instead his irises were pitch black, seductively demonic and terrifyingly sinister at the same time. Avoiding their scorching stare, you closed your eyes to kiss him again.

Michael’s hand returned between your thighs and deftly slipped a soft finger through your folds, eliciting a gentle moan from the back of your throat. Returning his fingertip to your entrance, another digit joined it and coursed inside you, curling against your walls to make your hips follow their lead.

Michael grunted into your mouth as he retrieved his fingers, jealous of the warm arousal his fingers witnessed. Tracing his tongue across your teeth, you whimpered at the loss of his touch but replaced by the rustle of Michael setting himself free from his dress pants. You trailed a hand down his chest, making light work of his shirt buttons. Before you could reach his waistband, you felt the head of his cock tracing the outline of your folds, begging for permission to enter.

“Is this okay?” He asked politely as your teeth crashed together. His reconnection with the new Ms Mead skilfully reminded him of the basic courtesies he lost sight of on his sojourn, a time he never seemed comfortable to talk about with you. A time he would rather forget.

You hummed in agreement against his lips and hooked your legs around his waist, gently nudging him closer as his cock stretched your entrance. Slowly, carefully, respectfully.

Your moans drew out longer as he took his time pouring every inch of him inside you. He craved your response when he entered you, he thrived on the ecstasy your husband gave you.

Bottoming out in one smooth thrust, his hands shot up to the back of your neck to prize you from his lips. As you opened your eyes, you met his black pupils as they shot you a determined, ecstatic glare.

“Sell your soul to my father, please. We can live forever, together,” his syllables dragged as he thrust slowly into you.

You needed no persuasion, your mind was made up on the day you married the Antichrist, the only delay was the plans for the apocalypse had taken over. However, you weren’t prepared to let him think he won you over that easily, especially while his cock was urging at the entrance of your cervix.

“What is it with you and deep conversations while you’re balls deep inside me?” You quirked an eyebrow and he forced an aggressive thrust in response. Your back arched suddenly and your eyes retreated into the back of your head, the fast motion driving you closer to your orgasm than you expected so soon.

Protectively wrapping your arms around him and lightly digging your nails into his back, you pretended to need more time to think on his proposition but another sharp snap of his hips broke your facade.

“You realise I won’t let you cum until you agree, don’t you, my darling?” He raised his hand to your throat with a gentle yet purposeful squeeze on your airways while slowly pulling his cock back out of you until just the tip rested in your entrance. He knew from extensive experience that you couldn’t say no when he teased you like this.

“Fuck—ugh fuck, okay I will, now please Michael,” you pleaded weakly, trying to pull him back inside you but he placed a forceful palm on your chest in resistance.

“Say the words honey, say the words.” His black hole stare burned through your eyes into your soul as you rolled your eyes.

“Fine. Michael Langdon, I will sell my soul to Satan,” you breathed emphatically, digging your nails into his back harder.

Your eyes trailed down between your legs to make sure he kept his end of the deal. Sure enough, he poured every inch back inside your folds, meeting your wetness inside with a greedy moan escaping his lips. Gone was his sensual tempo, overtaken by a furious thrust that made his cock twitch as it explored inside you.

“Good girl,” he cooed into your open mouth while you caved into the burning inside you as he pounded you, the familiar dynamite that only Michael knew how to ignite.

“Cum for me, baby.”

Your back gave way and dropped you flat on your spine against the polished table, writhing and squirming as your release took hold of you. All your involuntary friction led Michael to pursue his own orgasm as his frenetic thrusts plowed into you, his tip crashing against your cervix with every motion.

Between both of your frantic moans and laboured breaths, a throat cleared uncomfortably behind you.

Michael froze to the spot while you jerked back and strained to see through the stars dancing across your vision.

“Mr Manilow? You’re still in here?”

#michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon imagines #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #unfff #cody fern

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