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sinnomel · 8 months

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Absolutely Peachy

Pairing: Gale x f!Tav

Summary: Tav and Gale's conversation after Elminster's visit goes great. Slight angst but it ends cute imo.

A/N: First post breaking my very long writing hiatus to write about Gale because there aren't enough fics. Let me know if you'd like more one shots cause I think the world needs more Gale ( ´ ▿ ` ) - Sin

There was nothing in this world that could’ve prepared Tav for the surprise encounter with Elminster. She was hoping that she could meet the esteemed wizard under happier circumstances, perhaps when this damned tadpole was out from between her eyes, attempting to command the helm that is her brain.

The wise old man was jolly at first, introducing himself to the rest of the group, reprimanding Gale for his lack of decorum and grace. Tav thought nothing of it, inviting the elder to their camp, despite Gale’s scowl, awaiting for Elminster’s true reason for appearing before them in the shadow lands.

However, after the food and wine, Elminster’s visage seemed less friendly, less warm. His words were cold, concise, and fatal. Gale was to gain Mystra’s forgiveness on one condition - he was to essentially explode, destroying the curse within him and everything in a large surrounding area. It could rid them of the Absolute, of course. It could bring death to a lot of people if he decided to do this in or near Baldur’s Gate. Usually, this would be a decision that the group would push past, finding the cure for the tadpoles being their priority as the clock was ticking on them becoming mindflayers. However, this revelation had Tav’s heart sinking to the ground below her.

Tav had become particularly close to Gale, finding her feeling solidified after spending time with him in between camping and the battlefield. A complete accident on her part. There was something charming about the man’s rants, how his eyes lit up explaining the Weave, talking about his cat and how he would spend his days rummaging through the literature that covered the walls of his tower in Waterdeep. Tav never intended to fall for Gale, yet here she was.

It was clear as day what her thoughts on the matter were, as Gale had asked if everything was alright once Elminster and everyone else had retired to their respective tents and bedrolls. Tav was beside herself, “Am I alright? Absolutely peachy Gale.” Gale’s eyes held a hint of sadness as she continued. “I’m definitely alright. I’m wonderful knowing that Mystra herself has offered you forgiveness but only under the guise of the afterlife,” she spat. “Tav. I understand your frustration. Trust me, I too am frustrated with Mystra. But I can no longer satiate the hunger of the Orb that rests inside of me. There is nothing that I can do. This is my fate,” he explained, his hand twitching, as if involuntarily reaching out for her hand but stopping himself because she’s upset. He can only assume that his touch would only lead to more anger and hurt. If only he knew how much Tav yearned for his touch, how much she would fantasize it under the stars, sometimes without her knowing how she got to that topic of thinking.

“Since when have we ever listened to fate?” Tav asked, her gaze off towards the right where the water seemed to stand still and the only sound accompanying them was the soft crackle of the makeshift fire off towards the center of camp. “We have tadpoles that threaten our very existence. Every hour that passes, we teeter on the brink of becoming mind flayers. How long have we traveled together and not a single tentacle has sprouted?” she asked. Tav was breathing heavy, the conversation weighing on her physically. She couldn’t comprehend why he was giving in to this demand - his life was on the line and would he so easily throw it away? However, in that instance, Tav realized that this is coming from a selfish place. In this moment, Tav realized that the reason she was so uncharacteristically upset about Gale throwing his life away for the sake of Mystra’s forgiveness and to satiate the Orb maintaining its nest in his chest is because she has grown to love the wizard of Waterdeep.

Perhaps her eyes had given Gale indication that she had realized something, as he asked “Tav, what’s-“ “Do not ask me what is wrong Gale. I fear I realized something a bit too late. I do not wish to talk about it right now…it isn’t appropriate.” “Is it about me?” He intercepted.

Tav stumbled and said nothing. Her gaze was now on the dirt ground, her heart pounding out of her rib cage. She was silent for a beat, but Gale was patient. If she was willing to speak, he was more than willing to listen - it would be ironic if she listened to his rambling and he couldn’t do the same. Tav, despite just saying that she didn’t wish to speak on the matter, could not stop herself.

“I’m acting out of emotion rather than logic, Gale,” Tav started. Her eyes slowly made her way up to his own brown ones, making this conversation harder. She could feel her heart changing rhythm upon meeting his gaze, how her body yearned to be held in his embrace in this moment, how she craved a chaste kiss.

Gale seemed to put two and two together, or rather, what he thought was two and two.

“I know this seems very obscene and I may never be granted forgiveness. Trust me, I don’t wish to die. But Mystra wants to rid the world of the Absolute. My demise might very well be the only thing that could stop-“

“I love you.”

Gale was taken aback and fell silent, completely off guard by the three sweet words he would often dream of hearing from Tav’s lips. Perhaps he had imagined it? He dared ask, hoping his imagination, or the amalgamation of his heart beating so thunderously in his chest wouldn’t disrupt the orb.

“Pardon?” Gale asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he took a step toward her. “I love you Gale. I don’t want you to succumb to that entitled goddess for my own selfish reasons,” Tav started, unable to stop her words from coming out. If not now, she felt, when? Who knew when Gale would just decide to commit to Mystra’s possible false promises.

“There is always another way. We’ve constantly found alternatives to problems. Please…don’t go through with this. Do you not wish to live?” the appointed leader of the group asked the man before her. She could feel the warm accumulation of tears threatening to pour over the edge of her tear ducts, the shakiness of her breath not helping her.

Gale was speechless. He didn’t know what to do. He always painted this picture of how he wanted to profess his love to Tav - a beautiful sunset in Waterdeep whilst both of them spent the hours in his tower, two glasses of wine served out for them and Tara, his cat in his company, along with the countless books he seems to have. The piano would play songs from their travels to incite conversation of nostalgia, how they felt in those moments, laughing about their perilous travels. And when the sun hit the golden hour, the sky would be adorned with pink, orange and purple clouds, he would place his forehead on hers, his gaze focused on her soft lips and utter…

“I love you.”

But they were here, in this camp, the conditions of his profession of love not met. Perhaps this was how it was supposed to be because he wouldn’t make it back to Waterdeep. Perhaps he won't live past a couple nights from now.

“Gale…Say something,” Tav said, her voice cracking, two tears escaping their captivity, trailing down her cheeks. Gale couldn’t think of any words. Instead he chose to react, slowly closing the space between them. His hands made their way up to her cheeks, softly wiping away the stray tears. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was torn. He very badly wanted to rid himself of the Orb and obtain Mystra’s forgiveness, but on the other, he had Tav, who had seemingly loved him unconditionally. None of his magic was necessary to woo her. Not his history of being a prodigy of magic, not his mastery of spells, not his conduction of the weave. Just him.

Gale couldn’t help but close the space between himself and Tav, placing a soft kiss upon her lips. In this moment, he forgot all about Mystra and her empty promises, the orb, all of it. All that occupied his mind was Tav and how soft her lips felt against his own. He pulled away, staying close.

“I love you too.”

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale x tav #gale bg3 #gale x reader #bg3 fanfiction #gale dekarios x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #Tav

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arpov-blog-blog · 4 months

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..."...inflation is at/near Fed target rates, some prices are falling, rents/mortgage rates/gas prices are down, the soft landing appears to be happening; crime and murder rates have come down substantially over the past year, and remain a fraction of what they were 30 years ago; we have the lowest uninsured rate ever recorded, and ACA signups this year have set records; we’ve seen record domestic oil and renewable production, making America more energy independent then we’ve been in many decades; the President has forgiven over $130b in student debt, by some measures Gen Z home ownership rates are outpacing Millennials and Gen X, years of minimum wage increases across the county has created a much higher entry level wage for young and new workers; consumer sentiment is rising, and measures of life/job/income satisfaction are at elevated levels right now; the historic investments the President has made will create opportunities for American workers for decades to come, leave America far stronger and by dramatically accelerating the energy transition from fossil fuels make it far more likely we prevent the planet from warming; polling out this week has the President with sturdy leads in MI, NH and PA, and gaining 3 points and leading now in one important national tracking poll; after a great 2022 election, Democrats just saw a blue wave in 2023, as we won elections of all kinds across the country and outperformed our 2020 results - an election we won by 4.5 pts - by an average of 5 points in almost 40 state legislative special elections.

My summary of where we are now:

Joe Biden is a good President. The country is better off. We have a very compelling case for re-election. The Democratic Party is strong, winning elections across the US and our “bench” is the most talented it’s been in many decades.

Republicans, on the other hand, are making an enormous mistake in sticking with Trump, who is far more degraded, extreme and dangerous - and further away from the electorate - than he was in 2020 when he lost by 4 and a half points. His performance on the stump is far more erratic, and he keeps making hugely consequential political mistakes (calling for a repeal of the ACA, saying he wants the economy to crash - WTF?). Donald Trump 2024 is an historically awful and terrible candidate.

Can we get to 55 and make the 2024 elections a clear repudiation of MAGA, sending a loud and important signal that America has rejected this horrible politics, and has chosen democracy and freedom over illiberalism extremism? Yes, I think making 2024 a big election, a big win, high single digits even, is something that is possible for us, and something we must be working towards every single day. For by doing so it far far more likely we can send MAGA back into the dustbin of history where it so clearly belongs."

The Republican Party has metastasized into something truly dangerous to America and the world. Bibi needs to go. Gun violence remains an outrageous imposition on our liberties. The viciousness of the assault on women’s reproductive freedom, I will admit, overwhelms me sometimes, and I wish I felt we were making more and faster progress here. Declining life expectancy here in the US is a warning about our collective health we must heed. The degradation and poisoning of our daily discourse is a far greater problem than many of us understand or will admit. I could go on.

But that’s not what we do here at Hopium. We do more, worry less. We channel our anxiety, our fear into concrete action. We postcard, canvass, call, text, donate and spread the good news about Joe Biden and the Democrats through our networks. We win elections, kick their ass, take things like the six week abortion ban in Ohio, Jacksonville, the Virginia Assembly, A Wisconsin Supreme Court seat and years of rancid gerrymandering away from them. We are proud patriots, who love our country, and are doing everything we can to make sure the remarkable world of “possibilities” that was available to us is there for our kids and grandkids. When they talk down America, we talk it up. We are Democrats."

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kentolove · 2 years

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Sakusa doesn't have an aptitude for drinking.

He hates the smell of alcohol, the taste it leaves in his mouth, and the feeling of his head pounding into his skull. Nothing about the drinking process is enjoyable, but he sometimes likes the temporary high the alcohol gives his body.

And after the worst argument the two of you have ever had, he ran to liquor to calm the pain in his heart.

He knows it's not a good idea. Atsumu yelled at him when Sakusa called and asked to bring him home, and the look you're currently giving him makes him even more embarrassed of his actions.

He has never thought to turn to alcohol for relief, and he doesn't think he'll do it again. You're clearly disappointed in him, even if you are brushing his teeth for him. You're so gentle with him, even if there is a fire behind your eyes.

You hold his chin with a feather-like touch, but your eyebrows are deeply furrowed.

In all your three years together, you have never yelled at him. No matter how irritating he can be, you always deal with him with a soft tone and open arms. It's basic etiquette, he knows, but there's a part of him that melts whenever you deal with him in that tone.

He can't stand to see you so angry, so he moves his thumb over to your forehead to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed.

You don't oppose his touch, and he warms inside. He doesn't know why he thought you'd reject him -- you never have before -- but his drunken stupor has reduced him to a man lost.

“I'm sorry.”

You look up at him. Sakusa doesn't apologize much. Maybe it's due to his pride, but he always finds other ways to say sorry.

Sometimes it's a kiss to the forehead, other times it's a shared bath, and most times it's a meal that he so clumsily prepared.

(No matter how horrible it tastes, you know that he poured all of him into that simple dish.)

You test him, “what for?”

He pauses. He's trying to collect his words, for his brain is jumbled and struggling to form cohesive sentences.

“For walking out on us. I should've stayed and listened to you... And I shouldn't have gone out to drink,” he puts his head down, “that was irresponsible. I'm sorry.”

You sigh and grab his chin. You're now eye to eye, and you place a kiss on his cheek.

“I haven't forgiven you,” you start, pulling him into a tight hug. “You made me so mad. Going out and getting drunk when I didn't even know where you were, you drove me insane.”

A short kiss is placed on his lips.

“But I'm glad you're okay. No matter how angry I am, as long as you're home, I'll be okay.”

He nods his head and brings your lips back to his. The kiss is meaningful and it shakes your core. His lips are soft, perfect, just for you. He was made for you, and he gives himself over to you with a kiss alone.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Kiyoomi.”

He rests his forehead on yours. His hand moves over to rest on your chest, and he feels the rhythmic beat, beat, beat, of your heart.

The heart that keeps him going. Grounds him on days where the world is too much and he feels as if there is nothing left. The heart that belongs to a person that means more to him than anyone else. The person that he wakes up for, plays for, fights for, and goes to sleep for.

He'll be okay. You'll be okay. As long as he can feel the rampant beating of your heart, he'll be okay.

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capseycartwright · 2 years

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all of my secrets releasing as pieces of me alone

Buck liked to think that he was good in a crisis. His whole career - it hinged on him being cool, and calm, and collected in a crisis. He had to be able to think on his feet, and react, and be there for people in the worst moment of their life, and he prided himself on being good at it. But it was different, he supposed, when it was someone you loved.

In the aftermath of Eddie's breakdown, Buck begins to pick up the pieces and find a way to help his best friend heal.

ao3 link

But it was different, he supposed, when it was someone you loved.

Seeing Eddie like this - completely shattered, entirely broken - it was hard. Buck hadn’t known what to expect when Christopher called, and his mind had gone through a million different scenarios, on the short drive over to the Diaz household, and he had never expected to find what he had, Eddie’s destroyed bedroom behind a locked door, his best friend in pieces.

Pieces Buck wasn’t quite sure how to put back together.

Quietly, conscious of Christopher’s restless sleep, Buck carefully scooped a spoon of sugar into the tea he was making Eddie. Eddie, who was sitting at the kitchen table, frozen, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

Buck had never seen Eddie cry like this. He had never seen Eddie cry ever, really, Eddie always swallowing his tears back before they could take hold, the worst Buck had ever seen watery eyes and a wobbly lip.

Adding an extra spoon of sugar for good measure, Buck padded back through to the dining table, his sneakers long since kicked off. He wasn’t planning to go anywhere, once he’d seen the state of Eddie - and he knew he was in the dog house, judging by the tone of Taylor’s text when he’d told her he would be staying at the Diaz household, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Eddie needed him, and that was all that mattered.

Eddie gave him a weak, but grateful smile, as Buck set the cup of tea down in front of him. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, and thick with tears.

Buck shrugged. “What are friends for?”

“No, I - I mean it,” Eddie paused, for a second. “Thanks, Buck. You - I’m really grateful for you being here.”

“Eddie,” Buck’s voice was soft, gentle as he spoke. He felt the need to be gentle, somehow, soothing, as though that would be enough to make things better, enough to make Eddie better. “There’s nowhere else I’d be.”

Eddie was quiet, for a second, taking a sip of his tea, grimacing for a second at the sweetness before he gave Buck another tiny, grateful smile. The sweetness helped - that much Buck knew, and it wasn’t something he’d learned at the fire academy, it was something that he’d learned from Maddie. When the world was falling apart, sometimes something warm, and sweet - like tea - could make all the difference.

“What about Taylor?”

And if that wasn’t the elephant in the room. Buck swallowed a sigh, glancing at his friend. “I thought we were talking about your problems,” he tried to joke, the quip falling flat. “I - you, and Christopher, you will always be my priority, Eddie. You know that, right?”

Eddie looked as though maybe he knew it - and he likely didn’t accept it. Buck knew how that felt. After the bombing, after the blood clot and his entire world getting ripped from beneath him, Buck had struggled to believe in Eddie’s faith in him. He had struggled to believe that Eddie would still trust him with Christopher, that he would want Buck to spend time with his son, that Eddie himself would want to spend time with him. He’d believed it less, after the lawsuit, even after Eddie had forgiven him.

Buck knew it wasn’t easy to believe that someone wanted to be around.

“You’re the most important person in my life, Eddie,” Buck said, and maybe - maybe this was the wrong time for Eddie to hear it, but Buck had to say it. He knew it was wrong: he knew that there was someone else who should be the most important person in his life, but he wasn’t going to sit there and lie to Eddie.

Eddie Diaz would always be the most important person in his life.

“I don’t - I’m not going to drag you down with me, Buck,” Eddie shook his head, shaking fingers tracing the geometric pattern on the mug in front of him. He looked almost childlike, Buck realised, curled in on himself, trying to make himself smaller, trying to take up less space.

He could take up every inch of space in Buck’s life and it would still never feel like enough. Buck - Buck wanted to be consumed by Eddie, and it was all he’d wanted for a long time now.

“You’re not,” Buck reached across the table, hesitating just before he could touch Eddie’s hand, his fingers hovering a half an inch away from Eddie’s own. “Eddie - is that really what you think of yourself? Do you think you drag people down?”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, for a second. “Everything I touch, it turns to shit, Buck. It always has. I - I dragged Shannon down with me, and I ruined her life. I pulled everyone out of that helicopter, and they all died anyway, Buck. What’s the common denominator here, except me?”

“The common - Eddie, the common denominator here is that shit happens,” Buck shook his head. “Eddie, there’s nothing - there isn’t anything about you that’s wrong, or causes bad things to happen, Eddie. Life - the universe, God, whatever you want to call it, that’s what’s responsible for shit going wrong. Not you - never you.”

read the rest on ao3

#911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911fic #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #i have never written so many codas 5b is slapping #anyways theres a fair chance i'll write a sequel thats a buddie roommates era but we'll see

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sca-rian · 2 years

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home (where the heart is)

pairing: grian/scar words: 1,6k notes: i wrote this to comfort myself, and hopefully it can comfort someone else too! very silly, fluffy, kinda hurt/comfort, set in s8 after 3rd life

Scar always had a way of sneaking into people’s hearts, and, for Grian, it was especially true.

There was something about him that could not quite be put into words: perhaps it was his charming personality, or his smile, or even just the way he portrayed himself—most likely a combination of it all. It didn’t matter, though: Grian was only trying to find excuses for his affection, however, he was still far from figuring it out.

All he knew was that he loved Scar, as passionately as one could. And sometimes the way his love burnt was too much for him to take—after all, he was not as strong as he pretended to be.

He still thought about the desert and the bloodshed every time he closed his eyes and prayed to Whoever was listening to not make him do that again.

But Scar didn’t hold it against him—once they met again, in a new world, Scar smiled and laughed the same way he always had, even when Grian couldn’t be as witty or as responsive as it’d be expected of him.

Grian missed Scar more than anything, but he was terrified of breaking once he had Scar on his arms again—even if breathing and hugging back this time.

And so, for the first couple of days, he avoided being alone with Scar. Not even once. He kept his mind as occupied as it could possibly be, and ignored the growing ache on his entire body as he kept pushing himself to not think about Scar—his warmth, his touch, him.

He kept going until he couldn’t anymore, and then, he sent Scar a short message, an invitation, a plea to meet him up as soon as possible.

The sun was setting when Scar showed up at the house Grian was yet to finish, his coat hanging on one of his shoulders, hair pushed back from his forehead. And looking at him from so close again was almost a vivid dream.

“I just saw your message.” Scar breathed out. “Did something happen?”

“What—no, no it didn’t.” Grian realized his hands were slightly sweaty, and he hoped Scar didn’t notice when he rubbed them against the fabric of his pants. “I… I just wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” Scar relaxed his shoulders, and Grian just now realized he was stressed too. “I wanted to approach you before, right after we started, but—”

“I’ve been distant. I know. You shouldn’t be explaining yourself.” Grian’s hands started to fidget as he said so, and he had to fight against his urges so he could keep his eyes on Scar’s. “I missed you.”

His word hung in the air as Scar looked back at him and then stepped closer to hold one of Grian’s hands on his own, while the other was gently placed on his cheek. Grian leaned against the touch as if he could lose it at any second, even if he dared to blink for too long.

“I missed you too,” Scar said, voice unbelievably soft, and with a smile on his face. “Terribly so.”

Grian sighed and closed his eyes.

“I hope you can forgive me for what I did,” he whispered.

“I forgave you the second I gave you my sword, back on that river.” Scar wrapped his arms around Grian’s torso as he said so, pulling him closer. “I never held it against you, and you shouldn’t hold it against yourself.”

And that was enough for Grian to shed his first tear since it all happened. He knew Scar had forgiven him, just by the look in his eyes, and knew how much he wanted things to not change—but Grian couldn’t take it as easy.

Because, the other thing he knew, is that he was the catalyst. He was the one that caused everything.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault we had to go through that—”

His voice broke midway through the sentence, and he hid his face on Scar’s chest, finding his heartbeats to be the most comforting reassurance he could ever receive. Scar’s fingers soon were in Grian’s hair, and it reminded him of being home, having a warm bed to share, and no hesitancy to get lost in each other’s touch.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do that anymore. We’re safe.” He kissed Grian’s forehead, and it prompted him to look up, finding Scar’s caring, loving eyes watching him. “Don’t cry. You’re my everything.”

Scar kissed away the tears running down Grian’s cheeks, as he held him tightly. And Grian smiled—because Scar was always able to get those from him.

“My beautiful lovebird,” Scar whispered, as he kissed yet another spot on Grian’s face, but, frustratingly, not his lips. “Why are you so perfect?”

Grian tilted his head to the right ever so slightly, the smile on his face becoming easier to keep by each second that passed: a reflection of the butterflies in his stomach. He held back the giggle that wanted to leave his mouth, and, instead blurted out a few words, quite incomprehensible at first, until he managed to say:

"You always have a way with words, don't you?"

Scar smiled.

"I've been told I'm quite flirty."

Grian raised an eyebrow at that but smiled too.

"And may I know who you've been flirting with?"

Scar wrapped his arms around Grian's waist, pulling him closer once again.

"Oh, so many blonde avian boys… So many of them."

And then Grian was on the tip of his toes, both hands on the back of Scar's neck—and Scar instinctively leaned down, as he always did.

"I see. Weird you keep finding those."

Their noses brushed against each other—by accident, at first, but Grian did it on purpose the second time. Then Scar was leaning in closer until their lips were touching.

Grian had kissed Scar many times before, but still, each time it happened, it was more special than the previous one. The way his entire body was filled with warmth, and he could stay there for hours as if he fitted perfectly in Scar's arms.

And they never kissed only once, too—it always turned into more, until they had to stop to catch some air and smile at each other's red faces.

This time, the kiss didn't last for too long, instead, Scar let their lips part, and then pressed their foreheads against each other. He breathed in and out before he spoke:

"Can I confess something?"

"Mm?"

"When you sent me that message, earlier today," he said, his smile clear in the way he sounded. "I thought you were breaking up with me."

Grian leaned back so he could stare at Scar in disbelief. He couldn't hold back a smile, though: as he always did whenever Scar said something absurd—and it happened far more frequently than it should.

"What do you mean breaking up with you? We aren't even dating!"

"I know! But I thought you were going to say, 'Scar, I don't want you to kiss me anymore, please stop doing that'." He did his best-worst impression of Grian's voice. "And then I was going to be very, very sad."

Grian let out a genuine, loud laugh—because he would never have said that, much less in the way Scar was pretending he would.

"You'd have the other blonde avian boys—"

Scar stole a kiss from him the second Grian was about to finish his sentence.

"Don't say that, I wouldn't like them as much."

Grian thought it was quite rude to be interrupted, but he wasn't exactly going to complain, though. What he did, instead, was kiss Scar back, until they got lost in each other’s lips once more.

Eventually, Grian started to feel disappointed that his house didn't have an interior yet, much less a bed—but kissing Scar right by the front door and having him sneakily slide his hands under Grian's sweater was good enough.

This time, Grian was the one that allowed their lips to part. He looked up at Scar, searching for his eyes.

"Scar,” he called, and hesitated for a brief second before adding: “Do you think we should be dating?"

It was clear by the way his eyes widened that the question caught Scar off-guard—he stared at Grian for a full minute, mouth agape, but not much else could be taken off of his expression.

Grian was almost starting to regret asking when he smiled.

"I mean, I don't know! Would that change anything besides having you call me your boyfriend?” He moved one of his hands from Grian’s waist to fix a lock of his hair. "Besides, you can already call me whatever you want."

"Fine. I'll call you my wife, then."

Scar giggled, and embraced Grian once again.

“I don’t see a problem with that.” He kissed Grian’s forehead. “But if you asked me out, I wouldn’t say no.”

“I know, you deny things to me far less than you should.” He hummed contently against Scar’s chest, once the latter started ti gently caress his hair. “I might consider it, maybe do something grand and dramatic.”

When Scar spoke, the smile in his voice was noticeable even to someone that knew him less than Grian did:

“As long as it was from you, I’d accept anything.” He gently moved his hands up Grian’s back, then down again. “Because I really, really love you.”

Grian smiled, and his eyes started watering again, because he was finally back home.

“I really, really love you too.”

#boli writes #back at my gay agenda #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #hermitcraft #grian #desert duo #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #scarian #fanfic

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punemy-spotted · 3 years

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The Price You Pay

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con, mentions of murder, unclear timeline, blackmail, unprotected sex, fingering (F!receiving), smut, esoteric references to past abuse, manipulation, Dark!Fic

Words: 5.2k (holy fuck?)

Summary: You need his help. He names his price.

Notes: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 and her incredible 5K Soft!Dark Challenge and I can't believe I wrote over 5k words for a oneshot, making this the longest piece I've ever written. I took a blend of prompts: Mob!AU; “When I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this;” and “That’s a big favor you’re asking for, I think you need to make it worth my while.”

And this was intended to be a oneshot but now I can't stop thinking about it so thanks Siri, I think this is now a part of my WIPs too! Your work is amazing and I had a blast being able to take part in this!

As usual, my work is 18+ ONLY, Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You went to him first.

You went to him, handed them your business card and I want to speak to Steve Rogers.

Honestly they almost threw you out with an extra hole in your head but then the man of the hour walked right in.

So now you’re here. Now you’re here, sitting across a gorgeous dining table with a ten-course meal laid out and honestly you’re surprised they didn’t tie your wrists to the arms of the chair while you watch him eat and take in the look of those baby blue eyes scanning you over.

He even brought you non-alcoholic rosé, when you said you didn’t drink.

So.

You wanted to talk to me?

Yeah, I do. Thought you’d just sit me in your office, have a consultation.

I like breaking bread with new friends. Have a nice dinner, get the wine flowing — of course, that’s not gonna loosen your tongue, but we’ll forgive it.

Oh. Cool, I like being forgiven.

He laughs at that one and the room, strumming with tension, snaps into amusement. So do you, cracking a half smile on dark red lips, before swallowing down the lump of anxiety threatening to break through and destroy everything. You need this. You need this and you can’t let anything — not your nervousness, not your morals, not him — stop you. You need this and it needs to be done and if this is what justice is in this fucking city then so be it.

Well, sweetness, you’ve got my attention. You want to talk business or pleasure?

That one makes you laugh, a little sharp and a little cruel, and the curling smirk on his face gets a little furrowed because he hears it too — pain.

It could be both, you say finally, picking up the glass of rosé-that-wasn’t, if your reputation is as real as they say it is.

He lifts a bite of cheesecake into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue while he watches you, somewhere between impressed and incensed. You know the look — you saw it the last time he met you in court, but you weren’t there as allies then. Never thought you’d come to me, he admits finally, sounding halfway bemused at the idea, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Counsel?

You wince, or maybe smirk, eyes on the man before you.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse, and the woman you thought you were thirteen months ago when you put four of Steve Rogers’s best men in jail for fifteen years — fifteen years longer than any District Attorney had ever managed to do before you, and you were just the rookie they handed a shit case to — is leagues different from the woman you are now, seated prim and proper in the lion’s den.

You’re not innocent. That’s not been your game for years — this life doesn’t leave room for innocence, it tears at you, leaves you tired and broken and ill.

Your colleagues learned to fear him a long time ago, the man before you. Captain America, leading the city, the country, the world into a new era of high tech crime all under his thumb. It’s a pretty shiny shield, the one that sits behind him, but mirrors are black on the other side and his soul is dark as coal.

You’re not an angel yourself, and this deal with the Devil isn’t for anyone but you.

I need someone taken care of.

So you come to me? I thought you were a lady of morals, Counsel.

Certain kinds of morals.

You can see him smile, see the way he raises his glass, the glimmer of malice and amusement in his eyes. So tell me. What’s the name?

You give it.

He’s not in the city, your target, but he will be. A Judge, an activist, real tough-on-crime-sweet-on-justice type of shit. You don’t tell him the reasons why, because those are yours, but you tell him the name. You tell him he’s a problem, you tell him he’s dangerous, you tell him you’ll pay to have him taken care of, you tell him you don’t want to practice in front of that black, black robe.

And he smiles like the Devil he is, watches you with a grin and drinks his whiskey in one last shot before slamming it down, Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

You said that when we met the first time.

He’s a hunter, you can see it in his eyes. That lion’s mane might be tamed right now but it won’t be for long and you’re playing with wild animals. The eyes on you are ice and daggers, daring you to do the one thing everyone in the office has been begging you not to do.

(Drop the charges, Rookie, the case is just to get your face in front of the judge.)

You upped the charges.

(Rookie, you don’t know what you’re dealing with, there’s other cases.)

You subpoenaed his phone records.

(Rookie, don’t make me drag you off this case!)

You won.

You had no witnesses and a jury you had to drag in from god-knows-where after you proved, over and over again, that he’d paid off the cohort in the courtroom. Finding people with nothing to lose and a desire to do their civic duty wasn’t harder than you thought — it was exactly as impossible as you expected.

But you did it.

That’s what you do, isn’t it? Push and push and fight, claw your fingers at the ledge and pull yourself up, you pay for your crimes in your blood, sweat and tears you pay for the things you could have done then and didn’tdo.

You pay.

And sometimes, that payment bounces back.

And when it was all said and done, when the closing statements were delivered, when the Jury came back out and the Judge — hands shaking, mouth agape, eyes wide — read out the verdict no one expected, you… didn’t feel any better, did you? There was no justice for you in that room, just the searing glare of ice-blue eyes and the burning of your steel spine.

Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

First words he said to you, while the courtroom emptied out and you stood there, facing the man you’d just made an enemy of with your briefcase in your hand and your eyes aflame.

I did my job.

Did you? Is that what you think your job is?

My job is justice, unflinching and blind, Mr. Rogers. I don’t care how much power you have or how afraid you leave this city, I’m going to do my job.

You could always let justice turn a blind eye.

Yeah. I could, but that wouldn’t make this any fun, would it? Thank you for the win, Mr. Rogers — I’m sure I won’t get many more.

You leave him with a smile on his face and the scent of your perfume in his memories.

He leaves you with the pride of victory in your bones and a reminder that your strife could be worth it.

One day.

How do you plan to fill that pit, the one you tossed the corpses of your old self into? The one you let them claw up out of, to haunt you? Remind you?

You’re digging your own grave and you know it, but you won’t let Steven Grant Rogers be the first one to toss a handful of dirt over your corpse.

But now here you are.

In his dining room, enjoying dessert and some sort of after-meal coffee. In need of him…

This might almost have been a date, if not for the topic of conversation.

So. You want a Judge taken out. What if he’s already on my payroll?

Why would you keep a dead man in your pocket?

You like the sound of his laugh, and you don’t even have the excuse of wine to fall back on when it warms your core. Don’t admit it though, don’t say it aloud, don’t let him get an in. Be smart, cross your legs tighter, keep your eyes on the prize.

You’re so close to the finish line.

That’s a big favor you’re asking for, Counsel, I think you need to make it worth my while.

Worth your while?

I’m not a charity. And since you put the guy I usually use to handle these things behind bars for a few years—

You know I can get him out too.

That’s not payment, that’s putting things right.

You take a drink. Steady on, girl.

I’m leaving the DA’s office.

That stops him.

Oh that stops him good, and he looks fascinated. Interested. You’ve said something he can use as leverage and it’s not just about a job. That smirk on his face is smug and his eyes are darker and he has to know the impact that look has.

Can’t falter, don’t falter, don’t give in.

Am I allowed to ask why?

No.

You’ve done your research. You just don’t know why you’re thinking about it now. Steven Grant Rogers, “Captain America,” leader of a crime family that had too many names to stamp out, bolstered by a mad scientist, a military man through-and-through who turned New York into his own private base against whatever stood against his way.

Get in his good graces and you’re set for life. Get in his good graces and you’re safe, you’re protected, you’re good.

Get on his bad side and you only make that mistake once.

There are no second chances in this game, and here you are, asking for one.

So what? You leave the DA’s office, you leave yourself open to me — you think leaving New York is going to be the thing that stops me, Counsel?

No.

Then what?

Breathe. Steady.

I know you gave me that win on purpose — you could have taken out my last jury cohort. This isn’t about the four men… and you know I’ll get them out. This is something else, but I’m not here to ask about what or why.

He falters just briefly, like he’s surprised you knew, but the crack in his mask smooths itself over as soon as it forms and he’s back to watching you, nodding along in silence while you breathe and watch him and keep talking.

But even then. I got four of your guys in prison. And I know how your organization works — I subpoenaed the documents, remember? Your lawyers are good, but they’re not used to people asking the right questions. You want someone to seal up the cracks you need someone who actually knows what to look for.

You have more than his attention, you have his interest, and now he’s leaning in a little. Imperceptibly, but enough. Scanning over you from across the table, like he’s thinking how you managed to get so impertinent in the face of the likes of him but that’s the thing — when the only thing you have left to lose is your life, you’ll risk everything.

So what are you offering?

Breathe. Don’t. Stammer.

Myself.

The chair scrapes and suddenly there’s the clicking of guns, aimed and ready until his hand rises up and he stops them and he’s stalking towards you.

This is the lion’s den, sweetness.

The stakes are higher and you ought to be braver and he’s got your chin in his hand before you have a chance to react, dragging you to your feet. Do you know what you’re offering me, Counsel? Low and hissed and hungry, like those perfect teeth might be sinking into your throat in the next moment.

Oh, you have no idea.

You get me. On your payroll — you know. The offer you sent me a year ago.

You think it’s still open?

If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have met with me.

The chuckle in your face makes your cheeks warm and you’re looking more flushed than you would like, the open shoulders of your dress suddenly feeling a lot more like a mistake the more you realize just what kind of meal he might make out of you tonight.

We might need to have a discussion about your workplace duties, Counsel.

You don’t notice the hand near your thigh until it’s too late, sliding up the soft fabric of your skirt until it’s squeezing your ass, until it’s jerking you towards him, until you’re pressed against his chest and the hand on your chin is now hooked around the back of your neck, thumb pushing your jaw until you’re forced to look at him. Won’t lie, when I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this, having your pretty little body in my arms,and you can look as indignant as you want but he’s got the upper hand and you only thought you were two steps ahead of him.

You think I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to put you in your place, Counsel? You’ve got a smart mouth — I wanna know what else it can do.

He doesn’t give you a chance to use that mouth to lash at him, lips sliding over yours, swallowing that indignant yelp with a punishing kiss. Nipping at the plushness of your lower lip until you open your mouth and yield to him with a sigh of reluctant surrender, let his tongue slide past that barrier for him to explore. He’s got his fingers wound through your hair, just a little too tight and whether the whimper in your chest is because of the pain or because of the want, he doesn’t care.

Knew you’d be sweet, Counsel… softly, when he pulls back to look at you, take a look at those love-swollen lips and your ruined lipstick, the pretty way you pant at him already, the heat burning your cheeks. Pay no attention to the slick warmth between your thighs, pay no attention to the way he makes you burn already, pay no attention to how your fingers have curled into the lapel of his coat to hold yourself steady, pay no attention to how you suddenly miss the pressure of his lips.

All that smart-talk and now you’re quiet, Counsel? F’I knew it just took a kiss to get you to shut up, I would’ve done that at trial, he’s purring in your ear, soft and sweet and you should push at his chest, so uncurl your fingers girl and push.

I didn’t say I was selling my body, there’s your harshness, and there he is, laughing at you again, the grip on your hair jerking your head back until you’re looking into those dagger-cold eyes again.

You don’t make the rules here, Counsel, I do, and you need me more than I need you. So if you want to make sure your Judge can’t start wreaking havoc on your career… you might want to get used to readjusting it for me. I promise I’ll make you feel nice, if you let me…

And if I don’t?

Then I take what I want and I don’t feel bad for not holding up my end of the bargain. Your choice, Counsel, you cum willingly and I’ll give you everything you want. Don’t, and it’ll hurt you more than it hurts me.

That’s not a threat, that’s a promise, and suddenly you’re more scared than you ever thought you’d be, wondering if you’ll need to sell another part of your soul to take him down after. How much of yourself will you put up as collateral to get justice for the wrongs you were never able to correct?

You’re afraid.

Oh sweetness, you’re afraid.

Here? Now?

No, Counsel, we’re gonna do this right, aren’t we? You wanna be in bed with me, I’ll take you to bed with me. Come on, say it. Say the word.

Say no. Say no, rail and fight, stamp your heels into the expensive leather of his shoes, jam your knee into the sensitive between his legs, scream and yell and tell him you will never let another man take advantage of you again to help you reach your goals. Do it. Do the thing you swore you would do the next time a man like him — men who think they can take anything from anyone, men who think they own the world and the women in it, men who think you aren’t strong enough to fight back — propositioned you just like this.

You’re selling your soul to get rid of a man just like this.

But that’s coiling heat in your core that wasn’t there the last time, was it? That’s want. That’s the realization that you like the way this predatory smile feels, that you like the way this one wants you. You’re not her, not scared and alone and helpless. You could fight back and run and maybe escape if you were lucky.

You could choose.

He’s let go of your hair to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers, soft and sweet, You gonna give me an answer, Counsel, or am I gonna have to take it?

Say something. Say no. Scream. Say no say no say no say— Yes.

It’s a whisper. A desperate, soft whisper. A helpless, lonely whisper. It’s enough.

He sweeps you around until you’re pressed with your back against his unyielding chest, feeling him flex with every movement, broad arm wrapped around your shoulders from the front. All of you are dismissed, and that’s when you remember there were others in the room with you. Others who just watched you concede to becoming Captain America’s newest plaything and the burn on your cheeks is more shame than lust. You pull at his arm briefly, futilely, earning a tighter hold for your efforts and a whispered don’t make me choke you, before you are half-walked, half-dragged out of the dining room.

The walk to his room is slow and agonizing as you’re pulled along, barely struggling but barely helping at the same time, tears sliding down your cheeks as you come to terms with what’s going to happen next — no one is going to save you tonight, no one’s going to interrupt and drag you out, this is your job and this is your place and here you are.

No one speaks. There’s no sound but the steady tap of your heels and his shoes on fine marble. Even your sobs are silent, even your breathing is muffled, until the stairs are traversed and the faintest click of a lock turning opens the door to the rest of your life.

You made a deal.

Time to pay.

Sit on the bed.

You move as if in a trance, and he watches your face, the hint of waterproof mascara failing to do its job, the smudged ruby red of your lipstick. Don’t give me that look, you knew what you were signing up for when you walked into this house, Counsel.

His hands are gentler than you’d expect, when he wipes away the streaks your tears leave down your pretty cheeks, coaxing you to look up at him, We’ll set ground rules later. Tonight? I wanna see if I can get that mouth of yours to beg for me.

It won’t, you snap without thinking, knifeblade sharp and cruel, ready for a fight again. He promised you that once, in a hiss you thought you’d misheard but no, you heard him just fine and now if he thinks he can quench your fire and have you pleading just because you sold your body for the prospect of revenge then he’s wrong.

Thing is, he laughs like that’s a challenge, and the hand holding your chin so gently is wrapped around your throat before you know it, silencing your voice with just the right application of pressure. I can do this all night, Counsel. Do you think you can last that long?

Fear. Anger. Indignation. You are fury made flesh and he is manipulating you with just the barest press of his palm and sliding over you, until you’re laid out there on soft sheets and he’s looming over you, splaying that big hand out and sliding it down your throat, over your chest, feeling the ruching of the fabric under his palm. You wrapped yourself up like a present for me, didn’t you sweetness?

The change in nickname isn’t lost on you but here you are, glaring up at him while he smiles so beatifically it leaves your blood boiling and your skin steadily warming. The rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, every angry breath a swear you don’t utter, every inhale your protests dying in your throat. What can you say, what would you say, right now? There’s nothing that can change the way he looks at you, or the way his eyes flicker from ice to blue fire the more he takes stock of the pretty little thing he’s about to start sharing his bed with.

Fuck, you’re beautiful, that one shocks you, but not as much as the sudden rush of cold air when he tears the emerald green fabric of your dress down and reveals the soft swells of your breasts, nipples peaked from the sudden cold.

You don’t get much time to gasp, just something soft and strangled before he turns your voice to whimpers, wrapping lips around that pebbled tip and laving his tongue over sensitive flesh. Where are your words now, Counsel, while he threatens the softness of your chest with the scrape of his teeth, when he slides his hands over the round curve of your thighs and parts your legs so he can press himself between them, so he can press himselfagainst you? Where is the knife-dagger of your wit to protest each soft, suckling kiss to your skin, each press of his fingers like he could just squeeze his ownership of you into the plushness of your hips, into the sweet swell of your ass? What do you say to the dirty little thrust of his hips as he bucks with his own burning need, reminding you just how much this is for hispleasure as he will make it for yours.

You would, could, should push him off and instead what are you doing? Curling your fingers into the silk-smooth of his comforter, desperate to writhe out of your own skin away from the burning pressure between your thighs, the foreign, unfamiliar heat you suddenly feel like you might be craving.

Anyone ever touch you like this before me, Counsel?Warm breath splays across your skin when he questions you, eyes fixed on yours and he waits. Answer him, answer him, tell him he’s nothing, tell him you’ve had better, lie and destroy that ego, lie lie lie lie—

Nnnh—no.

He looks like you’ve just told him the best news of his life, eyes wide and blown with lust, Oh is that right? You’re saying no one’s ever touched you this good? Or just no one’s ever touched you at all?

You don’t have to answer. The furious blush on your cheeks? The way your eyes slide away from his? The way you writhe, trying to press your thighs together to relieve the pressure and finding the effort futile? If the man’s grin could get any wider, it would, right now. Oh sweetness, we’re going to have so much fun exploring your body together…

He pulls back just enough to take a look at you, already flushed and writhing and overwhelmed and if he could take a picture of this right now he would. He’ll save that for later though. Tonight? Tonight is just the two of you, and his hands are back to your skirt, pushing the tight fabric up over your round hips and revealing the lace of your panties… just before he rips them off, to the sound of your indignant yelp Steve!

You’re going to call me Captain, sweetness, we’re not close enough to use my name just yet.

No. No you’re not, and he’s not sure you’ll ever be — he rather likes the idea of hearing you whimper out his title when he gets you desperate and wanting.

He touches, slow and steady, watching you try to jerk away and tutting at you when you do, fingers at your delicate nerves like an assault on your pleasure. Bite your lip, bite back the moans, whine at him like he’s wounded you, You’re so wet, sweetness, you’re so desperate for me aren’t you, as he palms his cock to relieve the pressure on himself. You’re going to beg before he does and he’s patient, he’ll last the night.

St-stop it, it’s too— he shushes you ahtahtaht and rests his free hand on your mound, holding you down so his probing, inspecting fingers can take stock of the velveteen plushness of your delicate cunt. It’s too much, too much and you want to scream the moment he presses one finger into you, already overwhelmed, already so tightly wound the barest touches are unraveling you steadily.

You’re such a pretty thing, all desperate and needy, sweetness. You wanna cum already, don’t you? So busy, never gave anyone the chance to fuck that stuck-up bitch right out of you, did they? It’s almost pitying, isn’t it, the way he talks, hums at you while you’re reduced to a whining, whimpering mess so soon, so desperate for the release he’s on the edge of denying you, feeling you flexing around his finger and then the second leaping jolt of your body when another joins the inspection. Taking careful stock of the pretty cunt he owns now, and he’s careful to curl his fingers just right as he seeks the spot to hammer just to get you to scream.

You don’t, not yet, but that’s okay too, because he sees the way you take desperate hold of the sheets, the way your eyes roll backwards just slightly, the way you strain against his heavy hand to arch your back. Gotta tell you, sweetness, I imagined you under me a thousand and one ways but this one, right now? Tops the list. You ready to beg for me?

Do it. Do it and end your pleasurable torment. Do it and be released from the pressure, the coiling want. Surrender to him. Let him have you.

The white hot rush of your orgasm is not unexpected to him, his curling, cruel fingers having found the sweetness of your g-spot, but — you, too busy climbing the ranks to think of your own pleasure, too busy demanding your due from an unjust world explore your own warmth beyond that of a memory of a college hookup you would rather forget — you left breathless and wanton in the heat of the explosion he draws out of you, mewling something desperate and pleading against your own will and the song of it fills his ears like it’s all he’s ever wanted. There it is, and I thought we’d be here all night. A thumb flickers over the nerves at your entrance and you practically jump, something between a yelp and a moan escaping your lips.

First one’s just a treat, sweetness. Now on, you cum when I say you do, understand?

You nod.

Oh you nod, and you are lost, here and now. Sensitive and broken and there is so little of that steel spine here, writhing in his sheets and ohyou don’t know the things you do to him.

Think you can go again, sweetness? He’s purring, smug, twisting fingers stretching you slowly, muttering under his breath about how fucking tight you are around his fingers, how good you’re going to feel for him, and the smugness on his face is slowly fading into a dark consternation, brows furrowed like he’s somehow angry at you for being plush and delicate and fuckable.

You’re almost begging him to stop, and yet the pressure is building again, the twisting, coiling heat that leaves you breathless and mewling and he looks like he might be trying to immortalize this moment forever. Say it, sweetness. Say you need me. Beg me for my cock.

That’s it.

That’s what you need to, you need to beg, you need to give in. No more fighting, no more arguing no more —

Please…

Please what, sweetness, come on now. You got a way with words. The snarl is so barely contained.

Please, Captain, please just…

What do you need, sweetness? The fingers are relentless, the buzz in your nerves is overwhelming, you can barely even hear yourself talk, much less him.

Please just fuck me, Captain, I need your cock! It’s hurried and it’s crude and it’s desperate and it’s exactly what he wants as just another wall crumbles and you fall off your pedestal right into his arms.

He’s barely able to resist the buck of his hips, the need to be inside you, the knowledge that you are soft and velvet and you could be all over his senses just like this.

When did he free his cock? You don’t know, you just know it’s practically salvation when he sinks into you, when he fills you like you’ve been desperate for and Oh sweetness…pours from his lips just as you hiss out something like praise right back at him.

You’re so full and he’s so gentle, at first, like you’re made of crystal in his arms, like the slow shifting of his hips might have you shattering underneath him if he’s not careful. Cradling you, even, sliding your legs around his narrow hips as he leans in and takes a hungry kiss from your wanting, whimpering mouth.

Love this look on you, all wrapped around me, whispered low and slow into your ear, sweetness you have no idea how good you look…

Melt into those compliments, melt into him, because the way he’s holding you is divine and you can feel him so deep in you it’s making your head spin. When did your arms end up around him? When did you start clinging to him like an anchor, start winding your fingers through his hair, start leaving the marks of your nails on his back to the sound of his own needy groaning?

He noses your cheek and leaves a mark of ownership on your neck with hungry lips, knowing you’ll bruise a beautiful flower right over your pulsebeat and continuing the steady assault on your nerves, cunt-first.

Harder. Faster. More.

And oh, sweetness, you do shatter.

You shatter all around him, you shatter into something divine and rapturous, full of him and filled with him and he cums so deep inside you as you do, still fucking you through your joined climax, hips rutting and breath hitching and nearly furious at you for the way his vision whites out too, the way he feels like he can Never get enough and so he hisses that at you like an accusation while his thoughts reorient back to reality, back to smugness, back to the control you took from him while he tried to strip you of yours.

In the end, as he pulls away from you and sinks to the side of you, watching your sweet expression as you return to the reality of your new situation, he is satisfied… thoroughly.

Oh yeah, I think we can make this a working relationship, Counsel.

#siris5ksoftdarkchallenge #steve rogers x reader #mob!au #mob!steve #steve rogers x you #steve rogers smut #dark!fic #dark captain america #captain america #writing challenge

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thenovelartist · 3 years

Text

ABC Fluff Headcanons - Vyn Richter - Tears of Themis

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

If this was a fairytale, it would be Beauty and the Beast. Except he was simply the Beast and you were his magic rose he got to watch bloom. But instead of watching you under glass, he preferred it to be removed, even if it shredded your innocence in the process, but oh, watching you grow anyways, both blooming beautifully while growing fierce thorns to warn anyone before they touch, just to spite the adversity you were faced with was his truest pleasure. Your fortitude; that was what he truly admired about you.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

You’d think it’s your eyes, being the windows to the soul and all. But you’d be wrong; it’s your hands. Specifically, your tender touch. It’s gentle, warm, and safe. Being able to hold your hand feels intimate for him, and he actually enjoys when you tap his arm to get his attention, then let your hand linger when he gives it. It’s like a reward and a comfort all in one.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

He does enjoy a good cuddle, but hugging you from behind might be his favorite. Whether sitting together on the couch with you on his lap or spooning you in bed, he likes when he can nuzzle the side of your head or rest his chin on your shoulder.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

He will have planned this to a T because he’s not much for spontaneity. And it would involve a walk together, flowers, and he will either have made you a dessert or the two of you will make something together. It’s something quiet and intimate for you to enjoy time together, talking about anything and nothing while the date is riddled with affectionate touches and some kisses.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

Good grief, this man’s emotions are… complicated. He’s very logical, but he’s not ignorant to his emotions. It doesn’t seem like it, but he frequently tempers them, only to bring them up again in full when he records his diary so that he’s able to manage them.

But you have ruined him. His carefully kept emotional balance has been thrown to the wind. You make him feel intensely and strongly, to the point it almost trumps his logic, which makes him uncomfortable. His diaries have been getting longer as his inner turmoil increases, and that’s all your fault. It’s something you notice, too, watching his even temperament waver more and more frequently around you as the emotion inside him wars with his rationality. You will have to give this man time. Time to open up and be honest with himself, and you, about his emotions. Be prepared to validate his emotions in his moments of weakness. It’s the only way he’ll get better about honestly expressing them to you.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

He wouldn’t be opposed to staying childless. He also wouldn’t be opposed to having a child, and you could probably talk him into two if the first goes well. Little humans would be fascinating studies, after all. (“Dear, do not psycho-analyze the children.”)

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

He does not care for trinkets. Nor does he care about giving you them. Gifts should be practical.

At least… that’s what he likes to think. His one exception to this is when he gives you something to wear. It’s his way of marking you and wearing it will spark a possessive streak in him.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

He likes—no, needs to be either touching or holding your hand in quiet, private moments. And he wants to hold your hand when he’s jealous. Especially when he’s jealous. And you know when he is because he holds tight as though reminding you that you’re his while also sending passive-aggressive signals to the cause of his jealousy. When you’re just out walking, he will sometimes hold your hand, but he also likes when you loop your hands over his elbow and he can escort you like a proper gentleman. (It also causes you to pull yourself in close to him, so he actually quite enjoys when you do that.)

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

Depends. Minor cuts or burns are treated with care and, occasionally, a kiss. Get into an accident, and he gets shockingly worried about you. However, if you end up hurt because of a reason to do with NXX, he’ll be sick with emotions. Guilt, fear, anger; all of them brew for a deadly concoction. He will not rest, even to the point of abusing his own body, until he finds the person who hurt you and sees to it they are paying dearly for their crime.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

He doesn’t always joke around, but when he does… this man is a wicked tease. Don’t expect to get off the hook easily. You better learn how to tease back, or he’ll use words and puzzles to twist you exactly where he wants you, which normally is you as a blushing, stuttering mess.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Sweet kisses off-the-cuff are quite nice, and so are the passionate ones, but the ones he likes best are the slow, lingering ones that take place hidden away in your own world. They convey so much with no words. There’s no frantic holding or clinginess. Rather, it feels like a moment of security, coming together and staying. He likes the comfort they provide him and the way they actually settle his heart.

L = Love Confession (how do they confess?)

He actually was super nervous to confess. He’ll have practiced and planned this confession before it happens. Which you never would have guessed because it was in such a smooth conversation during one of your outings that he admitted he held feelings of a romantic nature for you.

M = Marriage (What does the wedding look like?)

He wants it small, intimate, and preferably outdoors in a garden. He wants it nice but not overly fancy. He won’t fuss over the smaller details. Besides, he doesn’t realize it yet, but he will barely remember anything beyond how utterly stunning you look in your wedding dress, anyway.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

He hates being a failure, but if he’s everput in a position where he fails you, he will never forgive himself.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

This man has literal decks of cards of only one kind of card. You want a 52 card deck with all ace of hearts? He has that. Ten of spades? He has that too. Four of clubs? Yup. You don’t know why he has them, and he won’t tell you, but you think it’s literally just because he’s highly amused the way you wrack your brain over it.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

He’s classic. Love, Dear, Darling, Sweetheart. But he’s half-German (At least, that is my best speculation considering he was called “Vilhelm” and is canonly mixed-race), so “Liebling” is also an endearment he calls you, and my guess is he saves that one strictly for the sweetest, most tender moments you share.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

Calm setting, electronics put away, and preferably some form of physical contact with you. This could be working together in the garden, side by side, or going out to walk around town together, but those are not his favorite. Baking with you is one of his top ones, though. Expect him to tap some sort of batter or frosting on your nose. His other favorite is lounging together on the couch, your back leaning against his chest, and just talking. Communication is important to any relationship, and he finds it a joy to communicate with you.

R = Romance (how do they show their love and affection?)

He’s the kind that shows his affection by giving you his time and attention. He’ll show it in the little touches exchanged back and forth and in the way he’s attentive to your well-being, particularly your mental well-being.

He’ll also show he loves you by playing mind games on you until you’re a blushy, stuttering mess. He’s usually forgiven with a kiss and “I love you”. You know you’re too soft on him, but whattcha gonna do?

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

He is an onion you have to peel back layer by layer to get to open up to you. And like an onion, there’s likely going to be some tears shed as you do that. Time will determine how many secrets he’s willing to share with you, and it’s likely going to take years for him to fully open up to you. But keep at it. You will be rewarded with his innermost thoughts and feelings and the discovery of how insecure this seemingly unflappable man is.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

This man doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but falling hard and fast for you? That he did. One of his biggest hurdles he had to get over was logically evaluating his feelings and what he thought your feelings for him were as well as coming to terms with the way he’s been treated in past relationships (And not just romantic ones. He has an… interesting way of creating carefully crafted ties to people.) So it might take a little time for him to get comfortable enough to ask you out. And throughout the relationship, he’ll probably still be working with his past demons, so be prepared for that.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

He’ll comfort you the best way he can if you’re a sad upset. A mad upset, and he’ll probably give you a little space to work yourself out while offering his guidance. And upset at him? This is where a good chunk of your arguments happen, to be honest. So then you both have to calm down before coming together again and talking it out. But you always do and are stronger for it.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

He’ll never admit it, but he loveswhen he can leave you impressed. It thrills him if he can show off a trick or his general intelligence and have you praise him for it. Occasionally, he’ll search for ways to impress you just because he wants that attention. But never will he admit it.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

Well…he’s all okay with fighting as long as it’s not physical fighting. If you’re going to verbally spar with someone, he’s more than happy to let you go, and he takes pride in the fact you usually wipe the floor with your opponent. But the moment it’s going to turn into a physical altercation, he’s your shield. Part of him thinks that in times he is unfortunately not around, it might be good to have some self-defense under your belt, but at the same time, he’d rather you just flee instead of fight. Because he knows you well enough that if you had the ability, you’d probably knock someone’s lights out if they came at you.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

He’s a psychologist; he can already read you well. But on top of that, you are his favorite study, and he will catalogue everything he learns about you away to pull out for future reference. So while he already reads you well early on into your relationship, give it a few years and you have basically no secrets from this man.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

He will never forget the “surprise over romance” opinion on proposals you shared with him. So, determined to give you the best, he sets up an elaborate puzzle for you, getting all the important people in your life to get in on it. Together, the two of you will trapeze the town hunting down little clues—in places, that you only realize later, hold significance to both of you—before he’ll “conveniently” take his leave so you can finish out the last leg, which ultimately ends up leading you to his office, the place you first met. And there he is, sitting behind a house of cards sits made solely from the Ace of Hearts with a ring in the middle of the top tier which was made from two different cards: the king and queen. Only once you realize that and he revels in your joy and tears will he properly get on one knee and ask you to marry him.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

When everything is “right” in his world. His patients are doing well, he’s got no massive cases on his plate, nothing requires his immediate attention, and you are close by, doing well in your own right.

#tears of themis #vyn richter #fluff #tears of themis headcanons

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 110: Rough

This can be read as a sequel to Day 106: Eyes or as a stand alone.

———————

Returning to Hogwarts for an eighth year was one of the terms of his parole.

Draco hadn’t realized just how horrible coming back would be, for a variety of reasons.

Many of those reasons had to do with the way that other students treated him, not because he felt he didn’t deserve it, but because he felt like he did. When fists came flying or when curses were thrown he couldn’t find it within himself to stop them. He deserved worse than the treatment he received, he knew it and so did they.

The only person who didn’t seem to be able to understand that was Harry Potter.

“Hey,” Potter said with a grin in his direction as he plopped down across from him at breakfast.

Draco looked around before accepting that he must be talking to him, “Good morning,” he replied neutrally, wondering why on earth the other boy had decided to sit with him.

“How did you sleep after Madam Pomfrey kicked me out?” Harry asked as he filled up his cup with coffee and topped off Draco’s while he was at it.

“Fine,” Draco replied, “you?”

“Honestly?” Potter asked, digging into his eggs, “I slept like crap. I get these awful nightmares sometimes.”

(Read more below the cut)

Draco looked down at his hands on the table. He didn’t want to talk about nightmares, neither Potter’s nor his own.

“Sorry,” Potter said, covering Draco’s hand with his for a moment, the rough calluses on his hand trailing over Draco’s skin and making something inside of him turn warm and soft.

It had been a long time since a hand had been extended in comfort, since someone had touched him outside of the purposes of healing him. He didn’t deserve it. Snatching his hand back, he asked, “Not to be rude, but why are you here?”

Potter smiled at him, “we’re friends now, remember?”

“You seemed pretty keen on the title of boyfriend last night in the infirmary,” Draco said before he could stop himself. His entire face and neck heated as he clenched his jaw shut in horror.

But the other boy’s entire face lit up and he smiled so widely that his dimples appeared. “Oh, excellent,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure that you felt the same way.”

Draco spluttered, “what?”

“It’s okay, if you don’t,” Potter assured. “Friends is good, too.”

“If I don’t?” he asked incredulously. “You’re everyone’s dream.”

He shrugged carelessly, “I don’t care about everyone. I just want to know about you.”

“You don’t like me, do you?” he asked, trying desperately to change the focus of this conversation. The last thing he needed was for people to know about his crush on Potter.

“I do,” Potter replied easily. “I find your bravery very attractive, I find your cleverness appealing, your dedication to working hard and doing your best. I admire how much you’ve changed and grown, it can’t have been easy,” he added with a little frown. “And to be frank, you’re really beautiful.”

He felt his checks flush hot at the compliment.

“Sorry,” Potter said with a little wince, “too much?”

“No, I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he replied.

Potter trailed his fingers over the delicate skin on Draco’s wrist, “so the question remains,” he said. “Do you like me, too?”

“I have for the past three years,” he blurted, “thanks for noticing.”

The shock on his face was priceless and it made Draco feel a bit light headed with giddiness. Then Potter burst out laughing and Draco’s heart expanded in his chest. “I’ve been told I’m a bit oblivious on occasion.”

“Ah,” Draco replied as he picked up a piece of bacon, “well, I don’t really imagine that it’s your fault. Malfoys are appalling flirts and I was dreadfully emotionally constipated.”

“I think we can both be forgiven for not noticing. We had a thing or two on our plates.” He smiled, warm and open and Draco couldn’t believe something so lovely was directed at him. “But we’ve got all the time in the world now. And there’s no one to tell us who to be anymore.”

“Thank Circe,” Draco breathed.

“So what do you say, Draco? Do you want to discover who we really are?”

His throat felt a little tight as he nodded, “More than anything.”

———————

Day 109: Coffee Shop | Day 111: Smile

#drarry #drarry drabbles #100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #dating #learning to love yourself #soft #my writing #hogwarts eighth year

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lyssahlyssah · 3 years

Text

Obey Me! The Present

a/n: not suitable for work

Well, this took a week of my life, but it's ok! It's obviously something I needed to get off my chest (ahem). I hope you enjoy. 🟣🔵⚫

pairing: F!MC x Belphegor, category: (very) not suitable for work, warnings: some angst, virgin sex, penetration, oral sex, teasing, man-eating petunias. description: Belphie give F!MC the present she's always wanted. wordcount: 2.1k

"Is there anything else I can do for you for your birthday? Being your present and all. "

In your room, Belphie stands in front of you with his usual coy smile. Tall and gorgeous, he cocks his head to one side causing hair to fall into his violet eyes. He confidently holds your gaze. As the gaze lingers, his smile deepens, playfully suggestive.

Today is your birthday and you've spent it on a date with Belphie. Feeling guilty after forgetting to buy you anything, he had cleverly volunteered to be your present, granting you any wishes you wanted.

Excited by his creativity (and the prospect of time with him alone), you had taken full advantage, first visiting the planetarium and then the botanical gardens. You'd laughed together, played around, took naps under a tree with his head in your lap. At the botanical gardens, he'd even rescued you from man-eating petunias after you took a wrong turn, and had shamelessly teased you about it since. Everything was effortless and fun when you were together.

And now, looking at his smiling face, you reflected on how far the two of you'd come. This wasn't Belphie from long ago in the attic; the angry and vengeful demon that once tried to kill you, heart twisted with hate from the loss of his beloved sister. No, he had changed. As time had gone on, he had warmed to the whole world, even to his older brother Lucifer, whom he had once admitted hating to the point of murder. He was now letting people to get close to him again. And especially you. He had opened the door to his heart and was inviting you in.

Because of the complicated history you shared, a special bond grew between you. His aloofness drew your open and loving nature like a moth to a flame, and you clicked like magnets due to your differences. Over any of the other brothers, he made you feel comfortable. Facing him now, you realized you've fallen hard for the infamous sloth demon. It was for those reasons, a response to his question immediately floated to your lips.

"Kiss me", you say, giving him a smile of your own.

"Sure", he agrees, a blush on his cheeks. Your lips meet. It's soft and sweet. Somehow, even though you aren't sure where he found the time between naps to become this way, Belphie is an incredible kisser.

His lips push down on yours with a little more force, then abruptly pull back, leaving you breathless. "Is that all?" he asks. "In that case, I'll give myself to you every day" his eyes crinkle in a smile, ever teasing.

You wet your lips, heart pattering in your chest. You did want more from him...a lot more. Now or never. you think. You catch his hand and hold it. "Ah...Belphie...actually, what I want instead, is to give m-myself....to you." you stammer a little in getting it out. His eyes widen as he realizes what you're insinuating. Silence.

"MC...you sure? With me?" Belphie stares back at you, no longer joking. He pauses. "Why me? Why not Lucifer...or...or...The Great Mammon?" he says, with a sarcastic flourish.

When he sees your face drop, he immediately apologizes and runs a hand through his thick hair, ruffling it. His voice softens. "I'm sorry...I've been angry for so long, you know? Sometimes it just comes out when I don't mean it to."

He takes your hand again and pulls you to the bed where you sit down together. Color rises in his cheeks. "Really though...I've lied to you, I've manipulated you. Not that long ago...I even tried to kill you. Why am I the one you want for this?" He searches your face for an answer.

"You're my master, I can't refuse you, and I'd be crazy to anyway, but...why me?" Standing up, he paces a few feet in a circle, then sits down again. You've rarely seen him this worked up; it's obvious he still hasn't totally forgiven himself for hurting you.

"I love you Belphie", the words fall out of your mouth. Your eyes widen. You search your feelings and know it isn't a lie. His eyes are wide too. "Do...do you mean that?" he questions, leaning back.

You nod, "I need you, Belphie. I feel safe with you; I know you'd never hurt me now. And...I know you need me too". You continue, your voice low. "I want you. More than anyone else".

The words visibly shake him. He drops his head, staring into his lap, then slowly brings his head back up and gazes at you. You're taken aback by the open desire you see there. It's as if a mask has fallen off and you're seeing the real him for the first time.

When he speaks, it's slowly, deliberately.

"I want to know you that way, MC...More intimately than anyone ever has." His eyes start to glow a fierce purple. "You're mine, and I want to be your first. I want to give you something to remember me by when you go back to the human world." You swallow hard, your heart starting to race and nod.

He leans forward, takes your face between his hands, and kisses you. And again. Deeply, tongue reaching hungrily into your mouth. You whimper against his lips, full of want.

You give yourself over completely to his touch. His hands are on your face, guiding the movement of your heads. It feels so good, all the strength leaves you, and you fully let him hold you up. Between kisses, he makes small sounds of passion.

"You drive me crazy" he murmurs, looking into your eyes. A thrill runs up your spine. He's here, fully here - with you. No distance. Not a trace of sleepiness. In this moment of closeness, Belphie has completely overcome his sin.

You gasp as his fingers effortlessly snap off the button to your jeans with an audible pop. "Oops", he says, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

He leans you back onto the covers. Continuing to kiss you, he slides his hand into your jeans and caresses your lower stomach, playing with the hollow of your hip bone. Ticklish, you sharply draw in a breath, causing him to smile at you. "Don't be nervous" he says reassuringly. "I'll take care of you".

He sides your pants down, and then completely takes them off. You shiver, all at once feeling vulnerable.

"Mmmm..." He murmurs, looking over your body. "You're so beautiful. I've dreamed about getting to touch you like this". He reverently slides his hands up and down your thighs, your hips, your waist. Goosebumps raise up at his touch.

Holding your gaze, he leans down and pulls your shirt over your head then sits upright and does the same for himself. His hair is even more disheveled afterward and the thought of it being that way because you're in bed together turns you on.

Even though you've napped together endlessly, you've never seen this much of his body, and you sigh with pleasure drinking in the width of his shoulders, his flat stomach. He watches you just as avidly and the small smile returns as he sees the effect he has on you.

Leaning in, Belphie captures your lips once more in a steamy kiss. Running his hands up your shoulders, he cups your cheeks, then traces down your back and unhooks your bra. You respond by thrusting your own hands into his hair and pulling him to you.

He kisses his way down your chest and your stomach, where his lips leave little trails of fire on your skin. You try but can't remember ever feeling more aroused. He playfully nips your belly button as it goes by, and smiles when you jump and protest, eyes glinting.

Belphie stops between your legs, breathing out slowly, and kisses up one of your thighs. At the top he hugs it to his face, cheek pressing into the flesh. Pausing, he looks at you sideways and says, "I've wanted to do this since we met".

Taking his time, he hooks your panties with one finger and pulls them down. Admiring the view, he runs a finger down your core, lightly teasing your clit. You sigh, then jump when he gives a jerk. "You're so fucking wet down here" he utters in awed tones.

Seeing you so excited for him seems to unhinge him a little. Looking at your soaked slit with total attention, he raises his finger to his lips and lightly sucks off your excitement. His eyes flutter close and a low groan of desire escapes him. Leaning in, he buries his face in your folds. His soft tongue pushes roughly against your swollen clit and it's your turn to gasp.

He continues to work on you for a few minutes. The pleasure overwhelms you, but still, you want him deeper. Parts of yourself you aren't familiar with are showing up and demanding to be satisfied. You try to stretch your legs further and wider apart so his tongue can reach every needy part of you. More than happy to help, he greedily tongues your tight hole. "B-Belphie!" Your voice rises as you near your climax. He reaches one hand up and laces your fingers through his. "Go ahead, MC...I've got you, you're safe. I want to taste you when you cum." Soothed, you let yourself go fully, shuddering, waves of euphoria threatening to drown you. "Mmmm..." Belphie says contentedly. You can feel his lips as he captures every last drop on his tongue.

You collapse into the pillows as the pleasure ebbs away, but he doesn't give you time to rest. You feel manicured fingers slide into your slippery hole. At first, it's a gentle in-and-out getting you used to the sensation. You squirm, your flesh still sensitive from his earlier attentions. After a few moments, he picks up the pace and starts pushing into you faster and deeper, turning and curling the digits. Mewling with every thrust, you blush bright red, still a little self-conscious From his place cradled between your legs, he watches your face possessively. "I love your sounds", he says.

Pleasure begins to fill your abdomen once again as you near climax, and you involuntarily start to grind against his hand, desperate to increase the tempo. Loving your impatience, he dips his head down and bites you on the inside of your thigh, near your core. Surprised by the unexpected sensation, you're pushed over the edge, launching into oblivion for the second time. This time he can't help himself and covers your mouth in a passionate kiss, jealously swallowing your cries of pleasure.

Thoroughly ravaged, you look up at him through half-lidded eyes. Belphie looks back at you, spellbound by the state you're in. "B...Belphie", you manage to get out. "What, MC?" he softly answers. "I need you inside me", you pleadingly say to his violet eyes. He shudders and pulls back from you.

"Okay", he says, unfastening his pants button. He pulls them down and his length springs out, large, strong, and perfect. Dazzled, your mouth drops open slightly. He smiles confidently at you and crawls back up your body. Once there, he turns your hips so you're lying on your back with your hips to one side, lined up to your exposed slit on his knees. He runs his hands over your ass, squeezing it, testing its softness, before bringing his hands back to grip your hip with both hands. "Tell me if I hurt you", he says with unexpected tenderness and starts to push inside you.

Due to the position of your hips and your overall tightness, his first thrust is shallow, but the friction makes you both groan. Pulling out slowly, drawing out the pleasure, he pushes inside again, going slightly deeper. Your eyes roll back in your head. He feels blissful, way past anything you had imagined.

Using your hip to pull your ass against his lap, he starts to move more quickly. With abandon, you throw your arms against the covers above your head, your face falling to one side and breasts jiggling as the snap of his thrusts push you up and down. Also lost in pleasure, his eyes are closed and low groans rumble from his throat.

It doesn't take long for you to climax again, and then again. Your walls clenching tightly around him, each climax earns you a growl, but Belphie shows no signs of giving you mercy. Finally, even though you wish it could last forever, he thrusts deeply within you and you feel his warmth spread into your abdomen.

Completely spent, you lay together in the candlelight, your head on his chest, legs intertwined. Your core aches sweetly. He holds you close. Happier than you've felt in your entire life, you both start to drop off. As you do, you raise your head to look at him, and you see he's already asleep. Full of affection, your chin on his chest, you breathe, "Thank you for granting my wish". Seconds later, fading into darkness you hear him whisper, "I love you, too".

#obey me swd #obey me reader insert #obey me smut #obey me!#obey me #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #belphie x mc #swd belphie #belphie #swd: obey me #obey me writing #obey me imagines

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

So I know that Heather has helped Sirius a lot with his family issues and I loved your last fic about him and baking. Do you think you could write something about Remus going to Heather about Greyback, like before their first game against Vegas?

Of course! The other therapy fic is here for anyone interested, and SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW for therapy, discussion of past injury/ trauma

The room was quiet. Soft. Remus clenched his fists, feeling his short nails dig into the meat of his palm as he kept his eyes focused on the floor. Heather sat across from him, silent and warm and absolutely without judgement. Push me! he wanted to shout. Make me talk to you so everything comes out at once!

“I—” he began, then faltered. She said nothing, just kept looking at him with the same gentle neutrality. The room was quiet.

Part of him wanted to cry. Part of him wanted to scream. Part of him wanted to curl up into a ball and numb himself to the world so he could finally, finally let go of the ball of nerves clogging his chest and pushing painfully on his heart.

“Sirius doesn’t deserve this,” he said at last.

“Sirius isn’t here, and it’s not up to you to decide what he deserves. He’s perfectly capable of making those decision for himself. What are you worried about, Remus?”

He leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes. “I’m a neurotic mess that’s offloading my trauma onto him when he has enough to worry about on his own. It’s been years. I should be over this.”

“Please don’t diminish your trauma.” Her voice was so kind it hurt. “You went through a terrible thing. You survived, and you have done a beautiful job of making a life or yourself. But it makes sense that you would be anxious about this when—”

“I’m not anxious,” he interrupted. “Well, I am, but—but I’m sad and I’m angry all the time now and I’m scared out of my fucking mind.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want him to hurt me again.” His throat tightened.

“That’s a valid fear. You have every right to those feelings.”

“Every time I think about the game I feel like I’m going to throw up. Or punch a wall. Maybe both.”

“What do you do instead?”

“Read. Go for a walk.” Shut down.

She gave him an inquisitive look. “What else?”

Remus swallowed hard. “I stop talking. I try to shut everything else off. I sleep, if I can.”

“What do you think will help?”

Breaking Fenrir’s face. “Playing the game, so I know he doesn’t have power over me anymore.”

“You don’t have to play the game to know that,” she said. Her shirt was a gentle blue, like ocean waves or the lake at his parents’ cabin. He avoided looking at her face and sniffled. “You’re not a mess, and you’re not a burden. You are having a very normal response, actually. I’m glad you’re talking to me about it.”

“I don’t know what to do.” His voice was hoarse; fragile. The words burned like acid, but it felt better to get them out at last.

“You don’t have to. Not right now, at least.” Tears blurred the carpet’s pattern into continuous beige and he inhaled harshly through his nose. “You’ve been trying to act like your normal self, but that’s not helping, is it?”

Remus shook his head.

“Bottling up your feelings is not a good way to cope, Remus.” A tissue box appeared next to his knee and he took one with a shaky hand and a muttered thanks. “Coming to me to let this out and work through it was a really, really good choice. How much time do you have until the game?”

“Eight days.” And four hours.

She jotted something down on her clipboard. “I’d like to get at least two more appointments in during that time. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah.”

“Remus, can you look at me for a second?”

He gathered up his frayed courage and swiped at his face with his sleeve before raising his head. She offered him a small smile.

“You can do this, and I’m proud of you.”

“Right.” His voice cracked as two more tears slipped out.

“This is not just any game, and you have shown immense bravery so far by not treating it like it is. Channel that into your playing. Take that power back from him. There is nothing he can do to you out there that you can’t push back against. I know this has been weighing on you for so long, but you don’t have to be afraid of him anymore.”

“But I am.”

“That’s why I’m here, remember?” The sides of her eyes crinkled in reassurance. “We’re going to work this out, even after you’ve played that game. Whatever the scoreboard says at the end, you’ll win either way. Now let’s work on some strategies to calm down when you’re overwhelmed.”

----------------------------

“Thank you for doing this,” Remus mumbled into the pillow. He groaned as Sirius’ hands found a knot of tension in his mid-back and felt him laugh above him.

“There?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Christ, your muscles are like rocks right now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, just—”

“No.” Remus patted his thigh and Sirius slung his leg back over, allowing him to sit up. “No, I’m sorry for not talking to you when I was upset about Fenrir. That wasn’t fair to you.”

Sirius’ face softened and he kissed him slowly, as if savoring Remus’ lips as he cupped the side of his face. “Hey, don’t talk like that. All’s forgiven. Do you feel better after talking to Heather?”

“Loads. I’m seeing her again on Tuesday and Thursday, so we might have to cancel date night if it’s rough.”

“Okay.”

He made it sound so simple, so easy. Easy in a way that always took Remus by surprise. You actually care. The thought struck him like a bolt from the blue sometimes, that wild idea that Sirius didn’t mind cancelling the one night a week they set aside for just them in case Remus had a breakdown. He smiled, and kissed him again. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Do you want me to keep rubbing your back?”

“Is that even a question?” Remus snorted, rolling over again with a contented sigh. Sirius’ palms were broad and the perfect temperature as they pushed down with the gentlest pressure, smoothing out more internal turmoil that external; Remus felt a buzz travel up his spine and let out a slow breath, closing his eyes. This was safe. This was home. This was calm. He could be untouchable.

#remus lupin #sirius black #heather #coops #vaincre #my fic #fanfic #lumosinlove #therapy #massage

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

Levi doesn't know what is killing him more - the excruciating pain in his leg, the constant boredom or sympathy mixed with adoration he keeps seeing in the eyes of people around him.

Adoration, and, to some degree, even sympathy is much better that unabashed hatred and disgust, and Levi should be thankful to Onyakopon for finding him a hospital that doesn't treat him like an abomination.

Nonetheless, Levi would rather left alone, far away from curious patients, kind doctors and caring nurses.

All this sudden attention, all this impersonal concern... It's a good thing, Levi thinks. He wants to like it.

But he doesn't.

Truth be told, he hates it.

He wants to go back to the way things were before. He wants to go back to the infirmary in Survey Corps. There, the doctors weren't at all nice. They grumbled and scolded every soldier, complaining that they were wasting their lives for nothing. Levi used to hate them all. But now he wants to go back, there, to Survey Corps, to his comrades- to everything he's lost.

***

There is a nurse, who visits him every morning. She opens the windows, letting in sunlight and warm wind. She brings medicine - bitter and viscous, and she tries to sweeten it with her smile.

It doesn't work, though, not quite. Her smile just isn't sweet enough.

She redresses his wounded leg, a sad mist going over her eyes as she looks at the mess of bones, lacerated skin and muscles.

Levi doesn't ask what she sees there. He doesn't ask if he'll be able to walk again or not. In the very beginning, when he was just transferred here, he used to ask about it every morning.

"You'll be up and running in no time," doctors and nurses assured him in unison.

They don't do that anymore. And that, Levi assumes, is an answer in of itself.

After her morning checkup, the nurse returns at noon, bringing him his lunch and another shot of medicine.

If he has no visitors, she spends the afternoon with him, reading a book or fruitlessly attempting to spark up a conversation.

She asks about their struggle against Eren, Battle of Earth and Heaven as they call it now, but there is nothing Levi can say about it, except that it was a pointless massacre, started by a foolish boy.

He doesn't wish to talk about it, doesn't want to even think about it. The others have forgiven him, Levi knows they did, but he can't forget so easily. There is an ugly, dark feeling inside him, a spanless anger that will never go away.

Too many had died, too many lives were lost because of Eren. Men, women, children, Levi can't even think about it, still can't quite imagine what a monster the little boy with bright eyes became.

And now that little boy had taken lives, too many of them. All of them break Levi's heart, but there is one of them that hurts the most, that makes it hard to wake up because sometimes he just can't seem to find a reason to.

When he refuses to talk about the mess that was the Battle of Earth and Heaven, when he ignores the question about the war between Marley and Paradise, the nurse asks him about his dreams.

And the question is so sudden, spoken so out of blue that it takes Levi a while to get his thoughts into order.

Dreams... He's not sure he's ever had one that was solely his own. He's more used to following someone else's dreams - he shared the dream to get out of the Underground with Farlan and Isabel, he wanted to eliminate all titans and see the world behind the walls alongside his comrades from Survey Corps, he longed to start a life Hange had described to him.

But now all of them are gone, and he's all alone. There is no one he can share a dream with.

But I'm still here, Levi reminds himself. He's still here, still alive. And if he can't follow someone else's dream, maybe, it's time to get a dream of his own.

"I'm thinking about starting a tea shop..." he whispers.

"Well, that's a start," the nurse smiles, and Levi slowly relaxes.

***

"She's lovely," Onyakopon remarks during one of his visits.

The nurse has just left the room, after feeding Levi his medicine and putting a fresh bouquet of flowers on his bedside table.

Levi shrugs in answer to Onyakopon's words. The nurse is lovely - long blond hair, pretty green eyes. She is full of life, she looks so young, but then again... Maybe, she's not as young as he thinks she is. Maybe, it's him who feels much older than he looks.

"You know," Onyakopon smiles, looking at the flowers the nurse brought. "If you ever wish to..."

"I don't," Levi cuts him off, his tone harsh.

He knows what Onyakopon wants to say. Sees in his eyes the same way he hears it in Gabi and Falco's awkward hints.

But he doesn't want to meet someone new, doesn't want to start a new life. He wants his own life back, the one that was promised to him but denied. The one he dreamt about whenever things became too frantic.

Just get through this, he used to tell himself, get through this and this is it, you'll have your chance, you'll get a shot at having a normal, happy life.

And now he got through this. However, Hange didn't.

***

The time goes and soon, much sooner than Levi expected, the doctors tell him that he's ready to be discharged.

Levi doesn't know how to feel about this. He used to hate hospitals with passion and ached to get out as fast as possible. Hospitals meant being out of loop, meant boredom and pitying looks from everyone around him.

However now... He's not nearly as eager to leave as he was before. He already feels lost inside his small, one-bed ward. What is going to happen when he has to move forward? How is he going to find his place in a world he doesn't even know?

He's done all of it before, though, two times already. He left the Underground and discovered a world with bright sun, faraway stars and harsh storms alongside Farlan and Isabel. He found the ocean and learnt about the rest of the world with his team and his Hange.

But they're not here anymore. Farlan's soft voice and Isabel's delighted laugh don't ring in his ears. He doesn't have Erwin's calm, determined presence to show him the path forward. Hange's gentle, caloused hand doesn't hold his anymore.

It's not the first time he has to navigate through a strange, unknown world. But it's the first time he does it all by himself.

***

It's his last evening in the hospital, and the nurse is sitting beside him, the book in her hands long forgotten as she carefully studies his profile.

"So," she quietly begins, hands on her knees. "We talked about war and dreams... And what about love?"

Love is dead, Levi wants to say, but is it really?

He looks at the window behind nurse's shoulder, his eyes tracing the faint light emitting from the stars. Even here, in the city, they're bright. Just like her eyes.

And if he strains his hearing a bit, he can hear laughter ringing through the night. It reminds him of her too.

These days, almost everything reminds him of Hange.

It's natural, of course. She saved the world and, before that, she saved him. She left her traces all over, even on him. Every time he looks in the mirror or touches his face, he is reminded of that quiet night, of her gentle touch and her soothing, albeit frantic words.

Hange isn't dead, people like her don't really die, they just leave this world for a while.

And his love... it might have died, but it's not dead. It will always live inside of him, in the depth of his heart that he had devoted to her.

"Love..." he starts, still staring up at the sky. "It hurts. It breaks your heart, it leaves you hollow and empty. And yet... those small moments you share, that short-lived bliss... It's worth all the pain."

"And your love?" the nurse asks, her eyes shining. "Were they worth it?"

"She was," Levi says, but quickly corrects himself. His love might have died, but she's not dead. She just left. Levi can't leave now, he has a little tea shop he has to open and he wants to do at least something, whatever he still can, to make sure that the world she gave them won't disappoint her. But when his time will run out, he will leave too, and then they will meet again, he's sure. "She is still worth it," he murmurs and smiles for the first time since Hange left.

#mmmmmmm i guess it's a bit too angsty for a wednesday night :/#levihan

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Better Man.

~~~~We might still be in love, if you were a better man. ~~~~

Taehyung x OC

Rating 18 +

Angst.

Implied Infidelity in the past.

Chapter 1 ~ Walk out the first time.

"Are you okay?" My mother's soft voice came from behind me and i panicked, hurriedly swiping at the tears that were streaking down my face. Heart pounding, I grabbed a bunch of tissues from the dresser, patting my face down hurriedly , making sure to keep my back to her.

"I'm fine, Mom." I said , voice surprisingly steady as I turned around to smile weakly at her. She stood near the doorway, a petite woman of fifty with greying hair and too many wrinkles.

I thought she looked older than she was and i knew I had a part to play in that. Sighing, I tried not to cry more, moving to gently take my son out of her arms.

He was four years old, fast asleep and smiling sweetly in his slumber. He had downy black hair, feather soft and warm brown eyes. He looked incredibly like his father, the resemblance stunning even though he was so young. I stared at him some more, laying him down on the bed and brushing the hair off his face.

"Are you sure there is no mistake? Taehyung ssi wouldn't hurt us like this..." My mother said, sounding broken and I felt a pang of sympathy. But also annoyance.

Us.

Us....like she had an equal share in the hurt I was feeling.

I was the one getting a divorce but my mother made it sound like it was personal to her as well. Like somehow, the fact that she now had to meet her friends and tell them that her daughter was divorced could compare to the pain I was feeling. To the sheer anguish that was filling me.

To be fair though, my mother had loved Taehyung very much. Her favorite son-in-law . My sister's husband had been a mean drunkard who had brought a lot of misery to our family. Taehyung by contrast had been a loving, filial son in law. He had cared deeply for my parents, paid for my father's funeral ( even though the man itself was nothing more than a drunk , cheating fool who had abandoned us ) and he had been the most kind man .

I swallowed.

Maybe , you should have forgiven him. Maybe , you shouldn't have divorced him . So, he slept with another woman. Fine. It was one night... just one night. you should have gotten over it! Was it worth it to spend all these countless nights alone? To break your mother's heart a thousand times over?

The funny thing was, i had forgiven him. Maybe right after I had found out. He had stood there, looking shell-shocked and horrified and his eyes had begged me for forgiveness and my heart had cracked , the way it always did whenever I saw him in distress. And when he had looked me in the eye and said, " I’m sorry, Jang mi..." I had forgiven him right then and there.

But it was the forgetting that was hard. The fear that it would happen again. The fear that somehow, I was the reason he strayed. And that kind of fear can be debilitating. For the first three weeks, I'd tried to pretend it hadn't happened. I had tried hard to see him the way I had always seen him but it had been impossible. everytime I saw him, my heart had broken anew. It had been hard but I had to accept that things would never be the same. That I would forever look at him and remember what he’d done. That I would forever wonder if he would do it again.

So we had done the wise thing.

At first a break.

A few days apart to get our head on straight. Then I’d found a job and I had to move closer to the office to make the commute easy. And then suddenly, I wasn’t seeing him even during the weekends , to spend time as family for our son’s sake. And just like that , a whole year had passed and we were separated. Only meeting to hand Hoshi over to each other.

"I'm sorry mother." I said softly. I knew that she blamed me, a whole lot for the separation.

People with children didn't leave each other over infidelity in my country. You hit your husband, denied him from your bed maybe but you didn't break up a family over one night of bad decisions. You just didn't .

But for me, it was beyond the act. It was the broken trust, the shock of knowing that some other woman had given him something I couldn't, the fact that he had even wanted it from another woman had been enough for me to crumble on the inside.

But, none of it mattered now.

He wanted a divorce. Officially. Wanted to end it for real.

It was jarring, how badly it shook me. I felt unaccountably lost and confused and disoriented. I couldn't imagine not being Taehyung’s wife , i realized with a stunning sense of self realization.

Call me irrational, but apparently, I couldn't stop thinking of him as my husband , even after two years. Soon he wouldn't be my husband.

He would be my ex -husband.

i hated that word.

It had such a plethora of negative connotations to it. When you hear it , you just brace yourself for unpleasantness.

Because it is unpleasant. A marriage ending, a family breaking, feelings hurt , hearts shattered, angry words tossed...its all a very unpleasant experience for everyone involved.

An ex husband was seldom a harbinger of happiness, more often a reminder of choices gone wrong, regrets and wasted time. and I didn’t want to associate Taehyung with a word like that.

Taehyung who was still the kindest, warmest human being I knew. The best father in the world.

I felt like someone had sucked all the strength out of me.

I didn’t really want to think about the call I’d gotten from Taehyung last night. An appointment with a divorce lawyer. It had been followed by an apology because apparently, someone in the law firm had let the info leak. And now it was all over the sleazy tabloids that fed on people’s misery.

It was impossible to escape it too, Taehyung was famous. An idol. And actor. The country's sweetheart. And he was the epitome of perfection. The beautiful, talented actor with an impeccable record of well behavior.

I knew that literally everyone on the planet thought he was a literal angel.

I remembered how much , by contrast, I had been hated when I'd married him.

I could just imagine how much more it would all be this time around. And i wondered if it bothered Taehyung too. Did he perhaps wish he’d never met me

It had been sheer luck that we had met....

In fact, if Jimin's car hadn't broken down right outside our home on that cold December night, I wouldn't have even met Taehyung. A great cosmic shift, somewhere some butterfly flapped its wing a certain way and suddenly, Jimin’s car ran over a thumbtack and his phone was dead so while he tried to fix the damage , Taehyung just had to knock on our home and I had been the one to open it.

Boom. That was it. Love at first sight.

I had been a high school kid and he had been barely nineteen. Fresh faced and cheerful , the struggling idol from a small company. He hadn't been surrounded by fans or chased by saesangs. He hadn't had security tailing him. No daesangs, BBMAs, or acting awards. No blockbuster movies to his credit , no chart-bursting songs either .

And I had fallen in love with that version of him.

The hardworking, talented young man who worked twice as hard as anyone around him.

That's right. You've loved him for fifteen years. So it's understandable that you're upset. Now, maybe you can move on too. Go on a few of those blind dates that Jiyoung is always setting you up on. Go live your life instead of being a zombie. Get a hair cut. Dye your hair red. Do something to get your life in order.

"I still find it hard to believe that he would want a divorce. Jangmi yah... did you tell him you forgave him? Tell him you wanted to try again..." My mother said again and the distress in her voice was equal parts heartbreaking and exasperating.

"Mother, I don't want to try again . We aren't married anymore. It's over, whatever it was between us. "

Whatever it was.

How cruel, to have all that love, all that affection reduced to a phrase like that.

What a pity.

"But what about Hoshi? He needs his father..." My mother cried out and I willed myself not to snap. She means well, I thought miserably.

"He has a father. Taehyung is an excellent father and you know that. Don’t start that again.”

My mother sighed.

"I still feel that this wouldn’t happen if you tried a little bit. He’s a good boy. Such a good boy and you could never do anyone better. Why are you so full of pride, Jangmi... so prideful...you should be a little humble. Think of the kind of man he is...where would you find a man like that ? And moreover .... Taehyung loves you. i know he does." My mother said stubbornly.

I sighed, feeling my fingers shake from the effort not to scream. I wasn’t strong enough to have this conversation with her. Not now. Possibly never. Taehyung did love me. Had never made any effort to hide it. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t.

And I wanted to yell at my mother she was at least partially to blame for me walking out on Taehyung.

My father had left us for another woman , when I was twelve. I had seen the toll it had taken on my mother and I just knew that I would never let a man do that to me. My mother had later confided in me that it wasn’t the first time. He had done it before. A lot of times. And my mother had always forgiven him. Let him back into our lives.

And one night, drunk on soju she had confided between hiccups, ‘ I wish I’d walked out the first time.”

And that had stuck with me.

Walk out the first time.

If he cheats on you , walk out the first time. Don’t stick around waiting for him to do it to you again. Walk out the first time.

And so I had.

“ Should I talk to him? Tell him you’ve changed your mind? “ My mother began and I felt my patience snap.

“No!! Could you just, for the love of God, stay out of this, ma? It’s over. Our marriage is over and it has been over for a long time. A piece of paper doesn’t really change that, does it? Its not my fault you can’t get over it but that’s a you problem. And you need to fix it yourself. “ I shouted.

My mother immediately recoiled, eyes shuttering down.

“Of course. You know the best. Who cares how anyone else feels, right, Jang Mi? You always know best.” She said softly, and I exhaled, shaken. There it was. The guilt trip. It was never ending.

Please... I just need to go now.” I moved to grab my bag, :” I need to go get ready for the meeting with the lawyers tomorrow. You can keep Hoshi with you tonight. I’ll come pick him up after I’m done and then I’ll drop him off at his father’s place.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With Taehyung and I, our break up hadn’t been terrible.

It hadn’t been terrible because our own penchant for being terrible had always been very minimal. We didn’t do swearing or fights or threats and it always annoyed our friends that we got along so well. That it was so easy for us to forgive and move on with each other . That we were the one couple who didn’t hold grudges or bring up past mistakes.

Which is why, when we did break up, none of our friends had tried to change our minds over it. They had accepted it rather calmly, shocked at first because it was so out of the blue but not opposed to the idea itself . They just trusted us to know the right thing to do because we were easily the most mature , the most level headed couple in the entire group. We were usually the sounding boards , the voice of reason in whatever petty conflict our friends were involved in .

So when it was us, needling a little advice, a little guidance, our friends had been woefully ill equipped to help. They had merely hummed and nodded and empathized. Maybe that was another reason I’d left. I hadn’t considered the alternative. No one had asked me to consider the alternative.

Our friends had watched us drift apart watched us break up, but they hadn’t really asked us why.

Because if something had caused Kim Taehyung and Jang Mi to break up, man, that must’ve been a really huge issue.

So the break up had been amicable. Gradual and slow but mostly amicable, eased by our mutual love for our son. We wanted him happy and he was happy when we were happy. So we put on a front, laughed and joked in front of him and let him have some semblance of normalcy in his life.

It wasn’t easy.

From him, it had been nothing but a mess of heated glances, touches laced with intent and eyes begging forgiveness . every gaze of his was a silent scream for a second chance that I was not at all ready to give.

Because for me, the raw hurt and anger and frustration that bubbled up every time I saw him , it had nowhere to go. It stayed churning in my gut, made everything bitter and unpalatable and I wanted to hurt him for hurting me. How could I think of a second chance when the hurt from the first, was still so fresh, an open wound festering.

Self esteem in tatters, I had hated him fiercely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The meeting was at his company, and I arrived at nine in the morning, with a few more minutes to spare. I knew the place like the back of my hand, was here at least once a week either to pick or drop Hoshi off and I knew that the conference room in the third floor was sound proof and cut off from the rest of the building for extra privacy.

Which was a little too late because I’d found two tabloid newspapers waiting outside my apartment this morning.

I opened the door carefully, surprised to see Taehyung sitting in one of the chairs, bent over a sheaf of paper on the table and next to him a leggy girl in a small skirt hovered, fingers resting lightly on his shoulder, bent at the optimum angle to show him her curves.

I sighed, looking away.

It was way too early for this.

“Mia!” Taehyung’s voice made me look up, and I watched as he stood up, pushing the chair away and moving to me . He was easily the most good looking man in the country. And he looked so good at thirty five that it was impossible to look away from him.

He was dressed in a pale blue shirt and black slacks and it never amazed me, how good clothes fit him.

I took in the broad shoulders, thick arms and the lean waist, the carefully styled hair and the breathtakingly beautiful face and sighed when he kept coming closer, hands held out. .

Of course, the customary hug.

i let him wrap his arms around me, my face buried in the comforting warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne filling my brain . He always smelled so good it made my heart hurt. I tried not to let myself get carried away. Tried to remind myself that this wasn’t anything more than a.....

A facade ? Or was it? Was his affection genuine?

Was I just too cynical?

I shook my head, pulling away and smiling a little at the genuine venom in the leggy girl’s face.

“Are you okay? Where’s Hoshi?” Taehyung brushed the hair off my face, eyes warm and I wondered if he’d forgotten we were here to get a divorce.

Whenever we met, Taehyung acted like we were still together.

No, that wasn’t it.

He just didn’t act like we had broken up. He was affectionate and open and cooperative. It always left me in a sort of limbo, unable to navigate our relationship with clear boundaries. There were no line to stop myself from crossing, because he just didn’t draw them.

“ Ms. Lee says we just have to go over the details like the alimony and the custody and the division of assets and then we can just proceed. Get it all finalized. “ He said casually, when I moved away and sat on the chair opposite him.

“Okay .” I said casually.

He smiled and turned back to the girl next to him.

“I’ll join you after the meeting Lisa.” he gave her a nice wide smile and the girl practically bloomed under the attention before bowing curtly in my direction. I watched her walk away, slightly amused.

“Bit younger than your usual type.” I commented , glancing at him. He gave me a look.

“I’m not dating her.” He shrugged.

“Does she know that?” I retorted.

It was dumb. Uncalled for. I was being a bitch, really but the urge to evoke some kind of reaction from Taehyung was something I’d never really out grown. I liked getting under his skin.

Taehyung sighed and gave me a little smirk.

“Are you jealous, Mia mine?” He teased.

It felt a little like someone had dug a nine inch dagger straight into my heart.

That stupid nickname.

God I couldn’t bear it.

Swallowing i looked away.

“Sorry. “ he said quietly, a few seconds later.

I nodded curtly.

“Don’t do it again.” I said hoarsely.

“Why not?” He whispered gently.

I groaned.

“Taehyung... “

“it’s just a name...why does it bother you so much?” He whispered.

“The same reason you’re asking me for a divorce.” I said softly.

He blinked.

“Mia...”

“Because we both know its time to stop.” I said quietly. “ Stop dancing around each other , stop doing...whatever it is we’ve been doing these past two years and give our relationship a name. “

“I’m not very fond of labels.” He shrugged. I glared at him.

“Well tough luck. Labels are good. Labels are great. They let you draw boundaries. “ I retorted.

“You sound like you’ve had enough of me.”

“Well, haven’t you had enough of me?” I snapped.

“Not even close.” He leaned forward gently, eyes pinning me to the table with a gaze so strong he may as well have used his body. And it didn’t help that two years wasn’t enough time to forget how it would feel if he had used his body. How it would feel to be stretched out on that table, him on top of me, hands working my clothes open, lips kissing their way down my jaw.

I could almost taste him, taste the minty freshness of his breath, feel his tongue in my mouth, the hardness of him inside me. My thighs clenched because I hadn’t gotten laid in two fucking years and even if i did, no one would ever compare to the man in front of me.

“Mr. Kim? Mrs. Kim? “

The lawyer’s voice broke the spell and i straightened, swallowing. Ms. Lee had walked in , and I watched her close the conference door behind her before locking it gently.

She was young, dressed in a business suit , a no nonsense bun and had small round framed glasses. She gave me a nice smile, shook hands with us both and placed her briefcase on the table before glancing between us.

“Shall we begin?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : its gonna be a bumpy ride.

#taehyung angst #taehyung smut #taehyung fics #bts fics #taehyung fanfic #bts smut #bts fic #bts fanfic

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kybee1497 · 3 years

Text

Julie likes to borrow people’s clothes as a comfort thing. A visual, sensory, physical reminder that she’s loved and she has a little piece of that person with her sometimes. It helps her feel more grounded and present and it helps when she has bad days.

Before her mom died, it was less about comfort and a little more about being one of her love languages.

She was only friends with Flynn for four months before she ‘stole’ Flynn’s monster slippers for a few days. Now it’s a standard part of their Christmas presents to each other. They get a new pair of slippers and wear them once or twice before swapping for the new year.

Before things went down with Carrie, the three of them had clothes stashed at each other’s houses and weren’t shy about wearing whatever they grabbed first. Julie came to school once when she was 12 wearing Flynn’s cheetah print hat, Carries pink sweatshirt, and her own jeans she’d doodled on.

She borrowed her dads shirts for playing pirate queen when she was little.

But after her mom died it became a little more about keeping the people she loved closer to her. A reminder that they were there and loved her and everything was okay. And she wears her moms clothes sometimes to help her feel a bit closer. Her mom was gone but sometimes, when julie pulled a sweater out from the back of the closet, it still smelled like her moms perfume, and when she wrapped herself up in the warm, soft material it almost felt like being wrapped in her moms arms when she was small. For just a minute, it’s like having her back again. Then the feeling fades and Julies left with a time worn sweater with its fading scent, and it’s still enough, for now. It’s not the same, not at all, but it makes it a little bit easier to get through the day when all she wants to do is crawl back into bed with her head under the pillow and forget the world for the day.

She wears one of Carlos’s hats the entire week he’s gone at baseball camp the first summer after her mom died, reminding herself that it’s fine, and Carlos is fine, and he’ll be home in a week, and everything will be fine.

We already see in canon that she wears a lot of her moms clothes for performances because it helps her to feel closer to her mom. You can’t tell me julie wouldn’t have her own. Eventually she stops wearing her moms clothes for everyday activities, but even years down the road, Julie still incorporates something of her moms into each performance outfit. A dahlia pin, a necklace, a belt, etc.

Slowly as Julie heals and grows, borrowing clothes slowly regains some of the playfullness and affection it had before. It’s still got some of the needing an anchor bit that it had before but it’s not the only thing keeping her afloat anymore.

The first summer after Julie and the Phantoms was formed. Julies summer wardrobe consisted half of her own clothes and half Luke’s cut off shirts because “It’s really fucking hot outside Luke and these are more comfortable than anything else I own.” Luke just about dies a second time the first time he pops into Julie’s room while she’s laying across the foot of her bed, scribbling in her song book, and he sees that she’s wearing a pair of cut offs and his Rush shirt. You would think after the first few times he would be used to it but the boys brain glitches every time. Flynn thinks it’s hilarious.

She falls asleep in the studio one night and walks up warm and content with Reggie’s leather jacket draped over her. The boys are out for the morning and she’s running late so she slips her hands in the sleeves and wears it to school for the day. Luke trips over the air when she walks in that afternoon wearing it because Julie and leather jacket and pretty and adorable. He doesn’t even clock that it’s Reggie’s until Julie is handing it back at the end of the night with a soft smile and a thank you.

Julie wouldn’t dare to borrow Alex’s fanny pack, it’s sacred. No ones really sure exactly what he keeps in there but he always has exactly what they need. Reggie’s convinced it’s magic and Julie almost agrees, but Alex’s pink sweatshirt on the other hand, that’s fair game. It’s softer and cozier than it looks and it becomes julies new favorite thing. Alex is fine with it. Sometimes he grumbles about being cold but he just curls into Willie instead and always cuts her off when she offers it back.

Flynn won’t say it out loud but sometimes she buys clothes that are more Julies style than her own because Julie hates buying new clothes but she loves borrowing (and keeping) them and Julie needs some new, cute clothes in her wardrobe because while her boys may be cute, none of them have good fashion sense. Except for maybe Alex, but his style is more 90’s gay icon which is incredible but not really Julies thing. So flynn gets a new sweater or a dress and wears it a few times, maybe leaves it out when julie comes over or throws an extra jacket in her backpack on days that she knows julie was up late writing with Luke and would likely forget her lunch, a text book and at least a jacket on her mad dash out the door. It’s what Flynn called working the system. Julie got to show her affection and cute clothes, and Flynn got to play stylist. It was the best of both worlds.

A year later, when Carrie wants to talk and apologizes, when they slowly work their way back into a friendship. Julie fishes one of the triple threat shirts she had stashed in the back of her closet that she liked to forget she kept and pulls it on under a hoodie before school that day. Thankfully they’d messed up when they were ordering the shirts and ordered adult sizing instead of youth. So it fit perfectly at 17 where they’d been night shirts at 8. Interestingly enough, Carries also wearing a sweatshirt that day and Julie catches a glimpse the familiar lettering of -antoms on the back of the shirt underneath when they’re changing for PE. The day they both wore something that reminded them of the other without talking about it or showing it off, was the day the tentative part of tentative friendship was finally removed. There’s still some days where old hurts ache a bit more than usual because even small wounds leave scars, and some of the wounds were far from small. Sometimes Carrie starts to mention rose and Julie flinches. Just a bit, it wouldn’t even be super noticeable if they hadn’t known each other that well, if carrie hadn’t spent a year watching Julie flinch every time she opened her mouth. Carrie hates a lot of things about herself, but that one, that one was by far the worst. Not everything can be forgiven, but they can move forward and sometimes that’s enough.

Idk this got super long and idk if it makes sense anymore and I’m too lazy to edit it but JULIE MOLINA IS A CLOTHES THIEF and I love that for her. Also I might fuck around and flesh this out into a fic later when I’m not so slammed with wips.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie molina #rose molina #jatp hc #the molina family #luke patterson #julie and the himbos #alex mercer #jukebox #reggie peters #willex #flynn taylor #carrie wilson #jatp headcanon #kiwi makes shit up

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

Hello again! Can I have prompt 46 with Ash? Tnx

Recently I told my friend that I had a lot of requests about him and she laughed about it. She doesn't really like him, but she gives him credit since he looks good.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, extreme paranoia, isolation, desperation, mentions of kidnapping,overprotectiveness, mentions of self-harm, Stockholm syndrome

Prompt 46: "Can I...can I kiss you?"

It was nothing less than a miracle that someone like you existed, someone who was cleansed from all the sins of this world and the corruption of humans. You were radiating with everything Ash had wanted for this world, a world that he wanted to give to you. It was the minimum from what she should and would do for you, it was his duty as your very own guardian angel. A role he was utterly dedicated too, devoted to his very own angel who forgave him his sins every time.

It was true, you had forgiven him his crimes already a long time ago as everything around you had started to fade away and you had lost count of how long exactly you had been stuck in here. Somewhere around one and a half years would be your expectation, looking on how the seasons had changed through the large and closed windows which symbolized your loss of freedom. But you didn't mind anymore.

You only needed and wanted Ash, your guardian angel.

There was clear tension in his body, you could feel how he stiffened up under your embrace. He had never really received that sort of affection before from anyone nor would he have ever wanted it from all those worthless lives walking around freely. You were the only person he actually wanted any sort of touches from. That was how pure you were, even causing someone like him craving something and falling victim to his own desires. And it was his own fault for being so weak-minded. He didn't deserve you yet letting you perish outside would be an even greater sin. He had to keep you safe.

"My Queen...what are you doing?"

Being able to keep his composure was important in front of you, though he remembered to have failed multiple times in the past already. Severe punishment was the only thing he could think of to atone for his failures for not being good enough, for proving himself to be so incredibly useless. Even now he could feel some unhealed wounds aching a bit, but you didn't have to know about his weakness and incompetence.

You blinked slightly confused up at him when he asked you such an obvious question, but it soon turned into slight giggling that instantly plunged Ash's heart into painfully warm emotions and forced his eyes to get wet. It had taken a while until you had been able to look so happy after he had quickly rescued you from all the evil waiting to devour you. The distress he had felt back then could never be put in words and no burns, knifes and broken bones had been able to make up for what you had been suffering under. Even now it remained as a anxiety deeply stuck in his heart. But looking at you now, smiling at him and not staring with wide eyes filled with fear at him, was worth much more than his whole life could ever repay you.

"I’m hugging you. It’s just that you always look so worried and stressed over my safety and never appear to take a rest. Just now you did as well so I thought this might help you a bit. A strong hug can be more worth than thousand words after all. That’s what my mother told me at least when I was younger.”, you replied softly, pressing your face deeper into his chest with a content look on your face.

There was nothing Ash could think of for a few moments, instead he seared the scene in front of him deep into his brain, how you were currently buried into his chest, looking so happy and peaceful. So stunning and precious.

Tears were quick to escape his eyes only seconds later, his insides stirring up with warmth that stung him and yet baked him with something he hadn’t felt in so long. Comfort and peace.

This was exactly why he had to protect you with his very own life, no one was allowed to snuff out the light you carried inside of you and that was able to even share it’s warmth with him. You possessed too much kindness to understand, but normal humans only destroyed what they touched, ruining it with their greed.

He wouldn’t let them do the same to you.

He would kill everyone who would even do as much as getting too close.

He just had to guarantee that you would live.

But first of all he had to calm himself down or otherwise he might worry you even more than he seemed to have done already. The tears were quickly wiped away with his sleeves before Ash was able to look at you again, still feeling like he wanted to continue crying. His heart felt like it might burst at any moment.

“You have so much warmth and love inside of you that I don’t think I deserve any of it. You shouldn’t even be concerned about me, I merely do what I have to do as your guardian. If you were to fall victim to this damned place, I would perish as well. What use is an angel who can’t even protect their chosen one?”

Pain was twisting his voice and face a bit when he dared to imagine how a world without you would be, a world filled with grief and darkness for him. Letting his guard down would be a fatal mistake, he had seen the worst of this world and the humans and he knew that it would happen again. That was why he had to be like this for you were his heart beating outside his chest. If something were to ever happen to you...

The angel hadn't even noticed that he had already started crying again, fist tightened and body shaking whilst getting lost in fears of losing the one good and bright thing this world had still left.

"But for me you're more than just a guardian angel. You're my angel and I want you to feel happy as well. I want you to feel loved as well. You do so much for me, but I feel like I only cause you stress and uneasiness. Shouldn't you be happy because of me?", you asked him in slight protest, feeling sadness whilst seeing the man you had come to love like this again because of you. You had never seen him truly relaxed nor had you ever been able to show him your feelings. He wouldn't let you, not thinking that he deserved you.

His reaction was instant, suddenly falling on his knees upon hearing from what you had said that he had disappointed you yet again, the visible look of your sorrow only stabbing his fear deeper into his very soul.

"I-I am so sorry! I didn't know that you felt this way only because I was so selfish to only think about myself like this! I don't deserve your forgiveness and accept any sort of-"

When he felt the soft sensation of your hands cupping his stained cheeks, he abruptly stopped his rambling, trying to not choke on his own breath that had gotten irregular.

"You don't have to apologize to me. I don't want to hear you saying such things about yourself. Don't you understand? I am unhappy whenever you are like this, seeing yourself as so worthless and not deserving of my love. That's what hurts me so much. You're rejecting my feelings. I love you, Ash. And I want to know if you do too. Because if you do, please stop talking like this and behave so distantly."

Your voice conveyed every bit emotion that was going on inside of you in that moment, something that Ash noticed with widened eyes as well.

Silence was cut short by him when he realized that you wanted something crucial from him which he would gladly give you. He had never considered that you would ever consider his love as something you wanted, consider him as someone you loved. When had been the last time someone had been truly kind to him and loved him? He couldn't remember anymore.

"Of course I do. You should never doubt my feelings for you. I love you more than you could ever imagine. It's impossible to function without you.", he managed to reply with a shaking voice as he grabbed both of your hands in his own.

"Then why are you acting like this? Everyone deserves someone who loves them. Without love it's a very painful life, isn't it? That's why I am hurting as well. Let me love you and I promise that you'll be able to feel peace as well.", you muttered slightly embarrassed out, leaning your head down so your forehead could rest against his own.

Slight sobs were starting to catch up to Ash as he was staring in pure awe at you.

"Thank you. I'll be better and make sure that I won't cause you sadness anymore.", he pressed out, tightening his grip on your hands only the slightest bit so he wouldn't hurt you.

"I'm glad to hear that.", you replied with a sincere smile on your face, joy stirring your heart up just by seeing that for the first time since he had abducted you, Ash was looking relieved and less tense. He just looked extremely grateful.

"May I ask you for a favor then?", you requested with a certain idea in mind.

"I'll do anything for you.", Ash replied, sounding very emotional.

"I want to do something for you for once since you normally do anything for me."

Hesitation and clear dislike instantly shadowed his face, the thought of him asking something from you going against Ash's belief in all the wrong ways. You shouldn't have to do him favors.

"It doesn't have to be something difficult. It can be a really simple thing. Just...something that I can do for you this once. Please.", you begged slightly, seeing the angel already struggling. You knew how he felt about such things, he hated letting you do something for him and he had never done it before either. Ash saw it only upon himself to serve you which was another thing that sometimes made you feel guilty. You wanted to do more for him as well.

"Can I...can I kiss you?"

Maybe that had been more a slip of his tongue, but he had been slightly panicking since hadn't want to sadden you again nor had he wanted you to do physical work for him. It was supposed to be the other way around.

So when he had stared for a moment at your face, eyes locked on your lips, he had considered somewhere deep in his mind possibilities which he had been fantasizing about a few times before, but hadn't thought that they would actually have a change of happening.

In his opinion they were still sinful, it would take a while for him to get used to the idea that you wanted to receive physical affection and love from him. The first impulse when he realized what he had said was instantly apologizing, only to be interrupted before he could even start saying anything.

You had already leaned down to fulfill him his wish before he could take it back again.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere ash #yandere ash landers

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ieattaperecorders · 3 years

Text

May You Find Your Rest

Somewhere else. Two men who were not born in this reality lie in bed together, hold one another and unpack a few things. (Just 4k of cuddling and talking about feelings, really.)

Read on Ao3

---

It's dark in the small, quiet room where they sleep. Not completely, neither of them feels entirely safe in the dark anymore, so the curtain is always parted to let a sliver of light in.

Curled against Martin, Jon is warm and still and finally thinking of nothing. He's just starting to drift off when he feels him reach over and plant light, careful kisses on his cheek, on his temple, on the top of his brow. He sighs with pleasure. It would be so easy to keep drifting, to let himself sink into sleep as the one he loves kisses him softly and sweetly. But instead he opens his eyes, not really knowing why he does it.

Maybe it's the way Martin moves, slow and deliberate. Maybe there's a subtle a hitch in his breathing, something Jon senses without seeing or understanding. Something that tells him he shouldn't go to sleep. Not yet.

So he lies listening to the silence as Martin's hand moves over his side, outlining him. It nudges itself under the hem of his nightshirt, tracing the softness of his waist. Then, as if this hadn't been its destination all along, it brushes the wide, ragged scar over his stomach. A twinge (not sharp, not much more than a tingle) runs through his body. His breathing barely changes – it's not a gasp, just a slightly deeper inhalation. But Martin notices, hand hesitating, drawing back.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, and he sounds so horribly solemn.

"Not really," Jon says quietly. "Just a little sensitive. Scar tissue."

Gently, he places a hand over Martin's and presses it down into his abdomen, until it's covering the center of the scar. Jon has scars that are sensitive in other ways. Martin has learned to be careful around the thin line that cuts across his throat. Knows there are days when the chewed circles that pockmark his body itch uncontrollably, when he'll scratch himself bloody if he isn't thinking.

(In the safehouse, Martin had pulled the hand from his face and whispered don't. Had kissed his scars over and over, until he couldn't feel the itch, could only feel the gentle pressure of his lips and his kindness and love.)

He wants to say, it doesn't hurt when you touch me here. To show Martin that his body won't flinch from his touch. It wouldn't be his fault if it did. It wouldn't be either of their faults. But it doesn't, and he needs him to know that.

The hand relaxes against him. It moves in a slow arc, finding the edges of the wound, mapping and knowing it. Jon keeps his own hand in place, letting it move with his.

"I'm sorry," Martin says.

Jon brings a hand to his cheek. "So am I."

He wonders what Martin is apologizing for. For cutting the tether, letting them out? For the wound that could only be made by his hands? For not being able to let him go? No . . . Jon doubts he would be sorry for that.

Maybe it isn't an apology at all . . . maybe he's just sorry. Sorry he had to be hurt again.

"So am I," he repeats. "But it's done. We're here, now. Together, and alive. Despite it all."

Martin's head rests on the pillow, gaze turned to the side. He's subdued in a way that feels meaningful but that Jon can't identify. So he says nothing, lies still and lets his hand trail up the side of Martin's face, over his temple, around his ear. Affectionate touch, easier and less confusing than the jumble of words and questions swarming in his brain.

After a long silence, Martin says, "I wish you had trusted me."

" . . . What do you mean?"

"In the Panopticon. I just wish you'd trusted me enough to go along with the plan."

Jon frowns. "I . . . don't know if that was about trust."

"Wasn't it, though?"

"I didn't do what I did –" he pauses, rephrases. "I didn't kill Jonah because I thought you were lying, or going to betray me, or – or controlled by spiders. I didn't think your intentions were anything other than what you said. But I couldn't bear the thought of what we were doing . . . or I thought I couldn't. Clearly I could. In the end."

"Yeah. Well. Turns out both of us did things we didn't think we could," Martin says bitterly, thumb still tracing the scar.

"Funny how often that happens."

"You could have trusted that I knew what I was doing."

"But you didn't. None of us did . . . no one could in that situation."

"That includes you, you know," Martin frowns. "You kept going on about all you knew, but even you said you weren't unbiased. You don't think maybe the idea that the only way out was global euthanasia had anything to do with your own baggage?"

Another twinge, sharper this time. Without realizing, he'd pressed Martin's palm down harder than he should have, in where the nerves were still healing. He eases off.

". . . Maybe," he says eventually. "Probably. I doubt any of us were unbiased. How could we be?"

"But it was your biased plan you decided to go with. Like you always do. You always think you know better than everyone else--"

"I don't think that's entirely fair."

"It's not entirely unfair either."

He feels something stirring defensively in him. Then he stops. Assesses. "No," he says eventually. "I suppose it's not."

The hand is warm against his stomach, and he can feel the dampness of sweat just forming between their skins. It's not pleasant or unpleasant, just something he can feel, and he focuses on it for a while.

"You didn't trust me either, you know," he senses an objection coming, and he heads it off. "You were right not to. I wasn't trustworthy. You thought that I would go behind your back, and I did."

The tension that was rising deflates a little at the admission, and Martin's voice is gentle when he says, "you did."

"But I don't think you were lying when you said you trusted me." Jon adds. ". . . Do you?"

" . . . Fine, I get it. Trust is complicated and all that," Martin sighs, "it just. It hurts."

". . . I'm sorry."

Martin nods, is still for a moment, then leans forward and kisses him once. He kisses back.

"Do you regret it?"

"Which part?"

"Killing Jonah. Not waiting for us. Trying to go the other way."

Jon thinks of the hours before it happened. Of whimpering into Martin's chest, almost pleading, begging him to see. Horribly aware that Martin was as deeply set in his feelings as Jon, that there would be no budging for either of them.

He thinks of the moment he spent watching Martin's sleeping form, just before he climbed those stairs. Seeing his brow creased with unquiet dreams, and knowing that he was about to hurt him. He thinks of the terror, the dawning horror that fell over him as he saw what it all had been leading to.

"I don't know," he finally says. "I regret the pain you went through . . . I regret making you feel that."

There's a curved line trailing over Martin's forehead, just above his eye, which Jon follows with the edge of his thumb. The one on his shoulder is larger, took ages to heal, and there are more that travel down his back and arms. Places where the rubble struck him, before they both unraveled.

The scars aren't really what Jon is referring to when he talks about pain. But he supposes they're a part of it too.

". . . Do you?" he asks.

"Do I what?"

"Regret any of it?"

"I'm not sorry that I didn't let you stay in that tower and kill the entire world, if that's what you mean," he says firmly. "I'm sorry, but I'm never going to regret that."

"No . . . I wouldn't expect you to."

"I wouldn't have told the others to start if I'd known you'd already done it. But if I'd known that . . . that would've been it, right? We'd be stuck there."

"Unless the others went behind both our backs."

"What, you think Melanie wanted to stick a knife in you that badly?"

"I don't know about wanted. But I think Basira could have done it."

"Yeah . . . maybe."

". . . I'm sorry that I went behind yours."

Martin breathes into the space between their bodies, a long and expressive exhale. "I know. . . And I know you were hurting. And scared. I do know that."

"We both were."

"Yeah. Yeah . . ." he sighs. "I forgive you for it. I do. I don't want to hold onto that."

Jon finds Martin's hand in the dim light, pulls it closer to himself and kisses it. He hesitates – not sure if he should say this, should even acknowledge it – before linking their fingers together and pulling the hand back to his stomach, over the place where the knife went in.

"I don't need to forgive you for this. That is – I, I don't believe there's anything to forgive? It was what you had to do, and it was what I asked for. But . . ." he pauses, hesitates. "I know guilt can be an insidious emotion--"

"Oh, do you?" the lilt of sarcasm does not go unnoticed. Jon ignores it.

"–And I want you to know . . . if you feel like you need to be forgiven for it, you are. Entirely and unconditionally."

Martin nods, moving his hand off the scar and over around Jon's side. As he leans in for another kiss he grips him a little more firmly, his touch seems less hesitant and Jon is glad that he said something after all.

"Anyway, I was right, wasn't I?" Martin says after a moment. "We're here. We're in another world, and things are fine. It's normal. Maybe the fears are here, but it's not an apocalypse. Maybe it never will be."

That makes Jon frown. "You don't know that."

"Neither do you."

"And we never will," he says firmly. "We won't ever know the cost of what we did. Maybe it balances out. Maybe it doesn't. Either way, you and I won't have to feel it."

"At least it's normal here. You're not even an avatar," Martin says, and Jon nips back the impulse to quibble about the nature of that term. "You haven't been having the dreams, and you haven't needed a statement since we got here."

". . . I'm still feeding the Eye." It isn't until he sees the look of confusion on Martin's face that it occurs to Jon he didn't already know. "I don't have the power I once had, or the same needs," he explains. "But I feel it sometimes, using me as a conduit. It's as if the signal's fainter, but the receiver is so much more sensitive."

"Do you know it's happening, though, or are you just guessing?"

"I'm not sure how it happens, exactly. Maybe it just grazes off the fear I witness when I see something terrible on the news, or pass by someone in distress. Maybe in time it'll push me to seek out more, to force myself into other peoples' tragedies in service of the Beholding. Or maybe it never will, and I'll stay this way for the rest of my life."

Martin's brow furrows, and his voice is insistent, pushing back with some need Jon can't quite understand. "Okay, but it's not like you're actually hurting people--"

"No . . . I am," he says firmly. "And I am certain of that. It might be more subtle now . . . a lingering feeling of invasion, or paranoia. Or a trauma that would have otherwise passed leaving a decades-deep mark." He stares thoughtfully at his own thumb. "It feeds through me, and I give it strength. On some level, my existence still depends on the suffering of others. That's one consequence we can't avoid."

Martin is quiet for a long while. ". . . Guess it doesn't matter, right?" he finally says. "It's done. Can't undo it."

"No. Not any of it." He shakes his head. "It's funny, really. All my paranoia and suspicion, all my worry that the Web would slip an agent in under our nose, and the whole time I was looking in the wrong place. Seeing and seeing and never understanding."

"What do you mean?" Martin fidgets, and Jon wonders if he's said something he shouldn't have, though he can't guess what. "Looking in the wrong place?"

"I mean myself. The mark when I was a child. The lighter I could never remember. Even the tapes they sent to press on my wounds, keeping that anger fresh. All of it leading to that moment."

". . . Oh." Martin sighs. "Yeah, Jon. They manipulated you, that's what they do. They manipulated all of us."

"They did. And I was more theirs than I ever realized."

He feels Martin's fingers tapping against his side, thoughtful. After a moment, he speaks. ". . . She said that about me, too. Annabelle. That I was suited to the Web, or something."

"I imagine she'd say anything she knew would rile you up."

"She was right, though. At least a little bit . . . ." he takes the edge of Jon's sleeve between his fingers, twisting and fidgeting with it. "When we were down there, waiting, I could feel you coming through the web. The vibrations just spoke to me, I knew Basira was with you even before I saw her."

That surprises Jon. Startles him, even. He feels Martin fidget again, and in his mind he plays back what do you mean, looking in the wrong place. Notices the quiet nervousness in his voice. Considers how deep and old Martin knows his hatred of the Mother of Puppets to be.

"I always knew," he says, voice light and casual, "that there had to be a reason you'd defend anything as vile and repugnant as the common house spider."

Hearing Martin laugh, feeling that tension release in a sudden startled lungful – it's beautiful, it's a victory, and he smiles as Martin nudges into his shoulder. Halfway between a gesture of affection and a headbutt.

"Arsehole," he mutters. "It's not just that. I know I'm . . . well, I'm not always great at being direct. And maybe I can sometimes be passive-aggressive . . . ."

"Well—"

"You don't have to agree with me."

". . . Right."

"But that's sort of Web stuff, isn't it? And I – I was always good at telling Peter what he wanted to hear. I know why she said what she did."

"Mmm." Jon lifts Martins' fingers from where they're worrying at his sleeve, rolls them between his own. "You've learned that it's safer to nudge and suggest than to be direct. To make yourself look smaller than you are. I can see the . . . thematic overlap, I suppose. Imagine it drawing the attention of the Spider."

". . . Does that bother you?"

"Well I'm not worried you're some spider-controlled double agent," he says, then adds something under his breath.

". . . What was that last bit?" Martin lifts his head.

"Nothing."

"Did you just mutter ‘anymore?!"' he asks incredulously.

"My point is, we call to them in countless ways, often without knowing or wanting to," he sighs. "Besides . . . I'd hardly be in a position to judge. They had their strings on me from the start."

"That makes you a victim of them. Not an agent or an avatar."

"Martin . . . ."

"Don't ‘Martin' me, I'm right."

"Do you really think the two are incompatible? Being a victim of a power, and being a channel through which it feeds on others? After all you've seen?" his voice softens. "After all you've been through . . . after the Lonely?"

Martin goes quiet. Jon runs his fingers over his shoulder, absently stroking.

"In the end, I chose to be theirs. With it all falling down around us, I saw what they'd known I would do from the very beginning. I witnessed my fate laid out for me and instead of defying it, I ran towards it."

". . . You still regret it, don't you? Letting them out."

"I don't know, Martin. Truly, I don't," he says. A smile starts, then dies on his lips. "There's so much I regret nowadays, it's honestly hard to keep steady how I feel about most things."

A vague, hmm sound, an expression of some emotion that Jon can't guess at, though he suspects that wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. He brings both his hands up, cupping the sides of Martin's face between his palms. Martin startles, but says nothing.

"Most," Jon says, looking back at him seriously. "But I know how I feel about you. That doesn't change. And I don't regret staying with you."

The beginnings of tears form in Martin's eyes, and there is quiet in the room as Jon brings his face to his. Brushing a soft kiss over his mouth, the trails on his cheeks, the space above each closed eye. He doesn't stop until Martin shudders, swallows, and speaks again.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," Jon says. "And I'm glad that I'm here. I'm glad we're together and alive . . . whatever else comes with that."

Martin shudders again, a weak and pained sound coming out of him. It's all Jon can do not to pull Martin's face into his chest and let out a thousand desperate apologies, to self-flagellate, to beg forgiveness for ever allowing any pain to come to him. He sensibly quiets that urge, because he knows it's the last thing Martin needs. It's the last thing either of them need.

"Do you promise?" Martin whispers.

"Promise what? That I love you?" Silence follows, and Jon frowns, confused. ". . . I do promise that, if that's what you mean."

Instead of answering, Martin silently reaches between them, fumbling for Jon's hand and squeezing it tightly.

"Some nights I pretend to sleep," he says after a pause. "Or, well. Pretend's too strong a word . . . I just lie quietly in bed. But I'm waiting for you to fall asleep first."

Jon's fairly sure he lost the thread of this conversation, and he doesn't know where or how. ". . . Why?"

"Because I'm scared I'll wake up and find you gone."

"Oh. Oh, Martin . . . ."

"I don't-- it's not that I really think--" he shakes his head, "just sometimes can't let go of the thought of it, and it scares me." A wry smile crosses his face. "Which power feeds on that, you think?"

"I mean –"

"Not actually looking for an answer, Jon," he sighs, a mixture of affection and irritation. "Anyway, I think we both know which one it'd be."

He nods. Holds Martin's hand, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb. "I don't know what I can say . . . I can tell you that I won't leave, that I'll be here when you wake up. But I don't suppose that helps unless you can--" he hesitates, not wanting to say trust. It's starting to feel like a deeply troublesome word, both imprecise and emotionally weighted, the sort Jon tends to despise. ". . . believe me?"

"I don't actually think you're going to just vanish in the night someday. It's hard to explain."

"It's unlikely that we'll live to see another ritual for me to be the apocalyptic tipping point of."

"There's still more . . . ordinary things."

"Don't tell me you think I'm going to run off with one of the locals?" He raises his eyebrows, smiling, lets a teasing superiority into his voice. As if he considers the people of this reality to be below their station.

Martin doesn't laugh or smile. He gives him a look, like he's being stupid on purpose. Jon half wants to tell him it's completely involuntary.

"You don't need a bottomless coffin or an all-seeing eye to run off and martyr yourself. People do it with their own hands every day."

And now he understands. Now the thread comes back, winding itself directly around his throat.

". . . Come here," he says, though there are scant inches between them. Martin does so anyway, fitting himself into the space between Jon's arms, head tucked into his collar, legs twining with his. Jon's hands run over his shoulders, through his hair, down his back. He kisses the crown of his head over and over, pouring it all into touch and action until he can find the strength for words again.

"I love you," he whispers. "I'm not going to leave. Not that way . . . not in any way I have control over."

"Seeing his body there next to you . . . it felt like when I was coming back from the shop, and the sky went dark, and the ground started reaching and –" he swallows. "E-everything had gotten so horrible but we finally had a way out, a chance to start over. And then it was just gone again."

And Jon's heart is breaking, and he's afraid if he speaks he's going to start crying, but he can't be silent after that. So he tries.

"I'm so sorry . . . ."

"I know . . . I know." Martin sniffs. "It's not . . . I'm not looking for that. Honest. I just . . . ."

He goes quiet for a while.

"I know you were in pain," he continues. "The night before it all happened. I know – I knew that it was killing you, what we were about to do. It wasn't that I didn't care. But I told myself that someday – even if it wasn't right away, someday you'd be glad we'd done this. Because there'd be a someday."

". . . Maybe I would have been."

"And maybe you wouldn't have. I didn't know. I don't know. We'll never know. But I know you were hurting, and that's just it. Because I also know it . . . s-still hurts."

"I couldn't do that to you."

"We've both done things we thought we couldn't do," Martin says humorlessly.

"Right . . . I take your point."

"I know you feel guilty," Martin whispers, "and you – you just said that while you're alive others are suffering –"

". . . Yes."

"I know how tempting it can be. To just give in to it."

"I know you do."

"So . . . ."

Martin trails off, helpless. Jon feels helpless too. He clumsily feels for Martin's hands and brings them up against his own chest.

"Whatever else I feel, I promise you that I'm glad I'm alive," he says, holding their hands over the place where his heart still beats, steady and warm and living. "Even when it's difficult to bear it all, I'm glad that I'm alive and with you. I want to build a life together, here and now, more than anything. To take whatever chance we've got."

He wonders what Martin is looking for as his eyes trace over his face. Whatever it is he seems to find it, or maybe just trusts that it's there, because he takes a shuddering breath and nods.

". . . I believe you," he says.

"Thank you," Jon breathes deep, feeling the sharp heat behind his eyes fade as he blinks his own tears away. "And . . . I can hope that we made the right choice. Really it's all either of us can do, anymore."

"True."

They lie together in the silence. Martin slides his arms around Jon's sides, resting his head against his chest, and Jon feels the rhythm of his pulse next to his ear. His body is heavy and real, meat and bone, tangled up together with one that he loves. He feels the heat of Martin's breath as he sighs, the gentle weight, the tickle of hair, the hard ridge of skull beneath it. Abject, bloody systems of life.

". . . Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you . . . for coming back."

In the dark he feels a smile against his body. ". . . Which time?"

"Any. All."

"I always will," he whispers. ". . . Thank you for staying."

"That's the deal."

"Yeah. . . yeah." Martin lets out a long, steady sigh. "That's the deal"

Jon feels Martin's limbs relax around him, grip loosening as eyes tiredly close. He twines his fingers through Martin's hair, stoking softly and sweetly as his beloved drifts. Jon doesn't close his eyes just yet, instead watches the face that rests against him slowly go slack in the moonlight. Thinking that maybe tonight, Martin will fall asleep first.

#jonmartin #tma #tma spoilers #tma finale #tma fanfic #me every time i post a new fanfic:#oh no THIS is the most self-indulgent one #every other *cuddling and talking about feelings* fic was dignified and okay #but THIS ONE oh nooooo

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