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huramuna · 3 months

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beware the sapphire peak - chapter 1.

aemond targaryen x wife reader x alys rivers a period piece, set in 1902.

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you're a young, american lady who is an aspiring author. you are wooed by a mysterious and charming savant from england. swept off your feet, you're whisked away to his family's ancient estate, Dragonstone Hall. but with all stories, secrets are hiding around every corner, and your suitor is no different. a crimson peak inspired mini series. (this will likely be about 3 parts)

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

content: smut, angst, gaslighting, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, alys in her girlboss gatekeep gaslight era, no use of y/n, afab reader, pre-established alysmond, this isn't going where you think it is (it might be), infidelity-ish, polyamory

to death we dance - salem's heir • the flower duet - sabine devieilhe & marianne crebassa

“You were nearly late, miss,” one of the butlers murmured in your ear. “The music’s just started.”

“There is a quote about being fashionably late, isn’t there?” you mused, taking his gloved hand as he helped you up the steps.

It was a banquet for your father’s business, a celebration of having struck gold (oil) and turning a huge profit. Or, in your words, an excuse for the high and mighty to get plastered and dance the night away. Your fist clenched upon the train of your dress– a lovely evening gown in eggshell white, with hand embroidered lilacs and lavender petals on it, spindling up your bodice like a trellis. Your usually somewhat unruly hair was tamed into a braided and pinned up-do, with an expensive broach poked into the bun of hair in the shape of a falling wisteria branch.

Your father was the first to greet you, peeling away from the gaggle of portly oil barons. He kissed your cheek. “You look lovely tonight, my dear. A vision in purple, I must say.”

You smiled back at him. “Yes, well, you all but wringed my arm to get me to attend– and you shall hold up your end of the bargain… right?” you hummed softly, batting your eyelashes.

He let out a small sigh, nodding. “I will send your manuscript to the publisher– the editor in chief is here tonight, if you’d care to mingle. Amongst… many other eligible bachelors, I might add.”

Your father had spent the better part of the last three years gently trying to pair you up with a suitor for marriage. He was a patient man, as he had droned on about so many times before, but his patience was waning. You were twenty-one years old, and apparently, that was a ghastly sight– to be twenty-one and unmarried with no promising prospects.

Of course, you couldn’t care less. You were more focused on finishing your manuscript in that time– you had a knack for writing and reveled in works of fiction that tended to lean to the darker sides of things. It had finally reached a point you were somewhat happy with, and had convinced your father to chat up his well connected colleagues so you may be able to send the first draft to a publisher.

The price for that, however, was to entertain suitors. At a gala. Dressed and primped like a Thanksgiving turkey. It was all so dreary to you– the ladies stared at you and whispered, citing you as the dreary one.

Breaking away from your father with a tiny smile, you began to mingle– as well as you could, anyhow. You were awkward and a bit sheltered and it showed. However, once you said who your father was, dollar signs would flash in the eyes of the men you were speaking with, and they would push forward in the conversation. You weren’t ugly by any means and could become a good wife to some young entrepreneur– but you didn’t want that.

You were about fed up with it all three hours later, your nails clinking against the glass of champagne you were nursing for the better part of thirty minutes. Your look of slight annoyance managed to stave off any other wanton suitors– until another man approached you. You had exchanged some glances with him during the night, but you didn’t recognize him. He was tall, exceedingly taller than any of the other men there. His blonde hair, so pale it was almost white in hue, was cinched at the nape of his neck in a clean ponytail, falling between his shoulder blades. He was in a custom-fitted three piece black and green suit– you could tell from how perfectly it was hugging him, in all the right places.

A familiar heat came to your cheeks as you watched him saunter over to you with an intent in his pale blue eyes– eye? One of them, you noted as he came closer, was slightly off-color from the other and moved a bit slower. Likely fake, you thought. The light casted over the planes of his face, chiseled as it was, illuminating the slightly raised, puckered skin near the fake eye in a distinctual scar. He looked just like the perfect inspiration for a protagonist in one of your novels– or mayhaps an antagonist. He seemed to skim the line between the two in appearance alone.

Curious.

“My lady,” he greeted as he finally broke the air of silence between you, his arms placed behind him in a very calculated manner. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” he asked then, a brow perked. His accent wasn’t American– that you knew for certain– likely something European.

“As much as I can, sir,” you responded coolly, despite being caught slightly off guard by his sudden and overwhelming presence– a dark cloud in a perfectly tailored suit. “I hope that the…” you cleared your throat, trying to sound a little more confident than you likely were. “The… event is to your liking.” you mustered a smile, diverting your gaze to your champagne, hoping there may be the secrets to being a good conversationalist somewhere within the bubbles.

He chuckled, the sound low and husky. It caused a shiver to go up your spine. “The event is well and fine, my lady. Are you… the proprietor of the gala tonight? I wouldn’t expect a beautiful thing such as yourself to plan something like this.”

You glanced up at him beneath fettered lashes. He was complimenting you and insulting the party at the same time. “No– I am not. I’d never choose such… dreary musicians for an event like this. They’re playing for a wake rather than a party– that would be my father’s doing.” you slipped it into the conversation, that this was your father’s party, trying to gauge if this handsome stranger was after what all of the others were.

Surprisingly, his expression, smooth and cool with the barest hint of a smile perking at his naturally upturned lips, didn’t change. “Dreary,” he repeated, “Melancholic, gloomy, monotonous, vapid– all good words to describe the state of affairs.”

“You have quite the expansive vocabulary, Mister…” your voice trailed off, an inadvertent way to ask for his name.

“Targaryen– Aemond Targaryen. And you?” he reached his hand out to shake yours – how incredibly formal– as you returned your own name with a wide-eyed stare.

“Targaryen. As in… the ancient bloodline? Descended from dragons, close to royalty, Dragonstone estate Targaryen?” you asked, mouth slightly agape. From what you knew of them, they were as close to the height of English royalty, real royalty, as there was in the current year, 1902. Their wealth alone, minus all of the titles, made your father’s look like a pissant trust fund.

“The very same. You’re familiar with my family?”

“Ehm– familiar, more so I’ve heard of you all. Your family’s name comes up quite often in my father’s social circles. And I am quite nosy.”

“And what do you think?”

“About… your family? Mr. Targaryen–”

“Call me Aemond.”

“Aemond– I don’t really know much besides the height of your prestige– and your family’s estate, Dragonstone. My father brought me back some photographs of it from his trips over the pond. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Your father brought you pictures of our home?”

“N-not just yours! I collect photographs of old estates, mostly ones from Europe. I like to use them for inspiration for my… stories. I’m a writer– a novice, mostly.”

“A writer? Have you published anything I might know?”

“Oh, God no–” you laughed, covering your face slightly with your hand. “I’ve not yet been published. I actually sent my manuscript to… or will be sending one to a publisher soon. Hopefully.”

“What do you like to write?” he asked then, leaning a bit closer to you as if he was actually enjoying conversing with you. “Romance? Children’s fables?” he teased softly, his one eye gleaming. He was quite handsome, you thought.

“I like horror– mysteries, gothic fiction. I’m quite enamored with the… macabre and weird,” you admit. “I hope that doesn’t frighten you.”

Aemond grinned, his teeth shining, canines pronounced against his thin lips. “Oh, yes, it does frighten me. But, all good horror stories should frighten their readers, yes? I expect you’re a fan of Vampyre? Perhaps Dracula?”

“Both are good. My favorite, however, is Frankenstein. Mary Shelley is a genius. The Castle of Otranto is also wonderful and the pioneer of the genre. I remember trying to read it when I was younger and being scared of the dark hallways at night. Later on in life, those dark hallways enthused me enough to write about them– hence my… fascination with old houses.”

“Old homes certainly do have their fair share of secrets, don’t they?” he paused, straightening his lapel slightly before leaning back in towards you. “And do you believe what they say? That Mary’s husband wrote it and published it under her name?”

Your brows knit together in slight irritation. “Of course not. Why would he need to do such a thing? I hope you don’t mind me saying, but men already have enough advantages as is– publishing under a woman’s name instead might be considered a disadvantage.”

“Will you be publishing under your own name?”

You blinked, taking a sip from your champagne. It was something you considered and went back and forth upon. “I haven’t decided. I have a pseudonym ready just in case.”

“Do tell– so I know what name to look for on the shelves within a year.”

God, was he ever charming– and without even trying, really. He was well-spoken with a voice that was soft and almost whispery. It made butterflies bubble in the pit of your stomach– now that was a feeling you weren’t familiar with. “Dorian Gray.”

“Cheeky woman.” he mused. “Fancy a dance, Miss Gray?”

“... I suppose I could be swayed.”

–

Your dance together, to say the least, was a success– it started month’s worth of courting after. Aemond took you on the most splendid nights out, wining and dining you like you were a gorgeous, interesting debutante. It was exhilarating to say the least and made you feel… truly wanted– especially since his family was exceedingly wealthy, your father’s wealth couldn’t have attracted him.

He took you to the theater, out to wondrous restaurants, and bought you various gifts like jewelry, writing supplies and outfits to wear when you went out.

It all felt very much like a dream to you– something beyond your usual, weary routine that had hardly ever changed since your mother died when you were eight years old. You’d recused into yourself then, the dark hallways that scared you so fiercely just before her death now seemed welcoming. You thrived in the dark, like a moth.

But now, you felt something more akin to a butterfly, bathing in the sun’s light.

It wasn’t a great surprise when Aemond asked your father for his blessing to marry you. Your father, who had harped you for years to get married, was suddenly apprehensive.

He pulled you aside, arm around you. “Do you like this boy, dear?”

“Y-yes, father– very much so.”

“I’ll be honest, sweetheart. I’m not exactly keen on letting my only daughter go off with… some man–”

“He isn’t just some man, father! He’s a Targ–”

“Don’t interrupt,” he chastised firmly. “I’ve had my people look into his family further– it’s a whole mess, issues with succession, backstabbing, incest, the whole nine yards,” he took a measured breath. “But I’ve heard nothing but good things about… Aemond. But… you’d be so far away. You’d be off living in the annals of England, a whole boat’s ride away.”

“This is what you wanted, father! For me to marry, for me to be happy! This is the happiest I’ve been in… so long. You must see that?”

The creases in your father’s forehead relaxed as he regarded you for a long moment, before turning to Aemond, who was waiting patiently off to the side. He let go of your shoulder and walked to your beau, staring at him sternly. “Will you treat her right? Give her everything she deserves and more?”

Aemond perked up slightly, rubbing the side of his forefinger with his thumb in a seemingly nervous gesture. “Of course, sir. I’ll give her everything I have and more. She will be regarded as a Lady– the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall, and she wouldn’t be treated with any less respect than a Lady deserves.”

Your father’s gaze narrowed, taking it all into careful thought. “... very well. You have my blessing, son. But, one whiff of even a tear from her eye on your account, and your nads are forfeit. I may not be as well-off as your family, but I’ve got a lot of friends in a lot of places.”

–

The marriage was a quick affair, as your father, and now Aemond, knew you had no patience for pomp and frills. Aemond gave you a beautiful ring with an absolutely gigantic sapphire inlaid in the center, citing it as a family heirloom from centuries past. Your father saw you off onto the boat, bawling his eyes out. You’d never seen your father cry– not once.

As husband and wife, you both agreed to wait to celebrate your wedding night until you arrived in England at his family’s estate to your marital bed.

The trip overall was a little under a week’s time upon a luxurious liner, where you both enjoyed champagne and each other’s company. You craved your husband, and he craved you in the same, but you each wished to keep your agreement intact. But it was increasingly hard, as you held one another close each night and his need for you was clearly pressed to your lower back.

Dragonstone Hall was a few hours' carriage ride north of the port and was nestled upon a high-ridged cliff. It was as gorgeous as the pictures had depicted, even moreso. It was ancient, imposing against the skyline and mingling to the clouds, where sea birds and ravens alike swirled above the towering watch towers that were supported by stone walls with vines grasping to them like lifelines.

It was gorgeous, gothic and most definitely haunted– a perfect place for a woman of horror such as yourself.

Aemond helped you out of the carriage, a hand placed upon your waist as he guided you beyond the gates. Your eyes were wide with wonder, taking in the scenery like a breath of fresh air. Tears threatened to spill over suddenly, as you were just overwhelmed with everything going on. You were married to someone you loved, who loved you– and were the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall.

“Something wrong, my love?” Aemond whispered into your ear, his lips tickling your lobe.

“N-no– I’m just… very happy.”

He wiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb, clearing your vision. You glanced up at one of the windows on the third story of the castle. Someone was staring back at you.

A lady. Her hair was red, her skin almost translucent.

You must’ve been imagining it, surely. Looking to another window, another visage appeared.

Another– this time with dirty blonde hair, her blue eyes ghastly and bloodshot. She was practically see through.

You pressed closer to Aemond, blinking profusely– it must’ve been the exhaustion from the nights on the boat catching up to you. Once you rubbed your eyes, you looked back; the figures were gone.

As you approached the main door of the estate, another face caught your eye.

Another woman– with dark hair and sullen, emerald eyes. They pierced through you like two heavy jewels, making goosebumps prickle atop your arms. She wasn’t ghastly or undeathly like the other two, and when you rubbed your eyes, she was still there.

She was still there, very much a living person in the flesh, with flowing blood and a beating heart. And she was beautiful.

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #beware the sapphire peak #alysmond #alys rivers #alys rivers x aemond #alys rivers x reader #alys rivers x reader x aemond targaryen

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strwberri-milk · 5 months

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Hi hi! May I request Childe, Heizou, and Wriothesley (add anyone else if you want) with an Author!Reader who usually writes crime/detective, mystery, and horror? Reader is sometimes stressed and sleep deprived because of this and their writing space is a mess with papers everywhere too.

It's okay if you won't do this one! ^^

Childe absolutely finds it fascinating. He doesn't have too much time in between work to really dedicate to reading the books you've written but he does his best. He's got copies of your books lining the shelves in his office and when people ask he tells them they're yours and that he strongly recommends the books himself.

Sometimes, you shyly approach him to ask for some details that only he could provide to help make your books just a bit more realistic. It makes him very happy to hear that you need his help and when you show him the parts that he helped with he can't help but specifically mark those pages off to read over and over again, fascinated by how you turn his loose explanations into insightful prose.

He doesn't mind the mess you leave behind when working - in fact he likes to rifle through it - but he does hate how stressed and tired you are. No matter how often he finds you passed out in your work he'll always take care to put you in bed and clean you off so you can rest. He won't leave you alone which means you're forced to rest, falling asleep against his chest.

Heizou didn't realise he was a casual fan of your books until after you told him that you wrote some of the books he's got on his shelf. You were just making a simple observation, not wanting to keep your occupation a secret nor make a big deal out of it but he took the opportunity to pull down the most memorable one and ask you some questions he remembers having while reading the book.

He likes to pop in whenever you're really struggling on a scene, wanting to offer up his expertise whenever you find yourself in a particular difficult situation in your writing. You can hand off sections of your manuscript to him and he's more than happy to read through the pages. Most often he points out any discrepancies he can personally find and helps reconcile them when he can.

The two of you often end up accidentally spending the night working on your projects, trying to keep each other awake or trying to convince the other person to go to sleep. You both try to work in organised chaos so he's familiar with how to stack your papers before you fall asleep to prevent ruining your workflow. You try to complain that you've got too much to do but he won't take any of it, shoving you back into bed playfully to make sure you manage to sleep.

Wriothesley likes to come down from the day with his tea, snacks, and a nice book in hand. It just so happens he was recommended for your book and he recognised the pen name you said that you use when writing. Without telling you, he quickly finishes the book and starts on another, finding himself thoroughly excited to work his way through your work.

You like watching the people in the prison, finding inspiration from the passing stores people tell you or just things you happen to over hear. You've got a lot of little notes sitting around of things you might want to expand on but for now, you're never lacking inspiration.

He also loves watching you work. It's always fun for him to try and make sense of all the paper you leave around. It's like some sort of puzzle he work on as you ramble to him about some ideas you've got for the continuing of your story - something he also listens to very intently.

Whenever it looks like you're about to pass out due to exhaustion or stress he simply removes you from your work site. He'll make sure you've got something to eat or drink before tucking you into bed no matter what you tell him. He'll remind you you can't do your best work if your mind is distracted and your body is starving and considering how assertive he can be there's not much you can do, but you also don't mind.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #heizou x reader #wriothesley x reader #childe z reader #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader

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dustofthedailylife · 1 year

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"A Dream Of You"

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Summary: Dreams were something the citizens of Sumeru didn't know for a long time. Alhaitham was one of the ones who has never experienced dreams either. So when he experiences it for the first time he is conflicted. Because he dreams of you.

Pairings: Alhaitham x (gn!) Reader

Tags: fluff, pining, a bit suggestive but SFW, minor Sumeru Archon quest spoilers, Alhaitham is whipped for you and doesn't want to admit it

A/N: Whoops, well this was meant to be a short brainrot, now it turned into an entire one-shot/drabble. Either way, hope you enjoy ♡

As soon as the Akasha no longer functioned many people in Sumeru experienced dreams for the first time in their entire life.

Magical and beautiful imagery comes to life through the synapses of our brains; telling us entertaining, romantic, disturbing, frightening, or sometimes bizarre tales. They feel so magical one could be inclined to mistake them for reality as they often seem to portray exactly what our hearts yearn for.

Alhaitham is no stranger to the concept. He knows about dreams. He has read about them a plethora of times in books and manuscripts before. But they were no more than that - tales. Records of people who've experienced them firsthand before.

He finds the concept intriguing but given the fact that he and everyone else in Sumeru were unable to dream before, he hardly wasted any time thinking or researching about them. Maybe he was too rational for it as well. He's not the type of person who has his head up in the clouds all day. He prefers living in the present and dealing with matters he actually needs to deal with instead of ones he doesn't.

At least that is what he thought before he dreamt for the first time.

And he dreamt of you. Of your warm lips molding against his, your hands tangled in his hair and roaming across his body, bodies pressed flush against each other. His arm around your waist, your mouths waging a passionate war of shared breaths and tasting every inch of skin. Both of you; lost in the moment, love blooming deep within the core of your hearts and taking root.

And then he wakes up.

A thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead. His skin feels damp. The sound of his own heart resonates loudly inside his ears and it feels like his head is swimming.

Still drowsy and next to himself he sits up in his bed and cards through his gray locks. He doesn't know what happened and has no rational explanation for it at first. Until it occurs to him that this must have been one of those dreams he read about.

Just why had it been you who appeared in it?

He knows you from the Akademiya. He sometimes sees you in the library or walking down the halls of his Darshan. He has never actively sought out conversations with you though. He kept a safe distance, only throwing glances at you from time to time. Noticing the way your lips curve when you smile, the sound of your voice smooth like silken sheets. He doesn't know why he has grown so addicted to your imagery but decided to stay away for his own sake, as the feelings in his chest when he was near you were beyond any rational explanation.

He brushes it off as his mind playing tricks on him and that there are no possible rational explanations for dreams and the feelings they invoke.

But this wasn't the last dream he had of you.

Every night his mind shows him the same imagery of you, pinned underneath him, your head resting on the plush pillows on his bed, his hands caressing every inch of your skin, tongues in a fervent battle with each other.

It felt so real. The yearning in his chest grows bigger with every dream about you up to the point he actively starts to avoid you when he sees you during the day. He longs to go to sleep every night, secretly hoping he gets to see you again, feel you again. And every time he wakes up again, asking himself if what he experiences is normal. But he had no one he could seek out for help and he doesn't want to talk about it with anyone either. Is something wrong with him?

He tends to the only resource he trusts - books. Turning the entire library upside down for literature about dreams, reading into symbolicism, causes, literally any rational explanation for what is happening to him.

Why does his heart beat faster around you outside of his dreams now too? Had it always been this way? Could dreams possibly make him fall for someone? Impossible, what he sees at night was just a figment of his imagination, something his subconscious made up, it wasn't real. So, why?

He reads through book after book and discards each one - seemingly unsatisfied with what they explain. It was impossible. It doesn't make any sense to him. He would never be so irrational about something, would he?

"[...] There are several theories on why humans dream but no one knows for sure. Some researchers consider them a form of psychotherapy, others see them as a mere interpretation of signals from the body during sleep and some say they serve no purpose at all.

The general scientific consensus in recent years is that they represent our deepest unconscious wishes and desires and help us process them. [...]" *scribbled through in frustration* Madness! I do not desire this... do, I?

- An excerpt from: "Why we dream - a scientific research into the depth of our minds."

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated! Dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x female reader #genshin x y/n #alhaitham x you #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fluff #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin brainrot #genshin headcanons #🍁 dust writes

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the-apocrypha · 3 months

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illuminated manuscripts >>> part five of the cottagecore verse Hob Gadling/Dream of the Endless || G || 4k || Complete Alternate Universe - Medieval, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Old Married Couple

The thing is, Hob can read. Mostly. Sort of

Hob enjoys nearly a month of gratis storytelling before he's caught staring a little too intently at the page Dream is reading from—he'd been looking at the pictures thank you—when Dream suddenly pauses just as Culhwch is about to ask Ysbaddaden for his blessing and turns his glittering eyes to Hob.

“And?” Hob asks, impatient. “What does he say?”

“You are reading,” Dream accuses.

…Shit.

“Well that seems like a strange way for Culhwch to propose marriage?” Hob says weakly.

Dream's eyes narrow. “You told me you could not.”

“I can't.”

“You can.”

“I really can't,” Hob insists, and he can feel himself starting to flush. “I mean. Not like this, not like. Just what my dad taught me, which is—which is a lot for people like us, you know, and it gets the job done, but I can't. I can't read like you.”

And Hob had not known Dream long enough, at that point, to recognize the rush of starlight into his eyes that would have given him some warning for what he was about to suggest next, and indeed, the futility of protesting against it.

“I,” Dream says, his whole face aglow, “will teach you.”

Read on AO3

#it's so fluffy you guys oh my god #we will return to our regularly scheduled whump for the next bit though #enjoy this while it lasts #dreamling #cottagecore verse #dream of the endless #hob gadling #sandman #my writing

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filmtv2022 · 6 months

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It's Our History

Pairing: Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley

Synopsis: After the death of your mother, you find your way to a quaint little bookstore in search of a book that had been left in the care of one Mr. A.Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley. But it isn't just about a book, it's about finally meeting the beautiful 'people' that had interwoven themselves in to the lives of your mother and grandmother all those years ago.

Warnings: Mentions of death

A/N. As always, I apologize for any mistakes.

Aziraphale sat perched behind his desk, glasses slung low on his nose as he scanned over the detailed manuscript in front of him. The pages were yellowed with age, and yet the intricate illuminations were still beautiful and brilliant. It had been hours since the angel had started his investigation of the newest addition to his vast collection. Pages of documentation were taken in fine handwriting noting every nick and tear. The list of books for Zirah to fix grew longer by the day, but with all of eternity on his hands, the earthly angel couldn’t care less. Crowley on the other hand was growing impatient. This morning he’d been promised a lovely meal at the Ritz… as soon as Aziraphale was finished. With the hand on the clock striking two, he’d had more than enough waiting for one day. The demon was nearly to the point of conducting some frivolous miracles to hurry the process along when the door to the shop opened. The wood creaked on its hinges begging for attention.

Lost in his work, Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice that someone new had come to visit, leaving Crowley unexpectedly in charge of dealing with this interaction. Already in a pissy mood, the demon spat a ‘greeting’, if you could even call it that, in your direction.

“Whatever you want it’ll have to wait, shop’s closed.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. The sign out front says open, so I thought…”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Again, so sorry.” your eyes flicked to the blonde-haired man sitting across the room, “Didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll be going now.”

Looking back at the thin, dark man standing guard like a watchdog, you couldn’t help but notice how he inched closer to the desk when you glanced in their direction. It was as if he was preparing himself to pronounce, cautioning anyone against getting too close.

“Bye now.” Sarcasm and hostility dripped from him as he spoke.

“Uhh, bye then.” With a tiny wave, you turned away defeated, and started back toward the door, when a new voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Crowley, that is no way to talk to a customer. Please dear, do stay and have a look around.”

Turning back, your eyes caught on the equally beautiful man standing next to the person who you now understood to be Crowley. They were both just as you’d pictured, as if a day hadn’t passed since those photos had been taken. In awe and disbelief, your voice was quiet with the enormity of the pair, “I don’t want to be a bother, it’s just that I could really use your help.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re no bother at all. And please, forgive my friend, they're in quite the mood this morning.”

“It’s not morning anymore, Angel,” hissed Crowley grumpily.

“Don’t be dramatic dear.”

“They’re right you know? It’s past two.”

“Really? Why goodness,” slipping out his pocket watch, he studied the time briefly before returning it to its home, “Would you look at that? My how time flies when you’re having fun!”

The Crowley grumbled lowly under his breath in response, but his protestations went unnoticed (or rather ignored) by Aziraphale.

“Now, what is it that you are looking for? Oh, and forgive me, I’ve been quite rude myself. Dithering on and never introducing myself, I’m Aziraphale or Mr. Fell if you prefer.”

“Well, uh… it’s very nice to finally meet you, Mr. Fell. And I’m looking for a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Well, it’s not really Pride & Prejudice, it just looks like it.”

Ignoring the odd bit of your thought at the end, Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with unadulterated joy, “How fantastic! Tell me more about this edition you’re in search of. Is there a particular year or publishing house you’re looking for?”

“No, nothing like that,” a sadness crept in, pulling your mouth into a frown, and forcing your eyes to the ground, “It was my was my grandmother’s and then my mother’s.”

“And you think it ended up here?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You seem rather sure of it being here, may I inquire as to why?”

“She left me a note before she… it told me to come here, to talk to you. You and Mr. Crowley.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, close enough that their knuckles brushed together, staring back at you, their minds turning a mile a minute. They scanned over your features taking note of every minute detail, but it was the look in your eyes that finally helped them understand. Their hearts raced with the sudden realization.

It was Crowley who spoke first, his voice barely more than a whisper, “You can’t be… if you’re here that means…”

“But she is here darling. And I can see it now, the resemblance, just look at her eyes.”

Standing there you found yourself mesmerized by the pair of them. You’d seen the pictures… heard the stories you’re entire life. The incredible tales of Mr. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley, and yet it seemed impossible that they were both standing before you now. Aziraphale took a few steps in your direction. Crossing the room in a few strong strides, he planted himself in front of you. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, tears pooled in your eyes as he tilted your face up to see you better.

“It’s so good to finally meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.”

Your palms came up to rest on his creamed-colored jacket, the material soft with wear beneath your touch. Your nose burned as you fought to hold back the tears that blurred your vision. You didn’t want to look away for even a second for fear they may disappear entirely, “Same goes for you, Mr. Fell. I’ve heard about you all my life. I didn’t think you were actually real, but my god am I glad you are.”

Azirphale’s strong arms, pulled you in allowing you to bury your face in his chest as the tears finally began to flow. Tenderly, he stroked your back and whispered words of comfort against your temple. Overwhelmed by emotion, you failed to hear the sound of footsteps coming in your direction. Crowley moved stealthily toward you and his Angel wanting nothing more than to comfort you both and seek that same in return. If you were here that could only mean one thing, the marvelous woman who was your mother was gone. He’d only just come to terms with the fact that both your gran and mother were mortal beings and that no matter how much he wished it away, there was an expiration date to their time on Earth. Logically, he knew it was going to happen, human life is fleeting at best, and yet he found himself growing angry that her time here was over.

Crowley’s wide palm found its way to your back in a weak attempt at grabbing your attention. He needed to see you, to look in your eyes again. Watching him silently ask for you, Aziraphale adjusted his hold on your body so that you could lift your head and look at his Demon. Relinquishing your hold on Mr. Fell, you turned just enough to look at Crowley who was staring down at you through the dark glass of his shades.

“You're lovely,” gingerly, he tucked errant strands of hair behind your ear. His fingertips brushed feather-light touches over your cheekbones. His touch was nearly imperceptible, but your breath hitched at the warmth that radiated from his skin.

Wet lines spilled from beneath his sunglasses, and the corners of his mouth turned down, “You look…” he choked out.

Reaching up, you wiped away the tears. Unwilling to let go, you found yourself toying with the bows of his glasses, “Can… can I see you…” Glancing back at Mr. Fell your breath shuddered, “Who you really are… the way they both got to see you?”

You searched their faces for any sign of an answer. You thought that reading the angel would be easier, but he remained straight-faced, the only emotion gracing his features was that of anticipation as if he too was waiting for an answer.

Crowley’s decision came without words, his hand ran the length of your arm before settling around your wrist and guiding it back to his glasses. Letting go once your hand was in place, his chest rose and fell rapidly waiting for you to move. You took your time, ghosting over the cool metal, giving yourself the space to find the courage.

“It’s all right dear, you have nothing to be afraid of.” Aziraphale’s voice was low and calm as he encouraged you to take the next step.

Shaking, you carefully removed the barrier between yourself and Crowley. His yellow eyes were on yours, never faltering, strong and terrified in equal measure. Lost in thought, you remained quiet, your fingers mapping over his features. Tracing the outline of his lips, the plane of his nose, the curve of his brow, the silky strands of hair that hung down over his forehead.

“The pictures didn’t do you justice. You’re beautiful, Crowley.” Totally in awe, you couldn’t tear your focus away from the demon in front of you. Hearing your words, his shoulders dropped, the tension starting to fall away.

Crowley looked over your shoulder at Aziraphale, the two sharing a moment. Behind you came a soft rustle and a gust of wind. Using his hands, which had found your waist, the demon turned you to face Aziraphale, and what you saw ripped the air from your lungs. The angel stood glowing, a halo of warm light surrounding him, but that wasn’t the true shock. That came from his wings. Zirah’s wings were all-consuming, their bright white feathers beckoned you closer.

Stepping toward him, your hands shot out, eager to feel and yet still hesitant. Looking up at Aziraphale, there was no need to speak as your question was obvious.

“It’s okay. You can touch them if you want.”

Slowly you found yourself outlining the shape of his feathers, paying attention to every detail. Unbeknownst to you, his head tipped back and his eyes shut tight. Feelin them soft like silk, and entirely intoxicating, you impulsively sought more. Burying your fingers in the depths of the layers, you were surprised to hear a strangled noise fall from Aziraphale’s lips.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Startling back, you worried that you’d inflicted pain, but looking up at the being in front of you a mask of pure bliss graced his angelic features. His eyes popped open at the loss of your touch.

“No, quite the opposite my dear. And It's me who should be apologizing, I forgot myself there for a moment.”

Reaching for your hand, he guided you back to his wings, encouraging you to continue. And you did until, the same sound as before, a flutter and gust of wind, caught your attention from Crowley’s direction. Keeping your hold on the angel, you turned your head to look behind you. Again, your lungs shuddered at the sight. Onyx wings now protruded from the demon’s back blocking out the world around him. Though utterly opposite, they were no less beautiful. Crowley reached for you again, his hands instantly found the curve of your waist and drew you closer. Stumbling slightly, he caught you easily, holding you to him as if he couldn’t believe you were real. Raking over your sides, the demon came to hold your face to him, much like Aziraphale had. Yet, there was something different playing over his features.

“She’s gone then?”

Unable to speak you nodded your head in affirmation. Fresh tears ran in steady streams down your cheeks, blurring the sight of the stunning creature in front of you. Crowley pulled you tight, his fingers burying themselves in your hair as you tugged at his vest, twisting the fabric in your fists. Heavy sobs wracked your body leaving you with nothing to do but cling to him.

Leaning down he whispered to you the only thing he could think of, the only truth he could be certain of, “You’re safe here with us. I promise. You're not alone.”

Leaving you and his demon to have a private moment together, Aziraphale went to find the book. It took less than a minute as it was stored in a safe location away from the prying eyes of the public. Returning to you both, he tapped Crowley’s shoulder to get his attention. Feeling him pull away slightly, you followed in turn.

“Is that it?” you asked in disbelief.

“Yes, and you were right, it isn't really a book. It’s…” Aziraphale paused as if uncertain about how to proceed.

Seeing his Angel struggle, Crowley took the book from his hands and gave it to you before speaking, “It’s the story of us. Aziraphale, myself, and your family. It’s our history.”

“You see, we’re connected, and we have been for… a very long time.” Zirah found his voice again though it was shaky as he talked.

“But I don’t understand. Why us? We’re just humans, surely we can’t be that important.”

“Ah, but see that’s where you’re wrong. That is precisely why you’re important. Your grandmother and your mother… they treated us kindly when the rest of the world couldn’t see beyond our differences, and for that… we’ll forever be in their debt. And beyond their kindness, your names… they’re written into the Ineffable Plan of the Universe. Yours in particular.”

“What? What does that even mean?” shocked you searched for a better question, something that got to the heart of your confusion, but nothing surfaced.

“It means that you… we… have grand adventures ahead. If you’ll join us that is.” Aziraphale's sweet eyes watched you closely waiting for the panic and fear to set in.

“Hold on, Ineffable Plan? You mean like ‘God’s” plan?” Zirah nodded in affirmation, “Didn’t think he was big on free will…”

Your off-hand comment brought a chuckle from the demon as he spoke, “Oh, I like her.”

“Please, Crowley, be serious.”

“All right, Angel. They’re all yours.”

Aziraphale placed a hand on your back to lead you across the room toward the chairs near their desk. Guiding you to sit, he made his way to the other. Crowley perched on the arm of Zirah’s chair and waited for him to continue.

“Now, where do we begin?” Zirah’s eye flickered up to Crowley with a smile.

“I know… let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start.” Crowley smirked at his Angel loving his reaction to what had become a running joke after averting the Apocalypse.

“Oh for the love of all that is good, do NOT start quoting The Sound of Music.”

Aziraphale and Crowley couldn’t help, but share a quiet laugh together. Nothing like a generational dislike for The Sound of Music to bring everyone together even in the most harrowing of times.

#aziraphale x reader x crowley #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader x aziraphale #Crowley x reader #good omens

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mimisempai · 8 months

Text

Yellow is the color

Summary

Aziraphale borrows the Bentley again and customizes it once more. When Crowley finds out, he gets annoyed all over again and asks him the reason for the color choice. The angel's answer doesn't have the expected effect.

Notes

Our demon isn't ready for the answer…

On Ao3

Rating G - 1367 words

"Keys, my dear?"

Aziraphale was standing between the screen and him, holding out his hand.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, " Hm?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, "Don't pretend you don't know, I told you I needed the Bentley to get to Cookham. Apparently there's a museum library that's about to close and it looks like they have some very old manuscripts and..."

Crowley was no longer listening.

Of course he remembered. Aziraphale had been talking about it ever since he'd gotten a call about it. On the other hand, Crowley had deliberately chosen to forget that the angel had needed the Bentley to get there.

"Crowley? The keys, please."

Crowley fumbled in his pocket and, with obvious reluctance, placed the keys of the Bentley in the angel's outstretched hand.

Aziraphale smiled indulgently and said gently, "It's only for a few hours and I promise to take good care of OUR car."

The rascal, he knew full well the effect it had on Crowley to hear him speak of the car as a common possession. Crowley sighed and the angel leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before leaving the room. As he walked through the door, he turned and told him with a wink, "I promise not to make too many changes."

Crowley called out, "Angel!" and heard Aziraphale laugh slightly as he left.

The demon stood and couldn't help but look out the window as the Angel got into the car, and he followed the car with his worried eyes until they were out of sight.

"Um...Crowley? Could you help me?"

He turned to Muriel and raised an eyebrow as he asked, "With what?"

Muriel replied, "Well, I'd like that book, but it's too high for me."

Crowley looked at the top of the shelf and turned to them, saying "You know you have abilities, magical ones?"

Muriel replied hesitantly, "But... but it's not right to use them for such trivial things..."

"Says who?" asked Crowley gently.

Muriel answered shyly, pointing to the sky, "Up there."

Crowley leaned toward them and said quietly, "I'll tell you a secret, whether it's up there or down there, they're pretty blind. Aziraphale and I have been using our powers for little things for thousands of years with no consequences. So don't worry about something as trivial as taking a book off a shelf, they won't see anything."

Seeing the angel hesitate, he added: "Aziraphale and I won't let anything happen to you.

Muriel asked, "Why are you both being so nice to me?"

Crowley leaned against one of the columns and replied, "The fact that you ask the question gives you the reason. You shouldn't have to wonder why people are nice to you when you've done nothing to deserve anything but kindness. Because we know how people like you are treated up there, and you don't deserve it. I've seen your loneliness, my little bee, and you don't deserve that either." Then he added playfully, "And then I saw that there was some potential here in breaking the rules. I like that."

He gestured to the top of the shelf and asked them, "So, are you going to bring that book down?"

Crowley watched in amusement as Muriel narrowed their eyes and the book quickly floated into their hand. Then they cautiously opened one eye, then the other, as if expecting retaliation.

Suddenly, Crowley frowned and Muriel looked at him anxiously, "They've spotted me, haven't they?"

Crowley shook his head, "It's Aziraphale, the car, he's done something to it again. It's okay, you can read your book, I need to talk to him."

Muriel nodded before they hurried to their favorite spot in the alcove of a window and began to read.

Aziraphale was on his way out of town when the Bentley's radio emitted some interference.

"Angel! I know it! You've done it again!"

Aziraphale replied innocently, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yellow! The wheels are yellow! Change them immediately!"

Aziraphale sighed and replied, "You're really not funny."

"Why yellow anyway?"

Aziraphale hesitated a bit before answering, then smiled gently, figuring it was easier to tell the truth when you couldn't see each other.

He said softly, "Crowley, my dear, what color are your eyes?"

Only silence answered him.

"Crowley?"

The radio resumed playing the music the angel had chosen just before, indicating that the demon had cut off communication, then the song changed.

He needs you anyway, anyway

Not often easy to say

Anyway, anyway

Ooh-ooh ya

Who knows what it leads to

Just know that he needs you

Anyway

That was enough for Aziraphale, who said to the car, "Turn around, we're going home."

This time he didn't care about the speed limit.

It took him less than twenty minutes to pull up in front of the bookshop. He entered and saw Muriel reading in their usual corner and asked, "Where is he?"

The angel shook their head, "He went upstairs and hasn't come down since."

Aziraphale nodded and hurried up the stairs. When he reached the room, he saw Crowley standing at the window and, a rare sight when he was inside, his glasses on his nose.

The angel called softly, "Crowley?"

The demon turned and exclaimed, "Angel? You're back already?"

Aziraphale replied, "Well, the way our conversation ended, I was worried about you, so I rushed home."

Crowley sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head, muttering, "I don't understand..."

Aziraphale crouched in front of him and, placing his hands on the demon's knees, asked softly, "What don't you understand?"

Shaking his head, Crowley replied, "How can you love a color that reminds you of these eyes? My snake eyes, my demon eyes..."

Aziraphale raised his hands and removed the demon's sunglasses before placing them on the bed beside him.

Then he sat down on the other side and, turning to Crowley, cupped his face in his hands and said softly, "These are your eyes, how could I not love them? I don't see a snake or a demon when I look into them, just you. I see their warm color, the hues that change with your mood when you're not wearing your glasses."

Crowley asked softly, "But...wouldn't you rather my eyes be like the day you first met me? Like before..."

Aziraphale sighed before answering, "That is a difficult question..."

"I knew it..." Crowley started to turn his face away, but Aziraphale stopped him and said, "Silly, I didn't mean it like that. To have your eyes like before would mean you hadn't gone through everything you did, the fall, etc., so in a way yes...but also no, because I love the demon you are now and no longer the image I had of the angel. Don't you see? I love who you are, not the idea I had of you. Which means I like those eyes too..." he traced the eyes with his thumbs before moving his face closer to the demon's and kissing him softly on the lips.

Pulling back, he continued, "And so, yes, I love the color that reminds me the eyes of the one I love."

Crowley muttered, "That's no reason to change the color of the Bentley."

Aziraphale raised his hands in surrender and replied in an amused voice, "I promise I won't do it again."

Crowley grabbed the angel's hands to pull him close, then wrapped his arms around him, holding him to his chest. He whispered into his hair, "Thank you for loving who I am."

Aziraphale replied softly against his chest, "I wouldn't have you any other way."

The demon pressed him a little closer, burying his face in his neck, and when the angel felt a certain wetness where Crowley's face touched his skin, he simply tightened his embrace and continued to whisper words of comfort and love into Crowley's hair.

A few minutes later, when the demon lifted his head, his beautiful eyes glistened with the tears he had shed. Aziraphale kissed each eye devoutly and then pressed his lips to the demon's in a kiss that made him understand, far better than words, how much he was loved for exactly who he was.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale

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lovelytsunoda · 1 year

Text

twelve fractures // pierre gasly

summary: the four times that y/n leclerc almost called pierre gasly, and the one time that he gave in and called her

tell me, if I were to smile now, in the dead of the dark, would it even exist? i fantasize about those nights you sewed your lips to mine there were shortcuts into heaven through your eyes

pairing: pierre gasly x leclerc! reader ( brother's best friend ).

warnings: age gap ( reader is arthur's twin, which makes her 22 and pierre is 27 ), loss of virginity via a one night stand with pierre, hella angst, pierre is a little toxic at a few points in here. consumption of alchohol. descriptions of and allusions to sex. mentions of ferrari struggling in 2022. lots of miscommunication.

authors note: i hope you guys are ready for pain bc i think this one might hurt y'all a bit.

the first call.

she sat at the booth in the corner, her phone case warm against her hand as she stared numbly at the contact in front of her.

pierre 🍐. the contact photo was of the two of them when they were kids. the gaslys had always been family friends of hers, they grew up together.

so falling in love with him should have been inevitable.

y/n leclerc reached for her tumbler again, downing the last of her third glass of the night. she was well and truly drunk, and she was counting down the minutes until she was drunk enough to call pierre gasly and say all the things she wished that she had told him sooner.

tell him that she was sorry for making shit weird after that night in japan.

"what are you doing moping in the corner?"

she looked up from her phone, frowning at her twin brother as arthur leclerc slid into the booth next to her.

"the fuck do you care? you got into formula two, you should be celebrating."

y/n had never been the athletically inclined sibling. arthur and charles were thriving in motorsports. nobody was quite sure what lorenzo was doing but it seemed to be working for him. y/n just had half a draft of a manuscript sitting on her laptop that she was too scared to finish.

because she never finished anything. never saw it through.

"come on, y/n. you know that i can tell when something is wrong. how much have you had to drink?" arthur frowned, pushing the empty glass away as y/n shut off her phone, hoping that her brother wouldn't notice who she was about to call.

"can we leave, arthur? are you sober enough to drive me home?" her voice was quiet, broken as she looked over to where arthur should have been celebrating with the other prema drivers.

this had never been her world. what happened after japan should have just proven that.

a flash of panic shot through arthur's veins. "are you okay?"

"not really." she didn't trust herself not to cry. "just take me home, arthur."

once she was safely inside arthur's ferrari, her first tear began to fall, dragging a thick mascara trail down her porcelain cheek as she rested her head against the window, the grease from her hair staining the window.

"i hoped that if i got drunk enough, i'd finally have the guts to call him." she said quietly, the radio humming softly in the background with the kind of song she would have hated if arthur hadn't liked it so much.

"call who?" arthur asked, stopping at a traffic light and reaching for his sister's hand.

"pierre. things haven't been right between us for a long time."

arthur frowned, but he didn't say anything. he wasn't sure if there was anything for him to say. he never had been the sibling who dealt with emotions the best. that had always been lorenzo's job.

"i gave him everything, arthur. my time, my energy." she paused, covering her mouth as she felt a sob wrack her body, mascara tears dropping onto her fingers. "my virginity." she managed to cough out. "and he's been avoiding me ever since."

arthur paused, stopping the car in the shoulder of the empty monte carlo street, flicking on his hazard lights before he undid his seatbelt and leaned over the console to wrap his baby sister in his arms.

they may have been twins, but arthur was born exactly three minutes and forty-five seconds first, making him the older brother by default, and that was a job that he took very seriously.

he knew the weight of that statement more than he should have. while arthur and charles, and god, even lorenzo, had been sexually adventurous from the moment they turned sixteen, their sister didn't see life like that. she had barely even dated. she hadn't gone on her first date until she was nineteen years old, and there had only been three dates with him before she got scared and broke it off.

arthur knew how big a deal it was that she had felt comfortable enough with someone to give up that part of herself, to feel that vulnerable.

"when did that happen?"

"suzuka." she swallowed, reaching into the glove compartment for a box of tissues. "and it's not that i didn't enjoy it..."

"he didn't know he was your first, did he?" arthur said softly, tracing circles on his sister's shoulder as he held her. "let me guess, you got scared, and you shut down. maybe he was too rough with you for your first time. i was always scared that this would happen, i just never thought it would be with pierre gasly of all people."

"except i wasn't the one who stopped all contact when things got weird. that was all him, arthur. he was gone by morning and things haven't felt right since."

she sat there in arthur's arms, the hazard lights on the cherry red ferrari blinking in the dark night air as she thought about japan. how distraught pierre had been after the race, when he called her and said that he didn't want to be alone. she had shown up with a box of pizza and a case of japanese beer.

she thought about how she had ended up with his lips on hers, her bra thrown over a lamp. her fists clenching the sheets as pierre took her from behind, moaning his name until her throat was dry and her voice was hoarse. how aroused she had been when his large hands spanked her, leaving a red mark on her ass.

how the bed had been cold and empty when she woke up the next morning, pierre gasly's arms no longer around her.

she wasn't quite sure if she had been okay since.

the second call.

she had finally done it. taking the pain she felt after what happened with pierre, she hunkered down with her laptop and she finished her manuscript. every emotion, every shred of anger had been poured out on the pages, the words written in times new roman scribbled across the page.

and now, she was standing in the middle of waterstones, in the middle of london, stacks upon stacks of her book surrounding her.

and with the phone in her hand, her thumb itched to press the 'call' button next to pierre's name. he had been the number one supporter of her novel when she started writing. he had wanted an advance readers copy signed sealed and delivered to his apartment in milan.

she'd been watching the doors all night, hoping that he would walk in.

and she hated herself for being disappointed when he didn't.

his name had made it into the acknowledgments. trying to keep her brothers' careers separate from her own, all her acknowledgments had been done with initials. CL. PG. AL.

"you should be enjoying your party, y/n. is everything okay?" charles asked softly, passing her a glass of champagne. "you're waiting for pierre, aren't you?"

y/n coughed, trying not to let on to her older brother that he was right. "who told you?"

"arthur. you know that he can't keep a secret for shit."

"i didn't want you to know, charles. he's your best friend. i feel like i'm forcing you to choose sides."

charles shook his head, pulling his sister in for a hug, despite her protests. "there aren't any sides to choose, y/n. he's always going to be my best friend, but you're my sister. and the way he's been acting is unreasonable. in fact, if he had the nerve to show up tonight, we'd probably both end up in the drunk tank."

“but he should be here, charles. I probably wouldn’t have ever entertained this fucking fever dream without him.” she said quietly, resting her face on her brothers shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I want him back, even if he doesn’t want me. why can’t I move on?”

"it's okay, y/n. it's okay." charles soothed, smoothing out his baby sister's hair. "being emotional is a strength, kiddo. one day, you're going to find someone who loves you back the same way that you love them. and if he hurts you, i'll break his knees."

y/n chuckled. "all you would need to do is put him in the car with mattia on the radio."

charles groaned. "don't even start! i'd break my own knees if it meant our strategy team pulled their shit together."

the third call.

the sun was setting over the sand and the palm trees in abu dhabi as y/n and her brother sat in the paddock, drink glasses in hand, sunglasses pulled over eyes. the paddock in abu dhabi had always been one of her favourites.

the last few months had been good to her. her book had made it onto the new york times' bestseller list, and she was trending on booktok. she had gone out with her high school best friend, taking a week in austria to just exist without expectations.

she finally felt like she was in a good headspace. her stomach didn't hurt when she thought about pierre gasly, and she didn't feel like crying when she thought about suzuka.

she was finally okay.

she looked out from the patio of ferrari's hospitality suite, her sunglasses on her forehead and her skin toned pink from the sunset, and that's when she saw him.

pierre gasly was walking through the paddock, his snapback on backwards and the top three buttons on his linen shirt undone. he looked every bit as good as he had when he was leaning over her, the metal of his cross necklace cool against her breasts as he kissed her.

"y/n." lorenzo said softly, poking her in the shoulder. "try not to think about it. you've made so much progress, don't let it all come undone now."

but she was in a much better place. now, instead of sobbing or yelling down the phone, she felt ready to have a proper conversation with the man who took every part of her and shattered it when he waited until she was asleep to slip out of the hotel suite.

she went inside the cherry-red building, ordering a hot chocolate before pulling her phone out of her back pocket and circling back to that same damn contact.

pierre 🍐.

and this time, she called him.

and he didn't answer.

even though it shouldn't, it stung.

she hung up without leaving a message.

the fourth call.

it was christmas eve, snowflakes falling past the windows of pascale leclerc's monaco home. all of her children were gathered in the living room, the lights on the christmas tree dialed up to full intensity as charles filled the small glasses with eggnog. in the living room, lorenzo and arthur were already buzzed, singing 'fairytale of new york' at the top of their lungs, arms over shoulders.

"charles, let me help." y/n insisted with a chuckle, taking two of the glasses from her older brother.

"i've got it, y/n." charles insisted. "go have fun with arthur and lorenzo!"

y/n snorted. "they're drunk, singing christmas carols at the top of their lungs. i think i'll take a hard pass on that one."

charles laughed. "fair enough. okay, you take three glasses and i'll take three, meet you in the living room?"

"sounds fair."

charles took the first few glasses and slipped out of the kitchen, leaving the last three on the island for y/n to take. as she reached for the first glass, her phone, which was sitting facedown on the counter, buzzed twice.

pierre 🍐: merry christmas y/n! sending my love to you and the family.

her heart skipped a beat as she read the message. the first communication with any feeling since that night in japan.

y/n: merry christmas pierre. can we talk?

she should have waited for him to text her back before she called him. the dial tone rang once before she was forwarded to his voicemail, the iphone buzzing again in her palm.

pierre 🍐: i can't talk right now, y/n. i'm with my family.

fucking fine, then.

she shut her phone off, grabbing one of the small glasses of eggnog and downing it in one gulp.

and the time that he called her.

it was saturday night in bahrain when pierre finally called her. he'd screwed up in qualifying with his new team, and he would be setting up at the very back of the grid the following day for the race.

she was already halfway back to her rental car when pierre called her, the keys to her bmw dangling from her fingers.

"we need to talk. there are some things i need to tell you."

"that's an ominous way to start a phone call, gasly."

"now isn't the time for jokes, y/n. i'm serious, we need to talk about suzuka."

"why now, pierre?"

"because i hurt you, and i'm sorry. charles told me what's going on with you."

charles marc herve perceval leclerc, you son of a bitch.

"fine. you can buy me dinner while you're at it."

the air was icy in the restaurant as pierre and y/n sat in the corner booth. neither wanted to be the one to speak first. drinks had been ordered and delivered while y/n worked out what she wanted to say to him.

how hurt she really was.

"y/n." pierre started slowly. "i'm so sorry about japan, and everything that happened after. i was acting like a jerk, and i shouldn't have shut you out like that."

"so why did you, gasly?" y/n said softly, picking at the pasta dish in front of her.

"i didn't leave you in bed that morning. i went to buy us coffee. i swear i left you a note on the bedside table. you were exhausted and," he hesitated. "when we were lying in bed together, you mumbled something as you were falling asleep, i don't even think you knew what you were saying. but you said 'that's one hell of a way to lose your v-card'. knowing that i treated you like that for your very first time, that i was the first person to have touched you like that. . . i don't know, i think a part of me was ashamed."

"i didn't see a note, pierre. there was nothing on the bedside table when i woke up. just think about how i felt for a minute, would you?" y/n scoffed. "i got vulnerable with you, i let you do things to me that no man had ever done before. i let you spank me, for god's sake!"

"keep your voice down!" pierre hissed, overtly conscious about the eyes on him throughout the resteraunt.

there were some things that the general public just didn't want, or need, to hear.

"and you never thought to call? never thought to check in with me later?"

pierre shook his head. "when i got back, the note was under the bed. i wasn't sure if you had read it and cast it aside, or if it had gotten blown off the table by the door or something. i just assumed that you didn't want to talk to me again."

"and then i texted you at christmas."

"and then you texted me at christmas." pierre nodded. "can we start over, y/n? i really like you, and it kills me to know that i fucked up."

y/n reached over the table, taking his hand in hers. "we really are shit at communicating, aren't we?"

pierre laughed. "so i've been told."

y/n laughed, withdrawing her hand. "hi, i'm y/n leclerc, nice to meet you."

pierre smiled. "what are you doing?"

"starting over."

"hi, y/n. i'm pierre. it's lovely to meet you too."

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #alpine f1 #pierre gasly x y/n #Spotify

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mosylufanfic · 2 months

Text

Linen and Kisses

For Fluffbruary! The prompts for today were table | blush | laundry. Thanks to @toooldforthisbutstill for sharing the snippet of a marriage contract that inspired this.

Linen and Kisses

The music had switched from Wagner to Nine Inch Nails, so Cassian knew his girlfriend was taking a break for at least a few songs. She couldn't listen to anything with words when she was working, she said because languages got tangled up in her head, so she had massive playlists of classical and instrumental music to blast as she was head-down in some manuscript or other.

He went out to the kitchen and found her filling the kettle. The ravages of her morning's work spilled out over the table, multiple dictionaries and her battered old computer and printouts with penciled notes and highlighted words.

"What language today?" he asked.

"Japanese," she said.

Before meeting her, Cassian had considered himself reasonably multilingual. Spanish, English, and about halfway to fluent in French. It was two-and-a-half times more languages than most people spoke in this country.

But Jyn was fluent in all those and more. She worked as a freelance translator, and since moving in together, he'd gotten used to having half the bookcase filled with dictionaries and having to guess which language she was using to talk on the phone and why.

French, Japanese, Arabic, Russian? Some connection of hers on another continent.

Spanish, with a lot of laughing? Probably his sister.

Danish? Her father, and there would be cursing afterwards.

"Are you done?" he asked. "Or just taking a break?"

"Done for now."

"Good, I was going to start lunch. Any requests?"

"Edible," she said, starting to clear up her mess. "Thanks." She hooked her arm around his waist and leaned up to kiss his cheek. She got taciturn when fighting with a particular translation - well, more taciturn.

By the time she'd cleaned the table off, he'd gotten some of his homemade tomato soup in the microwave and assembled a couple of cheese sandwiches for grilling. She leaned against the counter as he cooked.

He rarely liked having someone in his kitchen, but Jyn was the exception.

"What's wrong?" she asked, breaking a corner off the cheese block and tossing it in her mouth.

"Nothing," he answered, a hair too fast. "Why do you ask?"

She eyed him. "I dunno, you just seem a little tense."

"Because you're eating all the good cheese."

"Oh no," she said, cutting off another corner. "Whatever will happen if we run out of cheese? We might have to go down to the store. How awful."

He waggled his spatula at her. "That's the good stuff. You don't get that at a fucking Walmart."

"Snob," she said, and took another corner. "And anyway, we don't get anything at fucking Walmart because you're banned for talking to the cashiers about unionizing."

"Only because I wouldn't let you vandalize the store manager's car."

"Is slashing tires really vandalism?"

"I think you'll find, yes."

She shrugged. "They never would have caught me."

The microwave beeped, and she pulled out the bowls, just in time for him to plate the sandwiches. With the addition of cutlery and tea in heavy mugs, lunch was served.

He wasn't fool enough to think she'd been distracted or deceived, and if he had been, the canny look she shot him would have disabused him of that notion. The woman knew him far too well.

"So," she said. "What've you been up to this morning?" She dipped the corner of her sandwich in the soup.

It was as good an opening as he could have hoped for.

"Messing around online," he said, digging in his back pocket. "Actually, I found something and did some practice translating, but I'm not too sure if I got it right."

"French? Your French is coming along."

"It's not as good as yours," he said, and she nodded in agreement. "Can you read it over for me? This is the original here. Something from a marriage contract in the middle ages."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You trying to get me to work for free?"

"Good point. What's your price?"

She leaned across the table and kissed him firmly on the lips. "There." She took the paper from his hand and unfolded it. "Mmm. Hmm. Awwwww."

"There's a part I didn't quite get," he said. "About the laundry?"

"Linen," she murmured. She'd majored in European history, and it still emerged from time to time. "Underthings. What you wore next to your skin underneath all the - " She flapped a hand. "Velvet and brocade, if you were rich, or wool if you were poor."

"Ye Olde Fruit of the Looms," he said.

"Mmm. But it was still expensive because everything was spun and dyed and woven and sewn by hand. Cheap clothing is a really modern concept." She looked at the contract again. "This is a legally binding promise that she'll have the things she needs, always."

"Practical," he said.

"And kisses," she added. "It's a really sweet turn of phrase. Linen and kisses." She smiled over it for a moment, then looked up. "What was your translation?"

He dug in his pocket and passed it over. He tried to eat a little soup as she read it through, comparing it with the original, but had to put the spoon back in the bowl and hold his mug tightly.

She read it aloud. “I swear to protect you from poverty, to cover your back with linen and kisses, to watch over your sleep and bring you all the delights of this world as long as I walk it with you.”

Her eyes paused on the last line, spaced a little below the rest of his translation. She lifted her eyes. "This wasn't in the original."

He knew what it said without her having to read it aloud. "No," he said. "But it fits."

She looked at it again.

Jyn, will you marry me?

"I know we've only talked about it a few times," he said. "And I don't have a ring or anything. I thought you'd probably want to pick something out yourself. But I - " He gestured. "I read that. And it felt like a sign."

He didn't normally go in for signs. Neither did she. But reading that had felt like - oh, this. This is what I want. And she's who I want it with.

She set the translation on the table and he looked at it, wondering if he'd been too hasty. If she was about to let him down gently, or not very gently, or -

She got up, came around the table, and settled herself in his lap. His arms came around her instinctively, pulling her close.

"Oui," she said, smoothing her thumbs along the edge of his beard. "Need that translated?"

He let out all his breath in a rush and rested his forehead on hers. "Listillo," he muttered, and she laughed until his mouth covered hers.

The soup and the sandwiches were stone cold by the time they got back to eating them, but he found he didn't mind. She smiled at him over her soup, clearly not minding it either.

"So you'll cover my back with linen, will you," she said.

"And kisses," he said, stretching over the table to press one to her lips. "Don't forget the kisses."

FINIS

#Jyn Erso #Cassian Andor #rebelcaptain #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #rebelcaptain fluffbruary #star wars #search your feelings you know it to be queue

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calypso707 · 4 months

Note

Hey hey could I maybe request gn!Changeling Tav? I was so disappointed I couldn’t play one in the game lololol

I think it's a good idea, I was inspired by the mirror scene with Astarion when I wrote it! Enjoy! ♥♥

OS - Astarion x Gn changeling reader : I see you.

You were a changeling, a very rare creature, of which there were very few in all of Faêrun. The few that survived became monsters or were used against their will as cunning spies, political envoys or assassins. Your past had constantly been punctuated by abuse, manipulation, torture and experiments of all kinds. You had done things that still haunt you today, under the yoke of evil masters. Until you were kidnapped by mind flayers during one of your missions. These creatures had used you and implanted a tadpole in your brain so that you could become one of them.

Luck was never on your side. That's what you thought until the Githyanki warriors attacked the ship you were on. You had miraculously survived the crash of their nautiloid, you hadn't yet turned into a purple being full of tentacles and you had made some very strange allies. In the end, now that you think about it, everything that had happened to you wasn't so bad - you'd been able to escape your twisted past. Of course, there were a few drawbacks, such as the friend who had made your brain his cosy nest and the fact that you were constantly in danger. But you preferred this new life, surrounded by loyal allies.

At first, they were sceptical about the idea of having a shapeshifter around, but your ability had proved very useful on several occasions. You were able to use it to manipulate and trick your enemies, something you knew how to do so well. But there was no point in fooling yourself, your past was going to catch up with you, one way or another. Either way, you didn't want to think about it now. You wanted some peace. You took a few minutes to wash yourself in the river, to get rid of the smell of blood and goblins that was sticking to your skin. You sat by the campfire to warm up, as the night air was particularly cool this evening. You continued to blot your hair with a clean cloth, your gaze lost in the ballet of flames before your eyes. It was quite late, and everyone had gone back to their usual activities: Shadowheart was meditating, Lae'zel was sharpening her blade to better slice through her enemies, Wyll was enjoying a fine wine, Gayle was practising his magic, and Karlach was lying on her straw mattress admiring the stars.

Your gaze lingered on Scratch, who was running around the camp with a bone in his mouth. You smiled at the animal's carefree attitude: he had lost his master but had found another home, and he seemed to enjoy it. He walked past Astarion's tent who was standing with his back to you, you could just see that he had a mirror in his hand. It was the first time you'd seen him with anything other than an old manuscript in his hands. A special bond had developed between you thanks to a common thread: your crooked past. You hadn't told him very much about your life before though. You were similar, two beings broken by their master. The only difference between you was perhaps his appetite for blood. You finally got up and approached him, curiously.

"Are you looking at something?" questioned the vampire.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Another disadvantage of my condition, the lack of reflection."

"Do you miss it? Seeing your face?" you questioned. And what a question, of course he must miss it. You were about to add something but Astarion answered anyway.

"Do I miss looking at my reflection out of sheer vanity? Of course I miss it. I haven't seen my new face since my eyes turned red and I grew fangs."

"What colour were they before?" you asked.

"I.. I don't know. I can't remember. My face is just a dark shape in my past now. Another thing I've lost." He spat before throwing the mirror to the ground, shattering it.

When the object hit the floor, you flinched slightly. You felt guilty for having brought back painful memories. You wanted to make up for it. You looked at him for a long time, squinted your eyes and took a step towards him. You learnt the contours of his ivory face by heart, the smallest detail to engrave it forever in your memory. You scrutinised his carmine eyes, which had the power to pierce any being, the slight wrinkles in the corners of his eyes that became more obvious when he smiled, laughed or got angry. His light hair that fell gracefully around his pointed ears, in pretty curls. His lips, slightly pink, on which you had placed countless kisses.

"What?" said Astarion, not understanding why you were watching him like that.

"I see you." you replied, looking at him.

"And tell me, what exactly do you see?"

"I'll show you," you said simply. "Close your eyes"

"What?"

"Shut up and close your eyes," you sighed.

Astarion looked at you, hesitant at first before finally closing his eyes. You didn't like it when your companions watched you transform, because it wasn't pleasant to watch in the first place, and on top of that, it was painful for you to change shape. You could feel your bones growing, your skin stretching, you could feel all the changes taking place in your body. But you were prepared to endure this discomfort to give Astarion comfort. And so you took on his appearance. You finally cleared your throat to get the vampire's attention, and he finally opened his eyes. He seemed surprised at first, deeply surprised and disturbed by what he had in front of him. His exact copy. He was so confused that he didn't know how to react.

"It's… Is it me?" said the former magistrate at last. "Is that what you see, every day?"

"Yes."

Astarion was examining you meticulously and he finally approached you, examining every detail of your face. Or rather his face. You could see the pain in his eyes, but also the gratitude. He was recapturing something he'd lost two centuries ago, seeing himself again for the first time. You could feel that your power was going to dissipate very soon due to fatigue, but you wanted to try and hold on. For his sake. He deserved it. He raised his hand to touch the white curls on your head but finally pulled back after a few long seconds and turned his head away, looking… So vulnerable. You shook your head to dispel your power and regain your appearance, and you came to regret your action.

"I'm sorry. That was inappropriate, maybe I shouldn't have…"

"No, no. It was a nice gift you gave me," Astarion said finally. "It simply reminded me of what I really am, a miserable spawn."

You could hear the pain in his voice and you moved closer, grabbing his face between your hands so that he would look at you, which he finally did. He wasn't a miserable spawn, he was a prisoner of his twisted past, he was still suffering from the abuses he had experienced, but he was more than just a spawn. He was an ally, a friend, a lover, and you wanted to cherish and spoil him until your heart stopped beating. You wanted him to see himself as you saw him.

"You are much more than what Cazador made you. You don't have to pay the price for your past, you're free now." you say, without taking your eyes off him. "You are Astarion, amateur of art, literature and old brandy. You are quick-witted, mischievous and impertinent, eloquent and incredibly charming. All these things define you more than your red eyes and fangs. And I'd like you to know how grateful I am to have you by my side."

Astarion looked at you, astonished by your words. He had let his guard down, in front of you, once again. He had allowed himself to do it, and every time you saw him like that, so vulnerable, your heart was writhing in your chest with pain. He was good at hiding his feelings, but with you he showed himself as he really was. A deeply broken soul trying to forget the weight of his past. The vampire wrapped his hand around your wrist, smiling slightly.

"I think I can live without mirrors. Besides, seeing yourself through someone else's eyes isn't so bad." replied Astarion. "Seeing myself through your eyes is enough for me"

_______________________________________________

Thank you for reading it, feel free to check out my other writings on Astarion! ♥︎♥︎

Astarion x gn reader : On your skin (pt 1)

Astarion x gn reader : A thousand thanks

Astarion x gn reader : No place for love

Fic : Astarion x Fem! bard Tav : Fruit of the Poisonned Tree

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justmeinadaze · 1 year

Text

The King, The Bat, and The Runaway Part 3 (Steddie X You)

A/N: Not sure why this took me a billion years to complete but alas lol what's odd is I like writing for this three this way...maybe all the angst lol but it kills me to! I've said it before I hate (love) reading stories where couples have spent time apart for one reason another but pinning...ugh. Maybe it's cause I've experienced it with an ex and that hurt sucks lol

I do want to write like an alternate time line where she does go looking for them after like 5 years or something. Or even one where they do get on a plane and follow her to Europe to find her. Or both. Hey... I'm flexible lol

Warnings: Steddie relationship and all that implies (I regret nothing!), Smut for sure with angst and feels, they do have a conversation where they show off their scars to each other and talk about what happened within those 10 years, mentions of domestic abuse and shitty relationships (its brief), flashbacks involving Eddie first being in Hawkins so there are mentions of the bruises from his dad :(, um...I think that's it.

Word Count: 4559

You stare into the void of your closet, tuning out your boyfriend as he shouts at you from the bedroom.

“I don’t understand why you insist on avoiding this question every damn time! I get they are based on people you knew in high school but the way you write them… it feels like you were in love with them!”

Sighing you hang up your dress from that evening and come out in your pajamas.

“Let it go, Noah. It doesn’t matter. They are kids I used to know. End of story.”

“See, Y/N, it’s not ‘end of story’ because you’re still writing said story!”, he points at the manuscript on your desk. “Why won’t you tell me more?”

“Ugh. I’m done having this argument. I’m going to bed. You can either join me or go home.”

Noah exhales as he places his hands on his hips before sitting on the edge of you bed. “Y/N, baby. I love you so much. I just… You keep this locked up so tight. Should I be worried?”

You softly smile as you sit beside him and kiss his cheek. “Honey, you are the only man in the world for me.”

He smiles as he places a peck on your lips. “I better be. Okay, let me take a shower and then I’ll go to bed with you. Hey, you probably already know this but your favorite band released a new single today. You should listen to it. Tell me if it’s amazing.”

After he shuts the bathroom door, you immediately grab your headphones and search for Corroded Coffins new song. You leaned against your pillow, closing your eyes as Eddie’s voice filled your ears.

#################

You smiled tenderly in their direction, neither one of them making any real move towards you. After making a decision, you take one of Steve’s hands, bringing him to the bed and placing him next to Eddie. Your skirt falls to the floor as you kick it to the side before slowly unbuttoning your blouse and tossing it away as well.

“I’m, uh, I know I don’t exactly look the same but—”

“Don’t.”, Eddie cuts you off. “Don’t even finish that sentence. You’re still fucking gorgeous.”

“What happened here?” Steve’s fingers gently traced along a scar on your outer thigh.

“I’m an idiot.”, you laugh. “I went hiking on this remote island off the coast and tripped. They warned us about slick slopes but I’m me so… cut a big gash that bled everywhere.”

“What about this one?” Eddie points to a small but noticeable scratch on your arm.

“My literary agent and I were coming back from an event and someone hit our car. We were fine but some glass from the window cut me. Here to.” You lift his fingers to graze the much tinier scar on your shoulder. Steve’s eyes linger on a circular scar near your ribs. “Oh, you don’t want to hear about that one.”

“Hey. Yeah, I do.”, he gently tugs on you so your more in front of him. “It looks deep.”

“When I got home from traveling, I met this guy…We weren’t together very long but—”

“He hurt you.” Steve’s voice filled with anger.

You hung your head. “He didn’t mean to. We got into a fight and he meant to throw something behind me but hit me instead. After that, I uh, did what I do best….I ran.” When you finally found the courage to look at them again, they both seemed extremely upset. “See, I told you didn’t want to hear about this.”

“No, hey, no.” Eddie pulled you so you were back in front of him. “We do. We just… hate that you experienced that…especially alone.”

“Because we would have beat his ass.”

“That’s for damn sure.” You grin as they both laugh.

The metalhead brushes your hair away from your face before leaning back to lift off his shirt. Your grin stretches further along your face as the pads of your fingers trace all the new tattoos, hovering over the heart you noticed when you saw him play.

“I got that one after we signed with our first label. If I had known you were going to refer to me as a vampire, I would have gotten some like Dracula teeth or something.”, he chuckled.

“What did you say when he got it?”, you asked Steve.

“Pfft. I didn’t even know he got it until over a year later. Mr. Sex Appeal here took off his shirt at the first concert I was finally able to make and I won’t lie, it surprised me. I don’t hate it though. Better than this other bullshit.”

“Wow. Rude.”, Eddie teases. He turns his attention back to you and twists his body so you can see the scar on his back. “We were playing at one of those festivals and I was fucking wasted. I jumped into the crowd and those kids fucking dropped me; landed on some glass on the floor. I kept playing though.”

He lifts his hips as he pushed his pants and boxers to the floor. Steve grabs your hand, tugging you out of Eddie’s way and onto his lap. You leaned your head against his as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

You absorbed all the never-before-seen tattoos on his thighs and calves as he points to a scar on his right leg. “About 5 years ago I was dating this girl who was just off the walls. We got into a bad argument in our hotel and she went full Sid and Nancy literally throwing a fucking knife at me! Jeff drove me to the hospital and I needed like ten stitches.”

“How come I didn’t hear about this?”, Steve asked.

“Probably because our manager kept it out of the papers AND paid her off as long as she agreed to stay away from me.”

“And you didn’t tell me because…?”

“Sir, you’re a lawyer. I aint tellin’ you shit.” You giggled as Eddie laughed. “No, man. I was just a little embarrassed. Everyone warned me about her but… Plus you were doing so well with what’s her name at the time.”

“Ah, yes. What’s her name.” Steve grins sarcastically as he unbuttons his shirt and points to the long scar leading from the top of his belly button to just below his chest. “Yeah, things were going so well, I needed surgery to remove the ulcers she gave me.”

“Steve, oh my god.” You pushed him back as he balanced on his arms so you could get a better look.

“You told me you were getting your appendix removed, you asshole!”

“I told you that because you were on tour and I didn’t want you to cut that short to come stay with me in the hospital because I know you would have. It’s fine. The doctor said it was a routine type thing.”

“Did your mom or dad come?” You feel yourself start to panic slightly.

“Of course not. You know my family.” He chuckles but stops when he sees that look in your eyes. “Hey seriously. It wasn’t a big thing.”

“You were all alone in a hospital having surgery. I…I would have been there. I didn’t know. I…”

“Y/N, honey, it’s okay. I know you would have.”, he kisses your cheek. “That’s why I didn’t tell your parents either.” Steve sighs as he turns to Eddie. “I told Michelle—”

“I’m still calling her what’s her name.”

“AND she said I was being overdramatic. When I came back home, she was gone, thank God. That relationship was the worst. She was basically a 5’4 version of my father. I didn’t realize it till after I got sick.”

He taps your back with his fingers and you take the hint, sliding over to sit on Eddie’s lap as he slides off his slacks and underwear. “Do I have any on my legs?”, he mumbles as he looks. “Oh! That case you guys mentioned last night? I didn’t just add money to the settlement but a couple of weekends I went over there to help them with some other things if they needed it. One family had a roof that was leaking and damaging their ceiling. Me and some of the other people were able to help fix it for a cheap price but my dumbass slipped off the ladder. Thankfully, I just cut my knee.” Steve gestures towards the line along his knee.

“So, nothing has changed in ten years. We’re all still clumsy and we all pick terrible fucking partners.” You and Steve laugh but Eddie just sits there smiling up at you.

“I think I made a good choice in choosing you that night.” His arms wrap tighter around your waist as he leans his head onto your chest. “Shit, every time I chose you, good things always followed.” Your fingers tangled in his hair as his lips travelled up your skin to your neck. “I missed you so fucking much, Y/N.” His palm gently rested against your cheek as he guided your lips to his.

###################

“Class! Settle!”, the teacher claps her hands, trying to be heard. “Now I want you all to welcome our new student here. This is Edward Munson.”

“Freak.” Jason Carver pretends to hide his remark behind a cough as you roll your eyes. The teacher scowls at him as she lightly pushes the new boy towards an empty seat.

He definitely was different than a lot of the people around here; at least visually. The only contact he made with anyone was glaring at Carver as he passed him to his desk. His hair was buzzed to the point that he was almost bald. The black shirt he wore hung off his frame, seemingly two sizes too big but when he leaned over to put his backpack on the floor his sleeve rose and you noticed the bruises on his arm that looked like fingerprints.

Your heart broke from him as you connected those bruises to the black eye that was prominent on his face. This boy had been through something awful.

When lunch came around, you found him sitting alone at a table near the window, his arms folded across his chest defensively.

“Hi. I’m, uh, Y/N. Is it ok if I join you?” Eddie sighed through his nose as his jaw tightened. You slowly descended into the chair in front of him. “I see you didn’t get any food. You can share some of mine if you want. I never finish it anyway.”

You found yourself getting self-conscious as he continued to glare out the window. “So…how do you like it here—”

“Can’t you people just leave me alone?!” His sharp tone made you jump.

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me.” You get up and move a couple chairs down, away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches you pull a book out of your bag as you pick at your tray.

The table shuffles as he stands up and you keep your eyes on the pages in front of you as you hear the screeching of the chair being pulled back across from you.

“Have…have you read that book before?”, he asks. You glance over at him before placing your novel down on the table.

“Invasion of the Body Snatchers? No but in class they showed us the black and white movie. It was so cool so I begged my mom to buy me the book.” Eddie’s eyes meet yours for a brief moment before he glares down at the floor. “Have you read it?”

Eddie slowly nods his head. “Have you seen the 70s movie they made? It’s actually pretty scary.”

“There’s another movie!? I didn’t know that. You should come over to my house sometime and we can watch it.” His eyes widen in amusement at your excitement making you panic slightly. “I mean you don’t have to, of course. I just…I think you seem cool and I think it would be fun to hang out with you.”

“You think I seem cool?”

“Yeah, and don’t let people like Jason “douchebag” Carver get you down. Don’t let him make you think otherwise, okay?” For the first time since you saw him, a smile gradually paints his lips and you return it with one of your own. “Do you want some of my pretzels, Edward?”

He leans forward taking the snack that you offer him. “Eddie. I prefer Eddie.”

###############

You revel in the taste of him as his tongue invades your mouth and you gently guide him back against the mattress. His hands abruptly grip your hips when he feels you begin to grind against him.

“Wait. Wait, wait. Shit. I just… I’ve been wanting to taste you again so fucking bad.”

You smirk as you playful squint at him. “Are you not devouring me right now?”

“Not yet.” Eddie winks before lifting you, spinning you around so your hands and knees were on the bed, your ass displayed before him.

As you searched for the other man, Eddie’s tongue licked a long stripe through your sex causing you to close your eyes as you moaned. A strong hand reached for your face, pulling you to a set of lips that tasted like a mixture of mint and whiskey from the previous night.

Steve.

You reached for his neck pulling him closer to you as Eddie’s tongue moved in and out of your entrance, whining when you feel him abruptly move away.

“Shit, Harrington. I’m being selfish. You didn’t get to taste her pussy last time, did you?”

“Not directly. You coated my fingers so I literally only got a taste.”, he chuckles.

The bed jostles as they switch places and you cry out when you feel a tongue enter your body again. Steve’s technique was much different than Eddie’s. While the metalhead seemed to play with his food, the other man knew exactly what he wanted, hitting every sensitive spot with an aggressive passion that had you seeing stars.

“F-fuck, Steve. Just like…don’t stop. Ed-Eddie?”

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” He came around towards your end of the bed, stumbling forward as you reached for his cock and wrapped your lips around him. “Jesus! Whoa. Slow down, baby. Mmm-- it’s ok.” Eddie’s hands lifted your hair into a ponytail so he could watch you take him.

You pulled back, pumping him as your eyes looked up into his. “Don’t—mmm—Don’t want slow. 10 years was—fuck—slow enough.”

He smirked at you. “Did you hear that, Stevie?” The boy didn’t verbally responded but you felt his head shake against you as his lips wrapped around your clit.

“Show me…show me the men you are now…please. Please, please. Fuck!”

Your body trembled as the coil snapped and you came, your upper half falling flat against the mattress.

##################

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Steven Harrington.”

You didn’t even glance his way as you continued putting books in your locker. You were supposed to meet Eddie near the front of the school so you two could bike over to the movie theater to see District 9 and you didn’t want to keep your best friend waiting especially for King Steve.

“I was thinking you and I could go out sometime. Maybe go see a movie or something.”

“Wow. I’m not sure why you would think that. Now fuck off and leave me alone.”

As you shut your locker and start to leave, he loops around you, blocking your path.

“Shit. Look I’m sorry. Believe it or not I’m not very good at this. I just…always see you at lunch with the other kid that makes you laugh and hearing it… I think you’re really beautiful and sweet so I thought I’d shoot my shot, you know?”

As you listened to him speak, you took note of his demeanor and words. What stood out to you most was that he didn’t refer to Eddie as a freak like the other kids did. He seemed so jittery as he bounced on the balls of his feet and as he said that last sentence his eyes shifted nervously to the floor.

“I’ll, um, leave you alone now. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

“Steve?”, you called as he started heading down the hall. “Eddie and I were going to go see a movie tonight. Would you want to tag along?”

“Oh. Um…is it ok with him? I don’t want to impose.”

“Naw, he’ll be fine. He may seem scary on the outside but he’s a sweet person. Plus, for some reason, he trusts my judgement. If I trust you than he will to.”

Steve flashes you a big toothy grin. “Ok. Sounds like fun.”

“And just so we are clear, Harrington! This is not a date. I don’t like you like that, okay?”

################

Steve’s hands roughly grabbed your hips, lifting your ass higher in the air as he guided his cock into your entrance. You both moaned at the feeling before he gradually pulled back until it was just his tip, watching between your bodies as he pushed himself back in. As your eyes rolled back, you clawed at the sheets underneath you, relishing in the feeling of him again.

He bent over you, placing his chest against your back as his hand came around to grip your jaw.

Opening your eyes, you were met with Eddie’s face as he kneeled in front of you.

“Does he feel good?” You nod your head as he moves some hair away from your face. “Tell him, Y/N. I think he’s earned it.”

Steve’s lips kissed your shoulder before he aggressively delivered slow, hard thrusts that pushed him so deep he punched the air from your lungs.

“Steve! Fuck… feels… amazing.”

He pushed up on to his knees pounding into you as you whimpered, your upper half collapsing flat on the bed, allowing him to take what was his. What was always his and Eddie’s. No matter how many men you had dated or been with, hell even before graduation night, your heart belonged to them.

“Steve, I…fuck… I love you. I love you both.”

His movements stalled as he and the metalhead exchanged a look. The man leaned over you again, his breath warming your ear.

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes. I love you so much. I missed you.”

He slowly began pumping into you once more, his hand sliding under your body and reaching to circle your clit.

“I love you to, honey. Cum for me, Y/N, please. I’ve waited so long to feel you again.”

With your body pushing back against his, the coil snapped and you mewled into the mattress below you.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck. Can…can we cum inside you?”

Your arm reached behind you to bring your lips to his. “Please, Steve. I need you to.”

His strong hand held the back of your neck, pressing you into the bed as he chased his high. The sounds of his grunts echoes through the room before his hips sputtered and you felt his spend warm your insides.

#################

“Yes! We are finally free! Ha ha!”, Eddie tosses his graduation cap in the air and away from you three.

“Really, Ed?” Wayne shakes his head as he smiles.

“Oh, I’m so proud of you guys!” Your mom excitedly hugs the three of you. “Steve, sweetie, where’re your parents?”

“Uh, Sweden, I think.”

You wrap your arms around him as he does the same.

“So…what’s the plan for the night?” Your dad quickly tries to change the subject which the boy appreciates.

“Well, Mr. Y/L/N, we are going back to my trailer—”

“MY trailer.”, Eddie’s uncle interrupts.

“And we’re going to sit on the floor, reading the bible and going over college applications.”

You and Steve laugh at the metalhead as your mom rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just stay safe and don’t do anything stupid. Now get together I want to take a picture.”

Wayne obnoxiously forces his nephew’s graduation cap back on his head before stepping out of frame as Eddie wraps one arm around your back as you do the same. As he holds up the rock and roll symbol with his fingers, you and Steve can’t help but laugh as the camera flashes.

###########

Steve collapses on top of you as you both try to catch your breath. Your hand reaches behind you, your fingers running through his sweaty hair as you gently place your lips on his. He rolls off you and as you turn on to your back, you are met with Eddie’s soft but passion filled kisses.

“You ok, sweetheart? Do you need anything?”, he whispers.

Grinning, you climb onto your knees and wrap your arms around his neck. “I need you.”

He smiles as he kisses you again, his own fingers running through your messy hair.

“Do you want me to show you how rockstars do it?” Eddie playfully sticks out his tongue when you giggle and nod. “Keep your arms around me, ok?”

“Always.”

His smile grew as he hooked his own tattooed arms under both your knees and lifted you into the air. After adjusting you slightly, he moved his hips, thrusting his cock inside of you. Your jaw went slack as your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, never feeling anyone this deep inside of you or at this angle. The muscles in his shoulders and chest tensed as he pumped into you.

“Oh…oh my god, Eddie. Please.”

His eyes scanned your face before your forehead fell against his. “Fuck, Y/N. I missed you so much. Mmm-I love you to, baby. I…I never stopped.”

You gripped your arms around him tighter as you lifted your hips to meet his, your pussy fluttering around him as you watch his eyes roll back and close.

Eddie swivels his body around falling flat with you onto the bed, unhooking your limbs from his neck and lifting your leg over his shoulder, holding it for leverage as he pounded into you.

You whimpered as his thumb abruptly came down to play with your clit.

“Please…please, please, please, Eddie!”, you begged; your body trembling as you came.

The metalhead hovered over you, his hair lightly brushing against the sides of your face as his beautiful eyes penetrated yours. Your palms reached up to cup his face as his pace quickened nearing his own release.

“Cum for me, baby. Please. I need you to cum inside of me just like Steve did.”

Just as he had on graduation night, his head fell into the nook between your neck and shoulder, his hips faltering before you felt him thrusting his seed deep into your pussy.

You try and cover the hiss that leaves your lips as Eddie pulls out knowing how he’ll react.

“Fuck, princess. I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you did I.” He smiles as he watches you laugh. “What?”

“Steve’s right. You’re a big rockstar yet you’re still exactly the same. No, Ed, I’m fine. I’m just sore.”

Steve comes around to the side with a rag in his hand and gently cleans between your legs. “Do you need anything? I’m sure Hugh Heffner here has a pretty awesome shower.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at his friend. “I do actually but I also imagine Elle Woods over there also has an expensive shower so he needs to calm down.”

#################

“Steve. Steve. Jesus fucking Christ, STEVEN!”

Steve rolled over onto his back slowly, trying carefully not to move you too much. “What, Munson? Lower you voice.”

“Y/N’s not here.”

“What? What the fuck are you talking about?” He fully opens his eyes as he reaches for you but to his dismay his friend was right. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She’s not in the trailer or outside anywhere but all her stuff is gone.”

The man immediately bounced up from the bed and started reaching for his clothes. “Maybe…maybe she went to go food or something.”

“Without telling us? Or hell even inviting us. That’s not like her.”

“Yeah but neither was last night…”

Eddie grabbed one of his shirts from the floor as he waited for Steve to get dressed. “Did we fuck up?” The other man was silent as he tied his shoes. “Do you regret it?”

He rose to his feet and collected his keys. “No. I mean… she’s our girl, right? I’ve never…cared about anyone the way I do her. She makes me feel—”

“Wanted.”, Eddie finished. “Yeah… I know how you feel. I don’t regret it either.”

Steve pats his back comfortingly. “Come on, dude. Let’s go find her.”

#############

Steve woke up to the sound of thunder crashing against the house. His head leaned back against the pillow as he listened to the sound of Eddie snoring next to him. A familiar sense of panic washed through him when he reached over and realized you weren’t in the bed with them.

He hastily tossed back his covers, grabbing his boxers as he flew down the hallway. His hand gripped his chest when he found you in one of Eddie’s band t-shirts, leaning against the backdoor as you watched the rain.

You smiled when you saw him standing there offering him the cup of coffee in your hand.

“You phone buzzed a few times. It may be your law firm but they can’t seem to get along without you.”, you giggle until you notice that panicked look in his eyes. “Steve? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I just woke up and—”

“And I wasn’t there. Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. It started to rain and rockstar has a nice view.”

“You know, you two keep making fun of me and my house but I didn’t hear any complaints.” Eddie saunters into the room, coming up behind you as he wraps his arm around you and rests his chin on your head.

“Your phone kept going off too, Eds. To be fair, we did sleep all day but damn.”

“No one’s bugging you?”

“No one I care about more than you two right now.” You grin as Steve leans down to kiss your lips before Eddie gently pulls your hair to do the same. “I, um, I don’t actually have a permanent address I’m attached to. Before a book launch, they have me on the road. I was thinking, maybe, I could get an apartment or something near your firm.”

“Why don’t you move in with me? You and Eddie…if you guys want to. I mean I’m sure Munson has like 50 mansions but—”

“I’m not Mick fucking Jagger.”, he laughs. “I have this house and a relatively large house near the beach in California with the guys. All I have to do is pack a bag and my guitar.”

They both look at you with earnest, waiting for your answer.

“Let’s do it.”, you smile. “Geez, when word gets out, I guess people are going to finally figure out who The King and The Vampire are based on. Maybe now they’ll stop asking me who The Runaway is in love with.”

“Who IS she in love with?”, Steve grins snarkily in your direction.

You meet his sarcastic smile with one of your own.

“Both.”

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cliozaur · 6 months

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While the barricade is still holding on, Hugo decides that this is his last chance to write about other barricades which he ordered to be taken by siege in June 1848. To make sense of what is going on, I read a chapter about Hugo in Jonathan Beecher’s Writers and Revolution: Intellectuals and the French Revolution of 1848 (2021). “Victor Hugo never forgot what he saw and did between June 22–26. Unlike our other writers, he participated in the fighting, and he did so on the side of the government.” Sigh.

This is where his lengthy explanations about the differences between uprisings and insurrections from 4.10.2 become relevant. He genuinely believed that everything that was going on in February 1848, before the abdication of Louise Philippe was revolution (insurrection), and what followed in June was uprising against the Republic. It was “a revolt of the people against itself.”

The problem was: people had legitimate causes to rebel. “Once settled in the Assembly, Hugo was immediately confronted by the question of the National Workshops. Like many on both the right and the left, he believed the Workshops were a disaster. They produced nothing and were “an enormous waste of resources”… he urged that they be closed… He apparently believed that by voting to dissolve the National Workshops, he was not voting to shelve the question of unemployment. He was wrong.” Moreover, when workers erected the barricades and the confrontation began, “Hugo seems to have convinced himself that the best way to limit bloodshed was to defeat the insurrection rapidly. For the next three days he became a tiger, “haranguing insurgents, storming barricades, taking prisoners, and somehow remaining alive.”

According to an account from a member of the National Guard, Hugo was acting suicidally: “This man... was M. Victor Hugo, a representative for Paris. He was unarmed and nonetheless he led us; and while we took cover behind houses, he alone kept to the middle of the street. Twice I tugged at his sleeve, telling him: “You’ll get yourself killed!” “That is why I am here.”” But this was because he believed that he was acting under divine protection.

During these days, Hugo was not able to contact his wife and his mistress. He heard rumours that his house was burnt down, but finally found out that it was not true: “When he finally got back to the Place des Vôsges, he found fourteen bullet holes around carriage entrance, but everything in the house was intact: rugs, furniture, silverware, wall hangings, ancient swords and muskets, and above all his manuscripts. A leader of the insurgents, a school teacher and a reader of Hugo, had even led tours of the house for other insurgents.” The last detail is heartbreaking.

In this chapter, Hugo conveys his point of view on the events of June 1848, infusing them with symbolic images of two barricades: both quite eerie and ominous. He is exploiting his talent of horror writer again: “The Saint-Antoine barricade was the tumult of thunders; the barricade of the Temple was silence. The difference between these two redoubts was the difference between the formidable and the sinister. One seemed a maw; the other a mask.”

The sad thing is that after this chapter with its context in Hugo’s biography, it is hard to read his depiction of other barricades from other time without thinking of him as a hypocrite. This is Hugo — an embodiment of controversy.

Siege of the barricade during the June days of 1848:

#les mis letters #lm 5.1.1 #les miserables #hugo's involvement in the june days of 1848 #historical context

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aceofsages · 7 months

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Prompt: Jealous Wednesday

written for @hotmesslovesickcrackhead : I'm sure this wasn't what you had in mind when you gave me this prompt, lol, but this is where my mind went

find on ao3

cw: angst, ambiguous ending, fantasizing of torture, references to cannibalism

____

Something festers inside Wednesday—a gaping chasm of roiling emotions that Wednesday, for all means and purposes, should like, but doesn’t. Something green that makes her breath fast, her hands twitch, and it seems to happen every time she sees Enid with Ajax. A rage overcomes her, a boiling wrath, and Wednesday often fears that if she had less control than she does, she would behead all of Ajax’s snakes and feed them to him.

But doing so would mean losing Enid worse than she ever had her.

“Someone’s jealous,” says Barclay as she takes her seat next to Wednesday on the quad fountain.

Wednesday takes her eyes off of where Enid sits on that insipid boy’s lap, giggling with Yoko and Divina, to glare at her. The siren just smirks infuriatingly, lazily weaving water between her fingers.

“Just saying, I know that look. Hell, I used to wear it when you spent time with Xavier.”

Wednesday doesn’t do something as mundane as roll her eyes, but it’s a near thing. “That was your own insecurity, Barclay. There was nothing going on between Xavier and I.”

“Maybe,” she says, shrugging. “But there is something going on between Ajax and Enid.”

Wednesday’s hands clench without her consent and Barclay raises a brow. “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up Barclay.”

The thing is, Barclay still had a right to be jealous, however irrational. But Wednesday doesn’t, because there was never anything between her and Enid, there will never be anything, because Enid deserves everything Wednesday can’t give her. She deserves colorful dates and soft kisses, hand holding and public displays of affection. She deserves to be cherished, but with Wednesday she will only have cuts disguised as caresses.

None of this reasoning soothes what she now knows is jealousy.

It gets worse. It gets to a point where Wednesday can’t be trusted to stay in the same room as Enid when she’s with Ajax, can’t be trusted not to gaze at her and wish to break Ajax’s arms and put hers around her instead, can’t be trusted to even open her mouth without spewing something that would undoubtedly be vicious and cutting and absolutely nothing that Enid deserves. The feeling makes Wednesday breathless, makes her worse than she thought she could be and the worse part is she knows she needs to mitigate it before it gets out of her control.

(Addamses love only once, and they love fierce, unyielding. A person can break themselves against its tide, and drown the object of their affections too, and Wednesday will kill herself before she lets that happen to Enid.)

“What is this? I knew you and Bianca were getting close, but not changing your room close!”

“We’re not.”

“Then why?!” Enid steps towards her, crossing the line that Wednesday’s viscerally aware remains no more.

There is no rational why, Wednesday thinks, only you who I can’t have. Only you who I can’t hurt just because I’m jealous.

She’s aware of how much her recent behavior has been hurting Enid—thinks that a clean break is what they need from each other before Wednesday snaps and strips the hide from Ajax’s snakes and proceeds to skin him while electrocuting him. She’d leave Nevermore altogether, but that would mean admitting to her parents, to her Mother, that she has fallen for the same foley every Addams before her has.

“It’s temporary,” she says instead, steadfastly not looking at the only color in her life. “Only until my manuscript is done.”

“What? Is the noise still bothering you? I’ve been putting on my headphones and trying not to giggle when I text!”

That’s the problem.

Look what I’m doing to you, my love, in my green-eyed rage, she doesn’t say. I'm smothering you.

“It’s only temporary, Enid,” she says again, as if doing that would make it reality. She hopes it will, but she knows this curse—has seen mightier Addamses than her fall prey to it. Richie Addams had been the worst of them all. A depraved Addams that fell prey to the curse in the 1800s, he had brutalized his love’s husband with his own bare hands in front of her; done the same to his love, twisted her into something beyond recognition and then eaten her—rumor has it while she was still alive and coherent, that he’d kept her alive to watch him eat her. He had killed himself shortly after.

(It features all too often in her dreams.)

She will not unleash her brutality upon Enid, would turn the knife against herself before she would.

“Oh come on! Just tell me what’s wrong, Wednesday. I thought we were past this!”

Wednesday doesn’t reply; folds the last of her clothes into her trunk and snaps it shut. She goes to move it from her bed but Enid snags her wrist and makes her face her. Wednesday can’t help it—it’s instinct to flick the knife out and press it to her assailant’s wrist. Blood wells up and Enid winces.

(isn’t this a metaphor—isn’t this a forewarning?

enid touches wednesday and gets hurt, seconds after wednesday vows to turn her knife against her own self before it touches enid’s skin.

there’s a lesson here, a horror story in the making.

there’s a lesson here, a love story in the making.)

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have touched you.”

The warmth of Enid’s palm still lingers on Wednesday’s wrist even after she removes it, a handprint printed on Wednesday’s bones. Wednesday stares at Enid’s wrist, at the blood that stains it, at the cut she put there and wonders what it would be like to put her lips to it, to taste her beloved’s essence on her tongue, to deepen the cut till she reaches bone and can leave her own mark on her.

(she has to leave, she has to leave, she has to leave—

it’s getting worse, it’s already gotten worse and it hurts.)

“I have to go,” she says and leaves without a backward glance. If Enid calls after her, Wednesday pretends not to hear.

(Wednesday’s name goes down in history.

Enid’s is written next to her.)

(was it a horror story, they ask.

perhaps, others say. perhaps it was a love story gone wrong; a twisted romeo and juliet, an orpheus and eurydice.

idiots, it was always supposed to be both.)

#wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wenclair #wednesday x enid #wenclair fic #prompt me to write #angst #wenclair prompt #wednesday #my writing #wednesday's really going through it lol

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damagedintellect · 10 months

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Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

💌 Would this be considered a social suicide? : Chapter 1 💌

Summary: You knew it was dangerous to take walks at night but hearing the water rushing under the bridge was calming to your nerves. You didn’t imagine you’d ever fall into the river and somehow wake up in your favorite anime. The isekai that I’m sure will come back to haunt me. It’s kept me up all night but I might as well get the brainrot out.

Notes: Reader is Isekai’d into BSD, Slow to start, Chuuya is endgame but there’s a fair bit of reader & Dazai moments too

💌 Word count: 2,348 💌 Available Chapters [You are here] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

You stood over the bridge looking out at the sunset. You would have to return home before it got too dark but the tranquil sound of the rushing water underneath you always calms your nerves after an episode. Things have been pretty rough lately but you’d live. As a writer you were your worst critic. You were almost done with your first big manuscript and you just needed to get past the final hurdle before you could start seeking out publishing companies. At the beginning your novel came easy but as the ending chapters were approaching you started to dread finishing it. The unknown future was a scary thought. Multiple what if’s flooding your mind. The fear that you would have wasted the better of a year and a half writing a story for no actual gain was one of them. It shouldn’t be considered wasted time because writing it helped you in many ways but the ever looming thought that you could have accomplished much more in the same amount of time is a burden that will never leave you alone. If only things could be as easy as the media you consumed. Your recent obsession with a certain anime series wasn’t helping either but it’s captivated your heart and it’s all you think about nowadays. Which is what spurred on the little tiff with your writing. All you’ve done recently is play the Bungo Stray Dogs mobile game trying to pull the rate up Chuuya unit to the point where you were actually no lifing it. While you agree that you might be going overboard just a little, you might actually have formed an addiction to playing marbles. You honestly preferred when you were analyzing and fantasizing about the contrast of the strong bonded characters. Not to mention how much you can see yourself in everyone. The amount of character study is comforting to you and one day you wish to write something that makes others feel the way you do when you read BSD. From your perspective this was just research but to the rest of the world haha whoops just your autism is showing. It’s a limiting belief you weren’t sure how to get rid of either. The need to constantly do and be productive with your time otherwise you fail at society when ultimately success is subjective.

Before you could turn around you were harshly grabbed by the arm. You were pushed against the railing as your assailant threatened you to stay quiet. A knife was brandished against your neck but almost foolishly the wrong side was being pressed against you. The man reeked of alcohol so maybe he wasn’t all there right now. Mustering as much rage and aggression you’ve been bottling up for years you think to yourself that this was now or never. If there was one thing you have been thinking about since childhood it was pulling off a Miss Congeniality. Shouldering him in the gut, stepping on his foot, elbow to the face, and finishing it off with a swift kick to the dick. Panic was starting to kick in. You didn’t think that would work but that doesn’t matter right now you should start running. As you were about to bolt he grabbed your leg and your dumbass clutched onto the railing trying to use your bodyweight to break free and it worked due to the thug letting you go but your momentum was already set in motion. You threw yourself over the railing crashing in the icy water below.

—

“Dazai I swear if this was one of your planed double suicides I’m going to kill you!” a voice rang out. You could still feel the sensations of floating your memory murky.

“I assure you if it was, me and this lovely lady would already be dead but unfortunately Atsushi here ruined that miracle for me.”

You choked, you recognized those voices “D-Dazai?” When your vision came too you were in Atsushi’s lap as Kunikida was shaking his partner. This couldn’t be real.

“Ah so sleeping beauty’s awake. Kunikida as a gentleman you should ask her if she’s alright and stop strangling me.”

Reluctantly the blonde did as he was told and let go, kneeling in front of you “Are you alright my colleague said you were floating in the river?” his eyes were full of concern.

You looked dazed, glancing around to see the familiar riverbank that Atsushi starts at during the very beginning of Bungo Stray Dogs. You looked at your hands. You were still wearing the same clothes you put on this morning, admittedly they were much soggier than you remember but you had no memory of the day or how you ended up in the river. For some reason you knew who these people were and what seemingly happens to them in the future. The most notable thing was you were grossly aware of the fact that this universe belonged to your favorite manga that currently was on its 108th chapter? This had to be a dream. If you played along maybe you’d eventually wake up. You’ve had lucid dreams before, it wasn’t too far fetched but the ache in your heart didn’t want you to wake up. Finally you looked up at Kunikida who was patiently waiting for your answer but before you could give a response your stomach growled. How embarrassing, now you really wanted to die.

Dazai keeled over laughing “I guess introductions can wait till we get something to eat, how about that?” He offered you a hand over his partner's shoulder to help you up. You snapped out of your haze to grab his hand and say “I can’t remember much so I think that’s for the best.”

What have you gotten yourself into?

At dinner Atsushi spent no time at all stuffing his face as Kunikida and Dazai bantered back and forth. Dialogue you remembered from when you watched the show originally. You forgot how furious Kunikida was over the whole ordeal and you felt bad knowing what Atsushi was going to say next. He really needed a hug.

“I came to Yokohama straight from the orphanage. I’ve had nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep since. I thought I’d starve to death.”

“You came from an orphanage?” Dazai questioned. He was sitting across from you casually and despite being hungry you noticed that he didn’t order anything to eat. You had ordered one out of solidarity. You’ve always wanted to try tea on rice but never bothered trying to find a place that makes it in your area. Atsushi was already on his twelfth bowl or so as he continued the conversation.

“I was yes but they kicked me out.”

“Sounds like a real philanthropic organization.” Dazai turned his attention from Atsushi to you “How about you? Remember anything now?” He rested his head on the back of his hands.

You nodded “I think my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (L/N). Still trying to work out where I came from and how I got in the river but it’s something to start.” Being vague was probably for the best right now. Although you would have to find some way into the Armed Detective Agency eventually. After that you could be a little more bold with your knowledge. Without an ability though, it would be by the skin of your teeth and your memory of the events to come. Not everyone in the agency had an ability or combative skills but they had plot armor, you sadly do not. Being caught up with the manga was great for knowing everything to come but you'd have to remember things you've read and watched months ago. There was no room for error as it stood currently. Your life literally depended on it. You wondered if you could pull it off. If you didn't you could always try the port mafia. It would be more risky and twice as dangerous but at least you could hopefully get a glimpse of a certain redhead before you died. Who knows, could be fun.

“Dazai we’re not a couple of do good-ers going around helping hard luck cases. We’ve got a job to do.” Kunikida nudged the other with his book leading Atsushi to question “That reminds me. You said that your current job involves the military. What kind of work do you do.”

“We’re private investigators” Dazai gave his signature smirk bringing his hand up to rest under his chin. What an absolute dork you loved this waste of bandages.

“Investigators?”

“But we handle more than lost pets and cheating spouses. Our office has uniquely gifted investigators, we’re the Armed Detective Agency.”

You sat upright with Atsushi. While he was having his little monologue you softly muttered “The Armed Detective Agency.” trailing off you made your eyes as wide as you could like you were seeing a vision before you shook your head staring back as Atsushi. “Tiger?” you stated in a hushed tone. Hopefully you were acting strange enough for Dazai to notice, it was the only way your plan was going to work out. You needed a reason to be kept around but not to upstage Atsushi's importance. Not like that could really happen since he is the tiger but still. You needed your bases covered without being too off the wall. The harsh bottom line was this was your only chance because you have no idea if your choices affect the story yet. On top of that you have no money, no friends and no shelter so they were your only option.

“You guys are looking for a tiger.” You stated it as a fact, regaining their attention after Dazai’s little health hanging prank.

Kunikida stopped strangling Dazai as the two exchanged looks. “We never said what the job was, it's not supposed to be a secret or anything but how’d you come to that conclusion?” He pushed up his glasses for emphasis.

You tilted your head for effect. “I don’t know it was just a feeling I got when I looked at Atsushi kinda like a weird deja vu.” you played it off quizzically like you were also figuring things out as they progressed.

Atsushi stared across the table “You’re looking for a tiger?” You could feel him tense.

“Yes, a ferocious man eater who's recently appeared in the city. Well not that we know for sure it's devoured anyone but it’s ransacked warehouses, eaten farm animals and caused general chaos. The authorities have received all kinds of scary reports about it” Dazai sighed, slipping back into his uninterested mood. In Atsushi’s panic he knocked over his chair and a couple of bowls as he tried to crawl away. You watched the scene play out as Kunikida pinned him to the floor and the interrogation started. You sat patiently as Atsushi was then asked if he was free to be bait.

“Forget it no way!”

You laughed at Atsushi’s outburst trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t know Atsushi. If it’s after you I feel like this is the perfect opportunity to get it off your back for good. What if I tagged along? Strength in numbers right?” He stood up and defended himself “That doesn’t make it better! I’m not doing this okay. I know what you’re thinking, you’re planning to use me as bait-”

“There’s a reward you know.”

From there Atsushi’s fate was sealed and you all made your way over to the warehouse. You waited around for hours, everyone keeping to themselves. This was something they didn’t show you in anime but you figured time would pass as normal anyhow. You were laying on one of the crates that was across from Atsushi. You had been staring up at the ceiling after staring at Dazai became boring. He was literally reading his book. You saw his eyes move across the page. You really weren't sure what else you expected. As soon as Atsushi opened his mouth you rolled your eyes.

Finally, show time.

It’s not like you’d actually be of any help, you just needed to make sure you didn’t die or get in the way. Hopefully the groundwork you set prior would be enough. If you were in Dazai's shoes and some girl you've never seen before who has amnesia but happens to know the details of your mission, it would be pretty strange. It's not as strong as Atsushi’s but fingers crossed it was enough. When Atsushi started to turn, you stretched and said “Guess that’s my cue to leave, I’ll let Kunikida and the others know.” Dazai only smirked and continued to monologue to Atsushi who would not remember the speech later. You casually strode out of the warehouse seeing the others already surrounding the building, hearing the ruckus inside. You didn’t speak, only waved them in as you made your way back to Dazai seeing that the dust had already settled and Atsushi was already on the ground. After everyone else got to take a jab at him the brunette finally spoke.

“I’ve already made my decision. We’re going to make them one of us.”

You sighed in relief when he gestured to you as well. You didn't want to be presumptuous and assume he meant "them" as in plural when that's not always the case. Regardless, your personal mission was accomplished. It was enough to be lumped in with Atsushi but you weren’t out of the woods yet. It was enough to get you through the night. If you didn’t wake up from this dream you’d still have the entrance exam to worry about. Then the matter of how much you give away about possibly having an ability and next being able to live the lie you’ve crafted. As a writer it shouldn’t be that hard to craft yourself a solid backstory but there was still no proof of your existence outside waking up at the riverside. You’d have to be careful but you were up for the challenge. After all, what have you got to lose?

Chapter 1 | Next Chapter =>

#BSD isekai au no one asked for #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #bsd imagines #chuuya nakahara x reader #don't mind me just playing around with BSD like dolls #xreader #x reader

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