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i-can-even-burn-salad · 2 years

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Chapter 14

Glass Shards

Warnings: Just some nightmare

Previous | Masterlist | Next [Bonus: Heartless] or Next [Chapter 15]

Merridy was quiet on the way back to the inn. She noticed how Damien stayed much closer to her than usual. He kept walking between her and the crowd, until they reached their room. By the time he had returned from fetching a bucket of water, she had wrapped herself into one of her blankets and sat in front of the window. The midday sun was warm on her face, but not warm enough to fully drive out the chill that had settled into her limbs.

“What do you want to do now?” Damien asked, while pouring some of the water into the jug, and some into the washing bowl.

Merridy watched how he washed his face and dried it with one of the towels they had put over a chair. His hand was no longer trembling, and she found herself wondering if she had imagined it. Perhaps projected her own terror onto him. He had handled the situation so confidently, while she had been a trembling mess.

“I think I’ll just read,” she replied, way too late. Her hand wandered to the book on the windowsill, a collection of tales she had started some days ago.

Damien nodded and settled down on the bed. “I’ll practice writing, then,” he said, reaching for the wax tablet that was lying on the nightstand.

Soon the soft scratching noise of the wooden pen was all that could be heard in the room. Merridy stared at the pages in front of her, not taking in a single word. She wasn’t sure why this encounter had shaken her so much. Perhaps because it had reminded her of what she had left behind; and of how little she knew what the future would hold for her.

It was easy enough to enjoy each day as it came, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Sooner or later, their money would run out, even if that day was still far away at the moment. Even more likely, Damien would grow bored of a life like this. The encounter had only proved to her that he was no longer the desperate, half-dead man she had saved weeks ago. In a few more weeks, he’d be fully recovered and it wouldn’t surprise her if he’d start to build a new life for himself. Most likely far, far away from Caldeia. With his charm, that shouldn’t be too hard, missing arm or not. But this assumption raised the question of what she would do, and she really couldn’t answer that — not when stealing and silly circus tricks were all she was good at.

“Must be a fascinating story.”

Damien’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and she raised her head in confusion. He nodded into the direction of the book.

“You’ve read the same page for at least half an hour,” he remarked. “What’s it about, if it can capture you like that?”

Merridy didn’t reply as she lowered her gaze again, reading the first few words for what might as well have been the first time. She was sure she read this story before. She couldn’t remember it now.

Damien sighed. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Merridy shook her head.

“Do you wanna do something else?”

She looked up and around the room, scanning the furniture and boxes. There were a few things she could use to keep herself busy, but the chances that she would succeed were rather low. Damien was still waiting for a reply, though, so she forced herself to shrug.

“I could read to you,” Damien then offered.

“You?” Merridy asked, incredulously. Damien raised his eyebrows and Merridy gasped. “Sorry, that was rude,” she mumbled. She was used to him being so taciturn, this offer had taken her by surprise.

But Damien only laughed. “How hard can it be?” he said, an amused gleam in his eyes Merridy couldn’t quite place. “It’s just a bunch of letters, isn’t it?” He put the wax tablet aside and held out his hand. “Come on.”

Merridy got up, walked the few steps to the bed and handed him the book. Instead of returning to her chair, she sat down on the far end of the bed, pulling her legs up and under the blanket that was still wrapped around her shoulders.

Damien looked at the book, mock concentration on his face as he started to read. “There was one… once,” he said, pointing at each word with his finger. “A rich man, whose wife did… died.”

Damien read slowly, and with every sentence more mistakes sneaked in. Forgotten letters, wrong words that didn’t make sense, spelling out the longer ones letter by letter and still taking two tries to get them right.

“You’re pulling my leg,” Merridy said after Damien had misread the word ‘anxious’ three times.

He paused, looking up from the book without lifting his finger. The look of hurt on his face didn’t seem quite real, and he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards. “You think so?” When Merridy didn’t reply, he leaned back, taking his finger from the page and using his hand to prop his book against his leg instead. “How about I try it again?”

Merridy watched him straighten the page, take a deep breath — and then all her thoughts were swept away as he started to read in earnest. She had always thought that his voice was pleasant, but now it was warm and rich, enunciating each word perfectly. It brought to life kitchen and castles, glass and silk, princes and maids. She curled up at the foot of the bed and closed her eyes, listening to him read in different voices for each one who spoke. A tear escaped her eyes as the maid fled from the castle, leaving the prince she was in love with behind.

Damien didn’t stop after the first tale. He only paused, and Merridy didn’t dare open her eyes, to not break the spell his words had cast on her. When he continued to read, she let his words carry her far away. The warmth that filled her as he talked about talking cats and giant plants fully replaced the cold terror that had followed her from the market square.

When she awoke, the light in the room had grown dim. Merridy blinked lazily, snuggling into the blanket that was spread over her. It was soft and warm, and for a moment everything was perfect. Then she remembered, and the memory made her freeze.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, struggling to untangle her limbs from the blanket. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

Damien sat at the other end of the bed. He had put the book aside and picked up the wax tablet once more. It was propped against his legs, so he could hold it with the ball of his hand as he wrote. Now he paused, wooden pen in hand, and looked up. “It’s fine,” he said, confusion clearly written on his face.

“No. I’m sorry. That was rude.” Merridy swallowed, finally freeing her legs. She draped the blanket over the footboard and got up. The warmth was already gone, and the last bit of lingering bliss would soon follow.

“Really, it’s no problem. What’s… what’s wrong?” The concern on Damien’s face looked so genuine.

“Nothing. Just…” Should she claim it had been a dream? But he had his own nightmares, often enough, and she didn’t want to worry him, over a lie no less. “I’ll get dinner,” she eventually decided to take the most cowardly way out.

Merridy took her time to fetch two bowls of stew. They ate in silence after Damien’s attempts to strike up a conversation fell short on her sparse replies. Afterwards she grabbed their clothes to do some laundry. The monotonous motions gave her enough time to sort her tumultuous thoughts, as far as it was even possible. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so comfortable and safe around someone to just fall asleep like that.

Well, that wasn’t true. She could remember, which was worse. Because it had ended badly, and there was no way this would end any better.

It was dark when she returned to the room, to put up the laundry on the line outside the window. She could feel Damien’s gaze at her back as she did so. He was still sitting on the bed, doing something in the light of a single candle she had paid no attention to as she had come in.

“Are you all right?” he asked again.

“Yes. I’m just tired.” It wasn’t even a lie. Crying always left her tired, and the effort to make it look like she hadn’t didn’t help. She finished putting up the last shirt, pulled the rope into position and closed the window.

Merridy didn’t need light to find her blankets and put them back into their usual spot. She curled up under one, returning Damien’s whispered ‘good night’ equally quietly. As easy as it had been to slip into sleep earlier, as hard was it now. She could have pretended it was only because she wasn’t tired anymore, but she knew that was only half the truth. This day had dredged up too many memories she’d rather have left buried, and realizing how badly she didn’t want Damien to leave — ever — didn’t exactly make it better.

Merridy had barely managed to fall asleep when a soft noise startled her awake. She lay motionless, listening into the dark room. She didn’t want to call Damien’s name in case it wasn’t him who had caused the noise. Dragon’s Reach wasn’t quiet at night, though the lack of taverns in the area usually meant it wasn’t quite as loud here as in other parts of the city.

Just when Merridy had decided that it must have been a sound outside the window after all, it returned. A quiet, choked noise, coming clearly from the direction of the bed.

“Damien?” she asked while sitting up.

What little moonlight fell through the window was barely enough to make out his silhouette. He seemed to be sitting at the — no, he was crouching against the headboard of the bed. Worry twisted Merridy’s stomach as she got up.

“Damien?”

Again there was no reply. She didn’t know how long she had slept. Perhaps it had been long enough for him to have another nightmare. Merridy crossed the three steps to the bed.

“Damien? What’s wrong?” When he still didn’t react, she sat down on the edge, ever so carefully. “It’s okay, it was just a dream,” she whispered.

Another one of those quiet noises followed her words, and she could see the shimmer of tears on Damien’s face. His eyes were open, but he didn’t react, not even as she moved right in front of him. Perhaps he wasn’t even awake.

“Damien?”

The moment she reached for his arm, he yelped, making himself even smaller. She wasn’t sure if he had been trembling that badly before, but now he was. His hand scratched over the mattress, as if looking for something.

“Please… please don’t… please.” His pleas were interrupted by a broken sob and he pressed his head against the wooden headboard. “Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

Merridy swallowed. She didn’t often get a glimpse of what he was dreaming of — not that she needed that much imagination to figure out most of his nightmares.

“Damien, please. It’s me.”

He flinched under another light touch, sobbing desperately. This was getting her nowhere. She had to snap him out of it.

“Damien!” His panicked scream as she grabbed his shoulders and shook him sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t stop. “Wake up, please! Wake up!”

Finally she seemed to get through to him. His scream was cut short by a gasp for air and his eyes opened wide.

“Damien! It’s me. It was just a dream.” She stared into the purple glow of his irises as he slowly focused on her. “Just a dream,” she repeated, loosening her grip. “Come.”

He followed her as she pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him. He was still shaking, and Merridy didn’t even know where to start consoling him. She wanted to reach for his hand, and brush her fingers through his hair, and hold him close, and wipe those tears away that now soaked her shirt.

In the end she settled for leaving one hand between his shoulders, while the other stroked the back of his head. She could feel the tension in his muscles, worse near his right shoulder; perhaps a response to the pain that shouldn’t exist, yet she knew it did. As she massaged the hardened strands as well as she could, she wondered if it was bad at this very moment, if it had helped trap him in his horrible nightmare.

Eventually Damien managed to calm down. His breaths became more regular, the trembling subsided and he even dared to return her embrace.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by her shirt. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Merridy was glad he couldn’t see the tears welling in her own eyes. The thought that he would eventually leave made her sad enough already; the thought that he was forced to stay because he was still suffering so much, after all this time, was worse.

When rereading, this was about the moment I always screamed TALK TO EACH OTHER. Surprisingly, next chapter they will talk to each other :) A miracle.

Tagging: @teamwhump @villainsvictim @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-in-the-moonlight

#Glass Shards #whump #fantasy whump #my writing

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griefpersevering · 1 year

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the ripples they cause

Read on AO3 🕷 Playlist 🕷 Buy me a cup of tea ☕

Chapter Twenty-Seven: When She Loved Me

Notes:

Hello everyone!! I just wanted to say thank you so much for all the love you've been giving this fic - when I originally started writing it, I thought maybe a couple of people might want to read this strange fix it fic, but now over 15,000 of you have! It's absolutely mindboggling to me that so many of you are still here reading my silly little story!! Anyway, mushy bit aside, I hope you really enjoy this chapter. We've been building up to it for a while!

Sneak Peek:

It's nearly been a week since MJ's text.

Peter's barely slept since Tuesday. He spends his days poring over the spell book, making notes on the sections that will help them and mouthing the strange spells until he's memorised them. When the time comes, he won't need the book to complete either of the remaining rituals, just in case Doctor Strange decides to steal it back before then.

At night, he wakes up from nightmares of being trapped in a cell for the rest of his life. And like tonight, once he's awake, all he can think of is the emoji on the end of MJ's text.

He pulls the duvet over his head, trying to force himself back to sleep. There's nothing he can do about the rituals yet; not while they're still waiting for Yelena to return from Ohio with something belonging to her sister. And his trial is in the hands of the judges now. Matt, Foggy, Karen, and the other bridesmaid who is also a lawyer all assured him at the wedding that they've done everything they can.

His trial is supposed to take place tomorrow at noon, but they still haven't told him whether it will be postponed — or even better, cancelled altogether.

Every time he drifts off, his thoughts circle back to the text. What does MJ want to talk about? He hasn't spoken to her in weeks, unless you count the letter he asked Matt to deliver. But that was just a lie anyway; that his friend in California is having an operation, so he offered to fly over there to help him recover for a few months. No mention of Spider-Man, or the campaign she's been running in his name.

He rolls over, the duvet tangling between his legs. There's light peeking around the corner of his blinds, so it must be the morning. He'd been hoping for a lie in after the wedding, but if he's awake already, he may as well get ready to face the day.

By 8am, he's showered and dressed in his least crinkled shirt. MJ asked to meet at the donut shop, and it feels like returning to the scene of the crime.

He eats some burnt toast slathered in Nutella which does nothing to ease his stomach. Then, he gets out the ancient broom that came with his apartment and sweeps up the confetti that he tracked in from the wedding.

Yesterday was a nice break from his melancholia. Matt and Foggy deserve their happy ending, even if he feels a bit jealous. Besides, being married means they never have to testify against each other.

Maybe, when he finishes the rituals, he'll introduce Mr. Stark to them. He knows Matt isn't Iron Man's biggest fan, but he'll get over it. And he wants Tony to see that his sacrifice helped so many people in so many ways — the Nelson-Murdocks never would've tied the knot if it weren't for the Blip.

He pulls on his sneakers — now sans confetti — and slips on his coat. The sun is shining brightly this morning, and he takes it as a good omen. But although the clear skies will melt some of the snow, the lack of clouds means it's still freezing.

He said he'd head over to Brooklyn in the afternoon, so he's not in a rush. But first, he'll make a pit stop at the Midtown School of Science and Technology to make some more webs: he's running low, and whatever happens tomorrow, he has a feeling he'll need them.

Continue reading on AO3.

#peter parker #spider-man #no way home #michelle jones #peter/mj #lina lore #marvel #mcu #my writing #the ripples they cause

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hpimaginesandblurbs · 3 years

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wait draco fucking his arranged marriage wife on a couch after she admitted to still seeing her ex (not knowing he has feelings for her obviously) and he’s like oh? can he fuck you like this tho?

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

warning(s): 18+, adultery, arranged marriage, slight degradation

word count: 3.0k

a/n: this was not supposed to be this long but it ran away from me as i started writing. this is the longest thing i’ve written on tumblr so far and i hope you all enjoy it! one of my own person favorites.

Another day felt like another day wasted in the walls in the stuffy Manor you called home. Except it wasn’t home. And it wasn’t another day.

No. After weeks of trying to get your husband to open up to you, you had had enough. It was an arranged marriage, and although you were no fool and had no pretenses of pretending to love him, you’d at least like to get to know the person you called your husband.

Back in school you had always thought the infamous Draco Malfoy was rather handsome, anyone would be a fool to deny it. He was confident and popular, great at Quidditch, and seemed like the perfect gentleman - everything you could want in a husband. Turns out it was the opposite. All the feelings you thought you might develop for him were unrequited, and he ignored you at every turn.

So you took it into your own hands to get what you were so desperately craving: physical affection. It didn’t take much, truly. All you did was send an owl to your ex boyfriend from your school days and one thing led to another until you were in his bed, wrapped in his arms, and rocked to your core with pleasure.

But now you were back in your ‘home’, wasting away within the walls of the Manor with your husband nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t until hours later, when you were getting ready to push yourself up from the couch to head to bed, did the fireplace flash green, signaling his arrival home.

“Hello. How was your day?” You asked politely, hoping just this once he might fall into a normal conversation with you.

“Fine,” he replied shortly, not even bothering to look at you as he emptied his pockets and put down his very important briefcase that was a mystery to you.

A blaze of frustration ran through your body, desperate to get more out of this man than just one word. A crazy thought came into your head, to tell him about your day, but you pushed it aside. No, Malfoy’s wouldn’t think highly of a girl who committed adultery within weeks of marriage. But…

“My day was great,” you told him, rather impulsively.

At first he seemed shocked that you even said anything, the conversation usually reached its end by now. But he recovered quickly, politely asking “And what was so great about your day?”

Naturally, you could lie. Tell him you met up with your female friends for lunch. Tell him you read a good book. Tell him anything but the truth. But…

“I reacquainted myself with my ex boyfriend from school,” you told him, daring to look him in the eye as you spoke.

“Reacquainted? How?” He asked, a series of emotions flashing over his face that you had never seen before. It sent a thrill through you to see him showing any emotions at all.

Again, you could lie. Tell him you met him for lunch. Tell him that you ran into each other in Diagon Alley. Tell him anything but the truth. But…

You knew even if the truth did come out, he would have to keep it a secret. He wouldn’t dare be seen as a spineless cuckold as his wife went around sleeping with whomever she pleased.

“I owled him a few days ago, asking to meet him,” you began, watching as his face contorted into something akin to anger. “I went to his home, for lunch, and it didn’t end with lunch.”

You left the end of your short story rather ambiguous, wanting to see what he’d do with the information you presented him. He had barely moved from his place by the fireplace, but the look he was giving you could set you up in flames if he wanted it to.

“So, what? You fucked him?” He asked, the politeness in his voice giving way to the anger he was feeling.

In a sick way, it pleased you to see him angry. Gave you a sense of pride that you, the wife he had seen fit to ignore, could get such a rise out of him.

“Yes, seeing as you haven’t even touched me,” was your spiteful reply, foolishly placing the blame all on him despite your own actions.

“You stupid, silly little girl,” he said under his breath as he stalked over towards you, menacing in just how much bigger he was than you. “You don’t fucking understand a thing about me, do you?” He asked, hovering over you, his hands braced on the back of the couch that you were still seated on, your faces inches apart.

“You don’t let me. You never speak to me,” you argued, ready to turn this into a fight filled with low blows if he really wanted it to go that way.

“You think this is a fucking walk in the park for me? Having some girl I’ve barely met in my house looking terrified of me every time I come near her? Suffering through your daily attempts to talk to me, but knowing how unbearably uncomfortable you are in being here? You think I wanted this? For either of us?” He asked seamlessly, almost in a rush to get all of his thoughts out before he thought better of it. A look of hesitation passed his face for a brief moment before he continued on, more quietly now. “You think I wanted the girl I couldn’t take my eyes off for a single day after fifth year hating being in my presence? Going behind my back to fuck someone else because I’ve held myself back in case she was uncomfortable doing anything more than just acting like my wife?”

He didn’t meet your eye at first, but when he did you saw the weight of his emotions. He was hurt, by himself and by you. He was jealous of the man you had chosen to spend your day with. He was terrified of your reaction to his words. He was furious he even had to have this conversation, in this way, in this situation. He was relieved he finally got it all out.

“Wh- What are you saying?” You asked cautiously, not wanting to twist his words to meet your own fantasy of having a loving husband.

He took a deep breath before he answered, but made no moves to rid himself of his proximity to you. “Y/N, I’ve been head over heels for you since the moment we met. But having an arranged marriage, I couldn’t do much more but assume you didn’t share the same feelings as me.”

“Oh,” was all you could even say back, too overwhelmed to think of anything else. You searched his eyes for the lie, but they held nothing but the raw truth. He must have seen something in your eyes as well, because his tone shifted into something else entirely before he spoke again.

“Now, Y/N, I think we got off on the wrong foot and I didn’t make my intentions clear with you. I intend to be a good husband, a loving husband. And yet despite my best efforts to be the perfect gentleman so far, you went behind my back to sleep with some other man. And what does that say about you?” He asked, his eyes boring into yours as he spoke.

You were sure he could hear your heart rate from how close he was, your pulse racing at his words. “I- I don’t know,” you stuttered, willing to let him take this wherever he saw fit.

“I’m not going to place the blame all on you, because I know I haven’t been perfect. But one might say that you’re a dumb little whore, and I might be inclined to agree. A stupid, little girl trapped in her big, posh Manor. Going out to let any guy fuck her, not even knowing that her husband can fuck her better than anyone else could.”

“And you could fuck me better than someone I know can?” You asked incredulously, shocked at the words spilling from his mouth. But even if you tried, you couldn’t deny the way he was so sure of himself, so sure he could please you better than any man, aroused you to no end.

He let out a dark chuckle and looked at you, amused. “Of course I could, darling. That is, if you give me the chance,” he told you in a teasing tone, before pushing himself off of the couch to walk away.

“Wait,” you started, once again acting on impulse. You might regret your next words, but damn it if you weren’t curious. And he was your husband after all. “Prove it.”

“Prove it?” He asked, turning on his heel to face you again, a victorious grin written across his face. When you nodded, he only lifted a brow before he continued. “Now? Haven’t you had a long day of, oh how did you put it, ‘getting reacquainted with your ex’?”

“You talk a big game, Draco. Now I’m asking you to prove it. Scared?” You asked, baiting him.

In a split second and a flurry of movement later, he had you laying down against the couch, pressed into the expensive fabric, with his weight on top of you, pinning you down.

“I’ll give you one last chance to back out of this. Tell me now, otherwise I’m going to fuck you through this couch,” he said through gritted teeth, clearly fed up with your antics.

Without even thinking, your lips crashed onto his in a heated kiss. Lips you hadn’t felt since your wedding day. You hadn’t even remembered what they felt like until his tongue was darting along your bottom lip, hastily requesting entry.

As your kiss remained heated, he was expertly shedding you both of your clothing until you were almost bare. He had only left you in your small, lace thong in the aftermath of his destruction.

His hands traveled your body possessively, as if trying to memorize every curve and edge of your skin. The moment your bra came off, your breasts were in his hands, easily rolling your nipples until you were gasping for air. He swallowed all your noises greedily, as if you were feeding them to a starved man.

It wasn’t until he pulled away, his hands resting on the waistband on your underwear, did you have a moment for a coherent thought.

“One last time, are you sure Y/N?” He asked as if it was painful for him. As if it was the case that you said no, it would be immensely difficult for him to pull himself away. As if it was the case that you said no, he’d die a painful death at your feet.

“I’m sure,” you said softly, not wanting him to think for a second that you had any hesitant thoughts about this moment.

As he slowly pulled down your final layer of clothing, it gave you a chance to finally look at him.

And he was beautiful.

He looked like an ancient Greek statue, perfectly carved and crafted out of marble come to life. His perfectly defined lines, his impossible definition, his muscles in all the right places. Your eyes eventually traveled down to his cock, and your breath hitched when you finally saw how large he was. If you had known this all along, perhaps you wouldn’t have sought out another man for your pleasure.

He seemed to be taking you in just the same. His eye trailing down your body with such reverence that you felt like an ancient Greek goddess yourself, if only for a moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said softly, almost as if he didn’t mean for you to hear the words.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, giving him a shy smile when his eyes met yours again.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” he told you, still in the soft tone that he had. He gracefully let his body fall back over yours, bracing himself on one forearm while his other hand traveled the length of your body.

When he caught your lips again, it didn’t hold the same heat as before, but there was something new there. Something good. Something that could only be translated through your lips in that very moment. Something akin to adoration, worship, even love.

His hand stopped its travels at the apex of your thighs, expertly running his fingers over your clit and down your slit, feeling for himself just how wet you were. He groaned at the feeling of how wet and warm you were, and you felt his cock twitch against your stomach in anticipation.

He slowly opened you up for him with his fingers. First with one, then two, even venturing to three before he was content that you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He didn’t rush the process, kept a slow, steady, predictable pace as he worked your body. And every time you got close to the edge, he’d gently bring you back down, leaving you a whining, writhing mess by the time he was aligning his cock with you.

“Draco, please,” you begged shamelessly, more than ready for him.

“Did you beg for him earlier?” He asked almost nonchalantly, teasing you with the tip of his cock.

He must have seen the shock on your face, shocked that he would bring it up in this moment, because he only chuckled before pushing inside of you, a gasp easily pulled from your lips at the intense stretch.

He didn’t fuck you gently, immediately starting with a breakneck pace that left you seeing stars from the first moment he bottomed out. You were easily rewarding him with your moans, letting him know just how good it felt without words. You couldn’t speak even if you tried.

But he talked. Oh, yes. He ran that pretty mouth of his as if he wasn’t thrusting so deep inside of you the couch was rocking.

“I was right, wasn’t I? You’ve never been fucked like this, have you?” He asked, right as you were beginning to climb that peak into a pleasurable abyss.

You gave him a feeble nod in return, not trusting your own mouth to properly respond.

“Did he fuck you like this?” He asked, biting the question out through clenched teeth as if he was dreading the answer. “Tell me, Y/N, did he?” He asked, fucking you even harder now in his frustration.

“No,” you cried out, breaking free of your moans for a second to answer him. “He can’t fuck me like this,” you added, if only to stroke Draco’s ego, but nevertheless it was true. No one could fuck you like this.

“Cum for me, let me feel you,” Draco said, lowering his head into the crook of your neck to ground himself, trying to fight off his orgasm until you got yours.

It didn’t take much longer after that. He had worked you up so much beforehand that your orgasm came to you easily and came with such a force you were left breathless in its wake. Your nails carved down Draco’s muscular back, sure to leave delightful scratch marks that you could study later, as you cried out in bliss.

The moment he felt your walls contract around him, he let himself go with a low groan. The sound was music to your ears, and only intensified the feelings you were experiencing. To have him so close, sharing in the same ecstasy you were, it was like magic.

When you both came down from your highs, he swiftly rearranged the both of you until you wrapped in his arms, both lying on the couch. It was a strange feeling, being in his arms for the first time like this. If someone had told you this would be happening only a few hours before, you would have laughed in their face. But now here you both were, sweaty and satiated, basking in the bliss of finally consummating your marriage.

The thought made you giggle, and when he shot you a perplexed look, you couldn’t help but explain.

“We finally consummated our marriage,” you explained, still giggling. “And don’t worry, by the way, I’m on the potion,” you thought to add, just in case kids weren’t looming in the future for him.

“Good to know you won’t be birthing any bastard children,” was his sullen response, clearly still hurt by the events of the day.

You shifted your body until you were looking directly at him, but he made no moves to pull his arms away from you. If anything, he held you tighter when he felt you move, unwilling to give up the moment.

“Look, I’m sorry about what I did today. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair to you. And if I had known even a fraction how you felt about me, I wouldn’t have done it, because I feel the same about you. I was just feeling incredibly stuck in what I thought was a hopeless marriage, and I was lonely, so I sought out someone else. But now I understand that that isn’t the case, and I can promise you, from the bottom of my heart, that it will never happen again,” you told him, putting everything out there for him.

“You feel the same?” He asked timidly, after a moment of deliberation. There was a look of hope on his face, and never in your wildest dreams would you shut down such a rare display of emotion from him. Then again, you may be expecting more of his emotions from here on out.

“Yes. I’ve always been attracted to you, and the little bits of you that I do know, I like. I want this to work, Draco. I want this to be a real marriage. All I wanted was a shot.” you said, just praying he wanted the same.

“‘I’ll admit, I wasn’t a good husband to you by any means, and I probably unknowingly pushed you into doing what you did. But now that our intentions are out there, I’d like nothing more than to give this a real shot,” he responded, that newly familiar look of hope in his eyes present once more.

In that moment, you could both feel it. The beginning of something great.

#Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #draco malfoy smut #Draco Malfoy Headcanon #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy blurb

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shreddedparchment · 3 years

Text

A Wife for Thor Pt.19

The True Heir

03/09/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,781

Warnings: angst, depression, pregnancy, marital troubles, pining

A/N: There is very little editing. Forgive me. I’m sleepy. I’ve been up writing all night. I’ve also been hurting, but it’s all good! I’m so happy to get this chapter out. *insert evil laugh* If you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! it truly means so much, more than you know. xoxo

Sunday

Today you do nothing.

You’d opened up your laptop last night and attempted to scribble a few lines for your next book, but all you could think about was Thor, Jane, the babies to come, and where exactly you fit amongst all of it.

After typing Thor’s name along with a few other random words for the tenth time, you gave up and shut the laptop. You’d crawled into bed, bundled up under your fluffy comforter, and bid goodbye to the world as you caved in to unconsciousness.

The fact that morning is here, you find that your hope for today to be better than yesterday was silly. How can anything ever be good again?

You place your hands on your lower tummy, caressing what feels like a very slight swell. It’s just barely harder than the rest of your stomach. Firm. Despite the happiness that your baby brings you, you stare across the room at your computer and can’t find it in you to get up and work.

Instead you roll over onto your other side and pull Thor’s--that is to say, the one he’d used while he was here--pillow over to cling to.

Thor’s texts are also still fresh in your mind.

Sleep didn’t dull their effect on you or the confusion they raised.

Did they mean that he wouldn’t get an annulment? That’s sorta what you were getting from them. His declarations that he couldn’t live without you and that he would die for you and that he missed you so much at his side sounded like he was also telling himself how he felt. As if he were, not so much convincing, but reaffirming what he already knew.

You reach over and switch your phone on, clicking through to your messages to find that Thor must have stolen his phone back from Loki at some point.

Thor: Good morning, my cherub. I hope you slept well.

Thor: I could hardly sleep with you absent beside me.

Thor: Our bed is too big without you in it.

Thor: Have you seen the doctor yet? You’ll text me as soon as you get a diagnosis, won’t you? I’ll be waiting.

Thor: Loki insists that I give you some distance to rest but being apart from you is torture.

Thor: Would you be very angry with me if I came to see you?

Thor: I have some things I must deal with here before I can go though. Loki is right. I should allow you rest and fix things here before I come to you.

Thor: Are you still sleeping, cherub? I’m sorry if my messages are disturbing you. I haven’t gone this long without talking to you since...I wish I’d met you years ago. When things weren’t so complicated.

Thor: Would you have let me court you even though I am the God of Thunder? Future King of Asgard? Would you have married me when I came back with my people to live here on Earth?

Thor: I think if I had to choose all over again, you’re still the only woman equal to the task of being my Queen.

Thor: And the love that has grown between us is...I will never take it for granted…

As you read that last message, you assume he wants to say he won’t take it for granted again. He’s already let it slip through his fingers, although he doesn’t know it yet.

Thor: Perhaps this can be that break you were talking of. For our baby? Maybe we do need a little bit of relaxation to let our bodies recover?

Thor: And yet, I can’t wait to start a family with you, cherub.

You’re bawling all over again, your eyes flooding with tears as you bury your face into his pillow and sob loudly.

He’d said that he missed your body next to his. You can relate. You want to feel the heavy fall of his chest, the deep breaths that fill his lungs and escape through his lips in a quiet little snore that always makes you cuddle into his side.

Normally, he’d respond by turning to face you and holding you right up against his chest.

The comfort that simple thing would give you right now when your heart is aching so painfully is what you so desperately need. But...you’re so angry too. You don’t want him near you.

The images that flood your mind are torture. Mixtures of pleasant, happy moments now marred by the betrayal and anger that has taken hold of your heart.

You bury your face into the pillow and scream until your throat really does go hoarse. Frustration at the force of change you’ve had to make in the past twenty-four hours.

You’re startled back to the present when your phone rings. You make a small attempt to clear your throat then answer and the absolute gravel voice you use settles any wondering as to whether your illness is real.

“Hello?” you whisper, clearing your throat to no avail.

“Oh, cherub, you sound terrible.”

Your heart panics. How are you supposed to talk to him?

You don’t want to talk to him.

“I can’t really talk,” you say weakly hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Did the doctor see you already?” Thor asks, his worry evident in the quiet tone of his voice.

“Yes, he gave me some medicine and told me to try not to talk,” you lie, surprisingly easy right now since you don’t want to talk.

For your emotional sanity, you need to hang up soon.

“I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could take this illness from you. Where’s David? I’d like to talk to him.”

You panic again, floundering as you cough and clear your throat to buy some time.

“He’s not here. He went to the store to get some groceries,” you hope he buys it.

“I’ll call him a little later then. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks, Thor,” you mumble, suddenly not wanting to hang up.

How can one person give you so much ease and worry all at once? How can he be your source of agony and comfort at the same time? It’s not fair.

“I have so much to tell you, but...now is not the right time. You need to get better first.”

Nevermind! Fuck this guy. Your heart sinks.

“I have to go,” you tell him, hoping he’ll just hang up and leave you be now.

“Very well. I love you, cherub.”

How do you answer him without giving anything away just yet?

“Me too,” you choose. And it’s true.

Even if he’s torn your heart into pieces, he’s still the father of your baby and you still love him.

Whatever madness overcame him when he’d suggested to Loki getting an annulment was the best course of action seems to have passed. Loki must be right about him.

“Bye, Thor,” you whimper.

“Bye, Y/N,” he says your name, making your heart quake a bit.

You hang up and quickly dial up David.

He answers after two rings.

“Hello? How is my favorite girl in the whole wide world?”

He sounds amused by something, or just happy. It’s such a difference to how you feel at the moment that it breaks you and you sob again, renewing your tears.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?” David demands, clearly now beginning to fret over the way you sound.

You tell him everything. Somehow you manage to get it all out minus one important detail and when you’re done recounting the most horrible night of your life, David sighs heavily and you can almost picture him settling into a deep armchair with massive worry weighing on his shoulders.

“Well, the good thing is, if he goes through with an annulment, you’re to be given a monthly allowance for the rest of your life. It was a condition in your contract, should Thor change his mind about marrying you. But he didn’t so it was moot, until now. You will be a very rich woman. More so than the small fortune you originally inherited.

“I know that money is hardly a consolation for the man that you love-” David sighs again. “Perhaps he said it in madness? He must have been very upset. Caught by surprise?” David offers.

“Even if he doesn’t mean it or doesn’t go through with it, I know that for you the point is the thought was there.

“However, I do think we must make allowances for Thor. I’m sorry to say. He is a king and he’s responsible for his entire people. A baby would give them security. Stability. A legitimate heir would tie them to Earth forever.

“We musn’t make light of his choices. This isn’t a common situation to find one’s self in. For either of you.”

“David, I’m pregnant.” You finally explain, knowing that it will maybe just show him a little bit more of what you’re facing. “I went to tell Thor and that’s when I overheard them.”

For a moment he’s speechless. When he speaks again, his voice is heightened.

“Congratulations! I-I knew it would happen eventually. The timing is a little-”

“I haven’t told him yet, clearly.”

Silence again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I was so happy when I went to tell him and then I heard their conversation and I-I just can’t find the strength to do it right now. Not until I know whether he wants the annulment.”

David breathes in deeply and then exhales slowly into the phone. His breath is light and soft.

“You’re afraid that he will only stay with you because of the child,” a statement.

David knows you better than anyone else in your life. It’s not surprising that he’d make the leap so quickly.

“He’s willing to leave me and marry Jane because of her baby. It’s possible that he’ll stay by my side only because of our baby and I’d rather he do what’s best for our people than to stay with me because of a sense of obligation.”

“It could be that Jane will not want him. She might keep her child away from the Asgardian royal court. Didn’t she refuse to marry him because she didn’t want to be Queen?” David’s voice is pensive. “This might all feel much larger than it is. I suggest you take some time to really think through your actions before making any decisions.”

“I’m not going to never tell him, David. He’s the father of my child. He has to know that he has two and not just the one. I don’t think I could do that to him. I could never keep him from his children.

“Either of them.”

“You are magnanimous, Y/N. More than even I thought you were capable of.”

“Bullshit. I ran away and am refusing to see him until I get my week of space,” you nod firmly. “But David-?”

“Tell me,” he urges you, recognizing your tone of anguish.

“I-I know that I accepted this marriage hesitantly. It wasn’t like I asked for it and you know how I felt before Thor asked me to marry him. You know how s-scared I was about marrying someone who was in love with someone else, and now...now he’s-”

“He’s married to you, Y/N. Not Ms. Foster. And from what I have been able to see, he does love you. Not Jane. This is a temporary setback. If you’re angry at him, be angry at him. Don’t pretend you aren’t. If you’re hurt, show it. Wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Loving someone is one of life’s greatest blessings. Sometimes that love doesn’t last, sometimes it takes a beating. But you must choose whether your love is worth fighting for.

“You’ve also got obligations that you cannot escape from. Duties to your people as their Queen.”

“Assuming Thor doesn’t leave me and take my crown,” you scoff.

“I’m with your brother-in-law. I don’t think it will come to that. I think Thor was a little shocked and thrown by Ms. Foster’s news. Now that he has had some time to think, I believe he’ll do right by you and when you tell him, your child.”

“I won’t tell him until he makes up his mind,” you insist.

“That is your prerogative. Do what you need to. What can I do to help? What do you need from me?”

“Just be prepared for any eventuality. I’m not sure what’s going to happen at the end of this week. Oh, and if Thor calls you--just make something up and tell me what you say. He thinks you drove me from the airport and have been staying with me.”

“Using me as your alibi so that your husband won’t come looking for you,” David clicks his tongue. “How much detail shall I give him?”

“You’ve got a job too, just tell him you’re coming and going. Tony had his staff install some security on the house after the honeymoon. I’m safe here. He’ll believe that I’m safe if that’s all you say.

“Anyway, I need to go. I have two more calls to make before I can relax and enjoy my break from the throne.”

“If you need anything, you know how to reach me. Anything, Y/N. I mean it.”

“Thanks, David. I can always count on you,” you smile.

Just a tiny one. A very subtle curve at the corners of your lips.

“Well, you do pay me,” he jokes, which actually pulls a small laugh from you.

“Right. Bye, David.”

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

You take only a minute to think about your conversation with David before you make the most important calls of your week in solitude.

The first one is simple. Just a reminder of doctor-patient confidentiality. He understands what you’re saying even if he doesn’t practice by that mentality.

Dr. Wilson’s phone call is more difficult. She wants an explanation. She wants to know why she’s not allowed to tell your husband, the King of New Asgard, that he’s finally got what you and he have been wanting.

An heir!

It’s painful to talk about but you tell her what’s happened. You tell her that Thor doesn’t know that you know about Jane’s baby.

She’s very quiet as you talk. She assumes things and you can hear her anger when she starts to ask for what she can tell Thor.

“He didn’t cheat on me, Dr. Wilson,” you explain, hoping that this will ease her anger.

You’re angry at Thor because of the annulment, not because he and Jane have created a life from their love. You’re hurt because he’s willing or was willing--you’re not sure yet--to leave you to be with Jane, even if not for love but for the baby growing within her.

You’re hurt because the man you love was choosing his duty over his feelings for you.

Even though you know that he’s right to do it. Even though you know that you should understand because he’s King and you also took an oath to put the people of New Asgard first.

It’s your duty to put their well-being before your own. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

In Thor’s mind, his only duty is to his child. Jane’s child. He doesn’t know you’re carrying one of your own yet. Even though that would probably make sure that he stays with you because of the baby, you don’t want that to be the reason he stays.

Proud fool.

“Thor slept with Jane the same night he proposed to me. This was before we loved each other, when leaving Jane was the hardest thing he’d had to do. I don’t hold that against him.”

You don’t tell her about the annulment. She doesn’t need to know how messy this all is.

“He’ll probably call for you and Dr. Alric soon. Loki suggested they get Jane checked so act surprised? But please don’t tell him I’m pregnant. Not yet. He’s coming to see me at the end of the week and I’ll tell him myself then. Please?” And it really is a genuine plea.

“I’ll do whatever you need, Your Majesty. I would like to come and check on you. You don’t sound well.”

She’s very sweet and her concern is touching.

“Thor will probably send you to me eventually. He’s worried but he’s clearly got other things on his mind.”

“I’ll make arrangements to head over there tomorrow. Oh, can you hold for one minute Your Majesty? I’m so sorry.”

“Of course.”

There’s silence on the phone for a few minutes before she comes back.

“It was His Majesty. He’s told me about Jane but she’s not available for an examination until later in the week. So, he’s asked me to come to you first. I’ll be there tonight.”

For some reason, the idea of having her with you eases some of the stress you’ve been carrying with you since yesterday.

“I’ll call and have a car sent for you.”

“Actually, His Majesty has promised to bring me straight to you via bifrost.”

“Wait, what?” You sit up in bed, clutching your blanket to your chest as your nerves suddenly fray and panic begins to build up within you.

“Should I come by plane?” She asks, worried by the sound of your voice.

You can’t see Thor. No. You can’t.

“No. I’ll just be going out later tonight to pick up a few things that I need here at the house. Toilet paper, napkins, laundry soap. I just didn’t want you to get here when I was out, but I’ll text you the passcode to get in.”

You’ll just have to make sure that you’re not at home when they come. That’s what you’ll do. This is a perfect excuse to be out since you need to get the stuff you listed anyway.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t just like me to come by plane?”

“No, really. The sooner you get here, the better. The car ride is so long from the airport. I’ll see you tonight, Dr. Wilson.”

“Bye, Your Majesty.”

Even though you know that you have hours upon hours until Thor brings Dr. Wilson here, you force yourself out of bed and abandon your plans to wallow in your feelings so that you can shower, get dressed, and leave the house.

If Thor’s coming, you’re going to be as far away from your house as you can be. You’re not ready to see him again just yet. You only have small errands to run but you’re gonna stay out all damn day if it’s the last thing you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday

Thor is at a loss. Completely and utterly lost without you.

If he was ever in doubt as to how he really felt about you--which he never has been because he knows himself well enough to know better--he knows now that you are the light of his new life here on Earth.

His reign would mean significantly less without you at his side.

Even though the time you’ve spent together has been a short few months, they have been the best months of his life.

If he’d had one of those other women he’d interviewed become his Queen, this life he’s chosen to lead would have felt empty and tedious. Instead of watching his Queen spend her time with his people leading the way in progress.

You’re so eager to be part of the Asgardian populace. They’ve embraced you so fully.

With a sigh, Thor leans forward and buries his face into his hands as he mentally trashes himself for the absolute fool that he’s been about this entire situation.

The fact that he’d even entertained the thought of leaving you.

He wants to cry and tear his hair out in frustration.

Should he tell you that the thought was weighed along with many others at Jane’s news?

And Jane.

Thor groans.

She’s been avoiding him since she told him. He can’t exactly blame her for it. He hadn’t exactly taken the news well.

He had no reason to expect her to be receptive to him after he’d basically accused her of being confused about it. She knew her own body. If she said she was pregnant, what reason would he have to doubt her?

He’s messed everything up so much and he’s terrified to tell you about Jane.

What if you have the same idea he did? What if you decide to leave him in some foolish attempt to have him marry her and legitimize his future child?

It’s something you would do. Sacrifice yourself so that he could do the right thing.

The thought of living this life of rule without you at his side is unbearable.

With another frustrated groan, he gets up and moves to pace the length of the room, ignoring the large pile of paperwork on his desk as his mind moves in circles.

It always comes back to you.

And then you’d been out when he’d gone to drop off Dr. Wilson. He hadn’t expected you to be gone. He’d wanted to see you. To hold you. Touch you. Hear your voice after so much turmoil.

You are his only solace.

Going so close to you and not seeing you has left him with a terrible pain in his chest.

His phone rings.

Thor dives for his phone and fumbles with it as he grabs it off the bed. He almost loses it over the opposite edge.

He literally throws himself towards it and lands with a grunt onto the bed as he catches it.

He presses the button on the screen without looking to see who it is because he only wants it to be you.

“Cherub?” he gasps, his voice an octave higher than normal with the little bit of exertion he just underwent.

“Oh, no. Sorry, Your Majesty, it’s Dr. Wilson. I was just calling to give you your daily report on Her Majesty’s health.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just haven’t heard from-” He clears his throat, sits up, and slides to the edge of the bed. “No matter. How is my Queen, doctor?”

“She was asleep. But just woke up. She’s very tired. Her throat is better, but she’s had a fever every morning since Sunday.”

Thor sits up straighter, hand clenched into a fist around the edge of the bed as his heart starts to thrum loudly.

“Is she seriously ill?”

“No, of course not, Your Majesty. But she really does need rest. She has been under severe stress and I’m sorry to say that your constant messages are not letting her rest.”

Thor’s heart drops and buries itself into a hole at the bottom of his stomach. He feels numb suddenly, fearful of what he might be doing to you. The guilt of what he knows he must tell you soon also weighs down on him.

“Are you saying that I should leave her be until she is recovered?” Thor checks, just in case he’s not understanding correctly.

“I’m saying that if you want her to get well quickly, you must give her what she asked you for. She needs rest.”

Thor hates that he can’t be there to check on you. He wants to feel you close. He wants to see you. What if you’re deathly ill and you’re telling Dr. Wilson to lie for you?

You abhor lies and cherish honesty , but he can see you lying in order to spare him pain. Just as he is lying to spare you the worry of all this uncertainty with Jane.

Although he knows that he can never lose you now and even with a child coming with Jane, you are his wife and he can’t leave you. He was stupid to think he could even try. The thought was a sin and he’ll never forgive himself for thinking it.

Loki was so angry with him.

Rightfully so.

The good thing is that you’ll never know how bleak things looked. At least he has found his sanity again.

“Will you keep me informed? I’ll stop contacting her if you will promise to tell me how she fares. If she gets worse, I want to know.” Thor insists, his voice passionate and begging.

“You have my word, Your Majesty. Have you heard anything from Ms. Foster? Do we know exactly when we’ll be running her tests?”

“She’s very busy. As of now, it’s looking more and more likely that we won’t be able to find the time until the week’s end. After we confirm her pregnancy, I’ll tell Y/N. I’m sorry that I’ve asked you to collude in this business.”

There’s a long pause and for a moment Thor thinks that maybe the phone has disconnected but then Dr. Wilson sighs, “I cannot wait for this week to be over. Will you come back for me then? When she’s ready?”

“Yes. I’ll pick you up in the same spot that I left you. My wife wasn’t too upset about her lawn, was she? Only, Stark seems to get irritated with me every time I land on his.”

“No,” Dr. Wilson chuckles once. “She was not upset. Again, there’s little more than her throat, head, and fever on her mind. I’ve gotta go. She’s gone out into the garden for some fresh air but I need to get her back into bed.”

“Please take good care of her, doctor. She’s...well, she’s my wife,” Thor finishes heavily.

The phone goes dead and Thor sits there staring at his phone until he can find the strength to get to his feet and go off in search of Jane. They really need to talk.

~~~~~~~~~~

Friday

Thor is upset.

He’s beyond frustrated by now.

He’s irritated.

It’s a week tomorrow since he’s seen you and he can’t stand the distance anymore.

Dr. Wilson snuck him a photo but you’d been sitting on your sofa, looking weak and withdrawn.

He’s not sure what exactly is making you sick, but he knows that he can’t go another day without seeing you.

He needs to get Dr. Wilson back here and he needs to get confirmation so that he can have something to tell you once he sees you.

He won’t lose you over this.

It was one last time. One final goodbye with Jane and he’d thought she was on her birth control but apparently she hadn’t been so he hadn’t bothered to protect himself from the possibility of getting her pregnant.

Why hadn’t she said anything?! Why hadn’t she told him that she wasn’t on her pill?

He knows it’s wrong to blame her. It took both of them to make this baby, but being away from you for so long is wearing thin and he’s losing all semblance of patience.

It takes some very careful maneuvering. Heimdall is sent first, then Hilde, then Loki.

None of them know why they’re going in to corner Jane in the tower except for Loki. Well, Heimdall knows, but there’s no hiding much from Heimdall. He pretends not to know and that’s good enough for Thor.

Loki is just stepping out of the tower when he turns to look at Thor with a grave almost exhausted expression.

“She’s up there,” he assures Thor, frowning as he shuts the heavy door. “When will this end, Thor? Are you going to keep the Queen away forever?”

Thor says nothing, he’s too upset to speak. He pulls the door open roughly and stomps his way up the steps taking them two at a time until he’s standing on the top floor landing.

He can see Jane biting her lip, pacing the length of the room until she turns and finally sees him.

“Thor…” she gasps, not expecting to see him.

“We have to talk, Jane.”

She looks away, turning her back on him then moves towards her laptop which she carefully closes. She puts her hand up to her throat and turns to face him.

“I will have Dr. Wilson brought in and Dr. Alric to give you the same tests they have been giving Y/N. They will be confirming your pregnancy and once we have that, then we can all sit down and figure out-”

“I’m not pregnant,” Jane gasps, her voice filling the room despite the quiet breath that escapes her pink lips.

Thor’s stomach twists. It’s agony.

On the one hand, the words she’s just spoken are...they’re a celebration. They’re simplicity. They’re peace and a return back to normal where in his life there is only you.

On the other hand, he’s just lost a baby he never had. An heir that he’d been expecting and now can never get back.

He’d made plans for this child. He’s pictured his life with them, the happiness and joy that their birth would bring to the people of New Asgard. The assurance that they would always belong to Earth.

He’d picked names for boys and girls. He’d begun to make a list of nursery items they would need even as he lamented that the baby was not yours but Jane’s.

This baby would have, and had already begun to change his life.

And now this?!

“What?” he very nearly spits.

Jane is so flustered she’s wringing her hands hard, welting them red.

“I’m...I didn’t expect to come here and see you with her and see how fast you just-” she waves her hand as if shooing away some animal. “-moved on. It’s like you were never with me.

“You were both so happy and talking about the future and I just lost it for a little bit,” she shrugs. “I have no excuses, Thor. I’m sorry if what I said hurt you. It was selfish of me and I just loved you for so long. You were mine, you know? And now you’re married, planning to have kids, and your wife is so nice and considerate and even though she has every reason to hate me, she was polite and so damn perfect…

“I’m not afraid to say that it made me hate her. I’m ashamed of it, but not enough to take it back.”

The silence is thick. The air suddenly grows charged and Thor’s eyes shine a bright sparkling blue.

His hands crackle and his eye spits as if full of blue fire.

The sky overhead thunders and the world shakes with the boom. The lightning strikes sharp and fast, shaking the tower so that for a moment, Thor can see how Jane thinks it might topple.

His anger gives way to betrayal and his lightning fizzles out as he takes a step towards her, his brow furrowed, eye full of pain as he stares at her, searching for the joke that this must be.

There is no way that this is really happening.

“You lied to me?” Thor accuses.

Jane blanches, her lips going pale as she takes a step towards him.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, I just-I didn’t want to see you with her anymore and I wasn’t thinking straight so I just said it before I could stop myself. I know that it was wrong and I didn’t think it would go on for so long. I wanted to tell you almost as soon as I said it that it wasn’t true, but then you just took off and then the Queen left and I wasn’t sure if you told her and maybe that’s why she wasn’t here.”

Thor shakes his head, turning away from her as he paces towards the stairs but then turns back, his anger returning but full of pain now.

“I defended you. When Loki insisted I have you tested I asked him if he doubted you and I assured him that you would not lie about something this important. What reason would you have to lie?” he demands, almost of himself instead of Jane.

“Thor,” Jane begins.

“How long were you going to let me think you were carrying my child? How long were you planning to con me?” he accuses and his words seem to hurt Jane.

Thor can’t find it in him to care too much.

“I wasn’t-that’s not what I meant to do, Thor. Please, you have to believe me. I just didn’t know how much seeing you with her would-”

“You have no right to be upset!” he booms, his voice loud and it startles Jane quiet.

She’s never heard him angry like this. She’s never heard his voice raised.

“I gave you every opportunity to be with me, to marry me, to build a life here with me and be my Queen. You didn’t want it! You flat-out refused to be tied down by me and this Kingdom but now that you see me and my wife happy, you change your mind?

“You have the audacity to raise obstacles between us because you have regrets?”

“Thor,” she tries again, but Thor won’t let her speak.

“Get out,” he says sternly, turning to move towards the stairs.

“What?!”

“I said, get out. You are no longer welcome in my home. Pray no one ever finds out of your treachery. And should you have the urge to return for any reason, don’t.”

Thor storms down the steps, so angry that each step shakes the tower.

He’s breathing heavily as he slams the door shut behind him.

The storm air helps to calm him a bit. It clears his mind at least and the past week zooms by him like an unpleasant movie.

All of that worry and the plotting and planning. The agony that he felt wondering if you’d leave him when you found out about his child with Jane was the most unbearable.

Your face flashes before his eyes and he knows that there’s only one place he can be right now.

He throws his hand out and a metallic whistling rushes closer before his fist closes around his hammer.

He swings it firmly and throws it up into the air as he makes for your home.

Now that he has nothing to keep him here, he’s eager to get back to you. He’ll tell you everything and hope that you can forgive him for lying to you about Jane.

Even though it was a lie by omission, it was still a lie.

“I’m coming, my cherub,” he whispers, so eager to have you in his arms again.

Nothing will ever tear him from you again. He is certain. Nothing. Not a false heir, or a former love, no doubts exist within him anymore. You are the one.

The only one.

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #a wife for thor #king!thor x reader fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x you #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #thor x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #a wife for thor pt19

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in-tua-deep · 4 years

Note

I would like to see Hargreaves family time please :3

HMMMM have a bonding scene ;3c

it is unedited though bc i never got around to it lmao

...

The thing they don’t tell you about recovering after escaping from terrible experiences, is that there are some things that you miss about them. You can be glad that you escaped while still mourning what you left behind, even if as far as you are concerned there shouldn’t be anything to mourn in the first place.

Five hated the apocalypse with something heavy and terrible that settled deep in his gut and that tended to be vomited out at the most inopportune times. Or perhaps it wasn’t hate at all, but fear that he experienced. Not that he would ever admit it, mind you.

But there were just some things that just - well. Five had spent over forty years in the apocalypse, sifting through rubble and ruin and scratching out equations on walls that were too broken to offer even the memory of the comfort and safety they’d once upheld. He’d spent forty years clinging to life by his fingernails and re-reading a book that was the only thing he had of his siblings outside of the grave sites he refused to visit,

He didn’t want to go back there. His entire life’s work was getting out of that hellscape and making it so that it never existed in the first place. Five hated and feared the apocalypse, but oh there were some days that he missed it with such a terrible fierceness it rather took his breath away.

He missed it on the days when nothing seemed to go right, when every word that came out of his mouth was wrong. When people looked at him with tightness around their eyes and pinched lips, and his siblings looked at him with pity in their eyes. Poor little Number Five, who couldn’t even accomplish the simplest of social interactions without inevitably fucking it up. Poor little Number Five, who forgot that people weren’t supposed to write on walls or hoard food in their rooms or freak out when someone burned food in a kitchen.

Adapting to a normal life was a challenge that Five hadn’t ever thought about - because what about his life had ever been normal? He was a child soldier, and then an apocalypse survivor, and then a temporal assassin and then - he wasn’t quite certain what he was now. Was he a child, or an adult? What was he supposed to do with himself now?

He missed that sense of purpose in the apocalypse. He missed Dolores. His one companion for so many years. He’d actually known her for longer than he’d known his own family, and wasn’t that an odd thought?

He missed the spot he’d holed up in before an earthquake had ruined it almost ten years before the Commission had found him. It wasn’t much, but he’d found a handful of records that had miraculously survived and an old record player that had even more miraculously done so.

He’d admitted to Dolores that he didn’t really know how to dance, not beyond the general flailing and swaying his siblings had used to drag him into when Luther played something from his budding collection.

(Five hadn’t had the heart to go rooting through the remains of the Umbrella Academy for things that could be salvaged, but he wondered about it often. He wondered if he’d find a whole entire collection of records, of if Luther would have lost interest and gotten rid of them all. He wondered if Allison still read through all the trashy magazines she could get her hands on as an adult, if she still tried to balance books on her head and walk regally through the house just because she’d read it once in a princess book or if she’d grown out of that.

He was back now, and perfectly capable of asking, but he didn’t. He looked at his siblings and saw strangers and missed his childhood even with the shadow of Reginald looming over them all. He loved his siblings as they were now, but oh he ached with the knowledge that the siblings he had known, the ones he had tried so hard to get back to, were lost to time. As good as dead. But then again, perhaps so was he.

He wasn’t the child who left on that fateful November day. He would never be him again.)

He missed Dolores teaching him to dance under the pale moon. Or well, not perhaps dancing so much as gently swaying together with his arms around her, cheek pressed against hers, as he closed his eyes and pretended for a moment that he hadn’t met her in the apocalypse at all. That they’d just bumped into one another in the street and gone on dates where he made her laugh and where he stressed about what to wear - a million inconsequential moments that meant nothing and everything at the same time. He’d wished they’d had a life together instead of the slow drawn out death that was the only thing that existed in the apocalypse.

And perhaps, there were other things he didn’t know he would miss until they were already gone and out of reach. Things he didn’t even think about, until he looked up at night and wondered where all the stars had gone.

It was a silly thing to get upset over, to go tearing through the house like a man possessed to figure out what had happened to the stars.

(Or perhaps it wasn’t so silly after all - the almost-apocalypse he had witnessed destroyed the moon. Was it such a reach to wonder about the stars, as well?)

Light pollution was the simple answer. It wasn’t that the stars were no longer there, just that they were drowned out. Only a few pinpricks bright enough to shine through and be picked up by the human eye. There had been no human lights in the apocalypse, with no one to turn them on or off except one lonely man who had a flashlight with scavenged batteries. Not nearly enough to make any difference.

The stars had been so beautiful. On the clear crisp nights, he’d lay next to Dolores on the ground staring up at the brilliant specks of light and tried his darnest to remember the constellations that once upon a time Luther had enthusiastically outlined for his unattentive brother at the height of his space phase.

(“When we get back,” He’d whispered to Dolores ever so softly, in the way he whispered every wish that only seemed appropriate to utter out loud under the night sky, “I’m going to get Luther to tell me them again, and I’ll actually listen this time. I won’t tell him to shut up, or that stars aren’t important. I’ll listen.”

He’d never been very good at listening, even as a child. But outside of a seven day deadline - the apocalypse had taught him patience. It was something the Commission found to be a boon as well - there was nothing more deadly than a very patient predator on the hunt, after all.)

Klaus had told him that the apocalypse was an addiction, and Five had done his best to quit cold turkey.

He’d returned Dolores to her store, mourning what could never be between them. In darker moments, he wondered if she would have ever actually chosen him - in that imaginary world where they met on a crowded street by happenstance. They’d been forced together at the end of the world, and even though he loved her he wondered about things like choice and happiness and shared trauma. Them breaking up was the right thing to do, he knew that, he just hadn’t realized quite how much it would hurt.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Five sought comfort where he could. That he stole a record from Luther’s collection (it had gotten bigger, a passion pursued into adulthood which was one question answered) that he must have played dozens of times on that record player in their little sanctuary at the end of the world. That he slept on the floor instead of the bed that was far too soft in so many ways.

That he crept up to the roof and lay on his back and stared at the stars that were visible, remembering a sky filled with diamonds and a cool hand in his own and whispered hopes and dreams and secrets from one terribly lonely boy to the uncaring infinity of the cosmos.

And maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that it wasn’t long until he was discovered up there, gazing at the sky with such careful mourning carved across his face.

(He hated and feared the apocalypse, but he mourned it as well. It had raised him, in the harsh and terrible way that was all the apocalypse knew how to do. He’d been raised by Reginald Hargreeves and forged in bruises and thoughtless brutality, and then delivered into the arms of something else that didn’t care for him either.

He grew into a boy with careless cruelty and harsh criticisms and a love for his siblings that burned hotter and longer than any fire the apocalypse could produce. He grew into a man, or perhaps just something man-shaped, in starvation and desperation and terrible all-consuming loneliness.

Reginald had been fond of telling them, “You will learn through suffering.” It was something trotted out whenever the children were forced to skip meals or run up and down stairs until their insides twisted and they retched on the floor barely held up by burning thighs and weak knees. It was being tossed behind locked doors until they promised their unrelenting obedience to a man who had done nothing to deserve it.

If suffering was a teacher, then surely Five was one of the wisest people alive.)

“What are you doing up here?” Luther asks, too loud in the stillness of the night. Five doesn’t begrudge him it though, it wasn’t every day one was confronted by their teenage shaped brother laying listlessly on the roof at hours when everybody should be tucked away in bed.

“What are you doing up here?” Five parrots back, melancholy mood sharpening the edge of his words into something more pointed than he perhaps meant them to be.

Luther shuffles, looking awkward in his own skin as he so often does. It’s enough to make Five soften, just ever so slightly. After all, Luther isn’t exactly the only member of the house who feels alien in their own body.

Perhaps it’s cruel to take comfort in his brother’s discomfort. But perhaps Five is cruel. It isn’t the worst thing he’s been called in his life.

(No one speaks about the dinner where Five and Diego had been sniping at one another and pushing each other’s buttons where Diego had brought up Five abandoning the family. That had been his exact word - abandoning. Five had frozen and Diego had pressed on, snarling about Five not getting an opinion about Reginald because he’d ditched so early and left the rest of them to Dad’s tender mercies. He’d said far more, but the rest of that dinner was a blur of sound and colors for Five.

Diego had apologized over the incident and then proceeded to not look Five in the eye for the next week. The whole family were so good at picking at one another’s weak spots and hitting them hard and fast. It was practically second nature. They knew which points to leave alone when it came down to it for each other, but not for Five. Not yet.

They didn’t know him anymore. It was a work in progress navigating their respective minefields of trauma in the meantime.)

“I asked you first.” Luther says, childish statement bringing Five out of his own thoughts. At the end of the day, they are brothers.

And perhaps it is that brotherly spirit that prompts Five’s lips to quirk as he offers the equally childish response of: “I asked you second.”

Luther scowls, but he’s fully aware of exactly how stubborn Five could be. That’s Five, built out of spite and pettiness, who never knew how to just lay down and give up. But if he’d been any less himself, they would never be there that night on the roof irritating one another. The thought fills Five up with something that could almost be called fondness.

Luther crosses his arms, and looks away. “I like looking at the stars.” He admits haltingly, and it makes Five sit up from where he was still sprawled on the ground. “I just - on the moon - I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Five cuts in with a fierceness that surprises them both. Five doesn’t look at Luther, just the sky. “There’s not as many stars, here. Not that you can see. It’s supposed to look different, but what’s left is still comforting because the sky is a constant. Because the stars don’t really change, even when the rest of the world does.”

“Yeah.” Luther sounds surprised at Five’s insight. There’s a moment of hesitation before Luther is gently lowering himself down to sit on the roof a few feet away from where Five is. When Five dares to sneak a glance, Luther’s eyes are trained on the sky with an almost wistful look on his face.

“I know I’m not supposed to miss it,” Luther begins, and the thought sounds so much like what Five was just pondering that he can’t help but startle. Thankfully, Luther doesn’t see. “But - it was always my dream, you know? To go up there, into space. I know it was just a rejection now, that Dad didn’t want me around so he wouldn’t have to face his failure.” Luther’s face twisted as he spat out the last word. He’d taken it hard, learning that he was just as insignificant in the grand scheme of their father’s plans as the rest of them.

“But.” Luther continues, his face smoothing out, “It was still four years of my life. I had a routine. It was lonely, but god Five. The weightless feeling? The stars? The sunrises? There’s nothing quite like it.”

There’s a silence between them for a moment that Five decides to break. Because he’s trying, he really is.

“Sometimes,” Five says, so softly that Luther actually shifts closer to hear him, “Sometimes the apocalypse was beautiful. A decade or so in, when the plants just tentatively started realizing it was safe to grow again, and the weeds came back first. Just spots of green and bright yellow dotted through the cracks and crevices.”

(Five had spent many springs of his life wandering through the rubble, leaning down to pick dandelions to admire before he ate them. Even when he was terribly hungry, he’d never eaten all of them - always leaving some to mature and bring more the next year. Picking them up and blowing softly and remembering the first time he’d seen one - on a mission where Ben had quietly and excitedly informed them that they had to blow on it and make a wish. That he’d read about it in a book.

Five had made the same wish for forty some years. He wasn’t sure what he’d wish for now, now that it had come true.)

“And when the skies were clear, at night - the stars were beautiful.” Five admitted, Luther made a sound but Five ignored it to carry on because if he didn’t speak his mind now he might never. “There were so many Lu, way more than we ever saw out our bedroom windows. And on nights where the moon was just a sliver, there were even more. We’d lay out there for hours.”

Luther coughs. Five looks over and isn’t quite sure why there’s a guilty look on his brother’s face. “’We’ would uh, be you and uh, Dolores, right?”

Ah, that would explain it. Luther always got that look when Five brought up Dolores, no doubt thinking about when he’d held her out of a window as leverage to prevent Five from killing someone. Luther hadn’t known then, Five thinks, about exactly how much Dolores meant to him. He’d known she was important, but hadn’t known why. He hadn’t asked.

There’s nothing Five can do but nod though, in response to the question. “Yeah. She likes the stars, she’s always loved things that glitter.” It was why she loved sequins so much, and Five was secure enough to admit that he liked them as well.

There’s an awkward silence between them now, one that Five can’t help but try and break. “I tried to remember the constellations.” He blurts out, grasping at the connection the two of them had shared before it slips between his fingers and results in them quietly going to their rooms and forgetting this conversation ever happened.

He can’t look at Luther, not as he admits this. So he doesn’t, he turns his gaze upwards to the pinpricks of light. “Do you remember, when we were eight and Mom gave you that book of constellations? And you wouldn’t shut up about it for like, a whole month? You kept waking all of us up and dragging us to the roof and you said we had to listen to you because you were Number One?”

Luther surprises Five just a little by laughing, “Yeah! Yeah I do remember that. Diego threatened to throw me off the roof if I ever woke him up in the middle of the night again after the fourth time and I’m pretty sure Klaus learned morse code to complain about me to Ben.”

Five grins, “Nah, don’t flatter yourself. He learned morse code with Ben to gossip at dinner. Your little nighttime shows were just something else he could yell about in front of Dad without anyone the wiser.”

“Of course he did.” Luther just sounds exasperated at their most colorful sibling’s antics, which is a big improvement on how he would have felt about it when they were actually eight. “To be honest, I didn’t think any of you actually listened to what I was saying at the time. I’m surprised you remembered.”

Five shuffles, not exactly wanting to admit he doesn’t remember most of the content but not quite willing to lie to his brother either. “I only remembered bits and pieces. Some names, other shapes. Those three stars that make up that one dude’s belt or something.”

“You didn’t just find some astronomy book?” Luther asks, looking puzzled. He doesn’t look offended at least, that Five didn’t pay that much attention during those lectures so many years ago. To be fair, he’s had plenty of time to come to terms with the idea.

“It felt disloyal.” Five admits after a heartbeat, only half grudgingly. He isn’t exactly the king of heart to hearts, but there is something about Luther that seems to encourage them in him. Even during the stress of the days preceding the apocalypse weighing on him, it had been Luther who Five had told about finding their bodies and who Five had told not to waste his life.

Maybe it was the certain level of kinship between them, both of them trapped in bodies that they did not choose and did not want. Both of them left alone for years on end, having to relearn how to interact with the general populace. Luther was loyal where Five was rebellious, but they had enough common ground between them to be significant.

“Disloyal?” Luther’s tone isn’t quite questionioning, just offering a way for Five to continue his thought where he’d trailed off.

Five’s stomach squirms at the blatant emotion, but it would have to try a lot harder than that to stop him after he’d gotten used to the hollow aching pain of starvation. “I didn’t want to learn the constellations from a book.” He says, and it’s easier to admit to hopes and wishes in the dark with the stars above him. It’s familiar. It’s not Dolores next to him, but Luther isn’t half bad company when he’s by himself. “I wanted to learn them from you, except you weren’t around to ask anymore.”

Now that he’s out of that hellscape, he can half admit to himself that not allowing himself to pick up an astronomy book might have been him giving himself even more incentive to go back and fix things. Not that he needed it but - half of it might have also been a sort of punishment for abandoning his family to whatever fate left them buried in rubble and dead at the end of the world as well. Never let it be said that any of Five’s coping mechanisms were actually healthy.

There’s a silence where Luther mulls that over, before he opens his mouth with a soft expression, “I’m around now.”

It’s an offer and a question rolled into one. It’s not Luther immediately launching into a lecture assuming that’s what Five wants or needs at the moment, it’s him asking, which is an improvement all in itself. If Five was too raw tonight, he would accept that without a question and they could look at the sky in silence together until the dawn came.

The ball is in Five’s court.

“What - what’s the name of the dude with the belt?” Five asks, hesitant and careful and feeling as brittle as the porcelain vases that Reginald decorated the halls with.

Luther’s answering smile is bright and tender enough to hurt.

“His name’s Orion...” Luther explains, and Five closes his eyes and lets Luther’s voice wash over him. When he opens them, it seems like the stars twinkle just a tiny bit brighter than before.

Or that might just be his imagination.

#ask me #yeAH i volunteered to do a luther and five piece bc very few people wants to tag in for luther #look i'm not luther's biggest fan but he has some rights #then again i haven't seen s2 maybe he loses what few rights he has #but i can't help but draw parallels between his and five's experiences #me holding up luther: stinky but still good #tua #the umbrella academy #far tua long #long post #five hargreeves #number five #luther hargreeves #i don't THINK i posted this before but correct me if i'm wrong #should i put this on the masterlist ????? what would i even put it under idk #Anonymous #oneshots

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grandhotelabyss · 2 years

Photo

As a companion to my prospective book announced here, From “Black Lives Matter” to “Most Non-Europeans Aren’t Human”: The Peregrinations of Liberalism, 2020-2022, I now also plan to write From Anti-Natalism to Suicide Advocacy: The Peregrinations of Leftism, 2020-2022.

I joke, and I make no apology for joking, because it’s important to joke. It’s one of the things that will keep you from killing yourself. What is suicide but the ultimate form of taking oneself too seriously?

The specific political motive in this case, as endorsed by our psychoanalytic intellectual above, last seen here at Grand Hotel Abyss diagnosing half of America as psycho-fascists, requires more specific scrutiny, however. Buddhism, I think, is a red herring, especially since people in the comments are observing that western or American Buddhism lends itself to a nihilism not present in traditionally Buddhist cultures, about which I’ll take them at their word. I suspect we’re dealing with a different spiritual pathology, expressed in its highest literary register here:

There is nothing innocuous left. The little pleasures, expressions of life that seemed exempt from the responsibility of thought, not only have an element of defiant silliness, of callous refusal to see, but directly serve their diametrical opposite. Even the blossoming tree lies the moment its bloom is seen without the shadow of terror; even the innocent ‘How lovely!’ becomes an excuse for an existence outrageously unlovely, and there is no longer beauty or consolation except in the gaze falling on horror, withstanding it, and in unalleviated consciousness of negativity holding fast to the possibility of what is better. Mistrust is called for in face of all spontaneity, impetuosity, all letting oneself go, for it implies pliancy towards the superior might of the existent.

There is a truth in this perception, grief’s insight into the evanescent triviality of the pleasures taken by those who have lost nothing—or, worse, who have been callous enough to recover from their losses. Certainly, this is as valid as any true mood, any aesthetic.

But a political movement based on such aesthetics, such affects, and on the spurious self-congratulation of experiencing-unto-suicide griefs that are finally not one’s own, is without ethical legitimacy. There is more genuine morality in the basic selfishness of tending one’s own garden—the whole world would be in flower if everyone did that—than in the grotesquely tumescent englobalizing compassion of this post-political aesthetic left. “Com-passion” literally means “suffering with,” a virtue when limited to an actionable range, but now extended beyond human endurance by a media apparatus that makes the far distant feel nearer at hand than your own life—because, through the medium of your phone, the far distant is physically in your hand.

Public suicide—the literally spectacular divestiture of one’s own power—is a perverse but logical conclusion of this left that refuses to own up to the power it actually exercises as it dictates expertise to authoritative institutions themselves more and more devoted to abolishing the merely human (“all spontaneity, impetuosity, all letting oneself go”), though it’s admittedly much less common and less commonly encouraged than other forms of totally annihilating the corrupt nature in one’s self:

I saw myself as a being of water and light, an angel imprisoned in a filthy human body. I resented having to eat, sleep, piss, and shit. I particularly hated having sexual desires and wanted to be rid of them.

To maintain one’s own expert standing, one must pledge fealty to this left, which has monopolized accreditation. It used to be that if one were shrewd enough, one could do this without too severely compromising any rival loyalties—to the liveliness, say, of art or nature, or to a metaphysics not consecrated to the revolutionary pessimism that has afflicted the left since the industrial proletariat failed to bring about the promised Millennium. But if it becomes an open cult of death? If it instructs its pilgrims to immolate themselves publicly—or at least fails to instruct them not to, while seeming to regard it as a worthy but extreme way to act on an accurate perception of reality—is one still a “fascist” if one raises one’s hand to object?

Further reading for anyone having doubts and second thoughts: my essay on Camus’s The Rebel, my short story “White Girl,” my novel Portraits and Ashes.

#suicide #leftism #theodor adorno #gnosticism #albert camus #wynn bruce

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spinaroos-47 · 3 years

Text

Escapade - The Owl House Oneshot

Synopsis: Hunter has his first flight with Little Rascal, still on uncertain grounds with them, slowly building an agreement.

Alternative title, local witch almost gets punted into the ground/treetops

---

The past few days had been tense ever since the little cardinal flew into his room. If Emperor Belos found them... He did not want to think about it.

But they could be the key to solve Belos' ailment. Palismen were wild magic, he could study about this, find more with them, hidden from the Emperor. The tough part would be convincing him...

And the little rascal was showing themselves to be a trouble maker. Always trying to run away from the castle and into the forest, trying to hide themselves on the hoodie of his uniform when he went out of his room to do anything. So many close calls, where everything could be discovered and ruined.

— Alright, palisman. — Hunter was sat on the bed, staring at the cardinal in front of him, staring back, curious. — You keep trying to escape, and almost getting us caught, but you... you are my palisman now, and I want to learn more about wild magic. We need to sort this out.

It felt a little silly, explaining all this to the small bird, but they hadn't taken their eyes off of Hunter, as if they understood every single word. He squeezed his hands, that ended up resting on his legs, looking away from the palisman.

— We're both risking a lot either way. At least you- Wait!

The cardinal had taken flight and went out the partially open window again, making Hunter almost throw himself into the parapet, reaching out. He stopped when he saw the red bird staring back at him. They hadn't flown away. They were there, tentatively near Hunter, but too far away to reach.

— Wait...You... aren't trying to escape? — his hand fell to rest on the exterior wall, still leaning on the parapet. The palisman looked as if they were waiting for Hunter to catch up, still staring at his eyes.

He turned to look onto the forest far away, near Bonesborough. The cardinal followed his gaze, and returned to looking back at him.

— Do you want me to go there? — He asked, hesitant, and the little bird chirped as if agreeing. He got up slowly, pondering about the possibility. — ...Alright. I think I got it. Just let me prepare for it.

— If we are going there, then at least I'll want to take the most out of this trip.

Packing up what he thought could be useful, he stared at the Golden Guard uniform, stopping himself, second guessing this decision. It wasn't what Belos would want, and the discovery that he had a palisman would be bad news for both of them.

...But he needed to learn more. For his uncle. He still packed the outfit, just in case. Another possible humilliation for not being recognized was out of the question, in case there was a need for that. But this could be also an advantage, not being recognized could help him blend in and not be caught, and be seen as a regular witch with their own palisman, and not the Golden Guard with a creature he shouldn't have.

And then a notebook, a cloth mask, some bandaids, everything he could need, inside the bag.

Lastly, he picked his staff, and the palisman's too. He felt them still staring at him out of the window, almost as if expecting him to get only one of the staffs, their staff, not the mechanical one.

— I am not taking any risks. I know how to handle this one better than yours. — He looked back at the cardinal. — If we're in an emergency, this could be of more use to us.

He was ready, although still slightly hesitant.

Sitting on the staff, halfway out of the window, feet resting on the wall, he looked over his shoulder, to his bedroom, to the door.

— ...We won't be gone for too long. It will be okay, they won't even notice we're gone. — He muttered, more to himself than anything. His stomach felt empty, still staring at the door, as if it would open at any moment. Just one wrong step and everything would crumble...

— No. — He shook his head, returning to look straight ahead. — This will be fine. We won't get caught.

The cardinal propped themselves on his shoulder, getting comfortable there, happily chirping.

They flew high, to avoid being spotted by anyone, they could see the entire forest from there in all its glory. He looked at the cardinal, unsure.

— Where in the forest do you want us to go?

The palisman moved to the front of the staff, observing the scenery, until they turned to one side and pointed their beak to there, turned back to face Hunter and then back to the spot, gently singing.

Hunter followed their directions, curious. As they went farther and farther into the forest, hovering so low they were almost touching the soil, he slowed down his staff, looking around. It was far from Bonesborough, out of reach from anything of the emperor's coven, and everything else, it seemed.

— I've never been to this part of the woods before... Is this where you came from?

They shook their head, letting out a small thrill, before perching on their staff. He stopped, hesitantly planting his feet on the ground.

— Is it here then? — He took the palisman's staff out of his back, wanting to confirm with the little rascal. They flapped their wings, happily singing, almost seeming like they were smiling. — Alright...

He put his bag near one of the trees on the small opening they were in, together with the mechanical staff. The sky was blocked by the folheage but enough light passed through to let them see with clarity.

— So...what now? — He asked, with the palisman's eyes at the same height as his, expecting something to happen.

And it did.

The palisman joined themselves with the staff and opened their wings, lifting Hunter off the ground with a single flap, making the boy shriek as they jolted upwards.

— Wait! Stop! — He was holding the staff for dear life, legs dangling as the ground became farther and farther away from them while he desperatedly tried to make it stop going higher and higher. The staff got slightly tilted, leading them to the trees, leaves and sticks hitting Hunter on the way, as he still tried to change it's course.

After getting back to a clearer part of the treetops, he managed to prop himself in the staff, holding it, as they plummeted to the ground, with no signs of stopping.

He closed his eyes tightly and made a sharp turn, making the staff stop abruptly, throwing him on the ground with a resounding thud, right on his back. His breathing was quick, heart still racing, eyes wide open now that he was amidst the grass and dirt.

Hunter turned his head to the palisman, who got out of the staff, hopping near his head. They looked...guilty, as Hunter slightly got up, supporting himself on his elbows.

— ...You did this? — His eyes were still wide open, impressed, leaning more towards the small bird, who hesitantly nodded. He laid his head down on the grass again, pondering. — ...So you wanted to show me what you can do?

The palisman nodded again, having laid down on the grass too. Both stayed there, quiet, as Hunter recovered, looking up at the leaves, messy hair and with some folheage and sticks stuck here and there, face scratched.

— ...You haven't done this in a while, have you? — He muttered, softly stroking their head. The only response he got were low chirps, closing their eyes as he pet them. — Were you abandoned?

He paused, slightly retreating his hand away from them. How could someone abandon such palisman? He roled to his side, reaching out his hand to them again, who hopped on his fingers, being brought closer to his face.

— You missed doing that, didn't you? We...we can come back here tomorrow to try this again. Earlier this time. I don't think it'd be a good idea to try this again now, but we could stay here a little longer, make it worth the travel. We still have about half an hour until the sun sets.

He got up, sitting on the ground, reaching for the bag, searching for something there, until he found the notebook, showing to the little rascal when they started looking at the pages, perched on his shoulder.

— It's not as much as I would have wanted... but it's all I know for now about wild magic. I shouldn't be doing any of this, but... Belos will die if I don't do something. I need to find a way, even if he doesn't agree with it. I'll... I'll see how I will bring it up.

He slowly flipped through the pages, filled with names of books, mentions of magic usage during the Savage Ages, even some attempts at the glyphs that human made, although to little success, he couldn't remember them that well. Picking up a pencil, he started to write.

— Palismen are a source of wild magic. It keeps Belos alive. That... That I know well. — He turned his gaze away from the cardinal for a moment, hesitant. — But there must be another way. It's becoming unsustainable, there must be some other solution. A permanent one.

— ...I don't fully understand why he declares that all wild magic is harmful. You...you aren't dangerous, or malicious. It hurt many people, but you haven't done anything really bad yet. It did made that to him, but how come everything related to it could bring the same harm? — He sighed, resting his chin on his hand, looking at what he wrote.

Running his eyes through the page, he was gently tapping the pencil on it, analyzing. The small bird perched themselves better on his shoulder, slowly closing their eyes, as he read and and re-read the pages on the notebook, planning what to do.

Some minutes later, not very far from there, as it slowly got darker, some soft rustling could be heard.

— I think we should go. — He got up, gently scritching the cardinal's chin. Picking up his things, he looked back at where he heard the rustling, slowly approaching it, staff in hand and with the mask on. — ... But it doesn't hurt to check what's making this sound.

Pushing away some branches and leafs, there it was. The Owl House. Belos ordered him to keep an eye on its inhabitants, the human being one of them, and there he was, right near it.

— I didn't know we were this close to it. Why was she on the nest with you and the others if it's this far from Hexside? She didn't have any staff, and i don't think she went there walking. — He wondered, watching the lights inside the house turn on, sillhouettes on the eye window moving. — Did you have anything to do with this?

The palisman perched on his arm, also looking at the house, letting out low chirps, ignoring his question. They were starting to get tired, and so did Hunter. It had been a long day. He sat on the staff, giving one last look at the house.

— We should go. It wouldn't be a pretty sight if the door spots us.

With a long sigh, he took flight once again, carefully avoiding the patrols in the sky, quickly gaining speed once they were close enough to the castle, sprinting to the window. It wasn't worth the risk to dwell on the sky near the building, even him being the Golden Guard, things could be easily mistaken from that far away, and he shouldn't be out at this time. Getting caught wasn't an option.

Sitting on the bed, he gently placed the sleepy rascal on the makeshift nest he made for them, on the bed, near his pillows. Picking up the notebook, he stared at it, before hiding it under the pillow. He couldn't risk it being found. It was already hard to hide the more risky books, switching the hiding spots every so often, but losing the notebook would mean having to start from scratch all over again.

...But maybe it would be the best. To forget everything about it. To get rid of the palisman. Burn all evidence of the glyphs he saw. But it hurt to consider doing it. He already knew so much, but not enough. Just a little more, just a little more was what he needed.

And the palisman... They might have been a risky creature, but even on just these few days with them, he grew attached. They would greet him every morning, before and after any patrols, missions, meetings or training. They were always there. They made the days less lonely, the nights less silent.

They could help him with magic, he could find out more about palisman magic, how it works and maybe could be a failsafe if the other staff couldn't help him. The thought of all the possibilities overwhelmed him.

He looked back at them, who was already fast asleep. Hunter smiled weakly, laying on bed, staring back at the ceiling. His back was still sore from the incident, pulling out the sticks from his hair. He stopped when he touched the burnt loose strand.

Kikimora had started to be more ruthless towards him, more than the usual. She would try to do it again, there was no doubt about that. But the palisman would make things even more dangerous. She couldn't possibly know he was who fought her in Latissa, he was safe about that, but she would put her claws on any dirt she could have on him. He had the dirt on her, the failed assassination, and he wasn't afraid to use it if needed. He just needed to play his cards right.

Things had reached a precariously stable situation, or so it seemed. There was so much at risk, and the Day of Unity inched closer and closer, Belos' got worse and worse, a new rebellion was starting to get on the radar of the coven, with a head witch being rumoured to be among the traitors.

He had to continue it. He couldn't afford to avoid it.

But at least he had a little company during that, a solace for the hard times to come.

And every help would be needed.

#took a little bit of inspiration for the bird hiding from hiccup doing that with toothless in the books #first fanfic in four years! also the first fanfic i ever wrote in english!#ive been writing this since july 20th and the new episode airing soon motivated me to finish this before it airs #toh #the owl house #golden guard #hunter toh #toh hunter #golden guard toh #toh golden guard #the golden guard #lil rascal toh #lil rascal #fanfic #toh fanfic #alec talks #alec writes #writing #long post

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darkmindsotome · 3 years

Text

On the Riverbank

Title: On the Riverbank

Fandom: Love365 Masquerade Kiss

Pairing: Kei Soejima x MC

Word count:3,963

Warning: NSFW Smut

Written by: darkmindsotome

Summary: After suffering from cabin fever a date is in order. Only this simple date plan is going to get spicy.

Tagging @voltage-vixen as requested. Prompt #15: Free Prompt (Picnic on the River)

---

I was willing to blame uncontrollable events on the fact that we hadn’t managed to go on a date in a while. Between work and recovering from work, it had been impossible to plan anything. However, it had become the new norm for us to remain living together at Kei’s rooms in Raven.

At some point, I began to feel like I had cabin fever. I was happy to be with Kei and a secret part of me loved being at home with him 24/7. To think there was a time when I thought this was a prison sentence. I couldn’t deny the fact I wanted to go out and do something now things had settled down though.

After looking out of the large windows in the suite over the streets of London, sighing for what must have been the sixth or seventh time, into my nighttime cup of tea. Kei put down his book and announced we would be going on a date. Later that night I curled up happily in bed wrapped in his arms and fell fast asleep.

The next day I woke up alone. My mysterious man had vanished before I could say so much as a good morning or ask about our date plans. Patting down the sheet on his side of the bed resulted in me finding them stone cold. He was always an early riser but this was ridiculous. I then noticed a note left on his pillow.

“Good morning, forgive me I had some things to tend to. I have arranged a car to bring you to our date. K”

I rubbed my fingers over his beautiful cursive writing just as a courier arrived at the door and delivered a beautifully wrapped box. The duck egg blue container was almost pearlescent with a thick cream coloured satin ribbon all perfectly tied around it.

The timing was so perfect I really had to marvel at the man organising this and wonder if I was always this predictable or if I would discover a hidden camera somewhere in the room. Opening the box up revealed a single white rose with a card resting on top of a black dress that fitted Kei’s tastes perfectly.

“I can’t wait to see you. K”

The message had me smiling long before I took the dress out of the box. It was a vintage style tea dress with little cap sleeves made from some of the most delicate lace I’d ever seen. It looked almost like patterned smoke.

There was something different about getting ready for a mission and getting ready for a date. The feeling I got from both was similar but I found I was much more nervous about a date than a life-threatening mission. I rushed through my prep stage of shower, hair and make-up.

Slipping into the dress I instantly fell in love with it. Kei knew my measurements off by heart and I was pretty sure he had them on file with his usual tailor so he could get the outfits he gifted me perfect right down to the last stitch.

Walking into the closet to find a pair of suitable shoes I discovered some already sitting out. They were naturally also black with the addition of ribbons that wrapped around my ankles. Securing the bows, I couldn’t help but make the comparison between them and cuffs. I felt heat climbing up from them at the thought. I imagined Kei and what was probably going through his head as he picked them out for me. How his fingers would have traced the shoes and the ribbon. The idea of tying me up was never far from his mind and with these shoes, it felt like he had already started.

Shaking my head, I looked at my watch and doubled checked my reflection in the mirror before leaving to go get in the car. I watched from the back seat absentmindedly playing with my choker as the car took me away from the centre of the metropolis.

The modern landscape changed slowly into something that felt more historic. The buildings looked older; the concrete jungle had passed into something more like a tv drama set. In fact, if I hadn’t known how far I had travelled I might have thought I was somewhere else entirely.

My eyes caught a familiar figure standing near the roadside. He was dressed in more casual clothes. The white trousers, cream coloured cricket jumper with a blue stripe around the collar and the light blue shirt under it all made him look like a student. The car slowed until the backdoors aligned perfectly with him. I had seconds to smooth down my dress and mentally brush off some of the nervous excitement before the door was opened.

“M’lady.” I smiled at the Princely Kei as he offered me his hand. It was all too easy to forget what he truly was like even for me. Yes, I loved his sweet and angelic side, but I also loved that tricky Devil he hid behind his mask too.

“Thank you.”

Kei guided me to his side, away from the car, and sent it on its way. Now completely alone he used our still joined hands to make me twirl for him as he looking me over from head to toe.

“You look even better than I imagined.” Kei smiled and brought me closer to him. Sweeping some of my hair away from my neck so he could brush his fingers along the neckline of the dress and the choker around my neck.

I once more felt the difference in attire. I was all dressed up and felt far more formal than he did. The idea of him being a student once more flitted through my mind conjuring up kinky scenarios of a socialite sneaking off for a romantic rendezvous with a hidden student lover. It was silly, Kei was older than me even if there were times it was hard to tell that from appearance alone.

“Careful now or you might start sounding like Kazuomi.” I joked attempting to forget the thoughts going through my mind.

My eyes naturally fluttered shut. His cold elegant fingers ghosting over my skin was enough to remind me of the many nights we spent together. Where he had dyed me in his own colours and shown me the abyss behind the door to depravity. Joining me as we fell through purgatory to our own private Eden.

“Perish the thought.” He let go of me. A sensation that left me feeling the need to chase him.

Opening my eyes, I saw that impish look on his face. He was slowly becoming more and more adjusted to life outside of his own nightmares and past. It was still obvious he was a little lost and confused at times but when he was like this, I could almost imagine him as a little boy. It made my heart sing to think we could stand here now together and I could enjoy such a candid fragment of my elusive boyfriend.

“Come now we should get this date started.” Kei laced our fingers and matched his pace to mine.

We walked through some trees and right up to the side of a riverbank. There in front of us was a beautiful craft floating on the water. Inside were some large cushions a few blankets and a basket.

“I thought I would show you a little hospitality and tradition.” Kei let go of my hand briefly to climb onto the small craft and then held out his hand again to help me get on board as well.

“We are going boating?” I giggled as the whole thing rocked under my feet. The idea of mixing something traditional from his own country and a date was so him it made me happy.

“Punting. It is quite different but I trust you will enjoy yourself.” Kei’s correction came with all the patience I had come to expect from someone who knew so much and was used to sharing it in the course of his work.

“I think I’ve seen it before. It looked like the river had turned into Venice or something.” I sat down carefully feeling rather small when I looked back up at Kei.

“I can understand your comparison and whilst you can use a pole on both vessels a Punt is different to a Gondola.” He smiled and retrieved the long pole from the riverbank using it to cast off.

I watched him standing near my feet moving the pole through his hands with little effort. If you were really quiet you could hear the smooth wood, polished with years of use, slipping through the water and his palms.

“It doesn’t feel as safe as I thought it would.” I commented as the pole in his hand seemed to get stuck on something under the water and give a little tug that made the punt slightly rock.

“I assure you that I am an excellent Punter.” Kei’s expression was so deadpan and relaxed as he declared this I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“I get the feeling your friends would be doubling over in laughter right about now hearing you say that.”

“Yes, they probably would. Thankfully they aren’t or I would have tipped them both into the Thames and made them swim.” He looked down at me. The shadows from the trees we were moving through were casting shadows on his pale skin. I didn’t miss how his playful eyes shone through the shade.

“You wouldn’t…”

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride. I did consider placing the seat facing forward but selfishness prevented me from doing so. I wanted to see your face, forgive me.” The Devil faded in the light once more replaced by the charming Prince.

“You know I never once pictured you doing this?” I sunk back into the cushions, finding them much more comfortable than I thought they would be. The blankets as well were a mixture of textures but each one was thick and luxurious.

“Oh? Punting has been a traditional pastime in England since the 1860’s it really caught on by the 1880s and 1900s though. Before they became used for recreation these little crafts were used as part of the transporting of traders.” He spoke as he manoeuvred the pole and pushed us forward in the water. “Are you familiar with Alice in Wonderland?”

“Yes of course it’s a children’s classic.” I happily nodded. I know it is kind of a strange thing to enjoy but I did genuinely love how knowledgeable he was and how he explained things. It was like having my own personal tour guide and professor.

“Quite so. Well, the author Lewis Carroll used to punt along the Thames and during one of his outings where he was with a friend’s children he started to tell the story of a curious little girl who followed a rabbit. He later put pen to paper and created the beloved tale as a gift.” He lowered his voice as if he had just shared a piece of information vital to national security.

“I didn’t know that.” I don’t know what face I was showing him when he looked down at me. His face seemed to soften, although it could also have been my imagination.

“Literature aside I thought I would show you some more of England than the inside of Raven or shopping in the capital.” I looked around at the countryside slowly passing. I knew there was more to London than concrete and cars but I didn’t think there was this much greenery.

“I thought the Thames was larger than this.” I mused and put my hand over the side dipping it in the cool water playing with the ripples made by the punt as it moved.

“It is. We are currently on one of its many streams. Still part of the river but not as heavy with the tourist trade. You will also know of the boating traditions between Oxford and Cambridge, yes?” Kei always seemed to become a little more animated when talking like this. It was like he suddenly had an outlet for all the bottled-up information and facts he had in that well-read brain of his.

“The boat race?” I titled my head against the sun and saw him nodding happily.

“Yes, it is covered by the media extensively at the time. Well, the competition between the two on these waters doesn’t stop with rowing. There is a traditional Oxford way to Punt and then there is the traditional Cambridge version.” Kei grimaced theatrically as he explained.

“Haha, you don’t sound like you approve of the Cambridge way.”

“I am an Oxford man.” He almost seemed to stand up straighter as he said that. “The flat raised planking behind you is called the Till. A Cambridge man would stand on the Till and punt like so.” He stepped over me and demonstrated what he meant. It caused the punt to lurch which had me clinging to the sides of it thinking it might tip us both in the water. “Whereas an Oxford man, He will stand in the punt and work from here.” Kei stepped back into the punt and resumed moving us from inside. The vessel settled back down and I ended up breathing a sigh of relief. “Also a notable difference is the till. Following Oxford tradition, it is always facing front in the direction one is moving."

"I had no idea there were so many traditions.”

“There are more but I fear any more information will bore you under this hot sun. Here should be suitable.” He pushed the punt so it brushed up against the bank again this time next to what looked like a very secluded spot. The grass was short and looked to be recently cut. Surrounding it were high hedges and some trees.

“What is this place?” I asked as we left the punt for more stable ground.

“You will find them all around. They are locations people usually used for picnics.” Kei spoke as he stuck the pole into the bank and tied the punt to it.

“Are they all this well maintained?” I was still looking around. I don’t think I have ever been to a part of London that has ever made me feel so totally alone. It was pleasantly unusual.

“The ones that are owned are yes. This is one of my family’s spots.” He leant over and scooped up the basket and grabbed a blanket. With them in hand, he then walked into the centre of the grass and quickly set up.

“What do you have hidden away in your basket of tricks?” I sat down on the blanket and waited for him to reveal his secrets.

“We have tea, the very seasonal and traditional strawberries and cream.” He placed a flask down next to the punnet of fresh fruit and a pot of thick white cream. “We also have peanut butter sandwiches…”

“You made this picnic, didn’t you?” I couldn’t help but giggle. When he said he had things to do in his note I thought it would have been work-related. Now I had visions of him shopping and preparing this picnic instead.

“What is wrong with it?” He asked. His golden hair shining like a halo under the sun.

“Nothing just it's very you. If you had brought the basket from somewhere or had someone else make it, I doubt peanut butter would have made it on the menu.” It was true he could have ordered it from room service or had it made up somewhere in town and just brought it along. The fact that he actually made anything himself was endearing.

“Did you want something different?” His expression shifted and he looked like a child that was waiting to be scolded.

“No this is perfect.” I reached over and took one of the sandwiches from the plate in his hands.

“I did think of bringing some Pimms but I reconsidered.” Kei recovered fast, the cracks in his mask reformed.

“Why?”

“The time of day for one thing. I mean as Kazuomi would argue it's five o’clock somewhere but I would hate for you to be so drunk you fell overboard.” He poured some tea from the flask and handed it to me. Our fingers touching for a second, more than long enough for me to realise his body temperature was still as cold as normal.

“We both know I have a better tolerance to alcohol than that.” How can he do that? It was so hot the world could be melting and Kei would still be sitting there in a pullover surrounded by his own internal climate control. “You said this was one of the quieter parts of the River. Why come here? Oops!”

I had been so concerned with not spilling the tea he had given me I had completely misjudged the integrity of the sandwich in my hand. Part of it failed to make it to my mouth and vanish down the neckline of the dress. Embarrassment threatened to bloom inside me and I really hoped Kei had missed what I had just done.

“Is it a crime to want to spend some time alone with my girlfriend?” His voice was so close and I hadn’t felt the blanket move or even seen him shift. Yet he was right next to me his face so close to mine I could feel his breath in my ear. “Honestly I did think of following one of the other paths of the river. There are more pubs and places to go along them but I wanted to enjoy something more scenic with you.” He trailed his fingers along my choker and then slipped them down the front of my dress. “Now I’m glad I made this choice.”

“Something about how you just said that makes me think you weren’t referring to a quiet picnic together.” I acted cooler than I felt. I knew he could feel my heart beating and see the pulse running wild in my neck. All the time I faked being calm as his fingers extradited the rogue peanut butter sandwich from my body.

“You always were very observant.” I followed his hand as it carried the salvaged food to his own mouth. Those eyes of his locked on me looking like pools of golden lust.

They drew me to him like a spell and held me there as he locked me up in his arms, his hands roamed freely over me. Tumbling back together onto the blanket the picnic was threatening to be forgotten.

“Mmm Kei.” My breathy cry came out as he nibbled on my collarbone and began moving a hand up my leg under the fabric of the dress.

“Careful now. It might be a secluded spot but there is no telling who you might summon with a voice like that.” He teased as his fingers did some teasing of their own. Rubbing the outline of my sex through the sheer fabric of his favourite lace panties.

“As long as one of the people I summon is you I don’t care.” I was done with coy. Coy and demure didn’t get you anywhere fast with this man. There was a time and place for all that and when we were alone and things were heating up was not one of those times.

“Mmm, have I ever told you how stunning you are when you are honest with your desires?” He slipped his fingers past the lace pressing his thumb onto my clit before pumping a couple of digits inside me. I wanted to moan louder but his warning from before made me stop.

I looked up and found him smirking. He knew I was holding back. He knew I was trying to be a good girl but damn him if he wasn’t trying to break me.

“I don’t think I can remember.” Two could play that game and I tried to make it look like I was still in control. With every stroke from his hand, I was losing my sanity, but I kept up a strong front and played the game.

“Then I’ll have to take my time and remind you.” He moved on top of me his hand still driving a fever through my core as he spread my legs wide with his own.

“What about the picnic?”

“There is time enough for both. I don’t intend to let anything here on this blanket go to waste.”

His voice purred erotically as he slid the zip on the dress down my back and dragged the bodice low enough to expose my breasts. The cap sleeves I had thought were a nice addition were now part of the binding of fabric that was preventing my arms from freely moving.

Kei brushed his fingers over the lace of the bra and once more slid his hand inside. Treating each nipple to a firm pinch as he ravished my mouth with his tongue. I squirmed under him trying to wrap my legs around his and return the restraint in kind.

“Hehe, you really are the only one that has ever tried to dominate me.” His laugh was like a clear bell whilst the things he was doing to me had my head crashing like a drum.

“Kei… please stop teasing me already.” I moved some more only to find his weight was gone. He had stopped touching me completely and was sitting back on his heels looking at me.

“As My Lady commands.”

I watched as he licked his hand clean and used the other to undo his belt and trousers. It wasn’t unusual for him to remain clothed but it rarely happened where it was so bright. I bit my lip as he rolled my dress higher exposing all of me. He said nothing as he undid the strings on the panties and placed them into his pocket. The silence was deafening given how aroused I was. He leaned over and dipped a strawberry into the thick cream holding it just out of reach of my mouth.

“Eat it.” His command seemed absolute even if it was given in a sugary-sweet tone. I tried to stretch for it but couldn’t. His eyes twinkled and his smile became more wicked. “I guess if you can’t be a good girl then I’ll just have to treat you like a bad one instead.”

I felt my core tighten as he brought his palm down with a crack against my bare thigh. He pressed down on me again. His mouth connecting with mine. Fruit and cream filled my senses as he used his own mouth to feed me. The escaped juices were lapped up by his tongue as he arranged himself to take this to the next level.

“Ah!” A slight sharpness ripped through my body and was quickly numbed as the pleasure of us finally connecting took over. With each rock of his body, it moved my body against the ground far more than the swaying of any boat.

Our mouths connected again and again at different angles to the point where I was sure I had forgotten to breathe. His fingers ran through my hair sometimes pulling grabbing at it but each time it only emphasised his desire for me and made my whole body tingle.

I never did find out if anyone else was around as Kei had said or if it was all just another layer to his devilish lies to set the mood. I did discover that I would never be able to eat a picnic again without the addition of a peanut sandwich.

---

#summer of smut #summer of smut content creation challenge

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adraughtofamortentia · 3 years

Text

hello, so i’ve written my very first fan fic!! an idea came to live in my head rent free while watching this scene in a cdrama and i just had to write it. its also posted to ao3 here! shoutout to my bestie & beta @thatweirdgirljess, your enthusiasm for my hyperfixations keeps me going~~~

fandom: ancient detective, pairing: jian buzhi x zhao wohuan (m/m), lengh: 2,883

title: you’re my warm heart in a cold world

As evening grew into proper night, Zhao and Jian had retired to their room in the Yiyuan Inn. After the chaotic events of the day the quiet and comfort of each other's company was most welcome. Zhao had stripped down to his black underclothes and settled into a light practice of some of Second Master Li’s sword techniques. As he swung his sword arm, without the actual sword in hand, through the various arcs the book depicted he could feel his freshly stitched wounds on his arms and thigh sting in protest. It was easily ignored though, and Zhao found he appreciated the reminder of why he needed to keep up with his training schedule.

Being reminded of his wounds prompted Zhao to recall how he came to sustain them, the reason why he had fought so valiantly. The person he fought to protect.

Without stopping the motions of his empty handed sword arm, Zhao looked out of the corner of his eye across the room at Jian. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, also dressed down to his own white undershirt, and seemed to be engrossed with some reading. Gently clutching the book, Jian had his head bowed over the scripture. For all appearances he seemed to be reading deeply, however Zhao also saw that he was continuously fiddling with the corner of one of the pages between his fingers and had not appeared to turn the page in some time. Recognizing the posture as one of Jian’s thinking poses, Zhao leaves him to his thoughts and returns his focus back to his practice.

Pausing his swings and glancing back down at his own book, Zhao takes note of the formation he’s practicing one more time and adjusts himself back into the first pose of the sequence.

As he practiced he continued to think about his battle earlier that day. He could still remember the fear gripping him as the assailant dressed in black relentlessly took shots at Jian. After pulling several quick moves to keep Jian mostly out of harm’s way, Zhao could put the rest of his focus on attacking the masked assailant. At the time he hadn’t actually even felt the wounds being inflicted on him. It wasn’t until after the fight was over that he even registered the cuts and their pain, too focused on thoughts of “protect Jian-ge” and trying to recall his newly acquired sword skills.

Even though he was empty handed now, Zhao felt like he could still hear the clash of metal against metal as his short broadsword met the dual swords in the hands of their attacker. It took several quick maneuvers to both block the attacks and keep Jian out of the way. Every time one of those swords came close to Jian, Zhao felt something in his chest tighten. Too close, he remembers thinking more than once.

After dealing his opponent a well aimed blow, and the attacker finally fleeing with the assistance of his female partner, Zhao’s pain was still merely a second thought as Jian came out from his hiding place. He thinks back to those few moments of pride where he felt success at fending off the villain and protecting his damsel- companion! He means his companion, and sworn brother.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

“Zhao, when did you become so good?” Jian had exclaimed, rushing over from his hiding place behind the screen to the warrior who was still holding his final battle stance.

However, when this didn’t get any reaction out of Zhao, Jian called him again “Zhao?”

Thinking the silence was Zhao pulling his typical tricks into getting complimented on his increasing skills and finesse as a hero, Jian teases his companion.

“Although you are great, you don’t need to pose for so long.” This finally prompts the swordsman to stand out of his pose, laughing as he replies “I’m enjoying being a hero!”

Smiling at his heroic, albeit silly, companion, Jian points out “You’re quite humble, Zhao.”

“I’m an expert, of course I have to be humble!” comes Zhao’s quick reply, striking a pose with his sword on display atop his shoulder to emphasize his point. His joy is short lived though as Jian suddenly says “Zhao, you’re bleeding!”

Disbelief fills Zhao, “An expert won’t bleed, Jian-ge!” But he looks down to the areas that Jian is pointing out across his body, and why yes there are indeed several spots where blood has seeped through his clothing.

Zhao notes the rising panic in Jian’s voice just as his body finally registers the wounds and their pain. To cover up both the way his heart warms at the care apparent in Jian’s voice and the rising feeling of pain overcoming his body, Zhao begins laughing a little too loudly for the situation. The last thing he remembers is the feeling of Jian’s arms coming around his body as he falls forward into him and the awaiting darkness.

……………………………………………………………………………………….........

Zhao lingers in these thoughts, and the treatment he received after by the Wicked Woman, for a while longer letting the soothing atmosphere of the room and the repetitive motions of his sword practice try to settle his storming mind.

It’s some time later when Jain interrupts the quiet of the room. “Zhao, you’re still awake at this hour?”

“You’re not sleeping either” the young hero pointed out. “And besides” he continues “I want to stay with Second Master Li a while longer” holding his sword training book up towards Jian. While that was true, what he didn’t say was that he was still hesitant to go to sleep. He had a feeling that once he closed his eyes his mind would continue to replay the events of the day, but would most likely add sinister twists to the scenario. Where Zhao wasn’t strong enough, fast enough, skilled enough to protect Jian. And instead of Zhao receiving a handful of small wounds, Jian could have been… it could have been much worse.

“You haven’t recovered from your injury” Jian refutes, not looking up from his reading material. “I don’t want you to become crippled.”

Zhao pauses in the middle of his next stroke. He looks over at Jian again, takes in his tense shoulders and the ways his hands have begun gripping the book more tightly than necessary. He hears and sees the worry for what it is; despite accepting Zhao’s protection and the man as a sworn brother (and well, Zhao was still unpacking all of that and the way it made his stomach flutter to think about) Jian had trouble seeing Zhao hurt on his behalf. It wasn’t something they spoke about, but Zhao had seen the guilt in Jian’s intense eyes more than he wanted to.

“The Wicked Woman has done her job well, Jian-ge, I am feeling well!” Zhao responds enthusiastically. “Besides,” Zhao continues as he puffs out his chest, filling his voice with bravado, “today’s victory shows that with my practicing I am becoming quite the hero!”

This elicited the reaction Zhao wanted out of his companion as Jian let out a soft huff of laughter. He continued, “The sooner I finish Second Master Li’s teaching the sooner I can be an even stronger hero!”

Letting out an obviously forced sigh, Jian replies “I advise you to learn slowly. I don’t have other sword manuals to give you. Take your time.”

Hearing Jian say this, Zhao begins swinging his sword arm more aggressively than necessary for the gentle practice he was doing. But what he heard upset him. “Take my time?” he growled. “Take my time?! For what?” He let out a few more aggressive swings. “For you to actually get hurt next time? No, thank you.” Slash, stab. “I won’t be letting that happen if I can help it,” he finishes as he lets out one last wide swipe of his arm, imagining his sword in hand, taking down his enemies. Jian-ge’s enemies, he thinks.

Zhao didn’t realize how harshly he had let out his response until he turned and saw Jian looking at him from across the room, wide eyed, his hands having lowered the book into his lap. The two stare at each other from across the room, Zhao sword arm lowered to his side. Jian doesn’t hold the eye contact for long before turning his nose back into the pages of his book.

Zhao continues to stare at his sworn brother. He thinks he sees a red flush rising on Jian’s neck and ears but he assumes it must be a trick of the light, the alternative too crazy to consider. Jian wouldn’t be blushing because of what Zhao had said, could he? Zhao shook his head lightly to try and clear the foggy feeling of his thoughts.

Sitting down on his own bed, he tries to focus on his training book once again but finds himself imagining what Jian would look like blushing while he could see his whole face. How his cheeks and ears would turn a cute and bright pink. How the colour might travel down his neck, to his chest, and lower still…

Abruptly Zhao brings his book up to cover the front of his face, blushing himself as he realizes where exactly his thoughts about Jian had started going. It wasn’t the first time he had thoughts like this but normally he was better at stopping himself, especially in the other man’s presence. He wasn’t trying to think of him in this way, Zhao just found himself curious about his companion and wanted to know everything about him. In order to protect him, of course. Not because Zhao was selfish and wanted to be someone Jian confided in most intimately.

Realizing this was a particular spiral he did not feel like traveling down tonight, Zhao decided it was time to get ready for bed. He began to put his things away, stashing the book on his night table and leaning the sword against the headboard, and laid out his bedding. Jian had followed his lead and put his own book away and fluffed up his blanket.

Zhao blows out the last of the candles that light the room, leaving one lit on the centre table to allow some light to permeate the shadows should either need to get up in the middle of the night.

Both had been in bed for only a few moments before Zhao thought he could hear noises coming from Jian’s side of the room. Despite the large space, Zhao could hear a faint clicking noise. It was too dark to see Jian’s form huddled under the blanket, but Zhao imagined if he could he would see his companion’s shoulders shaking. The clicking noise was Jian’s teeth chattering as he shivered from the cold poison circulating through his body. Unfortunately, it was a sound Zhao was becoming more and more familiar with.

Shuffling quietly in bed, Zhao sits up. “Jian-ge?” he quietly asks the room, leaving room for Jian to pretend he did not hear him.

The chattering stops and after a beat he hears a faint “Mm?” coming from Jian’s bed.

“Are you cold, Jian-ge?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine” Zaho refuted.

A pause. Then, “Just go to sleep, Zhao.”

“What’s wrong, Jian-ge? What can I do?” If Zhao didn’t know better, he’d say he was almost begging, the pleading in his voice clear even to him.

Jian sighs before saying, “It’s nothing, Zhao-shidi. I’m just a little chilly is all. It’ll pass. Just go to sleep. I’m sure we’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

The resigned note in Jian’s voice has Zhao rising from his own bed and crossing the room. It has nothing to do with how soft Jian had called Zhao his shidi. Nothing at all with how that made Zhao’s stomach flutter and made the desire to protect and care for the man increase even more.

It took only a few strides before Zhao was at Jian’s bedside. “Please, Jian-ge.” Zhao said. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, he just wanted to be able to help. “Are you just cold?”

At first it didn’t seem like Jian would respond, but finally he rolled over slightly to look at Zhao looming over him. He nods into the semi-darkness, the candle on the table giving enough light to show his pale complexion and even paler lips.

“Alright then. Move over.” Zhao begins lifting the outer corner of the blanket, intent on joining Jian in his bed. As a child Zhao had learned the best way to get and stay warm was to share body heat with another person. Growing up around the mountain of his hometown he had seen many wanderers injured from the colder temperatures higher up.

However, Jian didn’t budge, and instead gripped his side of the blanket tighter around himself. “What?” he all but hiccupped.

“Move over. If we share a bed I can help keep you warm. Surely Jian-ge must know that is a good way to warm up.” Zhao kept his face as neutral as possible, not revealing how nervous he actually was about sharing a bed with the older man. As much as this was his idea, and he was doing it to help Jian after all!, he couldn’t completely deny the part of him that wanted to hold the man close. He blamed it on his need to know his companion was safe.

Jian just keeps looking at Zhao, mouth opening and closing a few times as he seems to struggle to find words to reply. Eventually Jian seems to find what he wants to say, sitting up to reply, letting the blanket fall into his lap. “But it’ll be cold, Zhao, you won’t have a good night’s sleep if you sleep beside me.”

Zhao didn’t care about that, and he knew Jian knew this was a weak defence to present, but it seemed it was all the detective could come up with. Shaking his head and clenching his fists in order to keep his voice calm, Zhao decides for a moment of vulnerability, his patience for Jian’s rebuttals for help wearing thin as it gets later into the night. “Please, Jian-ge? It would help me sleep knowing you are safe.”

Jian stares up at him, eyes trailing over his face, the set of his shoulders, and finally down to his clenched fists. He pauses here for a moment before replying, “Okay”. A deep breath. Zhao pretends not to hear how Jian’s voice shakes just the littlest bit. He doesn't know if it's from his chills or something else.

“Okay, you can join me.” He slides over in the bed to make room for the younger man.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, Zhao quickly jumps under the covers, tucking himself and Jian in under the blanket. At first they both lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. This way the bed is rather cramped, as it wasn’t really made to accommodate two fully grown men, let alone when one of them was as large as Zhao.

At the first slight shiver Jian let’s out, he rolls over onto his side, his back facing Zhao. He curls in on himself slightly, clearly trying to keep warm and trying to stifle the shivers racking his body.

Without letting himself pause to think it through, Zhao rolls onto his side too and reaches an arm around Jian’s waist, pulling the smaller man into the front of Zhao’s chest.

“Zhao! What-” Jian all but squeaks, however Zhao cuts him off.

“I told you to let me help you. I’ll keep you warm, Jian-ge.” At this he adjusts his grip on his sleeping companion, ensuring Jian is tucked into the cage of his arms. To ensure he gets as much of my body heat as possible, Zhao reasons. Not because holding Jian in his arms made something deep within Zhao settle.

Zhao begins to worry he’s overstepped when Jian holds himself stiff inside the circle of his arms. Just when he thinks he should pull back and maybe even go back to his own bed, that he overstepped, Jian finally releases a breath and let’s his body relax into the younger man’s hold.

It’s several moments later, and Zhao wonders if Jian has really started to drift off, when he hears a soft “Thank you, shidi” from the man in his arms.

Trying and failing to stop the smile that spreads across his face, Zhao decides to hide it by snuggling into the back of Jian’s neck, letting his nose come to rest in Jain’s hair, smelling the lightly scented soap that his companion favoured. So lost in his own dreamland, he almost, almost, misses the way Jian snuggles back into his embrace. Maybe he didn’t over step nearly as much as he thought he did.

As the two drift off to sleep, Zhao finds himself feeling a deep kind of peace. His last conscious thought before falling into darkness is that he thinks he could fall asleep every night like this. Holding his Jian-ge in his arms, allowed to protect and care for the man. He secretly hopes he’ll be able to do this again. Unbeknownst to him, Jian is having similar thoughts within the confines of his shidi’s arms.

end notes: i'm pretty sure i've gotten the relationship terms incorrect. i went with the closest terms i could think of (ge for older brother and shidi for younger sect brother) to try and highlight their new relationship after becoming sworn brothers in a previous episode. let me know what might be more correct!

#i cannot believe this day has arrived!!#my first fanfic!! and its actually posted!!#ancient detective #侠探简不知 #fan fiction #fan fic #cdrama fan fic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #i had a lot of fun doing this and i think its kinda cute so if you choose to read i hope you enjoy~~~~#cdrama #cdrama fanfiction #as the summary on ao3 says #some feelings almost come to light and there is a (apparently) valid reason to bed share 👀#despite there being 2 beds....#my fan fic #misc

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fly-like-a-phoenix · 3 years

Text

House of Lust (part 9)

Abbé de Coulmier x reader

Summary: Five years has passed since the events of Quills. The Abbé de Coulmier is released of prision by a misterious event. And he will know again those feelings he never thought will meet again: love... and lust.

Warnings: smut, masturbation.

François walked through the empty hallways, the enormous windows covered with those thick curtains that bothered him in a way he didn't understand. He moved one of them, seeing how the moonlight covered the field.

He walked in silence, his shoes not making a single noise. He bit his bottom lip, and stopped behind a door, hearing both male and female moans from the inside. There was not only a couple, tho. Must be two woman and one guy, at least.

He could her moans and other noises from other rooms too. Every grand door was closed, and he couldn't open them even if he wanted to. Same with the windows, key locked even if there were bars on them.

Besides the dining room where he already were before, he saw the large kitchen and other resting rooms. There was a library, and he saw some of the Marquis' books in there.

He continued his way to the dungeons in the basement. There was nothing in there as he was expecting. Just another giant house occupied by mad people.

He arrived to the entrance, briefly remembering it. He fainted because of the beat that guard gave him, but some flashes came to his mind. It was dark, so he went downstairs with care, until he saw a light in the end of the rock hallway.

It was a torch, and there were many lighting the place. But no one was there, so I felt strange. With some lack of trust of his mind, he took one from the holder, and walked to the cell he occupied. Obviously it was empty. But he wasn't alone. He heard a noise behind him, and he turned around quickly.

"You're out after midnight." A voice said. "Lucky you I'm not Odelle. She would punish you, that's for sure."

Josephine approached to him, so François saw her face with the light of the torch. She was another beauty, as her sisters. But nothing compared to you. You were special.

"How did you know that I was here?" He asked, his tone stronger than other times, not so afraid as it was with Odelle.

"I followed you, silly!" She said, sarcastically smiling. "Or did you really think we always leave these torches burning?"

Somehow, it was a nonsense. She didn't know that he was going out of your bedroom to explore the mansion. In fact, he adventured to do it at the moment he left you in the bed.

"You followed me? How---?

"I saw you leaving my sister's room, and I guess I knew you were going to explore the place, including the dungeons, so I waited for you in here."

François looked at her in silence, calming his breath. He wasn't afraid of her at all. He was just curious. Was she really different to Odelle as you said? Or she was the same?

She talked to him before. She wasn't so rude, that was right. But still, she wanted the same that her sister: she wanted to corrupt him. She looked for him. She took him out of prison to do it.

"Right... Listen, I will go back to Y/N's room. Let's just... Let's just leave this here, please."

"Oh, my dear Abbé. Are you afraid of me telling something to Odelle? I'm not gonna do it, trust me."

He chuckled. He will have to do it.

"Alright, I'll do it. I'll trust in you. What do you want?"

"Why would I want something?" She said, and kept smiling.

"I don't think that you would find me exploring your house and let me go just like that..."

"Yeah, well. You're right. It's not going to be a free pass. You will have to come with me, and I will say nothing to Odelle. Deal?"

He pictured you in his mind for a second. Maybe if he didn't go with Josephine, she would say to Odelle that he was trying to escape, and that you let him, helping him.

You were the only thing that tied him to the place since he arrived. And he didn't want you to be blamed for nothing. Actually, you could even be in danger.

"Deal." He said, finally, nodding and following Josephine to the entrance of the basement and to her room.

He turned off the torch and left it aside while Josephine closed the door. The room wasn't as large as Odelle's one. It was the same as yours, but there was not a chimney, or the divan, or the table and chairs. Only the bed and some auxiliar night tables.

"Sit in there." She said, almost whispering.

He did what she said, curious again about her next movement, just the same that happened with Odelle the day before.

She kneeled down in front of him, her hands on his thighs, opening his legs. She approached the more she could because of his cassock, smiling.

His breathing became heavier. His heartbeat accelerated. And she was closer, more and more, to his crotch. Until she stand and started to kiss him, very gentle.

He didn't close his eyes at first, not trusting her. But then, you came to his mind again, and Josephine's lips became yours to him, which let his mind fly away.

He let his hands on her waist, squeezing as gentle as her hands caressed his face. The kiss deepened more and more, and he felt himself getting harder.

"Lay down." She said, moving away while he went to rest his head in her pillow. She crawled to him, kissing him again while her hands started to unbotton his shirt and cassock.

She was actually sweet as you said. He remembered how Odelle scratched his chest with her nails. But Josephine was different.

She touched his neck at first, then his collarbone, and finally his chest, the tips of her fingers barely skimming his pale, soft skin, lining his light muscles.

He enjoyed every touch, moving his hips up to meet her body, his eyes closed, thinking only in you. He moaned against her mouth when he felt how suddenly she pinched his nipples. He used to touch them when he masturbated. But feeling other fingers on them was amazing. And he loved it.

"Don't move." She said, sitting in the bed and taking her dress off. He looked at her and her perfect body, and then he looked down, his cassock raised up because of his erection.

"My sister will give you pleasure. But I will receive it. I want to know how good you are, and how you can progress, so you can also give pleasure to Y/N. Got it? Now, teach me if you know what to do with that pretty mouth of yours."

He couldn't say anything, because Josephine laid on him, kissing him again. He was thinking, tho. Give pleasure to you? But you already said no to them before. Were they going to try to make you part of it again?

Josephine held herself in her forearms, moving until her big breasts where at the height of his face. He saw them in awe, rememering Madeline's and how much he wanted to kiss them and feel them with his hands and mouth...

"Don't think it so much, Abbé." She said, as if she was reading his mind. And he didn't. He took one in his mouth, feeling her nipple with his tongue while his hand cupped the other.

Josephine gasped, and then she started to moan. She liked how he made circles with his tongue, his lips sucking, wanting more of her breast inside his mouth.

He changed to the other. And he bit her a little. She missed a breath, liking that rude part of him. And a few moments later, she moved again, sitting on his face.

That surprised him. But then, without thinking about it, he started to tongue her, feeling her clit with his lips, sucking it, gaining her moans again. He knew a lot about biology and medicine. And he knew women liked that part to be stimulated.

He licked her folds in a way he had always dream to do with a woman, but he never could. The skin was different. The smell, the savour, the wetness of her dripping down all over his nose, intoxicating his mouth.

She came a few moments after with a noisy moan, his hands squeezing her buttocks while she trembled against him. Josephine recovered her breath, and laid down next to him, looking at his erect member pressing against his cassock.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you with it." She said, again seemed to be reading his mind. "It's not that I don't wanna to. I'm dying for do it. But you'll have to find release alone. Now go back to your room. Remember my promise, my attractive priest."

She stood in there, naked, watching him leave her bed. He was about to open the door, but she called him again.

"Abbé." She said, making him turn. "You are very good with your tongue if this is your first time doing it. Congrats."

She winked her eye, and smiled again. He left the room without saying or gesticulating anything, and opened your door with care. He glanced at you sleeping so well at your bed, shame in his face.

He couldn't believe he thought of you while doing those things to your sister. But he couldn't see her face. He only saw yours, as he was doing now.

He laid down in the divan, looking at you. And thinking it was bad to do it, he let his hand enter his cassock, and started to masturbate while touching his still naked chest as Josephine did before, twisting his nipples to feel more pleasure.

His hand went up and down, quicker at every moment that past. His thumb caressed the head of his member, and his own fingers weren't enough to sorround it completely.

He was very big, as many maids from Charenton used to think, imagining what he hid under the holy cassock. They were right. Their lustful desires where truth. He committed to God having such a delightful cock.

He didn't stop until he came, his hand covered in his viscous substance, a strong moan dying in his throat. He covered his mouth with the other hand, fearing you've heard him.

But you only turned around under the sheets, completely lost in the dreams world. He cleaned his hand with a piece of cloth that was near, and turned to face the backup of the divan, immediately falling sleep, feeling guilty because of the lust he felt, specifically for you.

Tagging: @darknessisafriend @five-miles-over @yukis-writing @thegirlwho @jokerflecker @missrockabilly99 @luperugorria99 @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @skaraboo @starksclown @sgtsavoytruffle @joaquinisart @beautifulyoungprospect @sophiefleck @the-queen-of-things @joaqz-phoenix @ajokerfangirl @bailaycantaconmingo

#abbe de coulmier #abbe de coulmier x reader #abbe de coulmier thirst squad #joaquin phoenix x reader #joaquin phoenix #quills #marquis de sade

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girlactionfigure · 3 years

Photo

Only when he got older he realized just how fortunate he and his family were to be alive.

“The extermination of most of his relatives and millions of other Jews by the Nazis; the intrusive, unemployed immigrants who survived and crowded his parents’ small apartment; his sickly childhood; his mother’s dark moods; his own ever-present depression” - all of this, he survived, according to Patricia Cohen of The New York Times.

He was born in Brooklyn to Polish-Jewish immigrant parents on June 10, 1928.

One of his earliest photographs (attached to this story) shows him as an infant - “a plump, round-faced, slanting-eyed, droopy-lidded, arching-browed creature” held by his mother, with his older siblings, according to writer Margalit Fox.

Growing up, Murray as he was then known “harbored ongoing fear of the perils that might lurk outside of his home and neighborhood” and remembered how he celebrated his bar mitzvah, according to writer Stephen Whitfield.

That's when his father discovered that much of his extended family had died in concentration camps. The young boy thought he had "done something very bad, that I had made him suffer more than he had to."

“The death of members of his extended family during the Holocaust . . . exposed him at a young age to the concept of mortality,” according to NPR.

“As he got older, he was constantly aware of his marginality and difference,” wrote Whitfield.

He seemed to be always sick, but when he was well, he could be naughty. He remembered his mother often called him “vilde chaya”, which in Yiddish meant "wild animal".

“His view of the outside world was often limited. . . and the little that he could see from his window,” according to PBS. “It was during this time that he began to draw and to allow his imagination to run free.”

He made a name for himself as an illustrator. When he received an opportunity to write his first book, he used the title "Where the Wild Horses Are" - unfortunately, he realized he couldn't draw horses, so he told his editor. His editor would respond, "Well, what can you draw?"

He would answer "Things."

He would become “the most important children’s book artist of the 20th century, who wrenched the picture book out of the safe, sanitized world of the nursery and plunged it into the dark, terrifying and hauntingly beautiful recesses of the human psyche,” according to the New York Times.

He remembers receiving a letter from one fan:

In an interview with NPR, he is quoted as saying, “A little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children's letters – sometimes very hastily – but this one I lingered over . . . I wrote, 'Dear Jim: I loved your card.' Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said: 'Jim loved your card so much he ate it.' That to me was one of the highest compliments I've ever received . . . He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”

~~~~~

“Maurice Sendak has been one of the most consistently inventive and challenging voices in children’s literature,” according to PBS. “His books and productions are among the best-loved imaginative works of their time. Like the Grimm brothers before him, Sendak has created a body of work both entertaining and educational, which will continue to be popular for generations.”

“Roundly praised, intermittently censored and occasionally eaten, Mr. Sendak’s books were essential ingredients of childhood for the generation born after 1960 or thereabouts, and in turn for their children,” wrote Fox. “He was known in particular for more than a dozen picture books he wrote and illustrated himself, most famously ‘Where the Wild Things Are,’ which was simultaneously genre-breaking and career-making when it was published by Harper & Row in 1963.”

He brought “to life a world of fantasy and imagination,” according to PBS. “His unique vision is loved around the globe by both young and old.”

When he died in 2012, the Washington Post wrote:

“They say that a creative adult is simply a child who has survived. Sendak survived a great deal, losing relatives in the Holocaust and struggling through a childhood that he remembered as “a very passionate, upsetting, silly, comic business.”

“And his books captured this — never talking down, yet always reassuring.

“The best writers are the ones who trust their audiences. Sendak did. And we trusted him right back.

“Sendak did not lie to children. He did not attempt to say that the world was more or less difficult than it was.”

~~~~~

In 2008 in the New York Times, Sendak revealed that he was gay and had lived with his partner, psychoanalyst Eugene Glynn (February 25, 1926 – May 15, 2007), for 50 years before Glynn's death in May 2007.

In that article, Sendak said he never told his parents: "All I wanted was to be straight so my parents could be happy," he recalled. "They never, never, never knew."

In a 2011 interview with NPR host Terry Gross, Mr. Sendak said "finding out that I was gay when I was older was a shock and a disappointment. I did not want to be gay. It meant a whole different thing to me — which is really hard to recover now because that's many years ago. I always objected to it because there is a part of me that is solid Brooklyn and solid conventional and I know that. I can't escape that. It's my genetic makeup. It's who I am."

Elisabeth Hoffman of the Baltimore Sun wrote, “Why do we pass laws that isolate, demean and shame people for something so utterly personal? It's no surprise that gay teens are bullied. No surprise that Maurice Sendak had to hide part of his identity from his parents — and from his readers.”

“In that often emotional NPR interview, Sendak also said: "I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more. What I dread is the isolation. There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die. But I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready."

~~~~~

“His work . . . did not seek to forget the emotional threats that scarred his life,” wrote Whitfield. “Sendak’s recollections of dread and danger instead became the source of a painstaking creativity that [Golan Y.] Moskowitz [author of “Wild Visionary: Maurice Sendak in Queer Jewish Context”] readily calls illustrations of “genius.” Sendak believed that his fantasies must instill truths, rather than confirm the conventions of innocence, and this thinking revolutionized the way that young people were understood and addressed.”

In that last interview with NPR, “the beloved children’s writer and illustrator was 83 years old and in declining health. He was feeling the loss of people close to him who had died in recent years. Inevitably, the discussion turned to issues of mortality … By the time it was over there were teary-eyed people in cars all across North America. One listener, Brent Eades, left a message on the NPR Web site: “I happened to be listening to this extraordinary interview while on the early-morning commute from my small Ontario town to Ottawa. I was entirely absorbed in it; and the final couple of minutes left me with tears streaming down my face, which I’m sure nonplussed my fellow commuters.”

~~~~~

In “Where the Wild Things Are”, Sendak wrote:

“ . . . the wild things cried, “Oh please don’t go we’ll eat you up-we love you so!”

And Max said, “No!”

The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth

and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws

but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye

and sailed back over a year

and in and out of weeks

and through a day

and into the night of his very own room

where he found his supper waiting for him.”

~ jsr

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page

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nightshade-minho · 4 years

Text

-Blue Book- (1)

Warnings: parent death, mentions of abuse, smoking and alcohol, eventual smut.

Requested: Yes. (A loong time ago, lmao.) This was supposed to be a oneshot, but it turned out a little longer than I’d expected it to, so I decided to make it into a series.

E2L, Slow Burn, High School Au. (Half the story takes place in high school, and the other half takes place when they’re adults.)

You knew exactly why you hated Bang Christopher Chan.

It had all started in high school. A new town, and a new school. You weren’t one of those people that would be bitter about the move- you understood that your mother’s new job meant you could no longer stay in the town you grew up in. Besides, it wasn’t like you had any friends to say goodbye to- or memories you’d miss.

Your father had left your mom when you were 9. He’d met a woman ‘that he actually loved’, whatever that meant. He moved to a new country, and started taking care of a new family. Sometimes, you bitterly hoped he would abandon them as well. Sometimes, you understood why he left. You knew that it wasn’t a good idea to force yourself to stay with someone you didn’t love...but did he have to leave you behind as well? Did he not love you?

A year later, you received the news that he’d died in an accident. You weren’t even able to attend his funeral.

For the most part though, you were actually a very optimistic individual...as optimistic as you could be, without a father and an alcoholic mother. Usually, children who grew up with a single parent tend to hold grudges, and act like the whole world was at fault. However, there must have been some sort of factory error, cause you happened to gravitate towards a world-view that hid behind rose-colored lenses.

You were buzzing with excitement on your first day. You’d never really been much of an academic-oriented student, but there was a newfound need to make your mother proud...one that arose the very first time you heard your father yell at her.

You’d bought cute stationary and school supplies, determined to be a great student and one day be able to support your mother. However, you quickly realized that none of the other students appreciated it when you eagerly answered the teacher’s questions, jotting down notes. You heard murmurs every time you raised your hand, every time a teacher complimented you on your perfect assignment. Nerd. Suck-up. Dork.

It was tiring, but you somehow managed to keep up the positive facade...until a few months later, when Chan walked into your life.

***

You were sat at the cafeteria table, all alone. You sipped your banana milk and hummed along to the music playing through your earphones as you continued writing in your little navy blue book. It was more of a diary, but you occasionally used it in class. Right then, you were writing a small piece of poetry that had randomly popped into your brain, tongue sticking out in concentration as the words poured out.

A few tables away, Jisung chuckled at the sight. “Does she ever go anywhere without that stupid book?”

Hyunjin scoffed. “I don’t think so. What does she even write in it?”

“I’ve seen her write in it in class. It’s probably just some school-related shit. Nerd.” Changbin said, biting into his sandwich.

Seungmin cocked his head to the side. “Um, I doubt she’d carry around something like that with her everywhere. It must be something important.”

Felix waved a hand in front of Chan’s face. The latter had been staring at you, observing the way your face was scrunched in concentration.

Minho suddenly laughed out of nowhere, causing the seven boys to look at him. “Chan, are you into the nerd?”

Chan chuckled lightly. “As if. You’re really funny these days, aren’t you?”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh. You know what...life’s been getting a little boring these days. I have an idea.” A smirk appeared on his face. “Chan...I dare you to get that book.”

Chan squinted in disdain. “Ha...what’s in it for me?”

Minho tapped his chin for a few minutes as he pondered. “Hmm...oh, I got it! I won’t flirt with Miyoung anymore.”

Chan looked up at that. Miyoung was an extremely pretty, popular girl that he had a crush on. However, lately, she’d been expressing a little interest in Minho. He didn’t really like her back the same way Chan did, but being the fuckboy that he is, Minho flirted back quite a lot.

Chan rolled his eyes.

“Fine. In fact, I’ll go right now!” The boys hollered, cheering him on as he got out of his chair, walking up to you.

You looked up, taking your earphones out when you felt his presence at the table that had been empty except for you. Confusion took over your face as Chan smiled warmly at you.

“Hi, Y/n. Whatcha doing?”

“Uh...nothing. Just...y-ya know...” You stuttered. You’d always found Chan attractive but he was one of those people who’d never really bothered to acknowledge your presence...until now.

“How are you today?” You asked, trying to recover.

“I’m fine, princess. Better now that I’m talking to you.” You blushed, avoiding his eyes. Chan’s gaze flitted to the book laid open in front of you. You followed his line of sight, quickly shutting your book.

“I find your...book interesting. Can I see?”

You shook your head. “I...I’m sorry, I just...” You couldn’t say anything else, words freezing up in your throat as you squeaked out a “Bye.”

You got up, chair scraping the floor as you grabbed your book and bag, leaving as fast as you could.

Chan sighed, looking back to the boys. He walked back to his previous seat, sighing as he plopped back down. “Well, there you go.”

Minho shook his head. “Welp, guess I’m just going to have to ask Miyoung out to the game-”

“NO! I’ll do it. Just...give me a few more days, okay?”

Hyunjin cleared his throat. “Okay...we’ll give you a week. that should be more than enough, right?”

The rest of the boys nodded in agreement as Chan threw his head back, sighing.

“You guys are so weird...” He rubbed his temples. “Fine.”

***

You sat on a bench, humming as you sketched the park pond. It was a bright, clear-skied day.

Meanwhile, Chan decided to cut through the park on his way to Minho’s house. But as he passed the pond, he saw you sitting on the bench, eyes widening as he remembered the bet.

Cursing, he decided to go over and talk to you. He’d been planning to talk to you tomorrow at school, but he might as well do it, since you were already here.

He approached you slowly, so as not to startle you. Hmm. You actually looked quite peaceful as your eyes ran over the ducks in the pond, smiling softly, as if you were reminiscing about something...or someone.

Chan contemplated tapping you on the shoulder, but you looked way too tranquil to disturb. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat loudly. You yelped, turning to the side and squinting at him.

“Oh...uh, hi...”

Chan smiled, before gesturing to the bench. “May I sit here?”

You nodded meekly, and he lowered himself down carefully, trying to keep a respectful distance. He noted the way your fingers protectively clutched the book tighter, sighing internally. This was going to take a while.

“Hey, calm down. I’m sorry about this morning. I was just curious.”

You avoided eye contact, staring at the pond. “It’s alright.”

“I was just wondering what you do in it. I always notice you carrying it around.”

You pondered for a moment, turning to look at him. “I...write in it, mainly. And...” You trailed off. Shaking your head, you took your backpack and shoved the book bag in. You moved to get up, but Chan’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and effectively stopping you. You looked down at him in confusion. He quickly let go, mumbling an apology.

“I, um...don’t leave yet, please? You seem sweet... and I’d like to get to know you more.”

You squeaked in response. Your brain was short-circuiting as you looked at the cute boy smiling softly.

“Okay...”

You sat back down, hesitantly smiling at him as you played with your fingers. You were a little nervous...well, a lot nervous. Chan’s smile made your knees melt.

“So...what’s your deal?”

“My...deal?”

“You’re new here, right?”

“Oh yeah, I moved here recently with my mom.”

He nodded, noting the way you avoided his eyes with a frown after the sentence left his lips.

Chan groaned to himself, wondering how he would be able to get you to trust him enough. He just needed to get that book for a day...knowing the girl, it was probably just a study book like Changbin had said before. It was just a silly bet...but Chan never lost. Besides, prom was approaching in a few months and he needed Miyoung to be his before then. He needed her to be the queen to his prom king.

He glanced at his watch. Fuck.

“Sorry, Y/n. I’ve got to go now. But I’ll see you around, yeah?” He winked at you, internally smirking at the quick blush that spread across your features.

Hmm...an idea was blooming in his head.

This might be easier than he thought.

***

Chan opened the door, wincing when the smoke hit his nostrils.

Jisung looked up, setting his controller down. “Broo, finally! What took you so long?”

“Well...I saw Y/n on the way here.”

“Y/n...?”

“The nerd, Jisung.” Minho said, holding out a beer can for Chan to take.

“Aaah.”

Chan sighed as he took the can, taking a sip before sighing. “This won’t be easy. She’s very protective of that book.”

Changbin chuckled. “Sounds exciting. I’m even more curious now.”

“Um, guys...why are we even doing this? I mean...she’s just a girl who likes writing in a diary.” Felix spoke up, softly.

Minho scoffed. “Yeah well, we’re bored. And she looks like she’ll be fun to pick on. Always going Teacher this and Teacher that.” He mocked, before turning back to Chan. “So, what are you planning on doing?”

Chan settled on one of the beanbags beside Jeongin, whose full focus was fixed on the video game, fingers fiddling with the controls.

“I kinda have an idea.” Chan says, smirking. “She seems so shy whenever I talk to her, and she’s constantly blushing. I have a feeling that she likes me.”

Changbin looked up from the screen. “I mean, this is probably the first guy who’s talked to her since she moved to town.”

“Shut up, Changbin.”

Seungmin scoffed. “Get to the point, Chan. What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to ask her out.”

***

(None of these gifs belong to me.)

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jupitermelichios · 4 years

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10 Manga Recommendations for Quarantine (or any other time)

People seemed to like my previous recs, so I thought I’d do a few more while so many of you are stuck home with some free time to kill. I don’t read a lot of manga these days, and my tastes are somewhat ecclectic, but hopefully there’ll be something in here for you.

20th Century Boys - Naoki Urasawa

Kenji didn’t like that a new doomsday cult had started recruiting in his neighbourhood, but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. As least until a letter from an old friend leads him to realise that the cult’s symbols and mythology are based on a children’s story. A story he and his friends made up thirty years ago. Now he must track down people he hasn’t seen since middle school as he desperately tries to remember which of his friends knew the story... and figure out which of them is leading the cult.

This isn’t just the best manga I’ve ever read, it’s one of the best stories full stop. Even if you think you hate manga, I urge you to give this a try.

Claymore - Norihiro Yagi

Claire was never supposed to be a Claymore. But when Theresa of the faint smile saved her life as a child, she knew there was no other path for her. With few of the supernatural powers granted to her sisters, she struggles to survive as a monster hunter in a brutal world where death is always waiting.

This was serialised in Shounen Jump originally, and it shows in places, but mostly this is a compelling drama, with some of the most startlingly beautiful and horrible monster design in all of fantasy and scifi.

Drrr!!! - Ryohgo Narita (illustrated by Akiyo Satorigi)

Nothing in Ikebukero is quite what it seems. The Russian Mafia sell the best sushi in town, demons are haunting the chatrooms, there’s a new gang on the streets, and if you’re really unlucky, you might just meet the Black Rider. They say its bike whinnies like a horse. They say it killed three men who tried to kidnap a girl. They say it has no head. They say... that it just wants to do the job and get paid like everyone else.

Drrr!!! is an experience. It blends fantasy and realism in ways I’ve very rarely seen done, and delights in subverting your expectations. Characters who appears to fit into archetypes any manga fan will recognise never turn out to be quite who you think they are, just as the story never quite goes where you expect it to.

Petshop of Horrors - Matsuri Akino

Do you want a protector? A companion? A friend? A lover? A child? Whatever you need, Count D has the perfect pet for you (even if they don’t always look like animals). Just remember to read the small print, very very carefully.

While there is, sort of, an overarching plot, these books are portmanteu horror in the old style, a series of barely connected unsettling stories strung together by a shared narrator and a handful of recurring characters. Spoopy more than genuinely spooky, and occaisionally surprisingly touching, this is a great series to dip in and out of.

Death Note - Tsugumi Ohba (illustrated by Takeshi Obata)

“Let's just say this: you will feel the fear and pain known only to humans who've used the notebook. And when it's your time to die, it will fall on me to write your name in my death note. Be warned any human who's used a Death Note can neither go to heaven nor hell for eternity. That's all.“

One of the very rare examples where the source material does live up to (almost all) the hype. Clever, dark, surprisingly apolitical, and just the right amount of very very cheesy.

Tokyo Ghoul - Sui Ishida

Keneki Ken was an extremely ordinary guy, living an extremely ordinary life... right up until the girl he fancied tried to eat him. Now he’s part of the world of Ghouls, struggling to hold on to what’s left of his humanity as all his old moral certainties are stripped away from him. Ghouls are people, they have hopes and dreams and loves and they deserve the right to live just like anyone else. It’s just that to live, they have kill humans.

Did you want to be cool and edgy as a teenager but you never quite had the guts to do it? Congratulations, Tokyo ghoul is for you. Think of it as emergency rations for your inner Goth.

Black Cat - Kentaro Yabuki

Sometimes a family is a legendary hitman on the run from his past, his mysterious boyfriend, a recovering child soldier, and the bisexual thief who keeps inviting herself into their lives.

Okay technically Train and Sven aren’t a couple. Technically. Rins is canon bi though so that’s cool. This book is a lovely little time capsule of the days when shonen manga was inexplicably full of bounty hunters with bizarre superpowers going on wacky adventures, and I love it for that. Plus it’s full of that good-good found family trope and we could all do with a bit more of that in our lives.

Beauty Pop - Kiyoko Arai

Kiri Koshiba is no ordinary teenager. She has a secret, something she hides from even those closest to her. The only ones who know about her special abilities are those she rescues. You see Kiri is secretly... really good at giving haircuts.

This is a deeply silly book, full of deeply silly characters, in which hairdressing is treated with the exact same seriousness that sports animes treat basketball or tennis, and reading it just makes me smile. Sometimes when the world’s a bit shit you just want to read about an undercover hairdresser helping girls with their self confidence and giving them rad haircuts.

Bizenghast - M. Alice LeGrow

Dinah Wherever is more goth than you. She’s got the wardrobe, and the doomed love, and non-specific mental health issues. Oh, and she’s enslaved to Bizenghast, cursed to spend her nights laying to rest the unquiet spirits that haunt the graveyard there and if she fails, she’ll loose her life... or something worse.

The first volume is definitely the standout in this short series, with stunning artwork and detailed world building, but all of it is a fun, creepy, surprisingly dark story, full of the author’s love for old school gothic romance.

The Wallflower - Tomoko Hayakawa

Mine Nakahara is concerned that her neice Sunako is never going attract a wealthy husband with a mysterious heart condition if she doesn’t learn not to be such a shut in. So in desperation, she turns to the only obvious solution - give four well-meaning himbos rent free accomodation in exchange for them teaching Sunako to wash, wear something other than sweatpants, and talk about anything that isn’t horror movies.

Sometimes you don’t want drama, or angst, or deep plot. Sometimes it’s enough to watch four attractive and deeply stupid men try to teach the human equivilent of an angry raccoon how to walk in heels.

#20th century boys #drrr #death note #claymore #petshop of horrors #the wallflower #perfect girl evolution #beauty pop #tokyo ghoul #bizenghast #long post #manga #manga review #manga rec list #manga rec #manga recommendation #jupiters top 10 #top 10 manga #black cat

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obey-me-fics-n-shit · 4 years

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Satan X MC: “Cat Cafe?”

@gostbirds So the brothers don’t really interfere with them going, (because I couln’t think of any good reason lol) and I didn’t actually write them going to the cafe, AND its a bit longer than I meant it to be, but I had lots of fun writing it and I hope you like it!

Also this is my first time writing something that’s not headcannons, so if you have any criticisms, keep them constructive please and thank you!

Satan x mc “cat cafe?”

You sat down for a peaceful Saturday breakfast in the house of Lamentation, ready to scarf down as many of Satan’s delicious pancakes as you could before Beel came down and ate them all. Taking charge of who all was there you took stock of Asmo, who seemed busy drizzling on syrup just so in a way that made it look picture perfect. Turns out that was the plan, because a second later Asmo pulled out his DDD and was taking pictures for Devilgram. Moving further down the table you saw Mammon, who didn’t seem particularly interested in what was going on in terms of food, but he was eyeing up the new silverware in a way that told you that you probably wouldn’t see it again soon. Finally there was Satan, who was sat at the table with a book in hand. He already finished eating if you were to judge by his empty but dirty plate. It was cute, you thought, that everytime he made a meal he stayed in the dining room until everyone had eaten some. Satan never really said why he did this, but you figured that he like to gauge everyones reactions to the meal, to see whether or not he should make it again.

You decided to sit across from Satan, who acknowledged you (and your large stack of pancakes) as you sat down with a smile. You offered a smile back and dug in. You’d always liked Satan the best, and the two of you had gotten pretty close but sometimes he still made you nervous. You had honestly gotten pretty good at reading all of his little micro-expressions too, Satan is a quiet guy, you’d noticed that early on. So when the two of you started spending more time together, being able to know what he was saying without actually saying it was a must. But, for all of your hard work on getting to know him better you still couldn’t tell if he liked you back. You looked up at Satan and made sure to make a show out of pointing to the pancakes then giving a big thumbs up. You would’ve said something but it was kind of hard because A) mouthful of yummy pancakes and B) you didn’t want to rope him into a conversation when he was trying to read. Satan acknowledged you thumb up with his own thumb up, small smile and no, it couldn’t be was that a blush? Before you could look closer and verify his face was hidden by the book again.

It was then that Levi walked in and sat down next to you. You greeted him with a cheery “good morning” and Levi did the same. Looking back at the table you saw that Mammon (and his silverware) had done a little vanishing act and were gone, but Asmo was finally getting started on his pancakes. Levi started talking and you were really trying to pay attention, but you had already missed the first part of his conversation. You tuned in just in time to find out he was talking about some new gimmicky cafe he was interested in had just opened.

“-and they’ll join you at the table! Anyways MC all the waitress have little paw print aprons, which I’ve heard are pretty cute and they have a gift shop with a whole bunch of themed collectibles, I’ve got to get there soon before they run out of Ruri-Chan cat figurines!”

Now you really wish you had listened to the first part of Levi’s spiel because to say you were lost was an understatement. You couldn’t help but notice though that whatever Levi talked about must have been interesting. Satan was looking at his book but his eyes weren’t moving across the page, he was listening. If it had gotten Satan’s attention it was probably something you should’ve been listening to. Sooner or later you had to respond though you you decided to go with, “Yeah, that sounds really cool Levi!” Before taking another bite of pancake so you wouldn’t have to say anything more.

It was quiet for a little longer while you and Levi took some bites, “Anyway, MC, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me later today.” Levi got around to the point of his speech.

“Ooh! Like a date?,” Asmo piped in, “because if it’s a date that’s no fair! Do you have any idea how hard it is to convince MC on a date?” At this you noticed Satan stiffen a little a bit, eyes still fixed on his book but unmoving on the page.

“No that’s not it at all, Asmodeus!” Levi rebuttted a little red in the face. You decided if you didn’t chime in now things would only get heated from here.

“Oh that’s nice, Levi, but I think I have some more work I need to do on one of my assignments, maybe next time though!” You weren’t in the business of committing to plans if you didn’t know what they were (although you knew it was your fault for not paying attention.) and if the idea of you going to whatever this place was made Satan uneasy it probably wasn’t worth it.

“Oh that’s okay! It’ll be easier to get a table if there’s one person anyway.” Levi responded. With that you finished up your plate, thanked Satan for breakfast and made your way back to your room. You really did have some work to do, so at least that wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t as much work as you made it sound to Levi.

Around noon-thirty you had finished the work you needed to do and decided you’d head down to the kitchen to throw together some lunch. To no ones surprise Beel was stationed in front of the fridge, eating whatever was unfortunate enough to find its way into his hands, and thereby his mouth.

“Heya Beel!” You greeted reaching arounf him for some lunch meat, on the way down to the kitchen you’d decided a quick sandwich seemed like a good lunchtime option.

“Hi, mc,” Beel said through a muffled mouthful of food, “heard you turned down Levi’s offer to buy you lunch, what are ya, crazy?” Beel turned to you a goofy little grin on his face. You don’t remember that, when would you ever turn down a nice time out with your friends? Ohhhhhhh this morning is the time you’d turn that down. You remembered, as you began to assemble your sandwich.

“Oh haha,” you recovered with a quick chuckle, “did he offer to take you instead? I would’ve gone if I didn’t have to catch up on some homework” you asked, trying to retroactively figure out where exactly Levi had offered to take you to.

Beel gave you a friendly laugh over his shoulder, “he did offer, and I’m not one to turn down a free meal, but he said it was a cat cafe,” he paused to take another bite and swallow, you used the silence to throw together an extra sandwich, glad you at last knew the answer to this ‘Levi-lunchtime-mystery’. Beel continued, “-but after Satan’s cat fiasco a few years back I don’t really like dealing with cats anymore.”

Cat fiasco? Were you supposed to know what that was, the way Beel mentioned it so casually, you supposed so. You had no clue but you figured you’d save your questions for another time. “Oh, understandable,” you commented, so that you didn’t sound like a complete idiot. “Speaking of Satan, has he had lunch yet?” You asked, you figured you could take him some lunch if he hadn’t had any, it wasn’t that uncommon for him to get so wrapped up in whatever he was reading that time escaped him.

‘No, not yet. Or at least I haven’t seen him.” Beel said, more to the fridge than to you. Good, you thought, you could take Satan some lunch and spend some time with him.

“Okay, I’d better go make sure he gets something to eat then, see ya later Beel!” You said already halfway out of the kitchen with your two sandwiches.

Finding Satan wasn’t that hard, if he wasn’t in his room he was in the library. And that’s where you found him, he was reading the same book from this morning, and he was much farther along, judging by the way the pages near the back cover loooked a lot thinner than they had this morning. “Hey,” you spoke softly, as not to startle him, “I brought you some lunch.” You said extending the plate towards him.

Satan looked up from his book and took a sandwich off the plate, “thanks mc,” he murmured appreatively. You looked at the cover of his book, recognizing it as one of your old favorites, “any good?” You asked gesturing to the book.

“Yeah, I’m really liking it, you mentioned it a few weeks back and I finally got my hands on a copy.” He placed a book mark tenderly amongst the pages and gently shut the book. You hadn’t remembered mentioning that it was your favorite, wait now that you think about you may have made an off-handed remark, but the fact that he remembered made you heart swell a little. Not only did he remember, but he actively searched out the book and made a point of reading it. This man was going to be the death of you and he didn’t even know it

“Have you gotten to the part where-“ you were cut off by Satan, who shushed you with a ‘no spoilers!” And took a bite out of his sandwich, you did the same. Satan made a small sour look, and looked up at you from his spot on the couch.

“Mc, why is there only meat in this sandwich?” He asked you, quizzical. Oh shit, you realized you had been so wrapped up in talking to Beel that you completely forgot that sandwiches have other ingredients. How on earth did you forget something so simple?

“I- uhhh” you said, unsure of how to explain, you set the plate down beside him and let him set down his sandwich. “It’s kinda a silly reason,” you looked at Satan, who looked at you with a small smile, obviously amused.

“Explain it to me.” He demanded, so you did.

“Well you remember this morning when Levi was talking to me at breakfast?” You asked, Satan gave you a small nod in return. “Well I kinda zoned out and didn’t know where he was offering to take me so I gave him a half-baked excuse not to go”

“I recall,” Satan chimed in. You were a little offended that he seemed to agree your excuse was “half-baked” but you continued your story anyways.

“Well when I finished my work -I actually did have some to do-“ you justified, “I went down to get lunch and ended up talking with Beel, and he filled me in on what I missed.” You paused “I must have gotten so wrapped up in the conversation that I forgot to add anything else” you finished.

You and Satan sat in silence for a while then simultaneously broke out into laughter, what else could you do, ya know? After the giggles died down Satan looked at you, “can I ask you a question?”

“You already did,” you shot back, “but I’ll allow you another.”

“Okay then, smartass,” Satan said, still grinning. “Are you actually interested in going to that cat cafe? Because I was planning to ask you myself but Levi beat me to the punch and I wasn’t sure if you told him no because you just didn’t want to go.” He finished, watching your expressions carefully the whole time.

“Oh!” You were alarmed, Satan wanted to go out with you? At the very least he wanted to take you somewhere he seemed excited about going, and that’s something right? “Yeah of course I’d like to go with you! I mean, my lunch plans kinda fell through anyways.” You gave a good natured chuckle before adding “one condition though” this was kinda a risky move on your part, go big or go home right? You never know if you don’t try kinda thing?

“What is it?” Satan asked hesitantly.

“It’s a date?” You meant it to sound more confident than it did, but you also wanted him to know you wouldn’t force his hand if he wasn’t into you like that.

Satan broke out into a new, wider smile, one you hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before. “Then it’s a date, mc” he said, glee shining through his voice. “We can discuss the book now the way there, but only up to where I am, okay?” He added, already getting up to go.

You didn’t know how you’d explain turning Levi down if you happened to see him there, but you figured that was a problem for later.

#obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me satan x mc #obey me satan x reader #request #obey me #obey me!#obey me hc #obey me headcanons #@gostbrds #om satan #satan x reader #satan x mc

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