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pjsfvs · 4 months

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breeding kink hc - Mark Lee

paring : husband!mark x afab!reader

warnings/tags : very nsfw, mentions of pregnancy, oral sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, fluff, breeding kink, Mark going AT it

summary : mark will do whatever it takes to get you pregnant.

a/n : this was supposed to be uploaded yesterday on 1/27 but i posted the Sunoo hc instead. Also, if you have any requests, you can leave them in my inbox! and don't leave hate comments for me to see. if you don't like it just block me and leave.

Having a child together was always something Mark and you knew would happen for you. Brushed lightly on the subject, you clearly remember the way Mark’s eyes would light up when you’d mentioned earlier in your relationship, that you wanted children.

Now, married in bliss with your second anniversary approaching, Mark had started to get a little impatient. You both knew you wanted to get pregnant eventually but hadn’t quite decided concretely exactly when just yet.

For Mark, a family always seemed a distant dream. However, when you’d walked into his life, he knew he wanted it with you.

In the beginning of your relationship, you used condoms during sex. It worked at the time, but eventually, after a conversation together, you decided you’d get yourself on birth control. Mark and you were pretty serious, had a solid foundation for your relationship and knew you wanted to be together for the rest of your lives,

And part of you wanted to take that step in your relationship; no matter how minor it may be. Sex was already something so intimate between you two, but to remove the barrier of a condom and really feel each other closer? It felt natural. Felt like something you trusted each other with.

Little did you know, that decision would spark a little something in your man…

For Mark, the first time you’d had sex using birth control, he swore he fell a little further for you [if it was even possible]. To know you trusted him to cum inside, that you weren’t scared, or fearful of anything going wrong meant so much to him.

Often during sex, he’d find himself thinking how much power his seed really had. On birth control, his cum buried deep inside your cunt meant nothing more than the mutual trust you two shared, a symbol of how deep your relationship had gotten.

But if you were off birth control? If the sex was unprotected?

Mark’s cum held great power. He could put a baby in you. Your baby, that you made with the embodiment of love your bodies yield to each other. The thought alone made Mark shiver each time, shuddering with a tingle of anticipation when he’d spill his hot loads inside you each night.

“Mark?” You’d asked one night, after a steamy quickie before bed. You rested your head on his bare chest as he heaves down from his high, a heavy palm rested to the bare skin of your exposed back.

“Yeah, baby?” He returns, kissing the top of your tousled hair softly. His palms are gently soothing over your bare hips, the same hips that would someday, hopefully carry the live of your child.

And that same night, the conversation happened. You’re both ready for a baby, you both want a baby with each other.

Mark is ecstatic, can’t wait to watch your pregnant belly grow as he showers his love on you, taking care of you each step of the way. Mark is already the perfect husband, and you best bet that it would heighten tenfold when you’re pregnant.

You have sex every single day now, sometimes multiple times a day. Sex with Mark was always fantastic, always had you practically on the verge of tears to how well he’d fuck you when he needed to, how well he’d make love to you when he needed to. If anyone knows how to strike the perfect balance, it’s Mark Lee.

“You gonna give me a baby, kitten?” Mark rasps, hastily pounding into your needy cunt from above. His biceps rest on either side of you and they look massive this way, a dark, almost primal darkness in his eyes on some nights like this. You’ve been trying for about a month now, and Mark is growing impatient. Part of him fears deep inside that as always, something will go wrong; deprive him from the life he wants with you. You make sure to assure him, however. Assure him that it’ll happen for you.

“Ye-yes baby, put a baby in me Mark…” You whimper, begging underneath him, soft legs tightly wrapped around his waist to give him optimal access to your deepest parts. Mark’s cock twitches inside you, and you know he’s close. Every single time, you shake and shudder to the feel of being pounded by him, the way his creamy, succulent cum fills up inside you to the brim.

It baffles you the amount of cum the man carries, how much he spills after each fuck. You can definitely feel him fill you up and it turns you on so fucking bad as you desperately pull him close, peppering needy kisses all over his face as he makes you cum as well.

“They say the more orgasms you have, the better the chances of getting pregnant.” Mark whispers, slowly delving between your drenched thighs. He licks a long stride up your aching pussy before circling sloppy, wet circles to your clit. You’re not sure if Mark’s theory is 100% accurate. Nonetheless, you know Mark thrives off making you feel good, he wants you to enjoy the process more than him. After all, you are the one who’s going to be carrying your baby for months on end, bearing all the pain and discomforts that come your way.

It does pull at your heartstrings how much Mark cares, how desperate he is fulfilling the deed of getting you pregnant.

If on your bed, before sex, Mark puts a pillow under your hips to angle them up slightly while he pumps in and out. “Can’t have any drip out,” He smirks, pressing a wet kiss to your lips as his throbbing cock stays positioned inside you, cocooned by your warm, pulsing walls after release.

Cockwarming has become almost a daily occurrence. After he’s came inside you, Mark keeps his girthy member inside your cunt for a couple of minutes as you both come down from your highs. He’ll rest his head in the haven of your breasts, arms wrapping around you as you pull him close, kissing his head to happy dreams of this wonderful, loving man fathering your children someday.

Mark insists that you have sex a couple times a day, and you fear he’ll eventually get sick of having you if you don’t slow down a little

“I’ll never get sick of you,” He whispers into your neck, softly kissing the skin as his arms hold you so dearly tight. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“I do.” You whisper, cupping his cheek. Mark is the sweetest man you know, and you best believe he’s only gotten sweeter since you’ve started trying.

Sometimes, when lounging next to each other, or when he’d come up behind you in a tender hug as you cook breakfast, Mark rests his hands on your belly; dreaming of how heartfelt it would be the day your baby would be in there,

“You’re gonna look so beautiful sweetheart, carrying our baby.” His deep baritone would soothe in your ears as he slams into you, your breasts bouncing to his pace as his hips snap into you hard, senselessly. His balls slam your core so hard each time, and the sounds of skin slapping skin fill the house very often nowadays. “Gonna show you off to the entire world,” He moans, cupping your breasts & kneading them with a firm force, yet cautious not to hurt you, as his mind drifts to the thought of how full they’d look, swollen holding milk

Mark and you have possibly tried every sex position there is at this point. Doggy style? Mark fucks into like a rabbit from behind, cock grinding your cervix to the deepest parts before slipping out entirely, only to plummet back in

Your legs on his shoulders as he fucks into you relentlessly? It’s one of his “trying to conceive” favourites, allows his sperm to take advantage of gravity

Face to face lying beside each other? Mark practically melts each time you do this one. The entry of his cock is so deep this way as you hold each other’s gazes, your leg draped over his waist as his arms pull you closer, rosy skin flushed together with a thin layer of sweat.

From behind as you lay on your stomach? Mark’s eyes roll to the back of his head in this one. He enters you from behind, pounding in as he grinds your g-spot repeatedly, almost always giving you two orgasms before he cums deep, deep inside.

Did I mention how loud Mark is when he cums

He moans, throaty groans fleeing his lips as he practically growls in your ear. The way you clench around him is too much, your pussy is too tight; too warm and he’s far too in love with your body (and all of you, ofc). Far too drunk on thoughts of pounding you pregnant for him.

Sometimes Mark can get so dirty while fucking you.

It surprises you sometimes that your sweet, loving, wholesome husband can say such sinful things

“Gonna make a baby come out of that tight little pussy.” He drips, biting small love marks into your skin as he thrusts, marking your body as his breeding ground.

I mean he is a literal assassin so you do get that he can be a bit brutal sometimes

He tracks your periods and the days you’re most fertile (not that it matters too much since he fucks you into oblivion each day haha) but on days where you’ve ovulating, he makes sure to go deeper, harder, and get in multiple rounds for optimal chances of conceiving.

Mark cumming inside is so special now. You can’t help but shiver each time you feel him explode deep within you, knowing that that load might be the one to do the trick.

You’re an advocating member of the “Make Mark a daddy 2024” campaign.

And when your period is late…you tell Mark with beaming eyes and swear you’d seen a glistening glow in that chocolate gaze, unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You buy multiple tests together, Mark's hand holding yours the entire time. The thought that your baby might be growing inside you, right now, this second as you stand at the checkout counter has his smiling like a goofy idiot.

Your goofy idiot, of course :)

You take the tests together in the master bathroom of your bedroom. Mark is on edge and you have to hold his hand to reassure him, explaining to him that if its only a false alarm, you’ll keep trying because you want this with him. You need this with him.

You want a family and it’s never going to change.

But when all the tests come back positive, Mark is on the brink of tears.

You both are, holding each other tighter than ever as you both cry into each other’s necks, kneeling in a bundle of cuddles on the bathroom floor. Mark kisses each inch of your face, peppers delicate kisses to your tousled hair, offering squeezes to your hand when you let out a soft sniffle at the sheer happiness.

This is a moment that will forever be engrained in your minds.

It was finally happening; you made a baby.

You’ve never seen Mark this happy before, feeling as if everything in his life has finally fallen into place. This is what all the pain, all the hurt, all the sin that lingers in the shadows of his past had been leading up to. A family with you, free of evil, free of any grim that lingers.

A life where the only Mark Lee that the world knows, is the Mark who loves and is loved by his wife, and the Mark who is a father.

The most loving, caring, amazing father he could ever be.

#౨ৎㅤ violet writes #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #mark lee #mark x reader #mark smut #mark fluff #husband!mark #౨ৎㅤ mark

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rinhaler · 7 months

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I Finally Decided On You

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ⁭rin itoshi x f!reader

Genre: smut & angst Notes: in my feelings abt a friendship break up so have some angst heheheee Warnings: 18+, mutual pining, angst, pet names, cheating, dacryphilia, tit sucking ♡, vaginal sex, choking ♡, love bites, breeding kink, creampie ♡ Words: 5.8k

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitches as the words make their way into your brain. His eyes have been fixed on you for what seems like a lifetime, but it’s only after you hear him ask something so personal, so intimate, that you can bring yourself to look at him. His glimmering, jade eyes are so striking, so captivating, you can’t help but want to bare your soul to him.

“You shouldn’t ask me something like that.” you whisper, unable to hide your smile as you are both all too aware of the irony of your sentence. There are so many things neither of you should be doing right now.

And yet, here you are, allowing the 4am sky to encase your bodies in a melancholic blanket. You’re waiting for one more sentence to spill from his lips that will have your deepest secrets tumbling from yours.

You know him.

He knows you.

And it’s so comforting.

You’ve never felt like this with anyone before. He’s so easy to talk to, and even easier to be around. It’s almost like a punishment. The worlds cruellest joke that you’re being subjected to.

“You shouldn’t be in my bed, but you’re here. So, talk to me.” he smiles, effortlessly. A smile that he’d only ever show you. An expression that only you are worthy of and the only person he’d ever trust to experience it. It’s so loving. It’s like being home.

You’re quiet, your own smile fading slightly as you think about his question. What had you done to make him even ask it? You’re lonely. Is that true? You have friends, family, a lover. Realistically, you can’t be lonely.

“I am.” you tell him, honestly, finally finding his gaze once more. Allowing him to scan your trusting eyes so he can see there isn’t a trace of a lie. And he does, stare, until he looks at your lips briefly, and then back to your eyes.

“You’re lonely?”

“Yes.”

He hums, thinking about it for a moment. You don’t deserve to feel that way. Though it may be his heart talking. It might be the fact that he’s head over heels in love with you.

Every moment with you is so saccharine, so disgustingly dizzying that it could make him vomit from excess. He can’t get enough of you. He’s ravenous for you.

Your taste.

Each kiss you allow him to take is so seraphic, your candied lips cloying his insides. It hurts to be with you sometimes, he knows what this is and what it will be. He knows what he is to you and what he will never be. He hates himself, and honestly, he hates you a little bit in that same breath. Though he locks that feeling of loathing deep down inside, he doesn’t want to feel it. He doesn’t want to care that much.

Whatever you are to each other now, in this moment, is enough.

His face nears yours, and you observe him as his eyes close. Yours close too, gently, and you feel his lips on yours. His hand cups your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he deepens the kiss only slightly. He pulls away, eyes glittering as he observes you. He’s making sure you’re okay, that what he just did was okay.

And it is.

He pulls you closer to him, enveloping your body in his before carefully planting his lips on your cheek. He sighs, a little. The heavy, disheartened breath rushing through your ear canal. It makes you shudder, so he holds you tighter.

“You aren’t alone, you know.” he tells you, quietly. You feel tears pricking at your eyes as he starts speaking. He cares, so much, you can almost feel his passion vibrating from his skin and passing through you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” you sniffle. “It’s just hard.”

“I know.” he agrees, kissing atop your head as a show of comfort. He just can’t get enough of you. He can’t stop himself from being with you like this, even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t. These moments with you are his main source of happiness. Getting to know you so viscerally is everything to him. Whenever you’re together, like this, he gets to peel back another layer of who you are.

“I’m so—” you stop, your eyes catching his again before you brush away the thought. You’re playing with fire, with him. You’re letting him scrutinize your body as you bare your self-inflicted gaping wounds. Allowing him to decide whether to pour alcohol and salt into your ruined flesh. “I’m just sick of feeling like shit all of the time.” you sigh a little before laughing.

“Don’t.” he huffs, his thumb stroking your face again. It’s a bid to make your body submit to his. “I don’t like it when you perform for me.”

You smile, again, nodding in acceptance as you take his word as truth. It makes sense why he isn’t fond of you acting for him, though for some reason you can’t seem to help yourself. Wrapping your body in an invisible gauze as you do all that you can to prevent your lacerated skin from becoming infected by him.

“Rin?” you whisper again, almost hoping he won’t have heard you say his name. “Do you love me?”

The question almost wounds him. You see his eyes begin to tremor as he wonders if you want him to answer that. And answer it genuinely. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Your bodies are mirrored up above, and he can’t help but stare at his own reflection as he contemplates how to answer. His heart skips a beat when you inch closer to him, wrapping an arm around his torso as you caress him and await his response.

He hates how little effort you need to make to force him to smile.

“Yeah.” he tells you. But he doesn’t look at you, still staring at himself in the mirror above. It’s a confession for him as well as you. “I’m in love with you. Is that okay?”

Of course he’s asking for permission to love you. Though even if you were to say no, it’s not like he could just stop his feelings. It isn’t okay, of course it isn’t. Nothing about what you’re doing is okay. Whatever you’re not meant to do always makes you feel most alive. It makes you feel excited. And right now, you feel wanted. You feel loved.

You don’t feel lonely.

You’re quiet for a moment, but you hope the smile you’re donning will show that you’re appreciative of his honesty. It takes you a while to think about how to respond. You could say it back, but what good will it do? If you don’t say anything, you’re sure he’ll be upset, but he won’t tell you that. You don’t want to hurt him, that’s the last thing you want.

“Thank you.” you tell him.

He doesn’t say anything to that. He closes his eyes, a soft chuckle emanating from him as he processes the rejection. In his mind, that smart, logical mind of his, he knew you wouldn’t say it back. Why would you? Even if it was true, it’s too messy. It’s a disaster waiting to happen, you both know it, so why would you say it back? But then again, why would you ask his feelings in the first place? His heart is screaming at him with every aggressive beat against his ribcage. It’s telling him, despite the logic working overtime in his brain, that you love him too.

“Do you love me?” he wonders, finally allowing his head to roll to the side again so that you’re making eye contact once more.

And you’re silent. You can see in his eyes that he’s pleading with you to reciprocate his feelings. To verbalise them. He wants you to mean it, though. He’d rather you not say a word than lie to him.

But, he knows you.

He knows your mind body and soul and he truly believes that you feel the same way about him. So tell him, won’t you? Lay your heart bare and just tell him the truth. No matter what the world throws at you, he’s certain you can handle it, together. Whatever concerns you have, he’ll protect you. Any repercussions you think will follow you from following your heart, he won’t allow. He’ll do anything for you. Anything to be with you. So look into his emerald eyes and be honest with him.

Be honest with yourself.

“Please,” you start, “please never ask me that again.”

The words cut like a knife. Or rather, he feels like he stopped existing the moment you finish your sentence. It’s like being in a car accident and dying on impact. He looks up at the ceiling again, closing his eyes, knowing the tears are soon to pour from them if he doesn’t get a grip.

Why would you say that?

You still haven’t given a clear answer. And really, he knows why you said what you did. It’s self-preservation. Maybe you think you’re protecting him, too. But you aren’t. You’re the reason his heart beats and this is the reason that it will stop. Every moment from now will be agony. Without an answer, you’ve given him one. And he despises you, now. He thinks you’re selfish.

He thinks you’re a fucking coward.

“Then… what is this?” he wonders, still not daring to widen his eyes and give you the satisfaction of seeing him cry. You can barely stand to look at him now though. Not when he’s being like this. You don’t want to hurt him, truly. But there’s no use in giving him hope that isn’t there. This is for the best, you’re sure. “Have you just been using me for the last two years? When you’re… fucking lonely.” his own breath hitches and he wants to disappear. From your line of sight, from the room, from the fucking planet.

“It’s not like that, Rin.” you sigh, and it’s almost breathless as you try and conjure the right words to alleviate his pain. There’s nothing you can say that won’t hurt. The damage is done. You’ve broken him. “You know the first time was a mistake… and then it just kept happening… and then—”

“And then you—” he balls up his fists until his arms begin to tremble. But he takes a breath, anger leaving him as he exhales. He’s always been good at that. He always knows when he’s getting too worked up and knows how to take it down a notch and compose himself. He’s calculated with everything he does. But he supposes you’re the exception. There was nothing calculated in regard to you. He fell into this fucking mess with you, because it’s you. “… Don’t you think the fact we’ve been making the same ‘mistake’ for so long means it might not be a mistake.” he talks, quietly. You can’t tell if he’s asking you a question or simply speaking words for you to hear.

You don’t answer. What can you say? You can’t contradict yourself now. It’s a valid point, of course. Is a repeated mistake truly a mistake? Maybe you and he are made for each other. Being with him could be easy, if you wanted. Being honest with yourselves and those around you might be easier than you think. Being able to hold his hand and go out on dates like a normal couple. Could it really be so simple?

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” you respond, bluntly. It’s harsh. The words make your mouth swell with discomfort and a horrendous desire to burst into tears. Nothing else will get through to him, you think. Being nice is getting neither of you anywhere. You gulp, and it’s like swallowing razor blades as you see how fucking shattered his face becomes.

He scoffs, a little, and sits upright in bed. You chase him, somewhat, sitting upright beside him and placing your hand on his shoulder. And you gasp, quietly, as he shrugs away from your touch. Your defeated hands fall into your lap as you continue to sit beside him, your eyes alternate from looking at his side profile to your twiddling thumbs.

Rejection was always bound to come eventually. He wishes he never opened his mouth, though. The delusion could have carried on a little while longer. Why did you have to ask if he loved you? You surely knew already. His mind roars at him to run. He’s staring at his sneakers placed meticulously by his wardrobe as he thinks about where he could go. Anywhere away from here.

Away from you.

But the child in him… is resilient. He’s never been one to accept true defeat. He’s never been the type to give up on his dreams or quit when he truly believes there is a chance at happiness for him. You see his hand move to his obscured cheek, and you’re sure he’s wiping away a tear.

It’s all but confirmed when he looks at you. Teal eyes almost illuminate the room as they look at you. Crystalline droplets reside in his lashline, and his eyes keep shimmering as they take in every solitary detail of your beguiling face. He can’t lose you. You’re perfect for him.

And he loves you.

He leans towards you, and you don’t fight it. Your lips slotting beautifully against one another as you melt into his kiss. It’s prolonged and it’s deep. You feel as though he’s giving you everything he has. Everything he is as a final farewell. The thought of never seeing him again makes you break away, panting desperately before you comb his hair out of his face.

“What are you doing, Rin?” you whisper.

This time you’re left without an answer. He grips his fingers into your soft hips and helps you move above him, straddling him so that he can look up into the eyes of the woman he loves more than he ever has or will love anyone.

“Play with my hair, please.” he whispers back against your bare skin as he lifts your tank top to expose your breasts. You do as he asks, combing your fingers through his hair again as he sweetly kisses your erect nipples. The only sound filling the room is his puckered kisses and your laboured breaths.

You hum, intoxicated, as kisses turn to suckles. They’re soft and careful, your skin breaks out in bumps as your flesh tries to huddle together to keep in the warmth. Your heart skips a beat when he looks up at you, briefly, before focusing on your tits again. He wraps his arms tightly around your torso in a bid to pull you closer. Your cotton-clad mound humping against his straining cock in the process.

He grunts against your skin when he feels the wetness pooling on your panties transferring to his boxers. One of his hand roams to squeeze the fat of your ass, a squeaking yelp escapes you as you feel thick bruising fingers dig into your supple flesh. He gentle nibbles your swollen tits, eliciting a mewl from you that speaks to your infatuation with him. Whether you care to admit it or not, he knows your body enough to understand the truth.

“Rin,” you shudder, throwing your head back in an attempt to gain some distance from what is happening and retrieve your thoughts. He doesn’t stop, though. But his eyes meet yours again when you return. He’s listening. He’s clinging to your every thought. “I-Is this really what you want?” you ask him. And he nods, slowly, relinquishing one nipple from his mouth with a pop and licking his cherry bitten lips.

“’m not a mistake, baby…” he tells you in hushed tones before sucking your neglected nipple momentarily. He means it, too. You don’t think he’s a mistake. In truth, you think the world of Rin Itoshi. You wish you met at a different time. Things could be how you both want them to be. But this is how things are. You feel tears you hadn’t given permission begin to roll down your cheeks as you think about how lowly he views himself because of you. You are a fucking coward, you always have been. “I can be right for you, princess. I can.”

You hear him sniff a little before he continues making out with your aching tits. And you push his hair out of his face again, getting a perfect view of his lusciously long eyelashes. You can’t see his pretty green eyes from this angle, they’re focused intently on your chest. But his eyes snap to your when he hears you sniffling too.

“Rin… I-Is this—?”

“Do you want to do that thing you like?” he asks, breath fanning over your spit soaked tits as he snaps you from your thoughts. He encourages you to move a little as he hooks his fingers into your panties and tries to pull them down your legs. It’s clumsy, and it makes you laugh as you shuffle around awkwardly until they’re off. And he throws them across the room before your lips crash together again.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you kiss him. He swallows your moans like they’re holy and he’s fucking greedy. He manages to snake his hand between your bodies to free his length. And your vision strays to see it. His gorgeous, pretty cock. It’s beautiful and pink, though the darkness of the room hides it well. You know it from memory by now. But you can’t mistake the drooling precum leaking from his slit and down his shaft as he strokes his length at a steady pace while he kisses you again.

But you break it once more.

“You like it… you like it, too.” you smile, thinking back to what he’d asked you moments ago. He smirks against your lips, kissing you again before looking down at his length as he attempts to guide it into your heat.

“That’s right.” he nods, licking his lips. “’n it feels the best when you ride me… so sit on it.” he commands. He clenches his teeth as his tip sits comfortably in your sticky interior. You’re so tight and wrap around him so heavenly. As though you’re made solely for him. In his mind, though, that’s exactly what you are. He hisses, eagerly, as he feels the conflicting constrict of your cunt tightening and releasing repeatedly as he remains there. It’s like you aren’t sure if you’re trying to suck him in further or push him out completely.

His fingers curl around your dainty wrist, guiding your hand to his neck and encouraging you to squeeze. You do, softly, and you can’t help but smile when he laughs breathily.

“Sit on it, princess. S’all yours.”

The squeeze becomes tighter as you slowly sink on his length. Your jaw drops willingly as you moan through the stretch. And Rin, God, he’s fucking beautiful. His eyes roll over white as your pussy envelops him until you feel his pretty tip nudge your g-spot. You kiss his cheek. Again, and again and again until his vision returns to you.

He likes it. No, he loves it. But only because it’s you. He’s been with plenty of women, but he’s never been in love. He’s had feelings for partners, but never love. He can’t imagine letting any of them choke him the way you do. It makes him heady, but only because it’s you. The first time you did it he wanted to protest, to tell you in no uncertain terms that he isn’t interested in that kind of thing. But the word no could barely escape his lips before he came inside you after you squeezed the sides of his neck oh so deliciously.

“F-uck, Rinnie…” you moan as you start to rock your hips against him. His hands gently hold your waist and help you in your efforts, your breath catching in your throat as your clit catches against his pubis and trimmed hairs. “You’re s-so deep. Feel you h-here…” you point to your lower abdomen as you carry on rocking against him, your grip on his neck easing as you feel pleasure begin to surge through your nervous system.

He's speechless, though. He knows he’s big and doesn’t feel a need to reiterate it. Instead, he pushes his palm flat against your tummy as you continue to get yourself off. You moan, louder. Drool forming in the corner of your mouth as you keep going and going until your legs begin to give. And he pities you, he does. So much so that he holds your hips tightly and helps you rise and fall on the full length of his cock again and again.

Each impale is rapturous. The pleasure is fucking blinding as his heavy tip slams repeatedly against your sensitive soft insides and you mewl blaringly, no care or consideration for neighbours that might be trying to get a full eight hours before that dreaded sunrise approaches any minute now. You can’t possibly care, not when a cock so perfectly made to mould the shape and ridges of your pussy to suit it’s domineering size is ruining you so divinely.

“Don’t stop.” he reminds you, his hand covering and squeezing your own around his willing neck, encouraging you to persevere. The way your clutching fingers hug the column of his throat is beauty personified. Like a scene from a renaissance painting before your very eyes. And his eyes are blown to hell, full of lust, “harder.” he smirks, greedily. And you always do as you’re told. You want to be good for him after being so cruel. You want to please him after being so cold. You want to love him after being so harsh.

“I—” you start, your words becoming trapped in your throat as your cowardice springs to the forefront of your mind. Though, is it really cowardice? Or is it just the right decision for both of you? For peace of mind and an easy life, it is.

“Yeah?” his eyes practically glitter in expectation as he awaits your sentence to be brought to completion. You are cruel, cold and harsh. Because you’ve gotten his hopes up yet again. And you can’t have that, you just can’t.

“I’m, c-close…” you alert him. His eyes widen in surprise. It hasn’t been so long since you started. Are you lying? He can usually tell. He studies your face and feels the way your cunt constricts around his length as you draw near your demise. You’re honest, only sometimes.

“N-N.. uh… can you hold it? F-For me, princess?” he asks, pleads, really, if his watery eyes are anything to go by. You aren’t sure you can, but you nod anyway. You’ll try your damndest, for him, anything for him.

He manoeuvres you carefully onto your back so you’re lying beneath him. You remain wrapped around him the entire time, like he can’t bear to be apart from you for even a second. You can’t blame him, either, you don’t want to remember what life feels like without him snug inside of your welcoming cunt.

His eyes roam your body as he cages you in below him. Emerald jewels taking in each and every inch of your perfectly bare skin. Every detail, every crevice and pore. It’s all so beautiful to him, and hasn’t become a boring sight to behold in the entire two years you’ve been doing this.

Both of your hands cradle his head, fingers interlocking through the back of his hair. He looks into your eyes and you can’t help but smile. This is how your life should be. When you see how much love pours from his eyes as he looks at you, you know this is how things are meant to be. But it’s a shame, they aren’t. You feel your heart break in two as reality crashes around you once again. But he leans down to kiss you, silently asking your permission to keep going.

“Please, Rin.” you nod.

“Okay, I’ve got you.” he kisses your neck as he begins to shallowly thrust into you again. You mewl softly as you feel him suckle the skin covering your clavicle, and it’s sure to bruise, but you don’t care. You’re sick of caring, now. You just want to feel this. Enjoy this moment. You want to enjoy Rin.

He pushes your thighs gently, spurring you to wrap your legs around his hips in a bid for you to hug him tightly. You hook your feet against one another, and you feel like a koala clinging onto a tree. You don’t mind though. You feel safe, like this. A safety you’ve never felt from anyone at any time. He’ll keep you safe, always, because he loves you. All he wants in this moment is for you to feel good and for him to be the reason. You cock your head, curiously. And he wastes no time satiating your lust with a kiss.

Your moans feel suffocating as your throat swells with the desperate need to share them with him. But you can’t. Not when he’s pressing his lips to yours and trying to inhale your every breath and any other offering you can muster for him. He can’t let you go for even a second, he thinks. This is all he has. He needs to remember.

He looks upset when you turn your head to break the kiss, but his thrusting doesn’t cease. They slow, however. Opting to fuck you deeper. He wants to explore depths in your cute cunt that neither of you know even existed.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice quiet but laced with concern. It’s hard to even think as his thrusts seem to be whisking your brain into a pink mushy paste.

“I can’t—” you pant, “hold it… m-much longer!” you warn him.

“Oh.” he chuckles, and burrows his head into the crook of your neck. He kisses. Sucks. Makes it known that you’ve been with him. A final bid to make you his, though it will surely amount to nothing. “That’s okay, let go, baby…” he tells you.

You bite your lip. A momentary gesture before you find your pleasure crescendo from his faithful pace. He kisses sweetly along your jawline, humping into you hard enough that there is a steady slapping resounding through the bedroom. You note how the sun seems to rise and birds begin to chirp as you topple over the edge of your orgasm.

He could bathe in your sweet moans for the rest of his life, he thinks. They seem to harmonise with the birds singing outside. Your fingers dig and claw into his shoulder blades as you don’t let up. It’s all so tantalizing, a song he’d happily play on repeat for the rest of his miserable life if he could.

You clamp around him and feel a swell of pride in your chest as you hear him moan for you, too. Your cunt floods with warmth and you’ve never felt so wanted. Part of him wishes you weren’t on birth control. Part of him wishes that it would fail so that there’s a reason he can truly make you his. But he knows he isn’t that lucky. And he knows it’s wrong to want those things, too. He doesn’t even want a kid, really.

He just wants a reason to keep you.

Your chest heaves as he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely. You fear that your sweaty bodies may meld together permanently, until the breeze from the open window rolls in. Cooling your dampened skin slowly but surely. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, though. Being stuck to him. There’s always fantastical ideas conjured from absurd imaginations that give you cause to be together. It’s the only way, you think.

It can’t be as simple as you want to be together.

You can’t just love each other so much you can be together.

You need a reason.

A very good fucking reason.

“Are we going to be okay, Rinnie? Things haven’t changed, right?” you ask him, almost scared to speak but not enough to stop the flow of your words. You feel his body tense up, and at that point you know things have indeed changed. But change can be good… you might just be delusional, though.

“I’m going to shower.” he says, coldly, peeling his body from yours. And it stings. He couldn’t give you an answer, and you know that translates to him only having an answer you won’t like. He’s cruel, mostly, but never with you. With other people he can be rude and mean. But he’d rather be silent than do that to you. And it hurts. Fuck, it hurts. It’s all such a mess and everything is fucking ruined. “… are you coming?” he asks, looking back at you as he heads towards the bathroom.

And there it is.

The flame of hope he can never truly let die when it comes to you.

Your eyes flicker open, the room fully bathed in the light of the mid-morning sun. Rin is sitting at the edge of his bed. Legs covered by grey joggers and his torso bare. The shadows and light contrasting each other and painting an alluring portrait of toned musculature across his back. He shields it from you, though, as he pulls a t-shirt over his head.

He stands up, collecting the towel he dropped on the floor as he got changed. And that’s when he sees you’re finally awake again. He curses himself when he smiles at you, still unable to believe how easily you can make him do so.

“How was your nap?” he asks, calmly, tossing the towel expertly into his laundry bin.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep…” you admit.

Though you do remember cuddling into his side after your shower. Your towel is loose around your body, the one wrapped around your hair is crumpled up atop your pillows. He didn’t sleep a wink, he savoured the feeling of you clinging onto him like you might actually love him. But his mind was also plagued by the future. About what happens next. He doesn’t get nervous, usually. But now, as he looks at you in your most natural form, he’s legitimately scared. Scared of everything crashing down around him.

“I… your clothes.” he tilts his head, gesturing to the folded clothes on your bedside cabinet. You thank him, quickly, dropping your towel and hurriedly getting into your jeans and tank top you wore over here in the middle of the night. “I want to be with you, properly.” Rin confesses, focusing intently on his hands before daring to look up to you. Your expression is sullen, unsure of how to respond. You hadn’t expected to hear him say something so bold, not after what you said to him earlier. But you suppose he’s had time to think.

“I just don’t know what you want me to say, Rin.” you sigh, shaking your fingers through your still damp hair. Little droplets flying to the wood floor below.

“I want you to tell the truth… I know you love me. I know you’re just scared. I know you want to be with me, too. I don’t get why you’re doing this. I don’t know why you’re punishing yourself… or me.” he approaches you, walking around the bottom of the bed and grabbing your shoulders with fervour as he wills you to be honest for the first time in your life.

“No.” you shake your head and move away from him. “It isn’t right, you know it isn’t.”

“It’s not right? I’ve loved you for two years and you’re telling me that’s wrong? And I know you feel the fucking same, so please, please baby—”

“I have to go, I can’t do this.” you feel fresh tears roll down your face as you begin to search for your purse. You feel like your fucking heart is going to explode. And he doesn’t bother hiding his upset, either. Because he’s made up his mind.

“This was goodbye, then.” he informs you, and your movements halt as you look at him.

“What?”

“I’m not being this… joke. I’m not going to be your shoulder to cry on when you’re lonely. I’m not going to fuck you, you can’t just come here when you feel like it. I’m done, I can’t do it.” he takes a deep breath as he finishes, knowing that this is really over. It’s killing him. “I love you, and it hurts. This really hurts. But you’re not the girl I thought you were. I thought you were kind and I know you love me too and that’s why it’s fucking— I feel like I’m dying. I don’t get why you’re denying yourself of this.”

You sigh, slipping your feet into your white slides and trying to fight back tears. He thinks everything is so simple. He thinks you can both just live a fairy tale life and be happy, but that isn’t realistic. He isn’t being realistic and maybe that’s your fault. You thought you’d been clear about what this is between you. You hadn’t intended to make him feel used. You didn’t want to hurt him and you didn’t want things to end like this.

“Okay.” you shrug, fingers grasping the door handle as you prepare to leave.

“What’s so fucking special about Sae?” he sobs, quietly. You can’t bear to look at him. Your heart is already breaking and you know looking at his defeated face will give your vital organ cause to split into quarters. “As kids, he was always better at football. He’s older, he’s the favourite. But he doesn’t even treat you right, he doesn’t love you. I do, I love you so what’s so special about him, princess?” he drops his weight onto the bed below, sitting on the edge again as he wills you to face him. His stomach ravaged by butterflies as he waits for an answer. Any kind of answer that will give him some clarity.

“Nothing’s special about him, Rin…” you sigh, again, giving into his desire and offering him the eye contact he craved. “I just met him two years and a few days before I met you.” you sniffle loudly before hurrying out of the door, slamming it behind you unintentionally as you run to the elevator.

He lets his head fall into his hands as he begins to bawl. The knowledge finally setting in that this is really the end of this chapter of his life. The story of you and him is complete and the ending is fucking devastating. He rests his head against the wet pillows you’d left in such a hurry. The scent of your lotions and perfume still clinging to them. And he cries more, covering his face entirely with his hands.

He’ll always lose to Sae, that much is clear.

If only he’d met you first.

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axelsagewrites · 7 months

Text

Obreyn Martel*Duty

Pairing: Obreyn x f!reader

Kinktober Day twenty-eight: mutual masturbation with Oberyn Martell – you always heard that the dornish were more sex positive than most, but you hadn’t expected Oberyn Martell of all people to show you just how good it could feel

Word count: 1550

Warnings: arranged marriage, innocent reader, making out, neck kisses, mutual masturbation, talks of sex, praise, one bite, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

You knew that the Dornish would have different customs and secretly you were excited to explore them when you realised being a woman was not seen as a punishment there. However, what you hadn’t expected was how welcoming and how open they were. The kisses left on your knuckles had been a kind gesture, but you would flush at the casualty of skin at court.

You supposed it was just due to the heat and your own dresses soon became thinner as you waited for your wedding night. While your family worried for their alliance you worried for your husband. You’d heard many rumours about Oberyn Martell, that he was as smart as a whip and deadly as snakes. The Dornish handmaidens had told you he was kind, but the anxiety lingered till you finally met him. He was gorgeous and sweet words slipped off his tongue effortlessly. When he would escort you through the gardens his hand would rest on your waist, and you wondered what the glint was behind his eye. Then the wedding night came. The day had been beautiful. The tables were lined with spiced cakes and deep red wines. The music echoed in your mind still as you recalled how the dornish danced like free spirits. Obryen had been kind, whispering in your ear who was who and making sure to introduce you to all his friends. It could not had been more perfect. That did not stop your nerves however when you remembered the bedding. You were relieved to find out they did not believe in the bedding ceremony however your ladies’ words of encouragement struck fear in you. “It wont last long,” “Just close your eyes and dream of something else,” “It will hurt but you cannot let him know,” Shudders ran down your spine as your ladies finished undressing you. you were left in a thin shift however when your ladies left you soon wrapped a robe Oberyn had gifted you around yourself and sat on the bed.

“Wife,” Oberyn’s voice snapped you from your thoughts. You smiled at him as he crossed the room. His hands cupped your cheeks softly as he brought his lips down onto yours. they tasted like sweet wines and moved like water against yours. When he pulled back your lips chased him, and he chuckled as your face flush. “Oh, sweet wife,” he mumbled, his thumb stroking your cheek before he stood. “I will only be a moment,” he said as he began to take off his jewllery, setting them to the side. You nodded, internally bracing yourself as you took off the robe. You sat it down gently beside the bed before slipping beneath the sheets, laying down waiting as your ladies had instructed you. when Oberyn turned around, now in just a thin undershirt and his trousers, he smiled, “Are you tired my sweet? I suppose the day has been long,” “No,” you said quietly, your cheeks burning as he moved to sit on the bed beside you. you leaned up slightly, eyebrows creasing in confusion, “Arent you supposed to well,” you began to stutter out as he sat above the sheets beside you, gazing down at you in confusion. A wash of relisation covered his face, “Ah yes, forgive me,” he chuckled making your skin grow hot, “I didn’t think you would wish to do that so soon,” obryen moved to lay beside you, still on top of the sheets as you grew more confused. “I thought we had to,” you said, “It is my duty is it not?” Obryen smiled softly, brushing the hair from your face sending shivers down your spine, “I suppose some may call it that though I confess in time I hope you do not view it as such. What else did your ladies tell you about it?” he asked. You paused for a moment before turning to lay on your side facing him, “They said that it hurts but it doesn’t last very long. is that true?” you asked, growing frustrated at the way he laughed.

“It doesn’t have to hurt no,” he said, smiling, “Their husbands are just impatient. Sex is,” he said, noticing how your eyes fell in embarrassment as he spoke, “a beautiful thing. Its something to be enjoyed, by both parties,” he said, his hand slowly moving up your arm, “There is no reason you should not enjoy it,” His hand moved to cup your cheek while his eyes gazed into yours in a way that made your mouth grow dry. A few moments passed before he whispered, “May I kiss you?” he asked. You nodded yes and his face dipped down to meet yours. It was soft and tender, but you could not help feeling a growing excitement in your stomach. “Have you ever done anything like this?” he asked, his nose brushing against yours as you shook your head no. “Have you ever touched yourself?” “I-uh- “you stuttered before finally answering, “Yes,” you whispered, skin flushing hot. “Good,” he mumbled against your lips, “Do it now,” “What?” you began to question only for him to cut you off. “Trust me my sweet. I want you to feel good,” he mumbled, pulling you in for another sweet kiss, “Let me show you how good your duty can feel,” he whispered making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Okay,” you mumbled back, your lips brushing against his as you leaned up to capture his lips this time. your hand slipped beneath the sheets, slowly moving towards your wettening cunt as Oberyn’s lips began to move. He kissed your check before trailing his kisses along your jaw. You whimpered when he began to suck soft spots under the corner of your jaw meanwhile your fingers ran up your slit. “Are you doing it?” he mumbled against your skin. Pressing up further, your finger slowly moved up till it was rubbing soft circles against your clit, “Yes,” you breathed out, glancing down to notice the bulge straining against his trousers. “Are you going to…?” you asked, voice trailing off as your eyes flickered back to his face. Oberyn chuckled, seemingly understanding your words, “How could I not be tempted by such a pretty sight?” he asked, his lips moving to kiss a line down your throat as his own hand slipped beneath his trousers. Your fingers sped up, rubbing fasted circles into your clit as your thighs clenched together. with his free hand Oberyn pushed the hair off your neck, allowing his lips to move down to the crook of your neck, sucking on the soft skin lightly making small moans leave your mouth.

Seeing him stroking himself at the sight of you gave you a small boost of confident as you moved your hand to slowly press two fingers in, curling them preciously as Oberyn moved his kisses to your collarbones. Your free hand moved up till your fingers were circling your perked nipple over your shift, catching your husband’s attention. “May I?” he asked, slowly moving the sheets down. You nodded, your eyes locked with his as he pulled the sheets down, “Such a pretty little thing,” he praised, his hand running lightly over your clothed breasts before suddenly squeezing one making you gasp. “Please,” you whined, your back arching slightly as your body craved his touch. Oberyn’s eyes locked with yours as he slowly pushed your shift down past your shoulders, exposing your nipples to him. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive buds before he suddenly took one into his mouth. You moaned as he began to suck the sensitive bud, his tongue flicking over it as his hand sped up beneath his trousers. You felt your fingers speed up, a warm feeling growing in your stomach as you began to approach your peak.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to tighten, your toes curling as you felt your body tense. Oberyn had clearly felt it too as he mumbled curse words against your skin, and you felt him speed up his pumps till you wondered if his hand would fall off. Moans left your lips as you felt yourself tumble over the edge of your peak, moaning his name lightly. Oberyn buried his head into your chest, his breathing becoming heavy as he chased his own release. “Fuck,” he gasped, his teeth briefly sinking into your skin before pulling away as he swore one last time as his body stiffened. Gasping, he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, “I’m sorry my love I don’t know- “ “Its okay,” you assured him, your hand moving to hold his arm gently. Oberyn smiled at you, leaning over to press a kiss on your cheek before he quickly got up to change into fresh sleep trousers. When he came back to the bed he slipped beneath the sheets, pulling you into his chest which you gladly accepted, “I know it was not the wedding night you imagined,” he said, trailing circles on your hip with his thumb. “It was better my love,” you said, noticing Oberyn’s wide grin at how you copied his words, “As long as in time you give me a proper wedding night,” you joked. “Oh, I can promise you I will,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy @valeskafics @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn martel x reader #oberyn martell smut #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martel smut #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones smut #game of thrones #prince oberyn smut #kinktober

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jymwahuwu · 1 year

Note

alani, what if the reader who wants to be one of the sages dream (to be a sage) was rekindled by old classmate of y/n who visited them after they never met. that old classmate heard y/n's location from the researchers that came back from avidya forest and yes, the old classmate went there seeing y/n's and tighnari babies. however when tighnari went to forest while eating with the old classmate, the old classmate told y/n that they can continue studying while they're taking care of a baby. y/n was encouraged but of course, tighnari heard it.

yandere tighnari breeding reader part 1

tw: non-con, yandere, misogyny, forced breeding, kidnapping, pregnancy, breastfeeding

I like this!! it will be a disaster💀😂 and he will remind you not to leave🥺

After recovering from the emptiness and shock of knowing you were pregnant, you lived a safe pregnancy under the care and protection of all the forest watchers. You live in a tree house with Tighnari, and the books you can read are parenting guides, but you do learn more than a thing or two from the forest, including nature, animals, aranara, and more. This is a leisurely life that cannot be experienced in akademiya.

Sometimes, Tighnari sits with you in the forest enjoying the breeze. Tighnari allows you to run your hands into his large tail fur when it gets a little chilly. He loves listening to baby's little kicks and rolls on your belly - which might be really sweet if the reality wasn't him forcing you to get pregnant and keep you in the woods.

Eventually, a baby…no, babies were born. Unexpectedly, not one, but three. You bear not to cry. All three fox cubs are adorable, two of them are more lively and one is quieter. All three of them have similar furry fox ears and tails. Breastfeeding becomes a challenge - Tighnari comforts one while two babies suckle from your swollen breasts. Housework takes up most of your time, and the rest of the time you teach Collei how to read and write, and… and continue to get breeding from Tighnari. He always likes to breed you in different poses - doggy-style, mating press, spoons, etc. He's a little mean in bed.

When the leaves start to turn yellow and orange, a new guest visits avidya forest. It was afternoon, and Tighnari had set off to patrol the forest. Ah, that guest is an old classmate of yours, you both studied together at akademiya and took the same course. You didn't expect him to visit! You're a little scared that your old schoolmate knows about your current life, but it seems he already does.

You know the news has spread in akademiya now.

To entertain old school friends, you cooked sabz meat stew and pita pocket. He chats with you about the latest research and recent events - but you find that seems unfamiliar to you, and you can only nod occasionally in response. He noticed your expression and asked if you want to go back to akademiya and continue your research. "You know what? That scholar used to be a housewife. They've gone back to study linguistics now, and I think you can too." Your eyes widen, a little hope rekindled in your heart. "Re-really? But I have babies to take care of…" He suggested that you can take care of them while studying, or you can go back to akademiya when the babies are older and pursue your dream of becoming a sage.

"May I ask you not to put these irresponsible thoughts in my wife's head?"

Just as you were about to discuss it, you heard a familiar voice. You look up to see Tighnari standing at the door. He was staring at the strange man in the room. "Meddling in other people's lives - the akademiya scholars are getting so disrespectful now. Or are they arrogant to think that family life is not worth going all out for?" The old schoolmate was instantly awkward and overwhelmed. He tried to explain that he didn't mean to be rude, but Tighnari asked him to leave.

After the old classmate leaves, you shudder and explain that you didn't mean to say yes, but it's too late. Tighnari knows you're a little encouraged. Once you discover that this is possible, you will try to leave him again. He has to stop you right here. You obediently go back to bed and spread your legs. His pelvis hits you, burying his dick inside of you. And your whisper like please don't cum inside- please don't- was ignored by him.

#alani.answers #yandere genshin impact #yandere tighnari #yandere tighnari x reader #genshin tighnari x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader

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kentosovertime · 4 months

Text

(n.) the delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are

toji x afab!reader, fiance!megumi - 2.7k words

A/N: here's a comeback fic for my blog resurrection, had this idea before I stopped writing and FINALLY got to it, enjoy~

CW: explicit content, explicit language, age gap, revenge cheating, manipulation, humiliation, dubcon language, your dad will do, virgin!reader, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding, non consensual videotaping at the end, anger issues (rip the reader)

“For fucks sake!” You screech, the sound of your rage swallowed by a bus that screams by the side of the road as you slam the hood of your smoking car shut.

“At least it’s not in flames-” Starts a random passerby walking their dog, but is sent running when you send them a withering glare. After the weekend you’ve had and it’s only Friday night?

You open your phone, your glare turning to the long list of outgoing calls to every hotel within an hour of your apartment, all booked to no vacancy for a local festival. Your landlord really picked the perfect weekend to kick all their tenants out for “emergency” maintenance for an issue that was reported months ago.

Someone must have threatened to report the living conditions, as his attitude quickly changed when he offered to reimburse the hotel costs if his tenants were forced to stay at one.

Your gaze softens as you scroll through those calls to where Megumi contacted you, letting you know he had made it to the martial arts competition he was coaching this weekend. His soft spot and skill for taking care of children was what initially drew you to him, but right now you wished more than anything you could press on his name and he could come to your rescue like always.

Calling a tow truck to bring your car to the mechanics wasn’t necessarily the issue… but being on the streets for the next couple nights was. With your car in this condition, it wasn’t like you could sleep in it, given your inability to find even a shity motel room in the worst part of town.

You take a moment to mourn the fact that you didn’t move closer to where your family lives before realizing you really only have one option in front of you; Toji.

The contact information for your boyfriend's father mocks you on the screen, daring you to call him, a perfect stranger, to come and save your ass. The lack of familiarity wasn’t based on a lack of effort on your part, having tried repeatedly to get Megumi to open up about his family. The most that you were able to glean was that his mother had passed away and his father wasn’t often present.

“Hello?” A gruff voice answers on the first ring. You didn’t even realize you had pressed his number before he was on the line. “Sorry, Mr. Fushiguro? This is Megumi’s fiance…” An awkward, lasting silence stretches out between the two of you before you clear your throat and try again. “I’m very sorry to bother you, but Megumi is out of town and m-my car is billowing smoke a-and all the hotels are booked-”

Toji smirks as you ramble, rather cutely he may add, grabbing his wallet and keys before he’s even told you yes to both of your requests. He chuckles under his breath as you struggle to not fill the silence, letting your words hang in the air again.

“I’m on my way,” He hums as he twists the keys in the ignition of his car. “Get your stuff out of the car in case it explodes.”

He barks out a laugh as he hangs up and hears a distressed noise of dismay leave your throat. You’re so easily worked up, he wonders if this is why Megumi has done everything in his power to prevent the two of you from meeting… a valid concern. Considering how that ex of his used to try to hang off of Toji. He shudders in disgust at the memory of the girl, still in high school and thinking she was worth a second glance.

Something tells him you’d be a prettier sight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

This is why Megumi has been telling you no… It takes everything in you to keep your jaw snapped shut as you watch his father prowl up to where you're standing over your suitcase on the sidewalk, nervously glancing at the vehicle he made seem may blow up at any second.

You approach the car hesitantly when he waves you over, shocked that your legs work from how tightly your wound. He opens up the hood to take a look at what’s causing the smoke while you wait for your tow.

“Here, sweetheart.” It only takes him a second to point out what's wrong with your engine, gently redirecting your finger when you point to an area in question. “I wouldn’t hold out too much hope that this is worth fixing… you may be looking at a new set of wheels.”

Anger and frustration well up in you again, even as a flush of heat cascades down your spine at the small touch of his skin on yours. You’re thankful for the distraction the anger provides, given the other option is avoiding looking at how his tight black t-shirt stretches across his torso or drooling like a pitiful little girl. Your fiance is attractive, but there’s still a softness to his face. He lacks the hard planes and sharp angles his father possesses.

“One thing at a time.” Toji squeezes your shoulder with a smirk, leading closer than he should. How is he supposed to help himself when you seem ready to snap with how tightly you’ve wound yourself? The tension in your back only winds further with how he kneads your skin. “If you need it, I’ll pitch in to help Megumi get you around for a bit.”

Your mouth opens to stutter out a reply… or maybe a denial for such an open ended offer, but the horn of the tow truck stops you.

“Let me handle that.” He hums. “I wouldn’t want the tow truck driver to try to take advantage of you.”

Watching him leave, you pull the phone from your pocket, sending Megumi a quick update about where you’re going before your phone dies. You shove it back into its spot after you’ve powered it off, saving what’s left of the battery for when you’re able to dig out your phone charger.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Toji holds the door to his house open for you, bracing his hand on the small of your back as you cross the threshold to a surprisingly tasteful living room.

“What?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, the shock must be written all over your face. “Expect a futon couch and a mattress on the floor?”

“M-Maybe..” You rub your neck with a sheepish look, managing a small chuckle as he leads you down the hall to what you assume is the room you’ll be using. “Something about unmarried men and the lack of dining room tables and living out of laundry baskets.”

The drive over had taken longer than you expected, he lives on the edge of the city, the houses given more space than what you’re used to from your apartment in the city. But it had given you the opportunity to partially acclimate to his overwhelming presence. All you had to do was not look at his face… easy.

“I did have a wife.” He hums in thought. “The art of furnishing a house isn’t lost on me… Anyway.. This one is you.” He flicks on the light as he enters the spacious room, moving until he gets to another door, turning that light on too, the cocky humor back on his face by the time he turns back to you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“You have your own bathroom… shower head’s detachable.” He tacks on, watching you empty your overnight bag, setting your night clothes out before you turn your phone back on and get it attached to a charger.

“That’s not- I wouldn’t-” A shocked squeak flies from your throat as your eyes widen in embarrassment.

“Your face is…” He howls in laughter. “Absolutely priceless. My room is down the hallway, last door on the right. In case you need me.”

“I-” His tone drips with innuendo, making the blush on your face deepen to a shade of crimson. So much for not thinking about him inappropriately.

“So innocent, sweetheart. You’d think you’re still a virgin.” You watch in mortification as your future father-in-law leans cockily against the door jam to your bathroom, your mouth opening and closing, urging something to come out, an explanation, a lie, anything. Just something to make him not make fun of you. “Oh my god… you are. Even when you’re engaged to my son?”

“He…” You wring your hands together, your voice barely above a mumble, looking down at your engagement ring in confusion, as if it could tell you the Toji’s lying to you. “He said he wanted to wait until w-we were married. That he’d wait…”

He never said that it would be his first time, you realize. As quickly as your embarrassment comes, it's replaced with a low, burning fit of rage that’s ready to lash out.

“Wait! You thought Megumi was a virgin?” He snickers meanly. “That’s fucking rich, hun. That ship sailed in fucking high school.”

You listen, shaking with the anger that’s boiling inside of you, as he describes Megumi’s relationship with a girl named Himari, how he walked in on them more than once.

Your mind starts to spin in circles, fueled by this rage that has nowhere to go. As insufferable as Toji is about this, you find your anger can’t be directed at him. It's Megumi that lied to you for the entire duration of your relationship, not his father.

As your mind circles, every insecurity that you’ve had about your relationship that you so easily dismissed before bubbles to the surface one by one. He’s always working or volunteering somewhere. The apartment has just become a place that he sometimes sleeps, if he ever makes it home because he travels around so often. He even said he didn’t like his father. Admittedly, you can see how they would clash, but was that it? Or did he just not want you to meet Toji so his cover wouldn’t be blown?

Toji approaches you, leaning into that delicious anger to purr in your ear. “I could show you what you’re missing, sweetheart…”

Your body doesn’t flinch as your eyes slide to meet his gaze directly for the first time. You nod ever so slightly in consent, your breath uneven from the anticipation that’s built in your core from when you first saw him.

“I’m going to need a little more than a nod, swe-” It’s the spite that pushes you to kiss him first. Spite that doing this will hurt Megumi has much as he hurt you, and spite that if you have to hear Toji call you sweetheart one more fucking time you’d explode.

The groan you swallow from Toji as he presses against you wipes any doubt from your mind as you press against his broad chest to push him to the guest bed and crawl up his body to grind yourself into the bulge in his pants, hungrily seeking out his lips again.

“Eager little virgin, aren’t we?” He growls as he yanks your head back by your hair, baring your neck to him so he can nip at it. The lack of marks there by his son is a further invitation to take you for himself.

“Ah-! Mr. Fushi-” A whimper escapes your mouth as he carelessly shoves a hand beneath the band of your leggings and panties and you squirm to pull away as his fingers immediately shove past your entrance to scissor you open.

“Uh uh. That’s enough of that shit.” He bites a harsh mark into the juncture of your neck, grinning when you cry out with a mixture of pain and pleasure, fat tears welling in your eyes and spilling over, your core spasming around his digits he continues to bully into you. “I’m not fucking stopping until your dripping, sweetheart. I’m going to have you crying that its too much and I’m not going to fucking stop. Even if you beg.”

It stings, the foreign feeling inside of you, but that feeling is quickly replaced by a rapidly approaching orgasm. You can take him, you think as you reach down between you to palm him through his sweatpants. You’re ready for anything he could give you.

Your efforts leave you breathless and end with you managing to work his pant’s down his legs as he rips your leggings from your body along with your panties.

“Fuck-” He growl as you take ahold of his length and line him up with your entrance as you hover above him. “You better slow down or you’ll hurt yourself.”

“You’re too cocky for your own- oh fuck-” You hiss as you allow the head of his cock to breach your entrance. The sting returns and flares into white hot heat at your core, making you double over into his chest as each inch rips its way into you. Your hips rock needily into him, trying with desperate circles to work yourself open.

By the third circle of your hips, Toji loses his patience. His hands reach out to grapple your hips, using his momentum to flip the two of you before he thrusts violently into you, fully seating himself before pulling from your heat to slam home again.

“Broken in now, aren’t you?” He growls, slamming into you a few more times before the sting completely abates, making sure you really feel what he’s taking from you. “Took what you wanted like a greedy fucking whore. Now shut the fuck up and be thankful I’m giving you my cock.”

He pulls out of you to manhandle you until your chest is laying against the covers, wasting no time before he’s hauling your hips back into where he kneels behind you, entering you roughly again and setting a punishing pace.

“You take me like a trained bitch.” He pants, grunting as his hips slap against yours, sending the vibrations straight to your clit as you sob into the duvet. “You lying about this being your first time?”

You don’t answer, your face planted into the covers from the angle he has you bent into. Toji growls in annoyance, gathering your arms behind you to pull you up against his chest before his free hand snakes around your front to deliver a harsh slap to your center, ripping a scream from you.

“Go on slut. Answer, daddy.” He slaps your clit again and you feel yourself gush around his length, pushed to the edge.

“M’not lying, Mr. Fushigur-” Another slap has you trembling, fresh tears pouring down your cheeks as you build impossibly higher. “D-Daddy- M’not you just f-feel s’good. I’ve b-been wet since you showed up.”

“Greedy little thing’s so ignored by Megumi you have to result to fucking his dad?” He coos down at you condescendingly, degrading you further. His voice takes on a cruel tone as he starts circling your clit. “How are you going to explain to your precious fiance that you’re carrying his brother?”

“W-What- n-no T-Toji you c- shit!” You cum suddenly around him, the image of you leaking his cum banging around your head until you're clamping so hard around him you’re pulling his orgasm from him. Shivers wrack your body as you feel the ropes of his cum pump into you and leak from where you’re connected.

The two of you breathe heavily, your panting filling the room as you come down from your highs. In your haze you don’t notice Toji video taping his cock pulling out of your cunt or the cum that gushed out in its wake before playfully slapping your ass and walking into the guest bathroom to get you a towel.

You slump against the covers, wincing as you reach for your phone when you see the screen go off with worried messages from Megumi about being near his father. Followed by numerous missed calls with the same message, pleading with you not to stay with him. That he’d rush home tonight to help you so you didn’t have to stay there.

You scowl at the message, sending off something that gets right to the point.

<Who’s Himari?>

You decline the immediate litany of frantic calls, fully shutting off your phone and shuffling out of bed to join Toji in the bathroom. Maybe the shower could be round two… and if not, you’d happily sneak into the master bedroom to make that a reality.

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @severelytalentless @yelzoldyck @silversslut @aazaard @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @vantastic210@rafzaha @tirzamisu @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @firdaoz @saoney @meromelo @pelicanpizza @sukunassoulmate @damncakie @katgalle @honeyyjems [[if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

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Touch: The Following Autumn (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Rated/warning: 18+, whump, depiction of difficult childbirth Word Count: 2.4k

Masterpost Previous part Next part

Summary: Benedict holds you through the birth of your first child.

Benedict’s grasp is the only thing keeping you hanging on. The only thing you are trying to focus on as the rest of your body feels like it is being ripped apart. You have never known so much pain, such bone-deep, gnawing pain, and that it has gone on for eighteen hours is incomprehensible. But you are still conscious, and you are still fighting, because he needs you to. Because they both need you to.

He sits at your bedside, your hands clasped together so tightly for so long, they have both gone white and you can’t feel your fingers anymore. That is the least of your concerns as another contraction surges through you and you groan, worn too tired to scream anymore. You lean into your husband, your free hand clinging to him wherever you can grasp - his hair, his neck, the sleeve of his shirt. You claw at him as you fight for a shuddering inhale, the wave of pain feeling as if it can drown you.

He presses his lips to your forehead, his face desperately tired and pale too. “My darling,” he whispers. “Oh my love.” He has run out of the energy or creativity to say anything more. Not that he needs to. You just need to feel him close by.

“Mrs. Bridgerton,” the surgeon looks up from the sheet spread across your knees. “You must continue to push.” His voice is stern, but there is an undercurrent of sympathy. No one in this room thinks you are weak. They have all been with you, watching you suffer for nearly an entire day.

You nod limply, trying to find your breath as Benedict smooths your hair back from your sweaty face with his free hand. On the opposite side of the bed, Violet leans in with a cool cloth and presses it to your neck. They are the only family members with you. Your parents were waylaid by bad weather on their return from the Continent, and will miss the birth of their first grandchild.

You just want to fall apart. You want to sink back into the pillows and grant yourself some rest. You felt your strength give out hours ago, but somehow you are still here, trembling, pushing with whatever mild response your muscles will give you, to help your child into the world. The fear is growing that they may be stillborn. Your water broke so long ago and they have been stuck in your body. But you refuse to give into despair, and you swear you can still feel them, straining within you, doing their part to break free.

Now the surgeon is telling you to push. You don’t know what energy you are supposed to push with. There is none left in your body, none at all. The only place you can feel it is in Benedict’s hands, numb though your fingers are. There is strength in him, strength in your love, strength in your desire to meet your child. You will have to draw on that. It is all you have.

Gritting your teeth and leaning into Benedict’s shoulder, you grate out a scream and try to channel everything you feel from him, down to your baby. It’s piercing, the ache you feel along your legs, down your spine, and all through your hips. You feel as if your bones are made of blades. You push with your body and your soul, anything you can offer, and collapse back against the pillows, breathing hard.

“Another,” The dreadful command from the foot of the bed makes you whimper.

Dear god, you can’t. Your shoulders start to shake with tiny sobs that produce no tears. Benedict leans over you, never releasing your hand, caressing your forehead.

“I can’t,” you gasp, “Ben…I’m sorry…I can’t.”

The fear in his eyes is palpable. His face is haggard, shadowed with stubble. He swallows hard, searching your face, desperately questing for what to say.

Violet squeezes your arm beside you and you turn to look at her, now more grateful than ever that she is here. She is the only one who can truly understand what you are feeling. Her eyes are glistening with tears but burning with resolve simultaneously.

“Y/n, dearest, you must let your mind go.” You stare back at her, confused. She presses on, her voice tight. “The pain exists only in your mind. Your body is always strong enough to do what it must. It is only your mind that is struggling.” Her words sink in, somehow making sense. She nods at you in encouragement. “Wait for the next contraction, and let your body push, but your mind must go.”

You give her the barest nod, your breath growing shallow, then turn back to look at Benedict above you. If there is anywhere that you can lose yourself, it’s into his silvery eyes, even though they are now filled with panic.

He heard his mother. Intuitively, he knows what you are trying to do. He holds the side of your face, slender fingers framing your ear, and lowers to rest his forehead against yours.

“Y/n,” he breathes. “Do you remember the snowstorm two years ago?”

You lock into his eyes, trying to transport yourself back into memories, to leave your body behind you to work without your mind’s interference. You nod slightly against him, breathing hard and shallow through your nose.

“You were the reason I didn’t finish that damn landscape.” A small grin tugs at his lips. “I was going outside to paint but then I saw you with my family, having as much fun as the children. You were so beautiful, so carefree and strong. I had to get to know you. So I abandoned the painting and joined in.”

Your mind is beginning to float back. Entranced with the kaleidoscope of his irises, you remembered that cold day, the sting of the snow against your exposed wrists, the squeals of laughter from everyone involved.

“It turned out to be the right decision because the next day you walked straight into my arms in front of my easel.”

You would grin at his cheekiness, but even your face has grown sore at this point.

“And from then on, you made me fall deeper and deeper. The whole season in London, I could barely breathe around you.”

Light dances in his eyes, the same way it had when he would laugh with you on a promenade, or slip you a flute of champagne with a wink.

“All I wanted was to be close to you. To hold you in my arms. I wanted it badly enough that I forced myself to dance with you. It was the only way I could feel you without causing a scandal.”

You remember the night of the Cowper ball, the heat and insistence of his grasp. You never allowed yourself to hope that it was desire, or that it was love. But it had been. He had loved you as long as you had loved him. A warm buoyancy starts to grow in your exhausted chest. You are always moved by the depth of your husband’s affection, but to hear him narrate your love story as he experienced it, is overwhelmingly beautiful.

He continues, his words whispering across your face. “Then once I had held you, I knew I needed to hold you for the rest of my life. I knew I had to marry you.”

You feel the familiar, horrible clench of pain start to notch up your spine; another contraction heaving its way through your body. A strangled noise rises from the back of your throat and Benedict releases your hand at last, bringing both of his to grip your shoulders. You cling back to him, scrabbling to clutch his arms, breathing faster.

Violet is beside you both, offering soothing words of encouragement, but they are lost to your ears. You try to do as she said, to separate your mind from your body, and stay lost in Benedict’s eyes. He keeps his face above yours, never pulling away, as you feel your body start to bear down and arc against the pillows.

“Y/n,” He raises his voice, commanding your attention. “I will always be here to hold you. Darling, you are not alone in this.”

You can feel the pain, gripping and searing, but fight to concentrate on Benedict and nothing else. The warm light in your chest continues to grow, becoming a gauzy barrier between your thoughts and the agony of your muscles. Staring into his eyes, their grey fractals envelop you, and you feel yourself start to push.

You must do this. You want to do this. Whatever it takes to bring your child into the world, to make Benedict a father and see his face light with a smile once more. Everything in your body rushes downward and you dig your fingers into his arms but he never wavers. You can’t help from shouting behind your gnashing teeth, keening against him. Then there is a shift, and pressure. Immense, weighted pressure builds at your center, knocking you breathless.

“The head is out!” The surgeon calls excitedly from below.

Benedict breaks your gaze to look back at him, then turns to you with eyes full of hope. Now the end is in sight.

“One more, Mrs. Bridgerton.” The surgeon instructs. “Last one.”

You’re not sure if your lungs work anymore. Your body feels completely beyond your control. The pressure is so intense, dark spots threaten the edges of your vision and you blink to keep from swooning. Benedict must sense this, because he takes your face in both of his hands and calls to you, gently but insistently.

“My love, she is nearly here. Our baby. Just one more and we will finally hold her.” There is an urgency in his voice, a blend of concern and excitement. “You must push, my love. Not because I am asking you to, but because she is ready to join the world.”

You look up at him, your eyes glazed as you pant desperately. His own eyes are brimming with tears. He is longing for a daughter, convinced that your baby would be a girl from the very day you told him you were with child. You had insisted it would be a boy, more to toy with him than anything else, and in a moment, one of you will be proven victorious. But only if you can muster yourself for one last attempt.

The energy in the room has changed. There is a buzz of joy threatening to erupt from under the agony of your extended labor. The warmth in your chest surges. Benedict says not to push for his sake, but you are going to. It is your love for him that is the source of all your strength. You wrap your arms around his neck and lock your eyes on his once more. There, you see your past, your future, your very soul reflected back at you. You remember every glance, every kiss, every display of passion that has filled your life with such bliss over the past two years. His large hands, steady on either side of your face, burn into your skin with memories of every touch, every time your fingers brushed, or clasped, or entwined, every time you held or were held.

The warmth in your chest has grown as intense as the pressure in your hips, and you go rigid, straining your whole body to will it downward, eyes clenching shut and mouth open in a silent scream as you pour every last ounce of yourself into the effort. All you can hear is the blood in your ears, and all you can feel is the press of your husband’s hands as the rest of your body becomes nothing but pressure. You worry you may burst, or slip into the darkness at the edge of your mind.

But then there is release. The pressure gives way and everything moves and the air comes rushing back into your lungs. Everyone is talking, exclaiming, but your mind is too fuzzy to make out what they are saying. Then you hear it - a cry. Strong and loud, your baby’s cry calls you back to your senses and you open your eyes.

Above you, Benedict is weeping and he falls into you, clutching you against him as he laughs into your neck, then peppers your face with kisses. A wave of euphoria casts over you, despite the weariness of your body, and you smile, raking your fingers through his hair. Everything is moving quickly. You hear Violet praising you nearby. The baby’s cry continues somewhere in the room.

Then a nursemaid approaches and lays a small bundle into your arms with a smile. “It is a girl.”

Benedict nearly cackles with joy. Suddenly, you are alert and aware, arms filled with all the strength they need to hold your child and never let go. Benedict nestles in beside you on the bed, lifting you to sit up in his arms. The fussy cries sound from the little blanket as you both peer in and see a round-cheeked, red little face under a shock of matted dark hair, squirming with clenched fists and scrunched eyes. Benedict reaches out and runs a slender finger through the wispy hair, and she falls quiet. Then her grey eyes open, focusing on you both and assessing you curiously.

She is her father’s daughter, a Bridgerton through and through. Violet perches beside the bed, blinking away happy tears. You smile at her, appreciating how she was able to do this so many times, including bringing Benedict into the world. You want to repay her for such a gift, and you know that you will take Benedict’s suggestion and name your daughter after her.

You turn back to your baby, watching Benedict caress her tiny pink fingers with two of his own. You can already see that he is desperately in love, and you know that you are in for the best kind of trouble. You have never felt such happiness, such contentment, as you do in this moment. You lean into him, beaming smiles on both of your faces.

You are encapsulated in warmth, marveling at how his arms encircle and bind you all together; you, your husband, and the life you have created out of pure love. Your family, your entire world, kept safe within his hold.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @mysticwitchcraftco

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #female reader #regency #regency era #regency romance #light whump

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fantasyandshit · 1 month

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Whether you like it or not

Type: One shot

Pairing: Eris x fem reader

Based off of this request

I slowly step down the stairs, careful not to trip over my self, I’m dressed in a dark gown, the gold details shimmering in the fae lights, my hair is laying down my back I’m soft curls, my water line shaded with kohl and a slight tint added to my lips. “Ah there she is.” Rhysand smiles, his arm wrapped around Feyre.

“Well can you blame me? This dress was,” I pause to think of the words, “confusing to put on.”

“Oh but you look hot as fuck girl.” I smirk as my eyes find Morrigans, dressed in a fabulous red dress as always, gold details around the edges and a slit straight up the side, a plunging v-line showing off her full breasts and heavy gold jewelry accenting it perfectly.

“As always.” We chuckle for a moment before sighs escape us in unison and we pair up to winnow to the court of nightmares. It was a dreaded but necessary meeting with Eris and Keir. One I hoped would be quick or I may stab myself before the night ends.

I had never had a problem with Eris really. I had been there the day of the incident with Mor and knew the truth, something that still bothered me to this day was her lies but I never said anything. I couldn’t.

———

I file in with the rest of my family stood in between Cassian and Azriel, my heels clacking and my dress swaying. My shoulders were pulled back, my head held high and a near sneer lay on my face as I gazed forward, never to the crowd.

As I take my place at the foot of the dais, Rhysand takes his seat, Feyre on his lap as she commands us to bow. I drop to my knee in respect, only rising when she tells us too. It is then that I catch sight of the fiery red hair in the crowd, unmistakably the prince of Autumn. We make eye contact, his lips pulling into one of his signature smirks before he disappears into the crowd.

The night continues on, nothing of interest happening as I await the time after this “party” for our meeting so we may get it done and over with. As a new song begins, I’m pulled out of my thoughts by a voice I know all too well, deep and gravely. “May I have this dance, princess.” A smirk of my own graces my features as my hand is placed in his.

“I suppose you may.” My eyes track his body as I’m pulled into the swirling crowd. I can feel the heirs fiery warmth against me as we sway and spin to the music. “So why the sudden urge to dance with my prince.”

“Oh don’t pretend- you know I take pleasure in our escapades every time we have to attend one of these blasted meetings.” That was true, me and Eris often sought each other out when we had to attend the same events, much to my family’s dismay. I had gotten into several arguments with Cass, Rhys, Az, and Mor over the years but I couldn’t explain this pull I felt towards the Fox.

‘Fox.’ I had called Eris that since shortly after we first met, his predatory gaze and orange hair reminding me of the animal, along with other things. I just couldn’t explain the reason but this male was just a fox.

“That’s fair. So what have you been up to Fox.”

A long sigh leaves him as he pulls me in for a dip, “oh my gods it’s been horrid, as I get closer to over taking the throne, more and more must be done, I’ve had back to back meetings all week.”

I shudder at the idea of all that- it sounded like torture, “that sounds Horrid.”

“Oh it is, believe me princess.”

Eris pulls me in one more time as the beat starts to simmer out, signifying the end of the song. We’re close enough for our breaths to mix, my eyes meeting his.

Gods

This could not

Be happening

There’s now way. It’s not possible.

But sure enough as I gasp, falling further into Eris’ touch, I feel the snap of the golden string, and judging by his flinch, he does too. It feels like the world stops, everything blurring around as all I see is him.

He’s all I feel

All I breath

He’s everything

We simply stare into each others eyes for what feels like an eternity, our breaths matching, chests heaving in heavy pants. “You’re my mate.” It’s the softest I’ve ever heard the male speak as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

“I’m your mate.”

A small smile breaks across his face, it’s sincere, filled with emotion. Not like his usual smirk. His eyes are wet as his brows pull up.

“Everyone out.” I’m broken from my stupor by the low growl of my high lord…shit. I move to leave with Eris wrapped around my arm. “You two. Stay.” He looks pointedly at the two of us. I felt like a child about to be scolded. I’d never seen Rhysand so angry. Mor looked on in disbelief, Azriel looked down right mortified, Cassian looked nearly as angry as Rhysand, his hands clenching at his sides as he stared at the heir of Autumn. Feyre looked shocked, scared but she couldn’t fully grasp the situation in front of her. Amren of course hid her smirk behind a goblet.

Me and my mate. My. My mate. My mate. Eris is my mate. Holy fucking mother above. Me and my mate make our way to the front of the dais, facing Rhysand. Eris’ eyes are hardened as he stares at the big lord, his hand wrapped tightly around my waist.

“Reject it.” His tone is flat as he speaks, it terrifies me seeing him this angry, this calm and raging at me.

“No.” It comes out a growl as I address my high lord. I don’t know what came over me but I refused to let him disrespect me and my mate like this. Refused to let him go.

“No?”

“Yes. She said no. She will not reject the bond and neither will I.”

Darkness and night swirl around the room as Rhys ad starts to lose his cool. “Yn please.” It’s a plea from Morrigan, I turn to face the blond who stands in the corner. “You know what he did to me.”

“Oh cut the bull shit Morrigan! You forget I was there! I saw with my own eyes, I’m tired of going along with your half truth! Stop this nonsense!”

Cassian shakes as he looks to me, Azriel looks saddened and Rhysna and Feyre simply stare in shock at my outburst. But I’m not done. Not yet.

“I’m sick and tired of MY MATE being pictured as this evil tyrant of a male! Rhysand, you know most view you that way? It’s a mask- have you ever stopped to think maybe Eris must put one on too. It’s survival! And I’m so sick and tired of Mor claiming pitty over something that is a half truth. Eris saved her. She knows it, he knows it, I. Know it. Now, if you have any issues with my mate then kindly fuck off! I won’t be rejecting this, I won’t be leaving him. He is my mate. Mine. You should be happy I found someone! Rhysand you remember that feeling with Feyre? It’s my turn to have that! My turn to feel that love.”

“But Yn-“

“I think that’s enough Rhysand. Yn has made her feelings very clear. Neither of us will be leaving this. We will both be pursuing this bond whether you agree with it or not.” I look to Eris as he holds me, a smile coming back to his face as we winnow away.

What. The. Fuck have I done?

—————

Thank you so much anon for the request! I hope this lives up to your expectations!

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel #elain archeron #elain x reader #feyre archeron #feyre x reader #nesta archeron #nesta x reader #cassian #cassian x reader #eris vanserra #eris x reader

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actuallysaiyan · 6 months

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I Close My Eyes and I Slip Away(Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader)

warnings: major spoilers, mentions of death, angst, mentions of suicide, alcohol and drugs, very sad, lots of emotions, reader is Yuji's adoptive mother and Kento's wife, not for the faint of heart, dark themes word count: 1.9k pairings: Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader, Fem!Reader & Yuji Itadori(adoptive mother and son/platonic) summary: you wonder how you'll go on after you lost your childhood sweetheart in the Shibuya Incident. the darkness comes to consume you. a/n: this is pretty dark content, so if you aren't feeling very stable right now, maybe skip out on this one. remember, you are truly loved and matter so much

The kitchen is bleak and cold as you enter. You’re wearing the same pajamas you have been for the last few days…or has it been weeks. Everything has been just such a blur since you lost the love of your life. You know you should try to take care of yourself, but it feels impossible to regain any normality in your life anymore. Days just go by like nothing as you drift from the kitchen to the bathroom to the bed and just spend time mourning the one you loved the most.

As you sit at the kitchen table, you clasp your mug of coffee with both hands. You try to at least do the bare minimum to take care of yourself. It’s not much, but the coffee does give you warmth. A tear slides down your cheek and lands into your coffee.

‘This is how Kento used to take his coffee. Just black, no creamer and no sugar.’

You blow on the hot liquid, and then you take a small sip. The clock on the wall ticks by the seconds of this solemn morning. You look out the window, unsure of what else to do with yourself today. You want to reach out to someone, but the darkness has captured you completely and will not let you go. Even if you managed to find the courage to reach out to someone, it wouldn’t matter. You didn’t really want to go on. You were just waiting for the sweet embrace of death either way you looked at it.

Just then, there is a knock on the door. It pulls you out of your morbid thoughts, and for a moment, you hesitate to answer. The voice of the young man you’ve come to think of as your son is what gets you to get up and unlock the door. His eyes widen in concern when he sees the state you’re in.

“Oh mom…” he whispers softly, pulling you in tightly for a hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m so sorry.”

You shudder at his words, “S’okay, Yuji. I’m so happy to see you.”

When he pulls away, he wipes the tears from your cheeks. He leads you back inside and sits you down at the kitchen table. He can see the mess has really started to pile up in here. Yuji figures he can help you out now. He’s come to consider you his mother, and with his adoptive father gone, Yuji knows he needs to step up and take good care of you since his father no longer can.

“Let me make you breakfast,”

You nod your head and take a few more sips of your coffee. Yuji talks about the things he’s had to take care of at the school since his father’s passing. A lot of responsibility has fallen onto his shoulders. You worry about Yuji, considering how young he is and how much he’s had to go through since he first joined the sorcerer’s world. You always wished that you could have a family with Kento, and Yuji had been the answer to that wish. Now it feels like you have been fragmented.

“Here, eat up.” Yuji says as he places the omelet in front of you. Your stomach growls at the sight and smell of real food.

He sits in front of you and enjoys his own food. The two of you talk about maybe what you’ll do now that Kento is dead. Yuji knows he’s going to have to keep an eye on you. Despite everything, you may try to join Kento in death. Yuji isn’t ready to lose the both of you. You’re just in a fragile state. He knows you need all the warmth right now.

After you’re both done eating, Yuji suggests doing some chores for you while you take a shower. Just the thought of him doing this for you brings tears to your eyes. He gives you another tight hug and gets right to sorting your laundry. You make your way into the bathroom.

The hot water cascades down your body. It’s so hot that it almost burns, but it feels good in a way. It’s reminding you of all the wonderful times you took a shower with your lover. You begin to cry, but you do as well as you can to hold it all together. You think about the young man who is here with you now. He’s lost so much, and yet he still wants to make sure you’re alright. It’s just so much to take. You don’t know how to return to the normal you once had. You worry that you’ll never ever be the same again. Without Kento, life has lost its meaning and its light. The color has been sucked away to leave such a drab and dreary view for you.

You wrap a fluffy towel around yourself after your shower. You head into the bedroom, and you find some clothes on the bed for you. Your heart flutters with affection. As soon as you slip on the clothes, you can tell you’re starting to feel a little better. And when you enter the kitchen again and see the big mess all cleared away, you know that maybe you can find solace in Yuji.

“Hey mom,” he says softly and he takes you into his arms. “I want you to be okay. Just know that I’m always here for you. Night or day, you can call me. I’ll come by tomorrow, okay?”

You’re not ready for him to leave and for this apartment to be so silent except for the ghosts of the past. You tremble in Yuji’s arms, and he holds you even tighter. He’s not sure if he should be leaving you right now, but he also knows he’s got to run a few more errands. With a soft kiss pressed to your forehead, Yuji vows to come back to you tomorrow with the intention of spending the night.

As you close the door, the sadness washes over you once more. But for your son, you try to stay strong. In your bedroom, you turn on the TV. The old shows and movies you used to watch are bringing back some bittersweet memories, but it’s keeping you as comforted as you can. You wrap yourself in the blanket Kento always used to use and you rest your weary body. It’s not long before your eyes close and you’re drifting off to sleep.

“There you are,” Kento says with a smile. Your heart skips a beat when you see him. “I thought you were going to be running late, but you’re right on time.”

You swallow hard. Is this real? There’s no way this could be real. Kento laughs softly at your confusion, then he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Have you missed me?”

A soft, strangled sob erupts from you. Then you throw yourself into his arms. He rubs your back slowly, the warmth of his body feeling so good against your own. It’s all too much for you to even deal with. You never knew an embrace would hurt you in this way. Kento presses soft kisses to your neck and jawline, a soft groan coming from him.

“Shhh…” he hushes you softly. “I know this isn’t easy, but I need you to try and be strong for me.”

You shudder, “Ken…I’m not sure I can.”

He frowns when he hears your words. You two were high school sweethearts that married young. You were the reason he returned to the sorcery world, and you were beginning to blame yourself for his death. You’ve wondered time and time again if you hadn’t convinced him to come back, he might not have died in Shibuya that night.

“It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head, “But it is my fault! You were safe when you were a salaryman…”

A cold chill passes through your body, and you begin to watch as Kento shifts appearances in front of you. The last time you saw him alive was the same moment he had turned to face Yuji. Those words still ring in your ears.

“You’ve got it from here…”

The bathroom is cold as you light a few candles. There’s a bottle of wine on the sink counter. And a note written in black ink for whoever ends up finding you. You’re done with this world. You can’t take it anymore.

You twist open the bottle of pills and you pour many of them into your head. With a soft sigh, you toss it all back with a swig of wine. The pills go down hard, but you know you’ll be happier soon. You’ll be free of the pain sooner than you think. Slowly, you take off your clothes. The pills and wine are already starting to affect you.

The water is so soothing and so good on your aching bones. Tears begin to slip down your cheeks once again for what seems like the umpteenth time. You can feel your mind start to spiral a bit as you think of everything you’re about to leave behind. But you’ve got no regrets about this. At least, you don’t realize in the moment that you have lots of regrets about taking your own life. Eventually, your eyes close and you let yourself get swept up in the warmth of the bath water and the feeling of the pills making you shut down.

“Mom?” a voice calls from the doorway. You can barely make it out, so you continue sinking into the water. Your body is no longer responding to outside stimulus.

“Where are you mom?! Mom, please answer me!”

Everything gets fuzzy after this, and your world turns black as you succumb to the painful end you’ve decided for yourself…

Your eyes begin to flutter open as you take in the stimulus of your surroundings. You blink a few times; your body is aching more than ever. Your eyes dart around the room and the steady beeping from machines begins to fill your ears. In the corner of the room, you notice your son is sleeping on a chair. You’re in a hospital bed right now.

‘He saved me. Yuji came back and saved me.’

You blink back a few tears, “Yuji…son?”

Yuji opens his eyes slowly and when he sees that you are awake and lucid, he bounces from his seat and makes his way over to you. You groan softly as he hugs you tightly. It hurts but it feels good as well. You can’t hold back your tears anymore. You’re crying of relief because you know you can try and make it through this darkness and pain if Yuji is there to help you.

“Mom…I thought I was going to lose you.” Yuji says with a sniffle. “I’m so happy you’re alive.”

Your heart swells with love, “I’m so glad you found me. I got so scared and I had a dream about your dad and…”

He hushes you and rubs your back softly. Yuji murmurs a praise for you, a soft and kind word of hope. Then he takes a few tissues from the side table and he wipes your eyes.

“I know it’s not easy with dad being gone,” Yuji starts. “But I promise to be with you every step of the way.”

You smile through more tears, “I’m so happy I have you.”

Yuji holds your hand, giving a squeeze. The sun begins to shine through the window and you see that beautiful smile on his face. It’s a smile that will give you courage as you get through this darkness.

Nanami’s voice rings through your mind, “You’ve got it from here, my love…take good care of our son.”

#bacon.writes #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #Nanami kento x you #Nanami kento angst #Nanami kento #itadori yuji & reader #Nanami is Yuji's adoptive father #papamin au #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk spoilers #jjk angst

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bimbosanddolls · 7 months

Text

Choose Your Own Adventure: The Dark Sorceress

You stand outside the door to the Midnight Cathedral’s throne room. Inside, you’re certain that you will find the Dark Sorceress Narcissa. The very thought of her sends a chill through your body. For years, Narcissa has tormented your kingdom. Tales of princesses being vanished away, curses placed upon entire towns and villages, and countless other terrible stories are whispered throughout the taverns and castles alike. In an attempt to finally cast the shadow of Narcissa away once and for all, a group of promising heroines were assembled and trained to become a new Order of Witch Slayers. You are the fifth Slayer to be tasked with Narcissa’s defeat; the first four having never been seen again after storming the Cathedral. You shudder as you think of your fellow Slayers before taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. You would be the one to finally end the Sorceress' reign of terror and avenge your sisters. With a renewed sense of purpose, you summon a blast of wind magic and send the heavy onyx doors flying open. Inside the throne room, your bold entrance has fallen surprisingly flat. Four veiled figures turn their heads and, though you cannot see their eyes, you can feel their gaze on you. It feels familiar but unfriendly. You’ve interrupted something and they are not pleased. You notice that they are nude; their lithe bodies in stark contrast to the sheer, black veils they wear. Between them, dressed in a long, black gown, sits the Dark Sorceress herself. Her eyes are also fixed on you, but you do not sense any concern in them. Instead, you see her blood red lips curve into a wicked smile as Narcissa stands from her throne and takes a step forward. “My my, what do we have here?” her words are heavy and sensuous. “Had I known we were expecting company, I would have dressed the girls in something a little more… appropriate.” You can feel your blood begin to boil. It’s clear she doesn’t see you as a threat. You reach for the blade at your hip but freeze when your eyes dart from the Sorceress to her attendants. A look of disbelief washes over your face, and Narcissa responds with a knowing laugh. “Oh? Did you notice your friends? Or, forgive me, were they your sisters? I never did bother to understand the structure of your little Order.” You look past her again, taking a moment to focus on each woman still kneeling by the throne. Narcissa wasn’t wrong; these were indeed the missing Slayers. Each of them is recognizable to you, yet different. The fire that previously burned in each of their eyes is now doused. Their toned bodies appear softer, and more inviting. You can’t tell whether either is the result of the Dark Sorceress’ magic but you suppose it doesn’t truly matter right now. Your mission is clear; slay the witch. Rescuing your allies would have to come later. You reach for your blade again, determined to finish this once and for all. If Narcissa is worried at all, her expression does not show it. “Oh darling,” she purrs, “do you really think that cheap piece of steel is going to do anything to me? It doesn’t need to be this way, you know. You could join me, join the others."

She gestures back towards your sisters, "Don’t they seem happy? Does it really seem as though I’ve harmed them in any way? I know you all consider me to be some sort of ‘Dark Sorceress’ but I assure you I am a very kind and loving Mistress.” You say nothing but your eyes shoot back to the former Slayers. Could it be true? Or was this just another one of Narcissa’s evil tricks? Perhaps seeing your hesitation, she takes the opportunity to elaborate. “Think about it, dear. They took you from your families, trained you to little more than tools for their cause, and denied you the chance to make your own path. All I’ve done is offer your ‘sisters’ a choice. And now I offer you the same. You may join us and experience a life of your own, a life that the people you mean to defend have hidden from you. Or, you can fight and feel the fullest extent of my power.”

#caption #I have no idea what to tag this as #choose your own adventure #but kinky

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katakaluptastrophy · 1 month

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This may be something you have already covered, or considered and discarded, but. Thoughts on Jod being trans?

Because it seemed slightly odd to me, that a AMAB kid going to his grandmother’s house would be allowed to play with his mum’s toys. Especially if they’re “traditionally girly” toys, as opposed to being told to run around or given a ball to do sports.

Whereas a little AFAB kid would gladly be given his mum’s dolls by a traditional grandma and told to play nicely and quietly. Not identifying with the Barbies so much as finding them so pretty (especially compared to the Ken dolls that look nothing like him, which he feeds to Ulysses the dog).

And then, two or three decades later and finding that he is now God. He has consumed the Earth and her siblings and made her anew.

How easy is it to change the bits about himself he never felt were right? To remake himself as God in the flesh? To look upon himself and say, it is good?

"When I was seven, you know, all Nana had to play with in her house was some of Mum's old toys. And my favouite out of all of them..." He gave a long, shuddering sigh. "My favourite was her old Hollywood Hair Barbie," he murmured. "I loved her little gold outfit and her long yellow hair. She was the best. She got to have all the adventures. There was also a Bride's Dream Midge, but Mum had cut Midge's hair into this weird mullet. It was Barbie for me." She looked at him. He looked at her. He added, "Not Hollywood Hair Ken. Mum had him too, but he was a creep. I gave him to Nana's dog to eat."

This is what we get when John is describing the "scraps of id" that lead him to make Alecto look like some kind of nightmarish Barbie. The 'id' is, psychoanalytically, the most instinctual, basic part of the self. If John is being truthful here, then he's expressing something very basic about himself and his motivations in making Alecto.

I'm not convinced that we can infer anything about his Nana's attitude towards what toys a child should be allowed to play with. John is probably born somewhere between the mid 90s to the mid 20s, so it's just as possible that John playing with his mum's old Barbies is evidence that his family was fairly progressive. Or too poor to afford new toys. Or just ambivalent about the toys he played with.

In terms of John and gender, or at least John and masculinity, this interview has an interesting insight into what Tamsyn might be doing with that:

the God of the Locked Tomb IS a man; he IS the Father and the Teacher; it’s an inherently masc role played by someone who has an uneasy relationship himself to playing a Biblical patriarch. John falls back on hierarchies and roles because they’re familiar even when he’s struggling not to. Even he identifies himself as the God who became man and the man who became God.

Though of course, to quote a different interview, this is a series where "readers will end up STICKY and GREASY with GENDER and BIBLE" and where Lyctorhood is "a huge genderfuck".

So I think there's certainly scope for trans readings of John, which shift the framework for the way that John is positioning himself in relation to his masc roleplaying of god. There's a number of elements that would have a very different resonance in such readings, not least putting Alecto into such a specific version of a woman's body, and the tension between his own exercise of bodily autonomy and his utter restriction and violation of others' bodily autonomy.

Personally, my take is that John is meant to be a type of cis man I'm sure many of us have met - one who is at pains to demonstrate his feminism, who perhaps finds the boundaries of masculinity confining to some extent, but who is ultimately unwilling to examine how deeply those boundaries are part of the way he views the world and interacts with others. And with John, this is writ large, quite literally: endowed with godlike power, he falls back on the patriarchal image of god. John may go out of his way to tell us that the maternity problem was important to him, that he played with Barbies, that he *cares*, but at the end of the day that introspection doesn't translate into his actions.

Regardless of how John came to his relationship with masculinity, he's stuck with - or perhaps in context we could say haunted by - a very particular conception of patriarchal masculinity.

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #john gaius

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 4 months

Note

Big Sister!M16A1 finding out their Sibling (reader) was dating one of the DEFY members (or Angelia)

(GFL) M16A1 learning about Sibling!Reader's dating choices

Context from the last post of this: Reader is an adopted sibling of M16 since you know, she's a basically terminator and we're humans. And instead of just DEFY, we're having EVERYONE in Griffin anyway.

M16 spat out her Jack Daniels when her little brother/sister said that they were dating someone on base.

(M16A1) "WHAT?! Why didn't you tell me earlier?! Who is it, do I have to have a word with them?!"

Slamming down her bottle, her one eye suddenly became hyper focused on (Y/N).

===

AK-12

(M16A1) "...Her? Really? If she's just using you to get her sick kicks, I'm going to kick her ass!"

===

AN-94

(M16A1) "Hm...She seemed a bit stiff but nice enough.

I guess if you managed to convince her to date someone that wasn't AK-12, you did a good job..."

===

AK-15

(M16A1) "AK-15? Oh, okay good job! I didn't even think she would know what dating is!

...If she lays her gorilla strength on you though, she's gonna regret it!

...A-Assuming I could do anything to those abs of hers...Wait, she's a T-Doll, why does she even have abs?!"

===

RPK-16

(M16A1) "Hm...I don't like it, not one bit! She's too...weird, you know!? She says all that weird crap about moths and flames and..."

M16 shuddered.

"SHE'S WEIRD!"

===

Angelia

(M16A1) "Angelia? Hm, from what I heard from the others and the Commander, she's pretty damn trustworthy. Okay, that one's approved by me!...D-Don't tell her I said that, by the way!"

===

Springfield

(M16A1) "Aw wait, Springfield? Okay, no qualms from me, congratulations! She's always been super sweet to all of us, you better share those muffins with me when she bakes them!"

===

SPAS-12

(M16A1) "Hm, okay she's alright. She's nice and everything, but I swear that girl is going to eat the entire base inside and out...Careful she doesn't eat all your food."

===

G36

(M16A1) "Oh, that maid? She always looks super pissed everytime I've seen her, but she also doesn't seem the type to abuse anyone...Okay, but I've got my eye on her!"

===

WA2000

(M16A1) "That loud-mouth sniper? Color me impressed, (Y/N). I thought she just hated everyone. But if she even thinks about mouthing off to you, she's gonna answer to me, got it?!"

===

Helianthus

(M16A1) "...Wow. How did you even? Well, she may have a stick up her butt, but she'll treat you right at least."

M16 lips make a trilling noise as she looks to the side.

(M16A1) "I guess if even Helian can find a date, I can too..."

===

UMP45

(M16A1) "Ugh, 45...She seems like she's hiding something, but I guess that's par for the course considering her squad. Make sure she isn't leading you on, (Y/N)!"

===

UMP9

(M16A1) "Oh, UMP9? She's an absolute sweetheart! Okay, that's fine, nothing wrong there...Though she might try to start a family with you, and I don't know how that's physically possible

...I'm not NEARLY drunk enough to think about that question...."

===

G11

(M16A1) "Psh, how did you get her to not fall asleep when you asked her out? If she falls asleep when you're trying to be romantic, I'm waking her up with my fist!"

#girls' frontline imagines #girls' frontline headcanons #girls' frontline x reader #m16a1 x reader #m16a1 gfl

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dragonydreams · 1 month

Text

Plus One - Buck/Tommy

Title: Plus One Fandom: 9-1-1 Rating: Teen Audience And Up Pairings/Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Athena Grant/Bobby Nash Additional Tags: Fluff, family dinner, coming out, Tommy Kinard POV Summary: Buck is Tommy's plus one for dinner at the Grant-Nash home. Timeline: 7x05 Word Count: 2,366 Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Reamworks, Brad Falchuk Teley-Vision, Ryan Murphy Television, and 20th Television. Betas: Thank you to @medieshanachie for looking this over for me.

Read on AO3

Tommy was enjoying sitting out in the sun with Evan's hand caught between both of his when his phone rang. He still couldn't believe that he'd just agreed to be Evan's date to his sister's wedding.

Reluctantly, he removed his hand from on top of Evan's to pull his phone from his pocket. He didn't recognize the phone number, but in his line of work he couldn't ignore a call from an unknown number.

"I should probably take this," he said as he accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Hi Tommy, it's Bobby Nash."

"Captain Nash, hi," Tommy said, meeting Evan's wide eyes across the table. Evan gave his hand a little squeeze. "What can I do for you, Sir?"

"Athena and I would like you to come to dinner at our house," Bobby said. "We barely got to talk after the rescue and we would like to thank you properly."

"I was just doing my job," Tommy deflected, not that he wasn't grateful for the invitation.

"We both know that you weren't sanctioned to come get us. You put your career on the line to come save us and I cannot say how grateful we are that you did. The least we can do is make you a home cooked meal."

"I do miss your cooking," Tommy admitted.

"I don't know if you're seeing anyone, but feel free to bring them along, too," Bobby offered.

Tommy turned his hand over so he could squeeze Evan's. "I have started seeing someone who I think I'd like to bring."

Across the table, Evan pointed at his chest and mouthed, 'Me?' Tommy just nodded.

"We look forward to meeting them," Bobby said. "How's Wednesday night?"

"Wednesday works for me," Tommy agreed.

"I'll text you the address. I look forward to catching up," Bobby said.

"I'll see you then," Tommy said. He met Evan's eyes. "Want to go to dinner at Captain Nash's with me on Wednesday as my date?"

"You want me to be your date for dinner with Bobby and Athena?"

"Only if you're comfortable with it," Tommy said.

"Well, he'd find out about us at the wedding anyway," Evan said. "I like the idea of him knowing about us before then. He is kinda like my work dad."

"That's not really a thing," Tommy said, laughing. "I can't believe how much of a family the 118 became after I left."

"Hey, if you hadn't left when you did, I could have ended up at some other station." Evan shuddered dramatically.

Tommy blinked. "I hadn't done that math. You were my replacement."

"You left some pretty big shoes to fill," Evan said.

"How old are you?" Tommy hesitantly asked.

"I'm thirty-four," Evan said.

"Ten years, that's not so bad," Tommy mused aloud.

"If it makes you feel any better, you wouldn't be the first person I've dated who is older than me. Abby was like twenty years older than me when we dated," Evan admitted.

"You have some kind of May/December fetish I should be aware of?" Tommy teased.

"N-No," Evan spluttered. "This would only be the second time I dated someone that much older than me. Not that you're old."

"I'm kidding, Evan," Tommy said. He wondered why Evan seemed to melt a bit every time he said his name. He'd need to remember to ask him about that sometime.

"Besides, there is something to being with someone more mature, with more life experience," Evan said.

"Especially for someone who only recently discovered they were into men?" Tommy asked, knowingly.

"Yeah," Evan said, blushing.

"So, what kind of wine should I bring to this dinner?" Tommy asked, looking to get back onto safer ground.

"Red wine for Athena and something non-alcoholic for Bobby," Evan said.

"He's sober?" Tommy asked. "That certainly explains some things."

"Not my story to tell, but yeah," Evan confirmed.

"Do you have a wine preference?" Tommy asked. "I'm not all that picky," Evan said. "Depends on my mood."

"Good to know," Tommy said. He took another sip of his terrible coffee and grimaced. "First, I'm going to get some real coffee and then head to the liquor store. Care to join me?"

"Y-you want me to come with you?" Evan asked, clearly surprised.

"Unless you have plans?"

"No, my day is wide open," Evan said, enthusiastically.

"Great, let's go," Tommy said.

~~*~~

On Wednesday night, Tommy picked Evan up before heading to the Grant-Nash home. He and Evan had a mild debate about who should drive since Evan had been to the house many times before, but Tommy wanted to woo Evan. Even if just a little.

Evan was fidgeting beside him as Tommy rang the doorbell.

"Second thoughts?" he asked, resting a hand on Evan's back.

Evan steeled himself and grinned at Tommy. "Not a one."

The door swung open to reveal both Bobby and Athena. Tommy registered their surprise at seeing Evan with him.

"Buck, what are you doing here?" Bobby asked.

"I-I'm Tommy's plus one," he stuttered.

Athena recovered first and stepped around Bobby to loop her arm through Tommy's and pull him inside. "That is wonderful news. I can't wait to hear all about how you two got together."

As they walked down a short flight of stairs, Tommy saw Bobby pull Evan into a hug and say so softly that Tommy almost couldn't hear it, "I'm happy for you."

"This is for you," Tommy said, presenting the wine to Athena. "Thank you for having us over."

"It is our pleasure," she said. "Especially if we are getting the good gossip before everyone else." She winked at him.

"I'm afraid Eddie's got you beat, in that case," Evan said as he and Bobby joined them. "He interrupted our first date."

"He does know how to keep a secret," Bobby said. "We didn't even know about Christopher for the first few weeks he was with us."

"He seems like a really great kid," Tommy said.

"You've met him?" Bobby asked in surprise. "I thought you were dating Buck."

"I am, but Eddie and I have become pretty good friends since the rescue, too," Tommy said. "I've hung out at his place to watch some fights."

"Tommy flew the two of them to Vegas to see some fight a couple of weeks ago," Buck added.

"You sure you're not dating both of them?" Athena teased.

"Oh, I'm sure; Eddie turned me down when I asked for a date, but said he wanted to be friends."

"Wait, you asked Eddie on a date?" Evan asked in surprise.

"I'm going to finish getting dinner on the table. Is that for tonight?" Bobby asked, gesturing to the bottle of sparkling grape juice in Evan's hand. He held it out for Bobby without looking away from Tommy.

"I'll go pour the wine," Athena said. "We're going to need it."

"Did you kiss him, too?" Evan demanded in a whisper, pulling Tommy to the far side of the room.

"No, it was nothing like that," Tommy insisted. "On the way back from Vegas I asked if I could take him on a proper date and Eddie said that he was flattered, but he had a girlfriend. I was surprised because it was the first time he'd mentioned her. Apparently she'd been babysitting Christopher while we were at the fight."

"So, am I like some kind of consolation prize?" Evan asked, his voice trembling.

"No, never," Tommy grasped Evan's face between both his hands. "I didn't know you were an option until I went to your loft that night. And when you said you'd been trying to get my attention all week, I realized I didn't want to miss my chance with you."

He kissed Evan then, a soft chaste kiss since they were at someone else's home, but one filled with promise.

Evan looked dazed when he released him, just like after their first kiss. Tommy could get used to putting that look on Evan's face.

"Now let's go eat, I'm starving," Tommy said, grabbing Evan's hand and pulling him towards the kitchen. "It smells amazing in here."

"You guys all good?" Athena asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, we're good," Evan said, that dopey grin still on his face.

"Coming through," Bobby said, setting a large pan of lasagna on the trivets on the table.

Tommy inhaled deeply and sighed. "Man, I've missed your cooking."

"I'll have to make you my version sometime," Evan said as they sat. "Bobby's been teaching me how to cook and I think I've got this one down. Eddie and Christopher like it, at least."

"You've got the chili down, too," Bobby said, "now that you know the secret ingredient."

"He told you his secret chili ingredient?" Athena asked, surprised. "I don't even know that."

Evan puffed out his chest. "Yeah, I pestered it out of him."

Bobby served up the lasagna, the salad and garlic bread were passed around, and they took a few minutes to enjoy their food.

"Bobby, you have only become a better chef," Tommy said. "When you retire you should definitely open a restaurant."

Bobby laughed. "Thank you for the compliment but that is a stress I do not want in my retirement. I much prefer cooking for family and friends."

"The 118 really has become a family, hasn't it?" Tommy asked, somewhat wistfully. "I could see it heading that way when I left, but leaving was still the right move for me."

"You seem happy at Harbor," Bobby said. "I've heard nothing but good things from your captain."

"You checkin' up on me?" Tommy teased.

"Maybe from time to time," Bobby admitted. "You seem much freer since your time with us."

Tommy glanced over at Evan. "Yeah, when I started at the 217 I did it as an out gay man. Took a page from Wilson's book and made it clear that this is who I am."

"I heard a lot of stories about Captain Gerard when I started and I know what it was like under him. I understand why you didn't feel comfortable sharing that part of yourself. I'm glad you found somewhere that you can be you."

"Yeah, Gerard was the worst kind of old school misogynist. I saw what Han and Wilson went through when they started and out of self preservation didn't want to have him treat me that way, too. It was cowardly, but it was also survival."

Evan reached over to squeeze his thigh under the table.

"I am a bit surprised you didn't tell us about yourself, Buck," Athena said. "You seem to share so much of yourself with everyone that this caught us a bit by surprise."

"I, um, didn't actually know this about myself until recently," Evan said, meeting Tommy's eyes. "Not until Tommy kissed me."

Tommy wondered about the look that Bobby and Athena shared and wondered if it had something to do with Evan and Eddie's close friendship.

"Well, I'm -"

"We're," Athena cut in.

"We're very happy for you both. I'm guessing you haven't told the rest of the team, aside from Eddie?"

"That's correct," Evan said. "Well, Maddie knows. Pretty sure she hasn't told Chimney since he isn't bouncing off the walls trying to keep a secret."

"But they'll know soon, as I'll be Evan's date for his sister's wedding," Tommy finished.

"Now that's one way to come out," Athena said. "You sure you want to do that with your parents there?"

"I'm done trying to get their approval. We're never going to be close. If they can't accept that I'm dating a man now, that's on them."

Tommy could sense that there was a lot of bad blood there, but now was not the time to ask. He wondered if this had anything to do with why everyone called him Buck instead of by his name and wondered if he should be doing that too. But Evan hadn't asked him not to call him Evan; in fact, he seemed to like it. Tommy made a note to ask about that later.

"That's very mature of you," Athena said.

"What can I say, the therapy actually helped."

The rest of dinner progressed easily. Athena told them about Bobby's heroics after the ship capsized and his acrobatics to get Norman safely lowered to the new floor of the ship.

Tommy told them about some of his more interesting rescues, although saving Bobby and Athena would be at the top of his list for a long time when telling stories to other people.

When it was time to go, Bobby packaged up the leftover lasagna for Tommy to take home with him. Evan pouted about Tommy getting all of the leftovers and Bobby promised to make it at the station soon.

On the drive back to Evan's loft, Tommy asked, "Would you prefer if I call you Buck?" Evan turned to look at him. "It's just, I know that's what everyone else calls you."

"I-I kinda like that you don't call me what everyone else does," Evan admitted. "I always felt like such a disappointment as Evan, so when there were two other Evans in my class at the fire academy I started having people call me Buck. Buck wasn't a screw up. Buck was a firefighter who could get things done. Someone who mattered."

"You matter regardless of what you're called," Tommy interrupted.

Evan reached out to clasp Tommy's hand on the gearshift. "I know that. And when you call me Evan, I don't feel like a disappointment. I guess you could say that you're a first step to reclaiming that name."

"So should I expect everyone else to start calling you Evan now, too?" Tommy asked.

"Unlikely," Evan said, laughing. "You've seen how no one calls Chimney 'Howie' anymore. Except for Maddie, sometimes."

"If at any point you change your mind, I will call you by whatever name you want," Tommy assured him.

"Thank you, that means a lot," Evan answered.

As they approached Evan's apartment building, he asked, "Do you want to come up for a nightcap?"

Tommy glanced over to see the hopeful expression on Evan's face and even though he knew he shouldn't, he found himself saying, "I'd love to."

#bucktommy #evan buck buckley #tommy kinard #bathena #911 fic #Fic: Plus One

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mamabearcatfanfics · 2 months

Text

Cairo Prison - InuKag

Sometimes, I write things just for myself, as a little treat. I might write my other favourite scenes here and there. Who knows, eventually I might have enough to string together a whole plot line. But lookie here @elkonigin and @coquinespike - have a little InuKag scene from The Mummy on me. If I ever find where I've put my laptop pen, there may even be some art to go with this.

Kagome swept across the courtyard, her anger making her simmer even hotter under the midday sun. She wasn’t sure who she was more annoyed at – the squat prison Warden for the obviously lecherous looks he was giving her, or Miroku, for lying about where he got the puzzle box. She shivered a little as they passed the gallows, not wanting to think too much about what usually took place here. When the Warden paused for a moment to speak to one of the guards, she rounded on Miroku, her voice a hissing whisper.

“I can’t believe you Miroku! You said that you found that box at a dig in Thebes! And now I find out you stole it from a drunk at the local Casbah! You told me a barefaced lie!”

Miroku looked a little chastened, but then fought back with a winning smile, hooking his arm into hers as they continued across the courtyard.

“That’s a bit harsh, Kagome dear”, he said, patting her hand affectionately. “We were playing cards, a gentleman’s game. I would have won it fair and square if he hadn’t got himself into an altercation. He left it unattended in his pocket. What was I going to do, leave it behind? He probably didn’t even know what it was.”

“You. Lied. To. Me.” Kagome hissed.

“What’s a little white lie between family members, ey?” He tried a winsome smile, which faltered quickly under Kagome’s withering gaze. “I mean, you’re not the only one I lie to old mum. But at least the lies I tell you are pretty ones.”

“That makes it worse! I’m your sister Miroku! Whatever happened to us against the world, together through thick and thin!”

Miroku looked taken aback, even slightly hurt.

“I’m deeply offended. Didn’t I come straight to you with the box? I could have just sold it, but I knew it was something special. And I knew you would be smart enough to recognise that. We both know you’re the one with the brains in this family Kagome dear.” Glancing nervously around, he tugged on her arm, trying to turn her back towards the way they’d just come. “And anyway, I don’t think this is the best place for a lady, so how about we just pop back to-”

Kagome glared at him furiously as he tried to make a run for the door, wrapping her hand around his bicep tightly so he couldn’t get away.

“Stop trying to get out of this Miroku. You can’t sweet talk your way out of this one. Oh, I am absolutely livid! Not only have we lost the most important part of the map, but we have to come here, to this place. You are going to stay here with me and see this through!”

She shuddered a little self-consciously. There were quite a few leering eyes directed towards her, and not all of them were owned by prisoners safely behind bars. Miroku patted her hand again, obviously trying to soothe her, and Kagome straightened her spine.

They’d been through plenty of scrapes together, her and Miroku. They only had each other since their parents died, social outcasts amongst the English elite due to their mother’s Egyptian heritage. She’d barely got Miroku back in one piece after the war, one of his hands shattered by a bullet directly through his palm. She knew it still hurt him, even though he never complained. He’d always been devil may care, even before he was conscripted, but since his return it was like he invited trouble. She was constantly worried about him. This was a chance to find the legendary Hamunaptra together, and there was no way she was going to back down, even if she was more than a little out of her comfort zone here.

Warden Mukotsu came back, his eyes running over her lasciviously, and Kagome lifted her chin in defiance, staring back at him with spirit. She pulled her elbow away from his grasping stubby fingers as he ushered both her and Miroku over to the rusted iron bars surrounding a holding pen. The locked metal door behind it probably led to somewhere unspeakable.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Wasn’t this what she had always wanted? A chance to show that she was not only a scholar, but able to go toe to toe with all the pompous, overstuffed Egyptologists? A chance to put all her knowledge to good use? She could do this.

Clearing her throat in an attempt to make her voice as unaffected as she needed it to be, she turned her attention away from the locked metal door to Warden Mukotsu.

“So, what is this man in prison for?” she asked, attempting an imperious tone. She hoped it wasn’t something horrible, like rape or murder.

The warden preened under her gaze, and she turned her eyes forward again, not wanting to encourage him one iota. He was giving her the creeps. Besides, there was some kind of ruckus going on behind the closed door, yelling, swearing, chains rattling. What on earth was going on back there? Miroku was looking more and more like he was going to bolt, and she pinched his arm viciously to keep him beside her, gratified when he yelped like a little girl.

The warden chuckled, his dark eyes squinting in the hot, midday sun.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting lady, but he’s not human.” He spat derisively on the ground, and Kagome grimaced, tucking the toes of her boots safely back under her long skirt. “He’s a dirty half djinn, with the ears of a jackal. His words cannot be trusted. But I did ask him.”

“And what did he say?” Kagome asked, unsure if she actually wanted the answer to that question. What on earth had Miroku gotten them into this time?

The warden leered at her, before leaving momentarily to handle a disturbance on the other side of the courtyard.

“He said, he was just looking for a good time.”

The metal door burst open with a clang. Four guards dragged a prisoner forwards, their arms and legs wrapped in chains. Despite the handicap, he seemed to be fighting them every step of the way.

His shirt and pants were ragged, his grey, hip length hair matted and oily, hanging in clumped tendrils around his face. Both her and Miroku took a step backwards at the absolute stench that surrounded him. One of the guards walloped him on the head with a truncheon, hard enough for them to hear a solid thump as it connected. Kagome winced in sympathy as it smacked one of his canine ears, blood trickling onto his scalp, and he snarled loudly, baring some very obvious fangs. Another guard beat him again, and the other two kicked him in the back of the knees, forcing him to kneel in front Miroku and Kagome. He grasped the bars in front of him as best he could with his shackled wrists, teeth still bared in anger, amber eyes full of rage.

“This is the person you took the box from?!” Kagome squeaked in surprise, shuffling backwards a tiny step. She’d never seen anyone like him before, and the scholar in her was already wanting to know more. Why did he have dogs ears and fangs? He had slitted pupils like a cat – could he see things human eyes couldn’t? Where had he come from? Did he speak English or Arabic? Or some other language she had no knowledge of?

“Shush, not so loud,” muttered Miroku from the corner of his mouth, turning his face away from the prisoner kneeling in front of them.

“Who are you?” the prisoner demanded, looking Miroku up and down, then turning his eyes almost immediately towards Kagome, as if he’d judged Miroku’s worth and found him lacking. “Who’s the wench?”

“Wench!?” Kagome sputtered, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. The sudden smirk on the prisoners face, and the accompanying glint in his inhuman amber eyes, made her want to slap him. She’d been feeling a little sorry for him after witnessing his treatment at the hands of the guards a moment before, but now she was seething.

“Ah, hello my good man,” smiled Miroku, pushing Kagome a little behind himself. “I’m just a humble local missionary, visiting the prison to save the souls of unfortunates such as yourself…” He faltered a little as he watched the prisoner ignore him, picking at his teeth with the very pointed, and probably very sharp, claw on his little finger. He dragged a reluctant Kagome forward. “And this here is my younger sister, Kagome.”

“How do you do?” said Kagome, attempting a cordial tone, then stiffening as the prisoner looked her up and down.

“Tch. Well, I guess she’s not a total loss.” He turned his head away.

“Excuse me!” said Kagome, tapping her foot at a rapid pace on the dirt, in an attempt to mitigate the burst of anger that was beginning to rise at this man’s attitude. “Excuse me, Mr…”

“Inuyasha. Just Inuyasha.”

Kagome nodded, and tried her best to smile winningly at him. “Inuyasha then.” She made the tone of her voice as warm as possible, speaking slowly and carefully, her expression coy. “You see, my brother and I found a puzzle box that we believe you might be able to help us with.”

“Bullshit.”

“I beg your pardon!?” she exclaimed. Both Miroku and Inuyasha winced at her loud and high pitched tone of indignation.

“I smell bullshit,” Inuyasha repeated gruffly. “We both know you didn’t come here to dirty your pretty little shoes in this hellhole to ask me about some box, lady. You and this stuffed shirt came here to ask me about Hamunaptra, am I right?”

Both Kagome and Miroku’s eyes widened in surprise. They both looked around nervously, hoping the guards hadn’t heard anything, and moved a little closer to the bars.

“How do you know the box has anything to do with Hamunaptra?” asked Kagome, barely able to keep the excitement out of her voice. Now they were getting somewhere!

“Because that’s where I found it.”

Miroku leaned forward, his voice a little suspicious.

“How can we believe anything someone like you would say?”

“Wait, do I know you?”

Miroku gave a nervous chuckle.

“Oh no, I don’t believe- “

Inuyasha’s nose twitched slightly, and then his eyes widened in recognition. He glowered at Miroku.

“You!”

Before Miroku could even think about taking a step backwards, Inuyasha’s fist shot forwards, catching Miroku on the chin. Even hampered as Inuyasha was by the chains, as soon as the blow connected, Miroku was laid out cold. One of the guards whacked his already bleeding ear again, hard, forcing his forehead to bounce off the metal bars in front of him.

“Hey, watch it, fucker!”

Kagome looked down at Miroku, laying prone at her feet, then delicately raised her skirt a little as she stepped over him to get closer to the bars, her eyes full of excitement.

“You were actually at Hamunaptra?” she asked, her voice full of wonder. Inuyasha stared at her in amazement.

“Don’t you care that I just decked your brother?”

She waved a placating hand at him.

“Oh, he’s had worse, I’m sure he’ll be fine in a moment. But Hamunaptra! You were actually there?!”

She watched as Inuyasha’s amazement changed into a lazy grin.

“Yeah wench, I was there.”

She was so excited that she hardly noticed what he called her.

“You were there? Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it!” Her eyes narrowed a little in suspicion, and she moved even closer. “Do you swear?”

The lazy grin grew wider, a pointed fang lowering over his cracked lower lip.

“Every damn day.”

Kagome scoffed.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

The grin was still there, then it dropped away from his face.

“I know what you meant. But I was there alright. Seti's place. The City of The Dead.”

Kagome could hardly contain her excitement.

“What did you see there?”

“A lot of sand.” He almost shuddered. “And a lot of death.”

But Kagome would not be put off now. Not when she was so close. She could see the warden coming back, and she just had to get this information. She leaned closer to him, taking off her hat to guard their conversation.

“Inuyasha,” she whispered, her tone determined. “Could you tell me how to get there?”

He looked at her, and blinked slowly, his expression nonplussed.

“The exact location,” she wheedled, eyes shining with excitement, “pretty please?”

“You really wanna know?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“You really, really wanna know?”

“Yes, yes, more than anything!” she said, almost bursting with nervous excitement.

He beckoned her closer, gesturing with one pointed finger.

“C’mere then.”

She was now almost nose to nose with him, ears straining, eyes wide, ready to commit anything he might say to memory so she could write it down as soon as a pen and paper were handy. If only she’d bought one of her notebooks with her! But before she knew it, one of Inuyasha’s hands shot out, not to punch her as he had Miroku, but grab her chin firmly. And then his chapped lips were planted firmly against hers.

Before she had a chance to register anything more than shocked astonishment at receiving her very first kiss in such a manner, the lips were dragged away.

“You wanna know so bad? Then get me the fuck outta here lady!”

She watched as all four guards rained blows down on his head, dragging him backwards. She heard the warden laughing maliciously behind her.

“Wait, wait, I’m not done talking to him yet! Where are they taking him?”

“To be hanged.”

“Why?” Kagome gasped, her shock at this sudden turn of events evident. She grimaced at the wide grin Warden Mukotsu gave her.

“Apparently, he had a very good time.”

Kagome hurried after Mukotsu, almost tripping over Miroku as she strove to keep with the warden.

They climbed a set of stairs to a balcony overlooking the whole courtyard, Mukotsu sitting down to watch the show, while Kagome hovered anxiously, fingers tapping nervously on the balcony railing. She watched as Inuyasha was dragged up the stairs to the gallows. Other prisoners hollered and jeered as the noose was roughly forced over his head, then cinched tightly around his throat. He made direct eye contact with her, his expression stoic. What could she do? Suddenly she had a brain wave, turning to address the warden.

“What if I offered you one hundred pounds to secure his release?”

The warden shrugged, noisily snacking on a plate of dates on a small table at his side. Juice and spittle ran down his chin as he answered.

“I would pay one hundred to see him hang,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the gallows below.

“Two hundred pounds, then,” she bargained, eyes darting back and forth between Inuyasha and the warden, who ignored her totally. He stood for a moment, bellowing down to the guards below.

“Proceed!”

“Three hundred pounds!” Kagome said desperately. She could tell Inuyasha could hear their conversation even over the dreadful noise of the screaming prisoners, his ears twitched in their direction. She looked back towards him and saw him nod at her, as if to say, keep it going. The yelling suddenly grew quiet as the hangman addressed Inuyasha.

“Any last requests, dog?” he sneered, spitting on the trapdoor near Inuyasha’s feet.

Inuyasha pretended to look thoughtful for a moment, then spat his reply.

“Yeah, I'd like ya to let me go.”

The Hangman grabbed the lever to the trapdoor with a leering grin.

“FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS!” yelled Kagome, sitting down on the seat next to the Warden, her eyes pleading, then recoiled as he set his greasy, lecherous hand high on her thigh, fingers grabbing hard enough to bruise.

“Anything additional to offer?”

Before she could think, Kagome slapped his hand in revulsion, then gasped as Warden Mukotsu angrily turned and gestured to the Hangman. The trapdoor dropped away with loud bang.

“Oh no!”

She watched, horrified as Inuyasha dropped through the hole, his body jerking as the rope pulled taut. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. His legs kicked wildly, then stopped, and for a moment, she thought all was lost. The rope spun him lazily around to face her again, and she realised he was still alive.

“Ha! His neck did not break! Good! Now we watch him strangle to death,” jeered the Mukotsu, stuffing another date into his mouth.

Angry chanting began amongst the prisoners, and the guards shouldered their guns nervously. Kagome could see Miroku climbing the steps, staggering a little, but she didn’t have time to help him right now. Not when a man’s life and finding Hamunaptra was at stake. She leaned towards the Warden.

“He knows the location to Hamunaptra”, she whispered urgently.

Warden Mukotsu’s head jerked toward her, his expression incredulous.

“You lie.”

“I would never!”

She glanced back towards the gallows. At the end of the rope, Inuyasha was making horrible choking and gagging sounds, his face a grotesquely mottled shade of red. She had to hurry!

The Warden eyed her suspiciously, wiping date juice off the corner of his mouth with a dirty sleeve.

“Are you saying this filthy godless son of a dog knows where to find The City of The Dead? Truly?”

“Yes, and if you cut him down, we will give you ten percent,” she said quickly, hoping that this would work. Inuyasha didn’t look like he had much time left.

“Fifty percent.”

She hesitated a moment, glancing back to Inuyasha, and watched his eyes widen at her incredulously at her bargaining. She quickly turned her eyes back to the Warden.

“Twenty.”

“Forty.”

Kagome hesitated again, biting her lip. Inuyasha’s eyes were looking up at her, almost bulging out of his head, like he couldn’t believe her.

“Give .... give him .... give him,” he coughed.

Under pressure, Kagome shrieked, “Twenty-five percent, and not one single farthing more!”

The Warden leered at her, then yelled down to the hangman. The sunlight bounced off the scimitar in his hands as he swung, cutting the rope, sending Inuyasha plummeting to the ground. His bound hands scrabbled in the dirt as he fought to get himself onto his knees, coughing and wheezing, taking deep breaths. His bloodshot eyes looked up towards the balcony.

Miroku finally made it up the stairs, leaning against the railing with a groan.

“So, how’d we do old mum? Did we win?” he asked, looking with some distaste at the leering grin of the Warden, then down into the courtyard at Inuyasha, who was still on his knees.

Kagome smiled broadly, and waved down at Inuyasha, who glowered at her.

“Yes Miroku, I do believe this visit was a success,” she said, excitement bubbling up. They were going to Hamunaptra!

“Jolly good show,” replied Miroku, gently fingering the darkening bruise on his chin.

#mamabearcat fanfics #inukag fanfic #the mummy au #this was so much fun to write!#need to get back to writing the next chapter of PUP but I'd love to do some more for The Mummy #I just love that movie so much!

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justagirlfr · 2 months

Text

One Teardrop From My Eye

Noah Diaz x reader

summary: pt 2 of Just One More Tear To Cry - reader is saved from the Terrorcons :D

tw: blood, slight gore, a little bit of angst, electrocution

a/n: this one is so badly written but ty to the 2 people who asked for a part 2, love u guys !!

Your screams of agony fill the room as the electrocution finally stops. Nightwing is looking at you menacingly, armed with a malicious smile and terrible intentions. Body arching and burning, you slump forward on the ground, gasping for breath. You don't even have the strength to shudder as Scourge's underling runs its claws along your chin and forces you up to look.

"This doesn't have to continue," Nightwing snarls. "You know what I want."

You groan achingly. "I don't know- where it- where it is," you huff. "I'm telling the truth…" you utter weakly, Nightwing's sharp fingers tightening around your chin and drawing blood.

Scourge lets out an angry growl, overlooking the vast Peruvian jungle from atop a cliff. It was night now. You had been captured and taken when trying to escape with Noah out of the Maximals' hidden underground temple. In a daze, Scourge's spider-like minion captured you and brought you back here when the Terrorcons lost the rest of the Autobots and Noah.

"That's alright," he says. His tone of voice is cold and unforgiving. "I have another use for you in mind."

—

Mirage tucks Noah in and bids him goodnight, telling him that they'll find you soon. You'll be okay, everything will turn out fine, and he'll get to hold you in his arms once again. That is the future he so desperately prays for.

Noah finds that he is unable to sleep. Anxiety around whether or not you are still alive haunts him throughout the hours, and he tosses and turns underneath his wigwam, willing himself to fall asleep. When morning comes, Noah is tired, worried, and borderline depressed.

The events that ensue are as follows: Everyone discovers Airazor to be infected, and the Terrorcons have been alerted to their location amongst the tribe of Peruvians who are protecting the other half of the time warp key. In an effort to keep it safe, the Autobots tell Noah to take the key and run. He heads to a nearby river, thinking of destroying it but he finds that he can't bring himself to do it. The key may be the only way to get you back, and although all he wants to do is keep his planet and family safe, he has come to realize that you are a large part of his inner circle now, and there’s no way he’ll live in any universe without you.

Unluckily for him and the rest of the Autobots, an infected Airazor steals the key

and brings it back to Scourge.

“And if you think about coming after us,” Scourge snarls. “Remember who we have.”

Nightwing soars above them, dangling your limp figure for all to see. Noah lets out an angry scream and runs as fast as he can to attack Scourge, but Mirage pulls him back. Noah is screaming your name, but you’re unable to respond, being seemingly unconscious.

For a while, Noah is crumpled on the ground, heaving sobs. That is, until Kris reminds him of who he really is.

“Sonic? Sonic is that you?” Noah can hear the familiar way his little brother’s voice crackles through the walkie-talkie attached to Mirage’s arm. “Come in, Sonic.”

“Tails! Tails it’s me,” Noah’s heart warms. “How’s Ma, man?”

“She’s good, she’s worried about you,” Kris says from the other end. “But I got her. Have you saved Earth yet?”

Noah sighs. “We’re…” his voice trails off. He doesn't know what to say. He wants to tell his brother, more than anything, that they’ve got it under control. That he’ll never have to worry about the end of the world nearing again, that everything will turn out alright and that life will be perfect from here on out. But he can’t bring himself to say it, not with you gone from his side.

“Sonic? Listen man.” Mirage brings the device closer to Noah’s face so he can hear better. “I don’t care if times are tough, you’re my brother and you always know how to get yourself out of things. You got me? I don’t want to hear no giving up on your end, Sonic.”

Noah smiles through his tears. “But what if I’m not made for this kinda stuff. I couldn’t even get you help at the hospital.”

“Superman had trouble before he became a hero too. He had to get through some of the stuff, you know? But you’ve gotten past that. Now all that’s left is to be the hero.” He feels himself lighting up a little at Kris’s words. “You read me, Sonic?”

“Yeah, yeah I read you. Thanks man. Love you.”

“Yeah yeah, now go back and save the rest of the world.”

“You got it man.” With that, the line clicks off and Noah knows Kris is gone for now. But the conversation ignites something in him, and within the next few minutes he starts coming up with a plan.

–

Scourge has Nightwing electrocute you a few more times to make sure you’re too weak to get away. He places you on the ground in front of him, watching out for any sign of the Autobots. As soon as Optimus Prime rolls in, he knows he’s the one with the high ground.

“Optimus,” he says, an unwelcome greeting.

“Scourge,” Prime responds. “Hand over the keys. I won’t ask a second time.”

“For someone with such prestige, you sure are blind to the circumstances at which you make demands.” He smiles. It’s a horrendously ugly smile. Everything about Scourge is disgusting, from the way the metal on him rusts, to how crusty his eyes are (I’m a Scourge hater, he killed my beloved Mirage). Scourge picks you up in one hand and squeezes you hard enough to make you gasp for air. “Thought you cared a little more for your human pets.” He laughs darkly.

From below, Noah scurries down the underground passageway, hoping to shut off the portal and take the keys. He holds his breath, listening to the conversation from above. Beads of sweat coat his exposed skin, and he can feel the temperature rise drastically the farther he runs.

“I do.” Is all Optimus says, before Mirage shoots Scourge from behind. Scourge lets out an anguished cry, and you fall from his hand, hitting the ground harshly. Something sticky and warm trails down the side of your head, and you can taste blood in your mouth. Your ears are ringing and everything is spinning. You try to scramble away as the fighting behind you ensues.

–

As soon as Noah retrieves the halves of the key and shuts the system down, he runs back out of the passageway. When he sees your dying figure on the ground, a large pool of blood pooling around you, he pushes up on one of the grates and rushes to meet you.

“Oh my gosh,” he cries, looking at how damaged you are. “Stay awake, please, stay awake…” his voice fades in and out as you try to come to terms with the fact that it’s him. It’s really him.

“Noah?” your voice is hoarse from all the screaming you did earlier when the Terrorcons were interrogating you.

Noah holds both of his hands up to your face, looking down at you with a bittersweet smile. “We gotta get you out of here-”

He’s the last thing you see and hear before you fully black out.

–

When you next awake, you’re lying down in a cosy bed. The sheets are navy blue, and when you look around there are all sorts of parts lying everywhere. A barely working boxy television sits on the cluttered desk to the left of you, and the door in front of you is creaked open just enough where you can make out a source of light and some gentle talking. You look out the window and notice that it’s night. With a heavy groan, you try to get up, but it hurts your head way too much, and you’re forced to lie back down. The door opens and Noah comes in urgently. His eyes are wide open. He’s dressed in a tank top and just his boxers. “Oh my god,” he says, rushing to your side immediately. You smile weakly at him. “The doctor said not to stress yourself too much when you wake-”

You interrupt him by pulling him into a chaste kiss. Surprised, it takes him a moment to kiss back. When the two of you part, he’s breathless. There are tears in his eyes, too. “I missed you,” you rasp. “I missed you so much.”

Noah’s vision is blurred with tears, and he wipes them away, not wanting his view of you to be obstructed in any way. “I missed you too.”

He comes into bed with you, holding you against his chest. From off the desk, he feeds you small sips of water. Afterwards, he starts talking about everything that happened after. How the Prime killed Scourge, how Mirage almost died but was fixed by Noah just a few days ago, how he had taken you to the hospital and moved you back to his room, where his mom was happy to make accommodations, how his little brother had been so happy to see him back, and how he was happy he had you back. He cradles you in his arms.

—

~Bonus ~

You awake in the middle of the night, screaming and thrashing violently against arms trying to pin you down.

“Hey! Hey it’s me, it’s Noah! It’s Noah!” You stop abruptly and open your eyes, sobbing.

“Noah…?”

“Come here,” he whispers, putting his arms around you and bringing you close to his chest. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

In between sobs, you manage, “I thought- I thought I was back there with them again.”

“I would never let that happen again. Ever.” He kisses your forehead gently, and lays the both of you back down on his bed. “It’s okay,” he coos as you continue to cry into him.

He pulls the covers over the two of you and listens to you cry yourself to sleep in his arms.

#noah diaz x reader #noah diaz #fanfic #rotb mirage #transformers rotb #x reader #little angst #transformers #tf rotb

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bookshelf-in-progress · 8 months

Text

The True Story: An Epistolary Novelette

An intrusive fantasy story for @inklings-challenge

I. Christine Hendry to the proprietor of Wright and Co.

Sir or Madam:

I feel like such a fool for reaching out to you--a stranger whose business card happened to be tucked in the pages of an ancient book on my grandmother's shelf. I don't even know if your shop exists anymore; signs are against it, because I can't find so much as a phone number to contact you by. Nothing but an address and a name: Wright and Co.: Specialists in Rare, Antique, and Nonexistent Books.

That last category is the only reason I'm bothering to write at all. I'm looking for what seems to be a nonexistent book, so I may as well try writing to a shop that may or may not be real.

When I was a little girl, my grandmother read to me from a copy of Song of the Seafolk by Marjorie A. Penrose. It was an American children's fantasy from--I believe--the 1950s, all about a family getting mixed up with mermaids on a tiny Atlantic island. It had beautiful black-and-white illustrations, and language so lyrical that I still remember passages even though I haven't read it in nearly twenty years. My grandmother loved it to bits, and read it to me a dozen times after I came to live with her. I went off to college, and jobs, and travel, and I haven't much thought about that book--or, to be honest, my grandmother--since I left the house.

But now Grandma has a broken hip, and there's no one else to care for her, so I've come back. The moment I stepped back into that house, I found I wanted nothing more than to read that book. To her, if possible. I need to return the favor.

But the book is nowhere to be found. I've searched through all her bookshelves (extensive), closets (messy), and storage boxes (many and varied), to no avail. I resigned myself to the necessity of buying a new copy, but there are no new copies for sale. Or any old copies. None in any library. Not even a hint of its existence online. All my inquiries to cashiers and librarians have been met with blank stares. It seems like no one in the world has even heard of that book except my grandmother and me.

So I write to you from sheer desperation. A cry into the void. If your shop does exist, and you are a real person, is there any chance in the world that you have the book I want? Knowing now how rare the book apparently is, I shudder to think of the price you'd charge, but as long as I don't have to sell any limbs to pay for it, I find myself willing to pay almost any price. Of course, that's assuming you're a real person reading this, and you by some miracle have the book, and you haven't thrown this letter away while sneering at the lunatic who wrote it.

If all those things somehow manage to be true, please write back to me at this address, and I assume we'll be able to arrange some method of payment.

Yours, in desperation,

Christine Hendry

II. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

I am pleased to inform you that Wright and Co. does still exist, and it maintains its specialty of supplying books that can be found nowhere else. It is unsurprising that you were unable to locate a second copy of the book, because a glance through our sales records show that the book was purchased from this very shop in 1968 (which is likely why your grandmother was in possession of our business card), and comes from our specialized stock of books that exist nowhere else in the world.

These books tend to appear on our shelves at unpredictable times, and rarely in batches of more than one or two, so I feared I would be unable to grant your request. Yet I have sometimes found that these books appear in response to a need, so I searched the shelves, and to my delight, found the book tucked into a corner of our children's section.

The books from our special selection sometimes wander back to our store's shelves when they are no longer needed by their purchasers, and it appears that this is what happened in this case, because the book I found bears signs of ownership by a Mrs. Dorothy Hendry. Since I cannot charge you for your own book, I have taken the liberty of shipping the copy of Song of the Seafolk along with this letter.

I humbly beg your forgiveness for the suffering this has caused, and I sincerely hope Wright and Co. will be able to serve you in any future literary needs.

Faithfully yours,

Benjamin Wright

III. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Mr. Wright:

I'm glad you couldn't see how red my face got when I received your response. It's one thing to send a letter when there's a miniscule chance of a reply, but getting a reply and knowing that a real, living person read your words is a very different (mortifying) thing. I would never have written that letter the way I did if I had fully comprehended that it was going to be read by a complete stranger.

My only consolation is that my letter wasn't half as strange as your reply. What do you mean, the books appear on the shelves and wander back? How on Earth did you send me a copy of my own book??

Because you're right--it's the exact copy I remember from my childhood. The same purple clothbound cover with the mermaid and lighthouse stamped into it. The same jelly stain inside the back cover. Page 54 has a torn corner, and the mermaid on page 126 has a unibrow penciled onto her face. Even if my grandmother hadn't written her name in the cover, I'd have known it for the same book. Yet she would never have donated--or even sold--Song of the Seafolk, even after I moved away. She loved it too much.

Yet somehow you sent it to me. I'm so grateful that I won't even accuse you of sending a ring of book thieves to raid my grandmother's shelves.

I read the book to my grandmother this weekend, and it was like the years fell away, and we were back in the warm glow of my childhood bedroom, completely at ease with the world. The pain medication leaves Grandma foggy sometimes, but there were several points when she smiled, closed her eyes, and recited the book along with me word for word. I'd try to repay you in some way for facilitating that, but some things are priceless.

However you got the book, it seems to prove you're able to achieve the impossible, and because of that, I'm going to bother you with another request. Grandma loves fantasy, but her true love is mystery novels. She has a whole bookshelf devoted to them, mostly Golden Age paperbacks--country house novels, a smattering of noir. I feel like there's so little joy in her life right now, but the one thing I could provide would be a new mystery. Yet, looking at her shelves, I suspect that she's read every book of this type that exists. So I'm going to ask you to live up to that Nonexistent in your name and find me a Golden-Age-esque mystery that no one--not even Grandma--has read yet. If you can achieve that, I would be grateful for whatever you can send me.

Yours with gratitude,

Christine Hendry

IV. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

I am afraid I can answer very few of your questions as to the workings of this shop, at least when it comes to our specialized stock. Among the shelves of Wright and Co., there will on occasion appear a book which no employee has ordered--books with unfamiliar titles by unfamiliar authors, which have the appearance of age and wear, but cannot be found in any other shop, and have no history of publication by any firm. Yet there is always a reader--sometimes several, if the shop staff takes to reading it--who finds that it perfectly satisfies their tastes and fills some unmet need, as if the book was dreamt up just for them. These books seem to come into existence just when needed, and sometimes wander away when they're not.

We have several theories about the origins of these books, very few of them sensible. Perhaps they come from other worlds, where history went just a bit differently from ours. Perhaps they are books that authors dreamed up but never wrote. Perhaps they are spontaneously created in response to a reader's desires. I have learned not to question it. I merely accept the books as a gift--and bestow them as gifts to those in need.

To that end, I have honored your request for a mystery. Though I've no doubt there are many more ordinary books that could fulfill your desire (any seller of used books could tell you that this genre is far more extensive than most individual readers suspect), there is a book that appeared on our shelves last autumn that I feel will exactly fit your grandmother's tastes. The Wings of Hermes by Elizabeth Tern casts Oxford don Joseph Quill in the role of amateur sleuth, as he is pulled into the intrigue surrounding a piece of ancient Greek statuary. Quill is a very literary detective, in the vein of Gamadge or Wimsey, though his story has a touch of noir and more than a tinge of melancholy. I feel the book will be satisfying to a woman who has been a patron of our shop, and I hope it will fulfill its intended role of aiding in her recovery.

Yours faithfully,

Benjamin Wright

V. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Darling Benjamin,

Do you think I'm stupid? Or are you just insane? Do you expect me to swallow all that rigamarole about magic teleporting books? If it's a joke, you tell it with an alarmingly straight face, and frankly, it seems in poor taste (and poor business practice) to dump it all onto unsuspecting customers. If you don't want to explain how you got my book, fine--I'm sure it's a boring story involving mistaken donations or something--but I wish you wouldn't insult my intelligence by making up some whimsical fairy tale.

But for all that, I can't fault your taste in books. The Wings of Hermes was stupidly good. Grandma LOVED it. I stayed up until nine at night reading it with her--which is practically the middle of the night by her standards--because she was so desperate to know the culprit. It's a cut above most of the books on her shelf, and it's taken a place of pride there.

You weren't kidding about the melancholy. Grandma didn't mind--she was too wrapped up in the mystery--but I'll admit it got a bit depressing for my taste in places. The world seems dark enough right now--Grandma's hip isn't healing as well as we'd like. I'm having trouble adjusting to the move, and balancing work with Grandma's care is getting a touch overwhelming. I don't need fictional darkness on top of that.

What I need is something to lift my spirits. I've searched Grandma's shelves, and though she has plenty of comedies, there's nothing that catches my attention for more than a few pages, or elicits more than a wan smile. I don't know if there's a book in the world that could cheer me at the moment, but if any shop could supply it, I suppose yours can. Do you have anything like that? If you could, please send it my way.

At least, if you're willing to send it to a sponge. It seems you forgot to bill me for my last book, so if I have to settle the debt first, please let me know the price and I'll pay up. But please spare me the fairy tales.

Yours in respect,

Christine Hendry

VI. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

Your skepticism about the origins of our shop's unique books is understandable. Yet I told you the honest truth in response to an honest question. Any of our shop's past or present employees, and many of our long-term customers, would be able to verify the truth of my account. I do not typically disclose the story to new patrons, but your long history with Song of the Seafolk led me to believe you were already among those who would value it, and perhaps the faceless nature of letter-writing prompted more than usual candor. I apologize for your confusion, but I do not retract so much as a syllable of what I've said. I have told you only the truth as I know it. You may believe or doubt as you desire, but I would ask that you fling no further insults toward my honesty or my sanity.

In light of the struggles weighing upon you, the staff of Wright and Co. have forgiven any insulting insinuations, and are only too glad to do what we can to ease your burden. We have honored your request for a comedy, and have sent you a slightly worn copy of Mercator Must Walk the Plank by E.G. Delaford. It is worn because it has been read so many times by the members of our staff. It has often been stored behind the counter for staff to read in slow moments, and many of the quotes have become bywords with our little band. We sometimes read it aloud at the Christmas party. Yet by mutual consent, we have agreed that it is exactly the book you need (working here gives one a sense for these things--another Wright and Co. oddity), and gladly send it to you. If we have need of it after you've finished, we trust it will find its way back.

The book appears to have been written in (some version of) the early 20th-century, about a gentleman who takes to high-seas adventure despite his complete lack of sailing knowledge--a Don Quixote of the sea--and the woman he rescues from a shipwreck who tries in vain to set them on a sensible course. The humor is absurd, the characters memorable, and the story--I have forgotten myself. It's best for you to discover these things for yourself.

I have enclosed an invoice detailing the price of The Wings of Hermes. The price is modest compared to the extreme rarity of the book, and you may pay it if you wish to own the book outright. However, Wright and Co. also maintains a sort of library system for those who understand the unique nature of these one-of-a-kind books. For a nominal fee that covers the cost of shipping, patrons may keep one book at a time in their homes, and send it back to Wright and Co. when they wish to request another. If you wish to experience the widest variety of our unique selection--and keep these books in circulation for other readers--I recommend enrollment in this system.

I will not send an invoice for Mercator Must Walk the Plank, because we could not sell that book at any price. You may keep it for as long as it is of use to you, without interfering with your ability to borrow other books per our normal system. We consider this loan not a business arrangement, but an act of charity in your time of need.

Yours faithfully,

Benjamin Wright

VII. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

I hope you don't mind that I slipped a note inside Mercator before Ben sent it off. We've never let the book outside the shop before, so I just had to say hello, and welcome you to our little band of Mercator fans (because I know you're going to love it). Please don't worry about sending it back too quickly. I must have half the book memorized, and I can always recite the silliest bits if Heinrich gets too grouchy.

I am so glad you're going to get to read this book, but I have to say that I'm surprised Ben agreed to it, because I could tell some of the things you said your last letter made him upset. These books mean a lot to him, and he doesn't talk about them to just anyone, so I don't think he liked being called a liar.

Not that I blame you! I'd have trouble believing the story, too, if I hadn't seen it myself. But I have! Hundreds of times! We'll be stocking the shelves or dusting, and all of a sudden we'll see a new book there--you usually just know there's something different about it. It'll have all the stuff that a normal book does--cover and endpages and copyright stuff and publisher names, and sometimes even those order forms to buy other books from the publisher. But they're all about companies that don't exist. Or by people we can't even find on the internet. There are too many books in too many styles for them to be the work of some prankster--especially since it's been happening for years and years and years.

And sometimes the books come back to us. I can count at least a dozen times that I've sold a book to someone, and then a year or two later I'll come across the very same copy on our shelves again. It's weird, but after you've worked here long enough, you get used to it, and you forget how strange it all is to people who don't know.

So anyway, I know you're going through a lot with your grandmother (I'm so sorry! I hope she's getting better!), and I'm sure you must be a really lovely person if you loved Song of the Seafolk so much (I hope you don't mind that I read it before Ben sent it back. Delightful book!) which is why I don't mind at all sending Mercator to you, even if you think we're all crazy. But we're not, really. And I hope we can be friends.

Lots of love,

Penelope Brams

(You can call me Penny!)

VIII. Heinrich Gross to Christine Hendry

Madam,

You have the only existing copy of Mercator Must Walk the Plank. I must ask you to use caution when handling it. It is beloved by many in the shop. Please do not consume food or drink while reading it. Do not dog-ear any more pages. Please be gentle when turning the pages that are coming loose.

This book is a gift we do not give lightly. Do not abuse our kindness.

Respectfully,

Heinrich Gross

IX. Christine Hendry to the staff of Wright and Co.

Everyone,

I'm overwhelmed. I had no idea this book--or the story behind it--meant so much to all of you. I feel like I've been sent a priceless family heirloom--and you know me from only three letters! I don't know what I've done to deserve so much trust, but I will care for this book as though it were a priceless work of art (which, from the sound of it, it basically is).

In the name of honesty, I have to say that I don't believe the story of your shop. Frankly, it all sounds like nonsense. But as I'm reading Mercator (we're on Chapter Nine!), I'm beginning to see more than a little bit of Katherina in my objections. Maybe you're all mad, maybe you're mistaken, but I'm not sure it matters much. There are worse things in life than a little nonsense. Especially when you're all so very kind.

I hope all of you (especially Ben) can forgive me for the snide remarks in my last letter. Grandma and I thank you for all the books--wherever they came from--and would be honored to consider you friends.

Yours,

Christine Hendry

P.S. How do I get enrolled in that lending program? I've sent back The Wings of Hermes.

X. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

Have you finished the book yet? What do you think?

When you're done with Mercator, I have so so so many books I want you to read. I'm making a list. I know you probably don't have as much time to read as we do here, but I'd hate to think of you missing out on any of my favorites.

I don't want to rush you, but I've never talked to anyone outside of Wright's who had the faintest idea what I was talking about when we referenced Mercator. I've enjoyed having it as our inside joke, but it's even better to have more people in on it.

Write back soon!

Penny

XI. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Penny,

Grandma and I finished Mercator Must Walk the Plank last night--and started it again this morning. I can see why you all love it so much. What a wonderfully absurd book. Exactly the type of comedy I was looking for. Your instincts were correct: it was just what we both needed to cheer us up. It's removed enough from our world both in time and plausibility to take our minds away from ordinary things, and there's nothing mean-spirited about any of the humor. So many good characters among that crew. And the plot! High comedy! It's been almost a week since I read Chapter 14, and I'm still giggling over the fishing scene.

I would be overjoyed to read anything else you might recommend. If any of them are half as good as Mercator, they're sure to become my favorites, too.

Yours,

Christine Hendry

P.S. Grandma's hip is doing much better. Still a long road to recovery, but maybe the reread will help. Laughter being the best medicine and all.

XII. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

I've enclosed the forms for enrollment in Wright and Co.'s specialized lending program. If you will fill in the required information (though we obviously already have your address) and submit the proper payment, we will be able to begin sending books. The catalogue is yours to keep. I'm afraid the selection is rather outdated, and the summaries less than ideal at conveying the merits of each book. It was assembled by my predecessor, and I'm afraid that my uncle's genius for books did not translate to marketing skill. Amid the cares of business, I have not found the time to put together a modernized version, especially as I find that bespoke recommendations from our staff are far more likely to result in successful pairings of book and reader.

You will note there is a section on the third page where you can request a book. If I can offer a recommendation, I believe that the Alfred Quicke mystery series by Glorya M. Hayers, with its blend of comedy and mystery, would perfectly fit the tastes of your household. The mysteries solved by idle-rich amateur detective Alfred Quicke are always intriguing, but the cast of comedic types--and the farcical situations that arise in the course of the investigation--keep the stories lighthearted. The best way I can describe it is as if Wodehouse wrote a mystery series. The setting is much like that of his most famous stories, though with curious details that suggest it is set in an intriguing alternate world. With seventeen books in the series, you would find enough material to keep your grandmother in mysteries for a long time--though I suggest starting with the fourth book, The Counterfeit Candlestick, as the point where the series finds its voice.

I appreciate the handsome apology in your last letter and accept it wholeheartedly. However, I admit I had hoped for more than agnosticism toward our story. Despite your assertions, the truth does matter, whether we can discover it or not. Though the strange behavior of these books is outside our usual experience, it does not mean it is impossible (you will find a similar truth expressed by most of the great fictional detectives), and I had hoped your respect for us would open you to the possibility that there is more to this world than what we can understand. Perhaps it was too much to expect under the circumstances. But I hope we have garnered enough goodwill that you will not take offense at this expression of my honest opinion. If you do, I apologize, and will attempt to keep future letters focused purely on business.

Respectfully yours,

Benjamin Wright

XIII. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Mr. Wright,

I respect your opinion, though naturally I don't agree. I don't doubt you're sincere in believing what you do, but I can think of a dozen more mundane explanations of how these books mysteriously appear and disappear on your shelves (most of them involving poor record-keeping and less-than-stellar search engine skills). I suggest we drop the subject in the future, as neither of us is likely to convince the other, and my lack of belief about the mystical origin of these books doesn't keep me from fully enjoying the experience of reading them.

I hope you won't think it rude that I filled out your forms twice. Grandma and I do count as separate households, and if I'm going to keep Grandma in mysteries and experience some of the other books, I'm going to need two separate streams of supply. For now, though, I think books 3 and 4 of Alfred Quicke will suit our needs nicely.

Many thanks,

Christine Hendry

XIV. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine!!!

I'm so so glad you loved Mercator! I just knew you would, but it's always a little bit horrible when someone else reads one of your favorite books, because if they hate it, it crushes a piece of your heart, and I don't have that many pieces to spare.

But when they love it! Oh! I can love a book twice as much when I know someone else who loves it! I wouldn't think it was possible I could love Mercator more, but thinking of you and your Grandma laughing over it in her sickbed makes me so--this is going to sound strange, but I'm proud of it. As if we sent out a friend to do a good work, and he succeeded in working miracles. I hope you read it as many times as you want. Trust me, it gets better every time.

But I hope you'll find time to read some other books, too! I'm glad you got your own account along with your Grandma's. Alfred Quicke is lovely (I love his books almost as much as Mercator--please let me know what you think of Bright Folly when you read it), but one cannot live on mysteries alone. There are so many genres, so many moods, so many eras of literature to explore, and Wright's has wonderful examples of so many of them, so I'm so glad we'll get to send them to you.

I know Ben sent you that horrible little catalogue. Ignore it. It makes so many of the very best books sound so dull, and half my favorites aren't even in it. I can do a much better job of telling you what books to read. I've got pages and pages written up about the best ones, but I don't want to overwhelm you right away, so I'll just tell you about a few of the very best at a time. I've included a list of some of the ones I think you'll like best.

You can read what you like, of course, but I can't help thinking you should read The Autumn Queen's Promise by Rose Rennow just as soon as you possibly can. If you loved Song of the Seafolk, I'm sure you'll love this. It's another children's fantasy (a newer one--'90s, maybe?), with the same type of atmospheric historical setting, though this time, it's the most vivid autumnal woods you've ever read about in your life, which makes it perfect for this time of year.

The story's all about this fairy queen who stumbles into this little village in colonial America and can't get home. And she hates them all at first, of course--she's this horrible arrogant thing--but she comes to care for them and it's just lovely to read about. A little slow, but no slower than Seafolk. A nice, relaxing kind of slow. I'm sure you'll love it.

Whatever you pick next, I hope you'll keep me posted with reading updates. I so love talking with you about these books. It's so nice to have a pen pal!

Lots of love,

Penny

XV. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

Your account has been opened and the requested books have been shipped. We at Wright and Co. are pleased to count you as one of our trusted patrons.

I am afraid I will find it difficult to honor your request to drop the subject of the origin of our specialized books. Perhaps it is a fault, but I have never been able to bring myself to "agree to disagree". It has always seemed to me the coward's way out of engaging with the search for truth. However, you are correct that endlessly rehashing the subject is unlikely to assist either of us in continuing that search, so I will refrain from mentioning it unless there is further evidence to discuss. If you would be so kind as to patronize our shop in person, I would be happy to offer you further proof of the phenomena that I describe, but further discussion via these letters is likely to remain futile.

Faithfully yours,

Benjamin Wright

XVI. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Mr. Wright:

My offer to "agree to disagree" was a courtesy to you. I'm sure you don't want to lose a customer over the issue, so I was giving you the chance to let it slide so it wouldn't interfere with our working relationship. You think that makes me a coward? How can you say I'm "refusing to engage with the search for truth" when you've admitted that you don't know what the truth is? You said yourself (I still have those first letters) that you don't know where the books come from. Just because you can find no record of them doesn't mean they just appeared out of thin air. And these supposed "returns" of books could come from donations or poor record-keeping. You say you have evidence, but from my point-of-view, you could just be a quirky small press that prints old-fashioned books and tells whimsical stories to draw in customers. With all the stress surrounding Grandma's health, there's no way on Earth that I could make a cross-state trip to see your supposed "proof" for myself.

Frankly, if it weren't for Grandma, I'd consider canceling my accounts with you. But she's been tearing through Alfred Quicke so fast and enjoying it so much that I don't dare to cut off her source of supply. And the books you've sent are wonderful--you've been so kind about Mercator, and you gave me back Song of the Seafolk, and The Autumn Queen's Promise is turning into a lovely story I wouldn't have been able to find anywhere else.

I can't wrap my head around you people. Every time I give you the chance to back away from this weird story, you double down, and frankly, it's freaking me out. Penny's so bubbly that it's easy to see how she could get caught up in it, but you write with such a serious professional voice, and you seem (in your bland professional way) personally offended at my refusal to just go along with your story of mysterious magical books. Why does this matter so much to you? Why can't the books just be wonderful, obscure stories instead of mystical teleporting tomes that respond to feelings or whatever? I can't understand you.

Maybe you'll burn this letter and cancel my accounts, but if you dare to engage, I would like to know what you have to say for yourself.

Yours,

Christine Hendry

XVII. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

What did you say to Ben? He's usually so nice and sensible and kind and ordinary--really a great boss--but every once in a while, he broods. And he's been brooding ever since he got your last letter. It's like he's walking around with this big old cloud over his head. He keeps wandering the shelves and then going into his office and glaring at his computer and staring at the wall.

It's got me worried. Is your Grandma okay? I guess he'd tell me if she wasn't. Or you would. I hope.

Are you dying? Maybe that would explain why you haven't written in so long.

Please don't die on me. I couldn't bear it.

Write back soon.

Penny

XVIII. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Dear Penny,

No one's dying. Grandma gets more mobile every day, and I'm in as good of health as you can have when you're running mostly on caffeine and a couple of hours of sleep a night. I've just been so busy between work and Grandma's care and insurance (so many stupid phone calls) and trying to figure out our finances, and trying to find senior housing for Grandma (her house has way too many stairs), that I barely have time to eat, much less write you back. I'm sorry if I worried you.

As for Ben, well, long story short, I majorly overreacted to some minor thing he said, and wrote a sleep-deprived response that I never should have sent. I really don't want to get into it with you, because you'd probably side with him, and I'd like to keep our friendship intact, at least.

I did manage to read The Autumn Queen's Promise a few pages at a time, and it was just as lovely as you promised it would be. Exquisite fall reading. I almost hate to send it back--that lovely cover alone, with its painting of that beautiful queen in that autumnal woods, added so much atmosphere to the house just by being here. It'll never replace Song of the Seafolk in my heart, but it came closer than almost any other book to recapturing what it felt like to experience it for the first time. I send it back with warm thanks for the recommendation.

I'm also sending back your beloved copy of Mercator Must Walk the Plank. I've held onto it far longer than I deserved to. You were so gracious to send it to me, and I can't take advantage of your kindness. (You can tell Heinrich that I haven't added a single scuff to the cover).

Since Ben seems to be in no mood for letters from me, can I send my book requests through you? Grandma would like Books 8 and 9 of Alfred Quicke (she can use my account for the second, because I don't have much time for reading at the moment.)

Thank you,

Christine

XIX. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

You say that you find us at Wright and Co. difficult to understand, but I find you equally baffling. In a single letter, you will thank us profusely for our friendship and the books we provide, while at the same time attacking that very thing which we hold most dear. In expressing my difficulty with the phrase "agree to disagree", I was not attacking your morals. You will note I was more than willing to honor your request to drop the subject. Yet in misconstruing my words, you have sounded the horn of war, and honor and duty--and, to be honest, personal inclination--demand that I engage.

You ask me why these books--and the phenomena surrounding their existence--matter so much to me. I can answer only by biography. Wright and Co. is a small, cluttered, dim, obscure shop--you could find a thousand used book stores like it anywhere in the world--but from a young age (the shop was owned by my uncle then) it seemed a place of unique enchantment. I would spend summer days racing among the stacks and losing myself in books. I grew more jaded and cynical as I aged--most teenagers do--but whenever I was in danger of becoming a disaffected youth, there was something about the shop that made me feel there was something more than the meaninglessness of everyday life.

Learning about the miracle of the books felt like getting the answer to a question I hadn't realized I was asking. Here was proof there was something beyond the mundane and predictable. Something too wonderful for the human mind to understand. Some wondrous power cared enough about the patrons of this shop to help them get the right story in their hands at the right time--even if that story had never been written. Other books have authors and publishers, but these books seemed like a gift from the author of imagination itself.

When I took over the shop, I became a steward of that gift. Caring for these books and matching them with readers makes the running of this shop, not just a banal business arrangement, but a calling. Stories have the power to shape our imagination, our outlook, our relationships with others--and these stories, coming as they do unwritten, unbought and unlooked for, seem to have more power than most. Caring for that power is a great responsibility, one that I take very seriously. I have seen its good effect again and again. You cannot deny you have experienced it yourself.

You are correct when you say that I do not know the exact origin of these books. But I am not intellectually lazy just because I am content with no answer. Making peace with mystery--knowing that some things are ever unknowable--is not the same as refusing to believe the truth that comes before your eyes.

You have closed yourself to even the possibility of an explanation that goes beyond the reality you can comprehend. I have spoken of evidence that proves there is no rational explanation for these books, and you call me an unreliable witness. You have seen hints of the wondrous that you dismissed out of hand. I understand that you do not have the same evidence that I have, and I have not been as gracious as I should have been in making allowance for that. But saying that my refusal to seek an exact explanation makes me intellectually lazy is inaccurate in the extreme.

I may not know how these books come into my shop, but I know from whom. I may not know the exact mechanisms of the miracle, but I firmly believe there is an author of all that has allowed my shop to be a source of minor--and yes, rather whimsical--wonders. I need not know more than that to do my duty well.

Perhaps that explanation will help you to understand my position. More likely you will think me crazier than ever. But since I have explained my inner self, perhaps I have some right to ask for an explanation in return.

Ever since your response to that first letter, when I hinted at the miracle surrounding these books, I detected not only disbelief from you, but disdain. I was troubled to see such disgust toward the concept, especially from one who has proven herself an enthusiastic fan of fantasy. Why do you seek wonders in your stories, but resist it so fiercely in your own existence? Would it be so terrible for these books to have a supernatural origin? Is there not some appeal in letting the wondrous into your life?

You need not respond to such prying questions if it makes you uncomfortable. But I ask that at least, if you do respond, that you deal gently with one who has made his inner self so vulnerable to your scrutiny.

Yours faithfully,

Benjamin Wright

XX. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Ben,

Wow.

When I asked for an explanation, I didn't expect that.

I don't know how I can possibly respond.

I definitely understand why it matters so much to you, but somehow, this conversation has shifted from magic to theology, and I'm even less equipped to engage in a conversation about that. Not to get into too much detail, but that's part of the reason I haven't seen my grandmother in so many years. Grandma's comfortable with that stuff. I prefer my fantasy to remain safely in stories.

If what you say is true, if there's some grand wonderful power--call it magic, call it God--that does things we can't understand, then we're completely powerless against it. Which is fine if the power is good, but if the good things are real, then the bad things can be, too. There are too many ordinary problems for me to want to live in a world where there's some grand plan I can mess up by doing the wrong thing, and greater powers are waging in a war for my soul.

Fantasy is great. I love stories of mermaids and magic and the wonders of life. But it's not reality. I learned that young, and every year I live only proves it more. I'm content to live in the ordinary world with its ordinary problems, and get my escape through literature--where none of the monsters on the page can hurt me.

I'm glad--I really, truly am--that you've been able to make yourself believe in some grander purpose behind these silly little stories we've been reading. But I can't believe in that. I've seen no proof to make me believe it. Maybe you have, but most people can barely trust their own eyes, so how can I trust yours? It's not that I think you're crazy or stupid. Your personality and experiences make you want to believe. Mine make me happy to doubt. It's nobody's fault, and neither of us can change it, and it's fine. I'll stop calling you a crackpot if you stop calling me a coward, and we'll leave it at that.

Wherever the books come from, we all agree that they're wonderful, and if you don't mind dealing with a dirty nonbeliever, I'd be honored if you'd let me continue doing business with you.

Yours,

Christine Hendry

XXI. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

Where is Mercator? We got your letter, and The Autumn Queen's Promise, and your most recent Alfred Quicke, but no sign is there of Mercator Must Walk the Plank.

Oh! Oh no! What if it got lost in the mail? Could we survive such a tragedy? Silly old John Quackenbush and fiery Katherina, and grumpy little Pegs and that whole lovable crew--gone forever! If the U.S. Postal Service is responsible for their destruction, I'll...we'll...we'll make them pay! This is a murder and there must be justice!

Don't worry, I don't blame you. But the next mailman to cross my path better watch out. We'll find that book if we have to tear through every mail box and bag and truck in the country!

I'll keep you posted about the search if I can find the time to write.

Frantically,

Penny

XXII. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Dear Penny,

I'm so extremely sorry. When I sent you that last letter, I truly thought I had packaged and mailed Mercator Must Walk the Plank, but after receiving your reply, I discovered that the book was still on its usual shelf in my grandmother's house. I've been so sleep-deprived lately that I overlook things, but I didn't think I could possibly have overlooked something that.

Don't worry. I'll be sending it out as soon as I get another box to ship it in. And this time, I'll make 100% sure it's inside before I ship it.

Please forgive me.

Christine

XXIII. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Dear Christine,

You've asked me not to call you a coward, but your wording leaves me almost no choice. Denying yourself the good and wondrous out of fear of evil and danger is the definition of cowardice. Staying within the narrow world of rationality makes for a bleak and colorless life--and you're none the safer for your denial. Good and evil exist whether you acknowledge them or not. Closing your eyes to them only makes you vulnerable to ambush should they come upon you unaware.

Can you not open yourself to the possibility that the good can overcome the evil? That it can offer strength to face the dangers? Great stories can do that by showing us how to act in such situations, to give us examples of victory over darkness, to open our minds to possibilities that we might not accept in our ordinary lives. You've experienced such stories. Is it so strange to think they might reflect the reality we live in? Is it so strange to think there might be some greater power offering us those stories to sustain us?

To you, I'm sure it seems impossible. But you know there are those who think otherwise. I only ask you to consider the implications of the choice.

Respectfully yours,

Ben

XXIV. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Ben,

I don't think you can call my position a choice. You're acting like I'm picking between favorite foods or something--picking one position because I don't like the other one. But as far as I can tell, my position is the only choice. I have no reason to believe any other option exists.

It would be wonderful if I could believe the way you do. It seems to have brought you a lot of peace. But I'm not built that way and I'll just have to struggle along. Your concern is touching, but I've been doing just fine so far.

If I ever see proof, I'd have reason to reconsider, but as it is, I have enough trouble in the world I can see to worry too much about one that I can't.

Respectfully,

Christine

XXV. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

Still no sign of Mercator. Did you forget to send it again, or do I have to lay siege to the post office?

Penny

P.S. Have you been reading any more of the books?

XXVI. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Penny,

I have tried to send off that package no fewer than three times, and every time the book somehow makes its way back to my shelf. Maybe I'm just so used to seeing it there that I keep putting it back. I am so sorry for the delay.

It makes me feel guilty that I'm still profiting by reading your other books. Now that winter is upon us, Grandma and I have started reading aloud from the longest of your fantasy suggestions--The Queens of Wintermoon. You're right that it's an odd book--Russian-flavored science fantasy, with all those complicated family ties and political intrigues--but it's just what we need right now. Grandma is unfortunately dealing with a bout of pneumonia at the moment, which means I'm spending a lot of time at the hospital, but a big, thick, lush and lyrical literary book with a huge cast of vividly-drawn characters is just what we need to take us away from the sterile white walls and the scent of disinfectant.

It's great to sink into that snowy world with its royal glamour and underground orchards and mystical machines. Grandma and I spend ages talking about the four sisters and their royal husbands--all their flaws and heartaches and complicated relationships. I'm most attached to Vitalia and her political intrigue plot, while Grandma most loves the storyline of Inessa and her mysterious woodcutter husband. I have my suspicions about both their secrets, but I'm more than willing to wait the 800-or-so pages they'll need to resolve everything. It's nice to have something to take my mind off of other worries.

But I will keep worrying about Mercator. I promise somehow or another, it will make its way back to you.

Yours,

Christine

XXVII. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Penny,

I don't understand it. This is the fifth time I've tried to send Mercator Must Walk the Plank back to you. This time I waited until I'd had a decent night of sleep so my mind was clear. I put it in the packaging (extra padding). I took a picture of it inside the box. I took a picture of the sealed and addressed box. I took a picture of the box when I took it to the post office and left it at the counter. And then I returned home to find the book sitting on the same shelf where I'd put it this morning.

Are the darn things breeding? Did you send me extra copies? There is no other explanation for what happened.

It's got my head spinning, and until I've got it figured out, unfortunately Mercator is going to stay right where it is.

Sorry!

Christine

XXVIII. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Christine,

Penny has made me aware of your difficulties with Mercator Must Walk the Plank. It's clear to me (as I'm sure it will be to you) what has happened. If you wished for proof, you now have it. The Powers-That-Be have determined that you have more need of the book than we do.

Please don't distress yourself by (or waste postage upon) any further attempts to send the book back. We have plenty of other books to read, and if we ever have need of Mercator, I trust that the same powers will ensure it makes its way back to us.

Yours,

Ben

XXIX. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Ben,

It's the middle of the night and I can't sleep. I'm trying not to think of that book and I can't. It just doesn't make sense.

This can't be happening. But it is. And if this part of your story is true, then that means the other part of the story is true, which means your theories

This doesn't mean you've won. I'm sure there's some rational explanation that I've overlooked. I shouldn't even write to you because you'll just try to convince me that this is proof we live in a world of angels and fairies who bother themselves about the books we read. But it's not like there's anyone else I can talk to about this.

If you have nothing to say but, "I told you so," don't bother writing back at all. But if you've anything useful to say I'm all ears (or eyes, I guess--weird that I've never actually spoken to you. I don't even know what you look like. How old are you?)

I should sleep. But I'm going to go off and mail this letter like a moron because it's the closest I can come to a conversation.

Good night.

Christine

XXX. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Christine,

This is me not saying I told you so.

That doesn't leave me much else to say.

I'm 39.

Picture the word "man" in the dictionary. Imagine there's an illustration there. That's pretty close to what I look like.

If you want to hear my voice, you'll have to come to the shop and talk to me in person. Or I suppose we could call each other. We do live in the 21st century. But I admit I've enjoyed this 19th-century correspondence we've been keeping up.

I wish I had something more useful to say, but I doubt I can say any of it in a way you want to hear.

I hope you've been sleeping better.

Ben

XXXI. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine

CHRISTINE!!

I know you didn't order another book, but I was wandering through the shelves the other day when this book just about jumped out at me. It's like it had your name written in it. Like how your grandmother wrote in Song of the Seafolk.

Your name's not in it. I checked. But something about it still made it seem like yours. Like we were keeping it from you. Ben agreed (he's got a good sense for these things), so I started preparing the box to ship it. But I read a bit of the first chapter before I packaged the book, just to get an idea of what I was sending you. I didn't move from that spot until I'd read the whole thing. Ben just about locked me in the shop before he found me sitting in a daze in the back room.

Christine, you have to read this book. Now. It's the most beautiful...well, not fantasy. But it's not not fantasy. It's so real and yet so magical and you could maybe read it both ways. I haven't stopped thinking about it since I finished it.

But what's the book? If you've opened the package by now, I'm sure you know it's called Cardinal's Map by someone named Dorothy Cannes. It's from the eighties, it looks like, but it feels older. And newer. Does that make it timeless? I suppose all of the books in our "special" selection feel that way. Anyway, it's about this girl named Miranda, and she's this terrible grouch, and she goes to work for this old guy named Cardinal (that's where the title comes from) who needs help writing his book. And he's got the most beautiful map of all the countries in world of his fantasy book. Except the countries might be real? And just....ack, I don't have words! The book has a lot of them. Read those instead.

And then write to me because I need to know what you think about the ending!!

Lots of love,

Penny

XXXII. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Penny,

You were right.

Thank you.

Christine

XXXIII. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Ben,

It's been three hours since I finished Cardinal's Map, and I haven't moved from my chair. Everything you said about the power of story is true. It's like this book reached into my soul and rearranged the furniture. Cleared out the clutter. And it did it by sweeping me along with the characters and the story and the beautiful prose so I didn't even know what was happening until it was already done.

Everything we've been fighting about for the last few weeks was in this book. It talked about all the things you were trying to tell me, but instead of just telling me, it showed me and made me think and feel and helped me make sense of it all. And I never felt like it was preaching. I'm not even sure it was trying to preach. It's just...a story, so I let my guard down and it got under my skin. Just like Cardinal's map got to Miranda.

I don't know if you've read the book or not, but the premise is that John Cardinal is writing this extensive fantasy work and Miranda's this jaded college kid hired as a secretary to help him arrange all his notes. And she's fascinated by the fictional map and gets swept up in the book, until she realizes that Cardinal is telling the story of his life. That this character who traveled to this other fantasy world is supposed to be him. And she's got to figure out if he's using this as a metaphor, or if he's crazy, or if this other world really is a real place.

And by the end of the book, we don't know. You could read it both ways--the world in the map is either a metaphor or a real country that he’s been to. But it doesn't really matter which one is true, because the bigger truth is that Miranda knows there's something beyond the rational world that we can see. And it's not terrifying. It's wonderful. It's not this place full of monsters waiting to pounce--it's this exciting, dangerous, beautiful place to explore.

If Penny wants to know what I think of the ending, I believe that Cardinal's world is real. And I believe your story is true. I've seen evidence. That terrified me, because that means the world no longer makes sense. But the truth doesn't have to be a terrifying destruction of the reality I know; it can be an expansion of it. I don't understand why any of this happens, or how, but maybe I don't have to know how. I just need to be thankful that it did.

You said that Mercator stayed with me because I needed it more than you guys did. Maybe what I needed was evidence of the miracles you told me about. Then I wondered why Song of the Seafolk wandered away, because I very much needed it here when it was at your shop. But maybe what I needed was to write to you. The correspondence we've shared, the books you've sent me, they've strengthened me through a lot of difficult weeks. They've given me and Grandma a lot of joy, brought us back together after so many year's apart. And they've helped me straighten out a lot of questions I didn't know I was wrestling with.

There was someone's hand in all this--an author arranging all the pieces of the story in a way I'd never have been able to achieve on my own. Maybe before that'd make me feel helpless, but now, I don’t know, I guess I feel cared for. Like someone’s watching out for me.

I feel like I should thank you, and I don't know how. This is too deep for words. Thank you for writing, even when I was horrible to you. Thank you for the books. Thanks for being a part of my story.

Grandma's doing better now. If she's up for it, I think it's time for a road trip.

If you're ever going to see Mercator or Cardinal's Map again, I might have to hand them to you in person.

Love to all of you,

Christine Hendry

XXXIV. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Christine,

You may not believe me, but I did not read Cardinal's Map before sending it to you. I simply had the notion that it would be the ideal book for your circumstances--and I was as surprised as you were to find just how true that was. Another gift, I suppose.

I look forward to reading it, if you can ever spare it (I look upon the book as belonging to you now). I also greatly anticipate the opportunity to see and speak to you here in the shop. I hope you will not wait long to make good on your promise.

Yours faithfully,

Ben

XXXV. Christine Hendry to the staff at Wright and Co.

Everyone,

I can't say how wonderful it was to see you all in person. You all looked just like I pictured you. Your shop is too wonderful for words. I could have moved in. But alas, Grandma and I don't have the resources for a move right now.

We'll have to continue the friendship long-distance. Now that I have the shop's phone number (funny I never thought to request it before), and your personal numbers, I suppose we can call whenever we like. But if you don't mind, I'm going to keep corresponding by letter, too.

Love to you all,

Christine

#inklingschallenge #team chesterton #genre: intrusive fantasy #theme: visit the sick #story: complete #remind me to tell you the behind the scenes stuff sometimes #maybe it wouldn't be interesting to you but it was a wild ride

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