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#or the later one with anne and the glass

harryyskiwii · 10 months

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Summary: You and Harry attend a wedding together and he ends up getting very drunk.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Harry x Reader

Word count: 1,727

A/N: this was inspired by the photos we got today of Harry looking 👌🏼 at his cousins wedding. Hope you enjoy!

“Do these shoes make my legs look too long? Like scarily long?” You said walking into the bathroom where Harry was standing in front of the mirror after just having had a shower while he was in nothing but a towel and fixing his hair.

His eyes darted from his head to your legs in the corner of the mirror and he smirked “absolutely not. I love your legs” he said coming over and kissing you as you ran your hand through his wet hair.

“I’m just not sure on the dress, what do you think?” You said flattening the front of the sage green silk dress out with your hands.

“You’d look better without it but for today, it’s perfect. You look stunning babe” he says smiling at you. You thanked him and went back through to your bedroom to do the finishing touches to your makeup while Harry got ready.

It was his cousin, Ben Selley’s wedding today and he had managed to get the day off so he could attend. You were looking forward to meeting more of Harry’s extended family; you had only met Anne & her partner and Gemma and her partner Michal since you and Harry had only been dating for 9 months, so you were excited to meet everyone.

10 minutes later, Harry walked into the bedroom and your jaw dropped.

“Stop. Wait. This isn’t right. You’re going to a wedding and you’re NOT wearing cream? Are you feeling okay babe?” You said jokingly putting your hand against his forehead to check his temperature. Harry always had a thing about wearing cream to a wedding, not white as he would make clear, but cream. It was odd to see him not in this colour for once.

He chuckled at your response to his outfit “thought I’d go for something more casual today” he said, showing off his fitted black suit and casual white tank top with his orange tinted glasses with thick black frame to complete the look.

“I certainly approve of it Mr Styles” you said admiring his outfit.

It was a short drive to the church where you saw lots of guests enter the building slowly. Harry’s mum said to meet outside and you could all sit together, and you immediately felt at ease when you seen her walking towards you.

“Don’t the pair of you scrub up well!” She said bringing you in for a kiss on the cheek to greet you.

You chuckled “thanks Anne, you look lovely” you told her, although Anne always looked flawless whether she was wearing a hoodie or a dress, you think that’s where Harry gets it from.

You said hello to Gemma and Michal and entered the church.

You were slightly nervous now at meeting everyone, although excited at the same time to see his cousin getting married.

The 6 of you took a seat in an aisle and immediately Harry got chatting to the people sitting in front.

“This is my girlfriend y/n, y/n these are my other cousins, Ryan and Hayley” he said introducing you to them.

“Hi lovely to meet you” you said and smiled at them. “Nice to meet you, we’ve heard lots about you. H doesn’t stop banging on about you when he’s home” Ryan teased.

“I mean wouldn’t you, look at her. She’s a stunner” Harry said and you blushed. Gemma leaned into you and whispered “you can tell who’s the more sociable one out of me and Harry can’t you” you laughed at her. Harry could have a conversation with a brick wall if he had to.

You chatted with Gemma and Anne a little until it was time for the ceremony. The bride looked absolutely beautiful, her flower girls were adorable and her bridesmaids looked amazing. You couldn’t wait until this was you one day.

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife” the celebrant said to officiate their marriage. You all clapped and Harry leaned in towards you “that’ll be us one day babe” you smiled at the thought and continued to clap for the happy couple.

Walking out of the church and waiting for the bride and groom to get their photos taken, you and Harry mingled with the other guests.

He introduced you to a few more of his family members, all of which made you feel very welcome. Harry was asked if he wouldn’t mind being in some photos for a couple of people who weren’t in the family, friends of the bride and groom more so who didn’t know him, and because he was in his happy place, surrounded by family, he was more than happy to oblige.

“Let me get one of you two!” Anne said as she took your phone out of your hand.

“Harry stand with y/n will you” she shouted to him as he was distracted by talking to someone else. He looked over and joined you at your side, wrapping his arm around your back and his hand falling onto your waist.

“Smile!” Anne said before taking the photo. She captured a few and admired them “you two are just the loveliest couple” she said handing you the phone back. You looked at it and smiled, Harry had a slight smile on his face in the picture but he looked genuinely happy.

“That’s my new lock screen I think” you told him as you walked together towards the reception area.

Luckily at the reception, you were sat at a table with Anne, Darren, Gemma and Michal again, with another 2 of the bride’s extended family. After the meal, Harry insisted on getting shots for the table. Whenever he was at a wedding, it was a tradition he started to always get a shot of tequila after the meal. It served no purpose other than getting him more drunk, more easily. He’d only had 3 pints at this stage but you could tell he was becoming tipsy as he was becoming more and more affectionate, sliding his hand up your thigh with you pushing it away as you’re sure another wedding guest saw him do it.

The bride and groom had their first dance before inviting everyone else up to the dance floor. You and Harry remained sitting at a table, now with some of his aunts and uncles talking about life, when suddenly you both heard the all too familiar main riff of “Man, I feel like a woman” playing to which you and Harry looked at each other.

“We can’t not” he said as he stood up, grabbing your hand to pull you up. “You gotta dance to Shania” he said and at this point in the night, you’d had a few wines and a few shots so you were feeling more than ready for a dance with your boyfriend now.

You chuckled as he led you up to the dance floor, him dad dancing as he made his way up.

“The best thing about being a woman, is the prerogative to have a little fun” you and Harry screamed out over the top of the music as you danced away together, him showing off some rather questionable moves but all in all, you were both having an amazing time.

You danced the whole night after that, with Harry buying everyone another tequila shot, and another and another.

It was 1am when you decided to call it a night, not only because you were done in, but because Harry’s bank account was being rinsed with the £1,200 he’d spent on shots alone that night for the whole wedding.

Luckily, you had booked a room in the hotel where the bride and groom had the reception party so it just meant having to help a very drunk Harry up the 3 flights of stairs. You knew he should have stopped after his 10th pint and 3rd tequila shot but 3 more pints and 4 shots later, Harry’s legs were failing to carry him up the stairs.

You were drunk yourself, giggling quietly as you helped to drag him up the stairs.

“Y/n” Harry would slur as he slowly made his way up the stairs. “Shhh” you would say as you passed the rooms of other guests who were probably sound asleep and didn’t want to be woken up by some 29 year old drunk man.

“Y/n, wwhen can we have a wedding?” He slurred. “Let’s get you in and we can talk about it” you said still trying to get him to the correct room.

“Y/n” he dragged out your name as he giggled “what?” You laughed back, you were almost in as much of a drunken state as he was.

“I love you baby. I love you so much”

“I love you too. But I’d love you even more if you were in the room so move your ass” you said slapping his bum which seemed to sober him up for a brief second and gain some speed as he made his way up the stairs.

After what seemed like forever, you two made it into the hotel room and collapsed on the bed. Harry had taken his suit jacket off at this point and was now lying in just his trousers and tank top with his hands above his head. God did he look good drunk.

You felt the side of your dress being pulled “Take this off” you heard Harry say to you.

“You take it off” you said to him. “Y/n, if I could I would. Please just take it off and-“ he trailed off mid sentence and you looked over to see him falling asleep on the bed.

You laughed at his drunken state and decided to call it a night. Taking your own dress off, you removed your makeup and went back through to see Harry in the same position you had left him.

You pulled out a bottle of water and sat it on his side of the bed because you were sure he would need it when he woke up in the morning. You took off his trousers and left him in his boxers and put the cover over him so he wasn’t too cold. You got in beside him and laid your leg over his thigh and rested your hand on his chest, feeling comforted as you felt his chest slowly rise and fall.

As you lay there, you reflected on the day and how comfortable his whole family made you feel. You couldn’t wait to become a real part of the Styles family.

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coffeebeanwriting · 11 months

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15 Writing Tips from Authors

1) “You take people, you put them on a journey, you give them peril, you find out who they really are.” - Joss Whedon

2) “First, find out what your hero wants, then just follow them.” - Ray Bradbury

Coffee bean’s analysis: Letting your characters lead the story can result in an authentic, character-driven story, full of real conflicts and natural emotion.

3) “Turn up for work. Discipline allows creative freedom. No discipline equals no freedom.” - Jeanette Winterson

4) “Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up, too.” - Isabel Allende

Coffee bean’s analysis: In order to write or eventually share your story with the world, you have to sit down and do the work, even if your brain is empty. Once you show up, the creativity has a chance to spark.

5) “All bad writers are in love with the epic.” - Ernest Hemingway

6) "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." - Leonardo Da Vinci

Coffee bean’s analysis: Being able to turn a complex idea into simple words is harder than one might think— but can elevate your writing. Not everything needs to be epic or overly flowery.

7) “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.” - Anne Lamott

8) “I went for years not finishing anything. Because, of course, when you finish something you can be judged.” - Erica Jong

9) “Don’t write at first for anyone but yourself.” - T.S Eliot

Coffee bean’s analysis: Perfectionism will kill any chance you have at having fun and finishing your novel. Let go of that pressure of being perfect and do not worry about being judged. Write for you.

10) “Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.” -Henry Miller

Coffee bean’s analysis: Don’t overwhelm your schedule with trying to write a ton of projects at once. Focus your energy into one (or two) at a time.

11) "A short story must have a single mood and every sentence must build towards it." - Edgar Allen Poe

12) “Every sentence must do one of two things— reveal character or advance the action." - Kurt Vonnegut

Coffee bean’s analysis: Even if you’re writing a novel, this advice is brilliant. Whether it’s a sentence, paragraph or whole chapter... make sure they are meant to be in your story. Keep your scenes tidy and thematic, building towards something.

13) “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” - Anton Chekhov

Coffee bean’s analysis: When writing a novel, give your reader details so that they can picture the scene in their head. Don’t do too much telling (though it has it’s places).

14) “It is perfectly okay to write garbage— as long as you edit brilliantly.” - C.J Cherry

15) “If it sounds like writing … rewrite it.” - Elmore Leonard

Coffee bean’s analysis: Allow yourself to write messily and worry about editing later. Once in the editing phase, if your writing sounds stiff, rewrite it so that it sounds natural.

Instagram: coffeebeanwriting

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farfromstrange · 29 days

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Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one.

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans.

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist.

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires!

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak.

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire.

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen.

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead.

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real.

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires.

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear.

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes.

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges.

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands.

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market.

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight.

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself.

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into?

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man.

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set.

Yours sincerely,

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure.

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out.

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t.

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire.

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him.

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work?

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you.

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly?

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay.

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person.

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June.

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard.

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there.

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying.

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them.

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it.

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought.

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is.

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire.

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you.

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell.

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run.

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl.

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is.

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous.

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being.

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground.

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed.

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin.

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft.

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful.

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night.

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself.

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel.

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs.

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down.

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out.

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool.

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out.

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose.

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless.

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his.

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died.

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind.

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says.

“I was considering not to.”

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.��

“How would you know?” you counter.

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing.

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste?

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.”

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap.

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.”

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe.

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked.

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to.

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself.

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate.

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says.

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice.

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say.

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say.

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away.

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out.

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask.

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home.

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass.

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says.

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth.

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight.

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–”

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off.

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?”

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says.

He’s amused. You’re amusing him.

“Don’t call me that,” you growl.

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself.

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?”

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body.

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor.

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out.

“Published by Columbia University.”

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.”

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you.

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?”

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers.

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew.

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence.

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep.

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside.

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier.

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him.

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says.

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped.

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down.

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes.

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you.

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word.

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch.

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in.

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says.

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be.

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall.

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights.

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth.

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?”

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal.

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most.

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture.

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes.

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away.

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle.

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want.

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell.

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home.

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you.

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you.

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough.

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake.

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his.

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins.

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal.

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of.

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat.

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you.

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch.

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls.

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you.

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you.

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure.

“Matthew,” you moan.

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.”

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all.

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate.

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come.

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart.

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang.

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes.

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that.

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks.

“Thinking about you,” you murmur.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop.

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening.

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you.

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death.

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that.

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever.

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you.

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him.

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once.

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine.

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight.

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger.

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this.

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him.

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come.

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days.

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock angst #daredevil #x reader #interview with the vampire #charlie cox #alternate universe #reader insert

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jenscx · 7 months

Text

MY DARLING — jang wonyoung x f!reader

you were just living a quaint life in a bookstore, until a stranger barges in on a rainy day, evidently changing your life.

TAGS — very fluffy, princess!wonyoung, slight angst, jealousy (tiny), commoner!yn, flirty wony

WORDCOUNT — 3.9k

the 10th of august, 1820. you sigh at the raindrops splashing against the glass windows, tinted with a slight hue of blue. the bookstore was rarely this quiet but with everything going on in the royal castle, perhaps it was to be expected.

“no customers yet?” you whip your head up, frowning. eunbi, the owner of the bookstore and the one who had raised you, stood at the top of the flight of creaky, wooden stairs. you shake your head, “aren’t the nobles trying to popularise reading? i don’t think it is working too well.”

eunbi laughs. “sure. the literature we sell here isn’t too demanding of their literary skills. and the nobles only flock to poetry, maybe it’s time we expanded our small library.”

your eyes brighten at the thought of an increased variety of books. even though you adored the selection here, it was starting to get quite boring. the constant romance themes evident in every single book was rather… annoying.

“hm, perhaps we should close up for the day, it’s rather late and the rain is heavy. i don’t think anyone else will bear with the storm just for a quick read,” eunbi suggests and you comply immediately, packing up the stacks of papers standing tall at the counter. you were just scribbling on them to rid your boredom.

“i’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she calls out before heading up once more. you sigh again. just as you were about to close the curtains shut, the door slams open and you almost squeal.

a mysterious hooded figure stands before you, heaving up and down as quick breathes escape them.

“uhm, apologies but we are closing for the day,” you say. the figure turns and you roll your eyes. their cloak was dripping rainwater all over the mahogany wood floors that you had just polished that morning!

“terribly sorry for the intrusion,” they (you raise an eyebrow at the feminine voice) mumble, “i needed a place to get away.”

“right, i don’t really care because you are ruining my flooring, so could you take that damn cloak off?”

the person immediately does so, revealing the white fitted bodice that clung to the woman’s skin, almost translucent and you feel a blush creeping up your neck.

“you are… soaked.”

“yes, quite obviously.”

you turn away from her, eyes avoiding her own narrowing gaze as she was quite literally the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.

“i’ll get you a cloth to clean yourself up with,” you mutter while the girl nods and proceeds to walk along the shelves.

if you weren’t so distracted by her apparent beauty, you would be more conscious of how familiar she looked.

moments later, you return with a cloth, and the stranger was peering at one of the many books that lined the shelves.

“fan of jane austen?” you smile when she jumps slightly at your sudden voice, “that is one of her most popular pieces of literature; pride and prejudice from 1813. though we do have earlier pieces such as ann radcliffe’s the romance of the forest, 1791.”

the woman nods, “aren’t you quite acquainted with books? any suggestions?”

“hm, perhaps persuasion by jane austen if you’re a fan, but do read most of her writings, it’s incredible.”

“what about playwrights? anyone that you’ve taken a liking to?” she asks.

you think for a while, “elizabeth inchbald. i thought lovers’ vows was spectacular. shame i couldn’t see it, sometimes i wished i was born earlier.”

“i always thought that it was too controversial and morally ambiguous for people to adore it. thankfully i’ve found someone of my own,” she says, a twinkle in her eye that you can’t help but feel your heartbeat race at. she daps at her neck with the cloth and you evert your eyes.

“a-anyway, what brings you here? you’ve distracted me from closing up.”

she places the book back into its original position and furrows her brows, “do you not recognise who i am?”

you tilt your head and lean on the bookshelves, “no, not particularly. am i meant to?”

“yes, but i’d rather you stay unknowing. if we were to be… friends, could i ask that you never try to find my identity?”

“could i at least know your name? or something to call you?”

“of course, i haven’t introduced myself. you can call me wonyoung.” wonyoung, you think, it’s a pretty name.

she flashes a gleaming smile at you, “could i know yours?”

“y/n,” you reply, “what brings you here?”

wonyoung’s posture slackens and you take the time to admire her luscious black hair that was tied into a bun with small curls and waves. you unconsciously swallow your saliva as wonyoung answers you.

“just running from my responsibilities. quite lucky of me to end up in a quaint bookstore with you, to be frank.”

your eyes trail down from her face to her collarbones, mouth going dry at the sight of her neck. god, you think, clenching your eyes shut.

“you all right? your cheeks are… flushed,” you spot a hint of a teasing smile on her face.

“how old are you?” wonyoung asks suddenly.

“i’m eighteen this year.”

“oh, i’m eighteen as well.”

you grin, “what responsibilities could you have at eighteen? we’re the same age, yet i’m just working at a bookstore.”

wonyoung shakes her head, almost sullen, “you have no clue how hectic it is back there. if here is shallow water, when i go back there, i’ll drown in the tsunami.”

“how poetic.”

“impressive, isn’t it?”

you giggle first and wonyoung’s laughter joins soon after. her laugh is melodic and soothing, a breather. it’s like you’ve just found your oasis.

and maybe she’s found hers.

your night is spent alone. no wonyoung to fill the empty spaces of silence apart from the occasional footsteps outside of the bookstore. you spent all day with her, or rather the rest of the day until she deemed too late to reach home. no matter how hard you try, your mind ends up wandering and you dream of rosy cheeks with a bunny smile.

you awake the next morning with a letter at your doorstep, addressed in neat calligraphy.

dear y/n,

i could not tell you how much i enjoyed yesterday, it was an eye-opening experience. i am definitely the luckiest person ever. i can’t believe how lucky i was to enter your bookstore and meet you. i hope we stay acquainted forever. send your reply to this address, i will wait for it.

sincerely yours,

wonyoung

if it were from anyone else, you would have found it desperate, or creepy. but even after a day of meeting wonyoung, you were enchanted.

hence, you quickly draft up a letter, perhaps she could see how much desperation there was in the messily scrawled handwriting for you to see her again.

it took almost no time for you and her to communicate daily through letters. even though you only met her three weeks ago, it felt like you’ve known her forever. wonyoung was your everything. and maybe you were her everything too. she was the part of your routine you looked most forward to.

eunbi had questioned you about your sudden enthusiasm and happiness. after all, she had been your caregiver since she had taken you in and you were never this dreamy.

wonyoung would sometimes drop by during the evening and you would spend a few hours together before she had to leave. it was the highlight of your week. a few hours would be all you could have, until a letter arrives at your doorstep.

my darling y/n,

how have you been? i found that book you’ve been raving about. i must extend my apologies for reading it beforehand, you were just too excited about it that i had to read it for myself. anyway, would your bed be free tonight? could i spend the night at your bookstore? my parents finally gave me permission to do so. i do hope you’re free, if not i’ll be missing you terribly.

sincerely yours,

wonyoung

you almost crumple up the letter in excitement. wonyoung was finally sleeping over? it was a joyous celebration. you swiftly write back, hoping that the letter would reach her in time. it always did, surprisingly. you weren’t sure if the post was meant to work that fast. you were counting down the seconds for when she would arrive and when the grandfather clock struck six thirty in the evening, a knock resounded on the door.

“wonyoung!” you squeal, rushing into her arms and burying your face into the crook of her neck. physical touch had become common between you and her, initiated by her at first but mostly done by you now. you could not resist feeling the warmth her body gave off.

“good evening, yn,” she breathes out, “i almost tripped on the way here. i was so exhilarated when i received your letter.”

you grin, quickly locking up the doors and closing the curtains. wonyoung lingers around you, a bag of clothes at her feet, you presume it contained her sleepwear.

“darling,” you feel a shiver go down your spine at her voice, “shall we head up?”

you nod and interlock hands with wonyoung, dragging her up the stairs and heading into your bedroom. your bed wasn’t tiny, but with wonyoung’s height, her feet would be dangling off the edge since your mattress was wider and not lengthy.

“you can change here, i’ll just look away,” you say.

“what if i want you to look?”

your cheeks heat up and you cover your eyes, “shut up, you flirt.”

“my sincerest apologies,” wonyoung says slowly, “do you not like it when i flirt with you?” you roll your eyes. she would always ask questions which she knew the answers to. wonyoung just wanted the satisfaction of you saying it out loud.

“i like it,” you mutter, embarrassed.

“you’re adorable,” she laughs and starts to untie the laces on her corset to reveal her shift under. you take this as your cue to turn away.

a few minutes pass and wonyoung finally says, “i’m done. you can turn around now.”

she was adorned in a long light blue night rail with lace linings. you still thought she was the prettiest girl to ever walk the earth.

wonyoung flops onto your bed and you join her.

“blow out the candle, won't you?” wonyoung requests. without the light of the candle, you can only see her face that is illuminated by the moonlight.

you both slip under the sheets, facing each other. your eyes trail along her features and your fingers ache to trace them.

“how was your day? you never answered me in your reply.”

“you were genuinely asking? i thought you asked as a formality,” you chuckle at her affronted expression.

she rolls her eyes, “of course i was genuine! i’m always interested in what you have to say.”

“why are you being so cheeky today? so many flirtatious remarks,” her long arms wrap around your waist and you giggle.

“i’m just naturally like that,” wonyoung smiles, “and you like it, don’t you?”

you nod shyly.

“i do.”

“then i’ll stay this way. be whatever that you like.”

“i like you,” you confess.

wonyoung blinks slowly. your words and sincere tone seeping into her heart as a large grin overtakes her face.

“and i adore you.”

your night, unlike the first, was spent wrapped up in wonyoung’s embrace. warmth covering your body and a smile across your face the entire time you slept. it was the most peaceful night you’ve had. yet, as all things go, it was just the calm before the storm.

something had been bothering you, wonyoung could tell. after that night spent together, you and her were inseparable. but the more time you had together, the more it seemed like you were drifting away in your thoughts.

“darling?” you turn around in her embrace, “are you all right?”

“yes, i’m totally fine. couldn’t be better than being here with you.”

“i feel the same but, are you certain? it just feels like something is bothering you. if anything, could you tell me?” wonyoung asks. your body visibly tenses up and even in the dark, she could still see how your face was contemplating.

“why did you ask me to never search for your identity?”

wonyoung suddenly unwraps her arms from around your waist. you miss her warmth instantly.

“why are you bringing this up now?” she counter asks.

you frown. “just remembered it. i was reminiscing the first time we met.”

“ah.”

“also because eunbi has been asking me about you and i don’t know what to tell her. i realised i don’t know much about you and i want to change that,” you explain.

wonyoung’s breath hitches.

“eunbi? have you mentioned my name to her?”

“no, i wasn’t too sure if i should have… wonyoung, seriously, what’s this whole ordeal with your identity? can’t you just tell me?” you ask.

you decide not to mention the fact that you have actually questioned eunbi about wonyoung. the amount of warning signs about her identity had been increasing daily and you weren’t so certain about how much you could trust wonyoung anymore.

“you’re lying,” wonyoung states.

“what?”

“you know my identity.”

“wonyoung, love—”

she separates herself from you immediately and sits upright. your bubble of tranquillity bursts and the peaceful future you’ve created for the two of you was ruined.

“i told you. i specifically told you not to go looking!” her voice raises, “and you still do? and i know you’re lying to my face! you know that…”

you can’t stand it anymore. “that you’re the princess? of course i do! how could i not remember your face and name plastered everywhere? are you not aware of how influential you are? the media has been going insane at how your birthday ball was going to be the highlight of this century! but this doesn’t mean i love you less!”

“it’s not about that! you betrayed my trust. how could you? it was the first thing i’ve ever told you; don’t go looking for my identity! and i… this isn’t going to work out. i apologise, but i have to leave,” wonyoung hisses and quickly jumps out of your bed. you can only stare in silence as she packs up her clothes and leaves out the door.

you sit there on your cotton sheets, stunned at how the evening’s played out. a sigh escapes your lips and your heart aches at the forlorn expression that wonyoung had.

you couldn’t believe that wonyoung had just left like that. you thought she would at least hear you out and it wasn’t as if you yourself had gone looking for her identity! her name was basically on every single piece of news article, how could you not know? and wonyoung wasn’t a popular name.

perhaps everything will be normal in the morning. wonyoung’s letter would show up at your doorstep, apologising for how she acted and you would still forgive her.

needless to say, you were wrong. there was no letter, and definitely no bouquet of tulips that normally accompanied the letter.

“i saw the princess stomping out, did you two have a fall out?” eunbi asks. you nod, sulking.

“she found out that i knew she was the princess and she wasn’t too enthusiastic about it.”

eunbi thinks for a moment. “aren’t you going to try to chase after her? wouldn’t it be right?”

“why should i? she said we weren’t going to work out.” repeating those words brought a new level of pain.

your caregiver laughs, “that’s exactly what sakura said as well and she ended up grovelling.”

you raise an eyebrow. “who’s sakura?”

“some foreign lady. anyway, are you going to write to her or not? her birthday’s coming up soon.”

“her birthday,” you repeat, “i could just go to her birthday banquet.” eunbi blinks, “i did not mean that but sure.”

you have a newfound sense of confidence. wonyoung couldn’t do anything if you just went to her banquet, right? well, she could just order for the guards to take you out but it was open to commoners. there was a dress code but wonyoung had gifted you a pretty expensive dress recently.

“august 30th, it starts at eleven in the evening,” eunbi informs you, “you do know your way to the castle? i have other plans that night.”

“yes, of course. thank you for the idea!” you smile. as you head off back into your room, thoughts of seeing wonyoung again run through your mind.

the day had finally come. your hair was parted in the middle with your bangs curled that occasionally twitched your eyes. your bust was pushed up ever so slightly by a tight fitting corset. you had a low cut violet gown and white gloves that extended up to your elbows.

the closer you got to the palace, the more your confidence dwindled. what if wonyoung orders for the guards to escort you out? it would be ironic for you to show up at her banquet, where she would have to reveal her identity. you shiver at the thought of wonyoung’s distrustful gaze.

what happened to staying together until death parts you two? wonyoung had been so romantic with her words, maybe it was all faux.

you shake your head. you couldn’t think of that! now, you just had to reassure her that her identity revelation would not change anything. and maybe you could even try to revert to the same relationship status as before. once you enter the ballroom, you’re surrounded by nobles and commoners alike, all dressed to the nines. you scan the room, hoping to see wonyoung.

“goodness,” one of the more fashionably dressed nobles say, “dukes from high society are starting to court her already. i heard that many are offering their whole family wealth for her hand.”

your face falls. of course there would be people wanting to court her. wonyoung was so angelic and there would be no reason for rich dukes to not throw themselves at her.

“good evening, my lady,” you spin around, facing an older woman with a rather disgruntled young man, “could i ask where you are from?” luckily, eunbi had trained you beforehand.

“miyawaki y/n,” you lie through your teeth, “i’m not from around here, just passing through to visit the princess.”

“splendid! i am from the house of lee and this is my son, heeseung,” the woman exclaims, “i thought you were a perfect match for him.”

your eye twitches.

“ah, yes.”

“i’ll leave you two to get acquainted, hopefully by the end of this ball, you will be dancing with each other.”

“my lady will not be dancing with anyone,” your heart leaps. an arm links around yours and you almost instinctively lean into the familiar warmth.

the woman stands rooted to the ground while heeseung quickly scurries off.

“m-my sincerest apologies! i did not know,” she bows. wonyoung waves a hand at her and turns to look at you instead.

before the crowd starts to gather around you, wonyoung turns her head and swiftly drags you by the wrist through the many nobles.

“wony— princess!” you shriek.

she pulls you into an empty room, away from peering eyes and eavesdroppers. her gaze on you is heavy with emotion and you can barely get a chance to identify them before she speaks.

“what on earth compelled you to come here?”

“i just wanted to see you. you ran off rather quickly last night, much like that heeseung boy.”

“y/n, you can’t just show up here looking like that. i… i told you once you found out who i really was, we could never truly be together,” wonyoung sighs.

you frown, “so you weren’t going to try anyway? were you just going to love me when it was convenient? what happened to all those sweet promises you’ve made to me?”

“i can’t keep those promises if the public found out we were together,” wonyoung clasps your hands together.

“so you were just loving me for the hell of it.”

“i sacrificed lots for you.”

“but you still can’t be with me.” you take wonyoung’s silence as her answer. there’s tears welling up in your eyes and wonyoung’s gaze darts to them instantly.

you tear your hands away from hers to wipe your tears falling down your cheeks.

“this has been… eye-opening. since we were never going to work out anyway, i should take my leave. sorry for taking up your time when you should have been spending it celebrating. happy birthday.”

your heart aches. the beats slow down but you feel like it’s been crushed into little bits, which were then thrown into molten lava and rebuilt. then crushed again by wonyoung.

“wait a moment, don’t…”

“i should have know it would have ended up like this. i’m deeply sorry again, your highness,” you say coldly, bowing.

wonyoung’s mouth is open, almost like she wants to say something. but you can’t be with someone who contradicts herself every time.

“darling,” the nickname slips out and you feel sobs wreck your body, “don’t cry, wait, please.”

“my love, please look at me, please don’t walk away, i was a fool. i wasn’t thinking at all,” wonyoung rambles out, “please stay and listen, which is ironic, i realise but i can’t believe i thought i could ever live life without you. i need you. i was just scared of what they would say, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore. i realised that you’re my only light and i will never find someone better than you. it was all my doing, i never meant to hurt you like this. i’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

wonyoung stares at you, affection and longing in her eyes. so that’s what it was.

“i’m not forgiving you just yet. you still hurt my feelings.”

“of course. i’ll grovel for eternity for your forgiveness.”

you sniffle and slap her cheek lightly, not enough to even hurt.

“i hate that you can make me feel like this.”

“like what?” she asks, looking down at you.

“like everything’s okay.”

“is everything not okay?”

a smile overtakes your face, tears still dripping down your cheeks but you feel contrary.

“don’t ever do that again,” you fling your arms over her shoulders and instinctively, her hands go around your waist.

“i adore you, and if i were to ever hurt you intentionally, please just execute me on the spot,” she whispers into your ear, making you giggle.

“executing the princess is illegal, i would be given the death sentence as well.”

“then we would be together in the afterlife at least.”

“you are such a dork.”

“only yours.”

(to my darling y/n,

i hope everything’s all right back at the bookstore. could i drop by sometime later? maybe we could even read belinda by maria edgeworth. i’ve heard it is quite a worthy read. your wedding gown is gorgeous, for your information, i reckon i’ll sob at the alter. as always, do tell me about your day later. i will be counting down the minutes until i can see your beautiful face. i love you.

forever yours,

wonyoung

to my princess,

of course you can drop by. i’m expecting more books to arrive later in the afternoon. unfortunately for you, i’ve already read belinda but i will reread it with you if you want. i hope you’re doing well back at the castle; how’s the wedding preparations going? tell me all about it later. i’ll be counting down the minutes as well. i love you too.

your darling,

y/n)

#jang wonyoung x reader #wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #ive

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ravenelyx · 1 year

Text

I love you in every timeline - Prologue: In Search of Lost Time

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 1.9k

Chapter Warnings: angst if you squint, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name appearance (not even y/n dw), some swearing, use of 2nd person for the reader (I know I know but I promise it makes sense for the story)

Summary: "He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him. She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe.". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: this is the first english fic I've written, so I'm terrified. Anyway, Trimetravel! AU with Sebastian Sallow. Some background info: Reader is not MC; Reader is a Gryffindor, MC was a Slytherin; MC was a Pureblood, Reader is a Muggle Born. Also, english is not my first language so if you find any mistakes, I deeply apologise. Not proof-read (for obvious reasons).

→ Find the rest of the fanfiction here on AO3 :)

"For we are not as faithful to the being we have most loved as we are to ourselves and sooner or later we forget her — since that is one of our characteristics — so as to start loving another." - Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time

If a chasm had opened under Sebastian's feet and swallowed him all the way to the depths of hell, he would have gladly accepted his demise there and then.

Unfortunately, its mercy seemed to be out of business that day — or any other day in his life, really.

Sebastian paced the corridors, a frown adorning his face; he had just come out of the Headmaster's office due to the absolute disaster that had occurred to him just a few hours prior.

After weeks of research, he had finally found something that could help him, a breakthrough with which he could finally achieve his goal. An artefact so powerful that it could break the fabric of time and space, something that could help his poor sister live a happy and healthy life again. He did not care that they were not on speaking terms at the moment: he would find a way to talk to her so that she would take this last chance. He would force her if he had to. It was his last hope, and Merlin knows he had tried everything.

If he had known about the artefact's effects earlier, he would have thought twice before using it.

"So, Mr Sallow, could you be so kind as to tell us how you came to be in our time?" the Headmaster, who had earlier introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore, had asked him.

Truth was that not having stopped dwelling with the Dark Arts in search of a cure for Anne had led him to find himself in another timeline instead. His face twitched: in terms of unlikelihood, the scales seemed pretty unbalanced.

It had been a brief conversation, really, with Sebastian omitting some details (like his friendship with an Ancient Magic wielder or the murder of his uncle, for which he bore full responsibility) and grimacing against his own will when the Headmaster had looked at him through his half-moon shaped glasses as if asking him, 'Why are you lying to me?'

He had pushed the thoughts away as quickly as they had come: it wasn't like he could read his mind... or could he?

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief when the Headmaster had dismissed him after giving him specific instructions on how to behave until they found a way to return him to his timeline — one of which was, "Please don't inform anyone of your condition unless it's absolutely necessary." That had seemed quite reasonable to him, so he nodded.

The artefact was damaged, as expected, and unlikely to work again unless a powerful form of magic came into contact with it and repaired it: something like Ancient Magic, perhaps, or a miracle.

"I see you're still causing trouble everywhere you fare, aren't you, Mr Sallow?" the familiar voice of Phineas Nigellus Black had mocked from his portrait, effectively startling him. Sebastian had looked up and into the eyes of his old Headmaster, his mouth falling open at the sight of him. He looked old, weary, and angrier somehow — yet, in a way, he had brought Sebastian some form of comfort, almost. A sense of familiarity.

Before he could have said anything, Black had disappeared, and a woman with severe blue eyes and long robes had escorted him out of the office.

Sebastian looked around at his familiar surroundings, which would have been almost comforting if not for the nameless faces looking at him with curiosity: Hogwarts students tended to recognise each other effortlessly, and anyone who didn't fit into that bundle of familiarity was to be ostracised. He remembered all too well when he was the one helping the new fifth-year find her way around those same corridors, except he didn't need guidance: this was his home, after all.

But he did have a guide, and she wasn't as charming a student as he was either.

The Head of the Gryffindor House walked right next to him, a stern expression on her face made even more prominent by the shadow of her large witch hat. The woman Sebastian had come to know as Minerva McGonagall was also the Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmistress, at least it seemed that way, which was no doubt why she was accompanying him rather than the Head of his own House.

Sebastian decided not to ask himself any questions and do what the Headmaster told him to: attend class, fit in, and pretend to be either a transfer student or someone with a complex background — he hadn't decided which story to tell yet (and both, in a way or another, would be true).

The clacking of Professor McGonagall's shoes stopped so abruptly that he almost would have missed it if she hadn't started speaking.

"You're about to meet two of your new classmates. Prefects of the Gryffindor House." She raised her left arm in their direction, and his eyes followed it to two red and gold robes leading into warm faces.

"I am pleased to introduce you to Ms Hermione Granger—" she gestured to the girl with curly hair to her left, who wore a friendly smile all while maintaining a serious and clean look, "—and Mr Ronald Weasley." Sebastian's eyes shot to the boy to his right when he heard the familiar name, and to be honest, he might not have needed an introduction at all: the red-haired boy gave him a wry smile, his freckles standing out even more in the natural light. He would have recognised those features anywhere.

Finally, Sebastian noticed their uniforms. He didn't pay much attention to the boy's — he himself also wore a very similar one, uncomfortable and informal as it seemed to him — for his eyes were fixed on the girl's. She was wearing a grey cardigan with red and gold trim, the colours of her House, and her skirt was much shorter than he remembered, with black denier tights covering the rest of her legs. Sebastian felt himself blushing slightly and averted his eyes.

He wondered why the Slytherin prefects were unsuited to the situation: at the end of the day, he was a Slytherin, too. Sebastian didn't undergo the Sorting again — the Professors didn't seem to deem it necessary, not to mention the Hat had recognised him from his shelf, too. He didn’t forget easily.

McGonagall turned back to Sebastian and briefly adjusted his robes, her face softening slightly, "For the time being, it is best if you don't draw attention to yourself. We will find a solution," she straightened her posture and nodded at him, "Welcome to Hogwarts." She turned on her heels and walked away, leaving him with the two Gryffindors.

He studied their faces for a moment, searching for the right words to say, deciding on which story to tell, but the only thing he could muster was: "How come you're Gryffindors?"

The two students stared at him, appalled, and he mentally slapped himself. He wanted to correct his statement and explain his intention, but the girl stopped him before he could even form a coherent thought.

"You're wondering why they asked us to guide you and not the Slytherin Prefects, am I right?"

Either his question wasn't that unclear, or the girl had excellent deduction skills, and judging by the epiphany on the other boy's face when he understood the meaning of her words, it was most likely the latter.

Sebastian sighed inwardly and nodded, mentally promising not to stumble over his words again.

The boy — Ronald, Sebastian recalled — chimed in: "Because otherwise you'd have to deal with Malfoy, and he's an idio—" the girl slapped him on the arm and gave him a warning look before turning back to Sebastian.

Malfoy, Sebastian thought. A family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was clear why a Weasley would want nothing to do with him.

Sebastian wondered if they still held the same values as in his day: if the Malfoys were still blood maniacs, and so was the person they spoke of, or if he wanted to distance himself from his family as Ominis did. Judging by Ronald's opinion of him, Sebastian did not think that was possible, but then again, he did not know the fellow. Maybe, Sebastian thought, things had moved on after a century: no blood wars, discrimination or superiority complexes. Perhaps this was all just a simple rivalry between two students from different Houses.

"Professor Dumbledore thought us to be best suited for this difficult situation. No other student but us knows about your... misadventure," said Hermione.

To call it a "misadventure" would be an understatement , Sebastian wanted to say. As it turned out, however, he didn't need a story to tell. He didn't know whether to feel betrayed by the Professors who had decided to disclose that information or relieved that he didn't have to go through it all alone. A beat of silence followed, in which Sebastian could only nod at the girl's words, and then it was interrupted abruptly.

"Where have you been?" called a voice from the end of the corridor, directly behind Sebastian.

He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him.

He definitely didn't have to go through it all alone because there she was. Standing a few feet away from him, looking straight at him, was the person who had accompanied him on all his adventures.

She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe.

He felt his lips twist into a grin, and he beamed at the sight of her. Had she been looking for him?

He frowned a little as he noticed her expression: she seemed annoyed, almost angry. Perhaps she had no intention of following him and had just ended up here for no reason? Were the two of them connected on a deeper level than he thought? Or perhaps she was just worried for him and angry he didn't look for her too?

The girl started to walk towards them, and his smile widened even more the closer she got.

She was almost there when he realised she wasn't sparing him a glance.

Instead, her eyes were focused on the red-haired boy next to him, who was staring at her in horror, looking completely terrified.

Sebastian looked back at the girl, finally noticing the red and gold tie around her neck where a green and silver one usually belonged, a crease in her eyebrows that wasn't there before, and her eyes were a different colour than he remembered.

What the hell is going on here? he thought, staring at her wide-eyed.

"Ron, for God's sake, I've been looking all over for you! Do you intend to give me back my book before class starts, or should I pull a new one out of a hat because you can't use your own?" she threw her hands in the air disapprovingly.

Ron stuttered briefly before hesitantly pointing at the Slytherin boy next to him, "I've just had too much to do. Prefect stuff, you know."

The girl scowled at him before turning to the said boy, her eyes softening slightly. "Oh! You're the new fifth-year!"

Sebastian's eye twitched. How bloody ironic.

"I'm Sebastian Sallow," he replied feebly, body stock-still like marble.

"Nice to meet you," she smiled politely.

And then she introduced herself.

His breath caught in his throat. Sebastian could have recognised that surname anywhere, but her name fell completely deaf on his ears.

You weren't her.

→ Chapter 1

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wilwheaton · 2 months

Text

Three pieces, one longer than the others, that I have never done in public before. I hoped they would all fit together to tell a story, and I was scared to death the the story they told wouldn't resonate with the audience.

But I needed to trust myself, trust Anne and my friend who told me it absolutely was going to work, and take what felt like a very big risk.

So I did, and I think it landed the way I hoped it would. The audience was receptive, which was not always the case at cons for me but has increasingly become the norm this century. Lots and lots of people told me they also know the secret handshake, and it helped them, as it does me, feel a little better.

I use my phone to record all of my talks and readings, and then I put them with all my glasses and my shoes, so I have them.

At the beginning, you're going to hear, faintly, my space brother, Ed Speleers, introducing me. You can't hear the smile on my face, or the overwhelming joy and gratitude in my heart, but it was there. I had no idea he was going to introduce me, and he was just so kind and lovely.

Then you're going to hear me read something I titled I Turned Myself To Face Me, which I hope will be part of a larger work later this year.

#SoundCloud

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morgana-larkin · 16 days

Note

Haii okay here’s my angst request! I love a good regretful jealous Mel hehehe. I was thinking you’re both teachers and she likes u but is like “I’m too cool for pining” so she does the extreme opposite and is kinda standoff-ish or blunt w u at school. When you’re alone she’s a little better but still not super lovey dovey. You “take the hint” and move on, and someone new comes into ur life (can you PLEASE for the LOVE OF GOD name this rando new person joy??). And then one day Mel’s like “let’s be official” And you’re like what? Why? I thought u didn’t like me also I have Joy now. And then Mel’s like wtf and she gets rlly jealous when she sees u w her now and then she tries to sabotage y’all’s blooming relationship. In the end maybe no happy ending pls?? If ur comfortable writing that :)

Hehe I LOVE a good heartbreak. Also I’m obsessed w joy Huerta (hence my username) and have been asking everyone to use it in fics AND PPL DONT ALFJKS. lmao anyways. I hope this is sumn ur comfortable writing!

OMG! you’re really testing me here! If I’m honest, it was hard to write. I rewrote it a few times, it hurt a little, might make a part 2. Honestly if even one person requests a part 2 with a happy ending then I will write one. As always, not edited in the slightest, I hope you like it!

On another note: keep sending prompts for one shots! I decided to write one shots about Chessy from parent trap played by our favourite redhead, Lisa Ann Walter, so you can send prompts for her too!

Green Isn’t Your Colour

Warnings: (where do I start lol) Jealous Mel, upset Mel, a bit of toxic Mel, angst and no comfort, no happy ending , good luck lol

Words: 3.2k

You walk in through the entrance of Abbott Elementary. You’ve been here for a year already and you’re finally feeling like you’re settling in. You’re a third grade teacher, you helped Melissa out as she wouldn’t have another split class again and that made her happy from the day you got there and hearing the news.

You walk into the break room, hot chocolate in hand, you don’t like coffee that much, but nothing could beat a good hot chocolate. You go and sit on an empty table, taking some tests out and start marking them. Melissa looks over at you from her table. She looks at the way you’re flawlessly marking, glasses on and concentrating on what you’re doing.

You glance up as you feel like you’re being watched and see Melissa looking at you, but then she quickly looks away when you notice and you smile. You liked her since you first set eyes on her and it only grew from there. But lately it seems like she’s off and you’re unsure why. She was nice to you when you started but now it’s like she’s the opposite and you don’t know why. You asked everyone else if they could answer why she’s different but no one noticed the change.

You got up and picked up the tests and decided to just carry them to your classroom. You passed by Melissa on the way out. “See you later Melissa.” You told her with a smile. She just nodded her head at you and went back to her phone. You looked at Barb and she just shrugged, not noticing a difference.

During your second period prep you finished marking the tests with a breath of relief. Just then Melissa knocks on your door and you look at her and smile. “Hey Melissa.” You tell her and she just has a neutral face and you drop your smile.

“I found the book you were asking for. The little eagles liked it last year and I’m sure they’ll like it again.” She said and handed you the book.

“Oh perfect, thank you.” You told her and smiled at the book. Melissa looked at you and couldn’t help the small smile forming at your excitement of the book. And you looked up at her to see the small smile on her face. “Hey Melissa, can I ask you something?” You asked and she looked at you confused.

“You can but it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” Melissa said.

“Um ok. Well I was just wondering why you’re acting differently around me?” You ask and she looks at you with a neutral face again.

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Well you were nice to me last year but now you’re acting distant and I don’t know why.” You asked her. “Did I do something wrong?” You added and that took her by surprise. She doesn’t want you to think you did anything wrong because you didn’t. Melissa has a crush on you and she doesn’t want to show it or let anyone know, and her acting nicely to you last year definitely raised suspicions, so she went back to how she acts with everyone else.

“You didn’t do anything kid. This is just how I am with people.” She said.

“You’re not like that with Barb.” You said.

“Barb is my best friend, so of course I’m nice to her.”

“What about Janine? Jacob? Gregory? Or when Ava at times? You’re nice to them.” You told her, getting a little frustrated.

“That’s because they’re my friends.” She said and you were taken back by that and it definitely stung. Melissa looks at your expression and knew she shouldn’t have said that. She does think of you as a friend but it just slipped out.

“Oh ok, well glad to know where we stand then, just co workers. Thank you for the book Ms. Schemmenti, I’ll return it tomorrow.” You tell her and go back to your desk. “If that was all then if you don’t mind, I have a lesson plan to do.” You told her and she nodded her head.

“See ya around kid.” She said and left. She knew she fucked up there. She’ll have to start being a bit nicer to you to get back in your good graces.

Back in your classroom you took a big breath. You thought you and Melissa were friends but I guess you were wrong. No wonder she’s always short and blunt with you.

The next day you were at the coffee shop, receiving your hot chocolate like always, turning around to leave and bumped into someone, spilling your hot chocolate all over them and a bit on yourself.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I just wanted to talk to you and didn’t expect you to turn around.” The person said.

“Oh well I feel like I should be apologising, my hot chocolate mostly went on you. Wait, you wanted to talk to me? Why?”

“Because I see you in here everyday and I think you’re pretty.” She said with a blush and you blushed at her compliment.

“Oh uh th-thank you.” You stuttered a bit, not used to compliments.

“Can I buy you another hot chocolate? As an apology?” She said and you looked at her.

“Oh you don’t have too.”

“I want to though. Please, I insist.” She said and you smiled at her. She bought you another hot chocolate and handed it to you with a smile. “And there we go.” She said.

“Thank you.” You told her and saw the time. “Oh I gotta get to work.” You told her.

“Oh that’s alright I understand. I’ll see you again tomorrow?” She asked.

“Ya, I come here, same time every day.” You said with a smile and began to leave but turned around to her. “I never got your name btw.”

“It’s Joy.” She told you.

“I’m y/n.” You tell her and she smiles.

“You have a lovely name, it suits you.” She tells you. You blush and leave the coffee shop. You get to the school and immediately go to your classroom instead of the break room. You put your stuff done and see the book that Melissa gave you yesterday sitting on your desk. You might as well return it now, you got a few minutes before the students get here. You picked up the book and walked to the classroom next to yours and knocked on the open door. Melissa was stapling something and looked up at you and gave you a little smile.

Your heart fluttered a little at the smile and you remembered what she said yesterday. “Hi Ms Schemmenti, I came to return the book.” You told her, and held the book up.

She looked at you and remembered what happened yesterday and sighed. “Thanks y/n” she said and got up and walked over to you to take the book. “Did the little eagles like it?” She asked.

“Ya they did.” You said confused at her using your actual name

“I knew they would. You can borrow it whenever you want.” She told you and you offered her a small smile and nodded your head.

“Thanks Ms Schemmenti, I’ll keep that in mind.” You told her and left. She stared at you as you walked back to your own classroom and did a huge sigh and leaned back against her door.

A month goes by and you run into Joy everyday at the coffee shop. She took it upon herself to order you a hot chocolate and have it ready by the time you get there. You kept offering her the money for it but she always refuses, saying your company was payment enough. You exchanged numbers after a couple days and started texting for hours on end. By the second week she asked you out on a date and you said yes. By the third week she asked you to be her girlfriend to which you agreed excitedly.

At school, you noticed that Melissa has been a bit friendlier with you. You took her sudden change with caution though, you don’t want to get hurt again.

For Melissa, she wants to ask you out but she keeps getting scared. But after a month of being friendly with you, she decides to bite the bullet and just do it. She went to go see you at your classroom after the students left on Monday.

“Hey y/n, can I ask you something?” She asked you as she stepped in your classroom.

“Sure Melissa, what’s up?” You said and she smiled. You’ve been calling her by her first name again for about a week, and after you calling her Ms Schemmenti for 3 weeks, well she still smiles when you call her Melissa now.

“I wanted to ask you on a date.” She says and you look at her and freeze.

“What?” You ask, confused as hell.

“I wanted to officially ask you on a date.” She says and you look at her confused.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“I thought you didn’t like me.” You tell her and she looks a bit guilty.

“I never not liked you, when I realised I liked you near the end of the last year, I didn’t want to give away my feelings so I started acting distant towards you.” She says and looks down for a second then back up at you. “So will you go on a date with me?” She asks again.

“No.” You told her and she looked upset. “I did like you but I have a girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? I thought you were single.” She says confused and still hurt.

“I was, until 2 weeks ago, her name is Joy.” You said with a smile. And Melissa looks at you with a bit of fire in her eyes. “If she’s real then I would like to meet her.” She tells you, crossing her arms,

“Oh ok, ya sure. I can ask if she can come meet everyone tomorrow morning if you want.” You tell her.

“Ok, I look forward to meeting her then.” Melissa says and leaves disappointed.

You asked Joy if she wanted to meet your coworkers tomorrow morning and she excitedly agreed immediately.

So the next morning, you meet Joy at the coffee shop as usual and she hands you your hot chocolate then you drive over to the school and walk in with her. You head to the break room with her and enter and all eyes look up at you and her.

“Everyone, I would like you to meet Joy, my girlfriend. Joy, this is Janine, Jacob, Gregory, Barb, Ava.” You said, pointing to everyone as you said their name. “And this is Melissa, the one who asked to meet you.”

“Hi everyone! And hi Melissa, I’m very much real as you can see.” Joy says and Melissa doesn’t look happy, she crosses her arms and the fire in her eyes come back. She thought you were lying and would have to keep being nicer to you before you agree to go on a date with her. Barb notices Melissa getting angry and puts a hand on her arm and that startles her and then just sits there, staring at you. She sees you being all happy as Jacob and Janine got up to come say hi to your girlfriend.

She wanted to be that person, be your girlfriend and she blew it. But then remembered that you said yesterday that you did have feelings for her, so maybe you still do. Then she smiles at that thought and thinks of different ways to play it. Joy would have to go of course, she ain’t gonna put a hit on her but instead she’ll try to sabotage it, and to do that, she’ll have to be nice first and get information.

So she gets up and goes over to you two. “Hi, nice to meet you. Ya I didn’t think you were real when y/n here as been single since I’ve known her.” She says to your girlfriend then proceeds to put an arm around your back as she mentions you being single and your eyes widen a bit.

“Oh that’s alright, it was a shock to y/n too when I asked her.” Joy says, and Melissa thinks it’s a shame she’ll have to sabotage it as she seems nice. But this person is getting in the way of her happiness so she gots to go.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you two meet?” Melissa asks.

“Oh we met at the coffee shop down the street, the one you told me about and I get a hot chocolate there every morning. And then I bumped into Joy about a month ago, like physically bumped into her and spilled my drink all over her.” You say with a chuckle.

“Ya she did but it was my fault, I saw her there every morning and after a couple weeks I decided to go talk to her and didn’t expect her to turn around at that very moment. So I offered to get her a replacement one and then we started talking.” Joy said with a smile.

And you noticed how Melissa’s hand got a bit lower on your back and you subtly get out of her grip and say an excuse. “Joy, do you want to go see my classroom?” You ask her and she immediately said yes. Joy waves bye to everyone and they all tell her it was nice to meet her and hope to see her again. And Melissa thinks that if it goes according to plan then she won’t be back to see them again.

At the end of the day, Melissa visits your classroom. “Hey y/n.” She says as you’re packing your things up.

“Oh hey Melissa. What’s up?” You ask her and sling your bag over your shoulders.

“Well I was wondering if I could go with you to the coffee shop tomorrow? I haven’t been there in awhile and wouldn’t mind a good store bought coffee once in awhile instead of one from the break room.” She says and you look at her confused.

“Oh I always meet Joy at the coffee shop in the morning.” You say and Melissa smiles, she knew it.

“Well that’s alright, maybe I could get to know her better then.” She says and you agree and tell her the time that you meet up with Joy.

The next morning, Melissa gets to the coffee shop first and orders a coffee for her and a hot chocolate for you. You and Joy come in a couple minutes later and see Melissa near a table with 2 drinks. “Hey Melissa.” You say and she looks over at you and smiles.

“Hey y/n and Joy. Here y/n, I got you a hot chocolate.” She says and sees the frown on Joy’s face before smiling again. Melissa smiles at that, she knew that Joy was still getting you a hot chocolate every morning. You said it yesterday to Janine and Jacob. “I would have gotten something for you but I forgot to ask y/n here what you like.” Melissa says and puts a hand on your shoulder.

Joy looks at the interaction and gives a confused look. “That’s alright, I’ll just go get a drink for myself. I’ll be right back.” She says and you and Melissa nod.

You look at Melissa a little confused. “Why are you being so much nicer all of a sudden?” You say to her and she just shrugs, feigning innocence.

“I don’t know what you mean y/n? I’m just getting to know your little girlfriend over there.” She says and hits you, Melissa is jealous.

“Melissa, are you jealous?” You asked and she scoffs. “I’m being serious, yesterday you asked me out saying you liked me. And now you’re at the coffee shop that I meet Joy at every morning and meeting nicer to me in front of her.”

“I’m just trying to make sure that she’s right for you, is all.” Trying to cover up the fact that you were right.

Before either of you can say anything else, Joy comes back with her drink. “Hey y/n, I would like to stay longer but worked called and asked if I could come in earlier. Like right now earlier. And I wouldn’t mind the extra cash.” She says and you nod.

“That’s alright, I understand, have a good day at work.” You tell her and she gives you a goodbye kiss on the lips and the fire in Melissa’s eyes return.

“Alright thanks for understanding, it was nice seeing you again Melissa.”

“Ya you too.” Melissa says back to her. Melissa didn’t like that kiss, and worse is that the only issue she has with Joy is that she’s with you. Other than that, Joy seems like a nice person, and she hates that fact.

At the end of the day Melissa stops by your classroom again. “Hey y/n.”

“Should I expect this to be a daily occurrence? You stopping by my classroom at the end of the day?” You say with a laugh and she gives a small laugh at that.

“Maybe.” She says and closes your door and walks up to you. You look at her confused for closing the door, but then think she probably wants to talk to you privately. “I don’t like her. Your girlfriend.” She says and you frown.

“Why?”

“I don't know, there’s just something about her that I don’t like.”

“Well you’ve only just met her. If you see her more then you might grow to like her.” You tell her with a smile.

“No I won’t actually.” She says and you’re confused.

“And how do you know you won’t?”

She looks you dead in the eyes and walks closer to you. “Because as long as she’s with you, then I won’t like her.” She says and she got very close to you and you had to walk back and you end up backing into your desk and she puts her hands on the desk on both sides of you, effectively trapping you. You look at her with wide eyes.

“Melissa, I-” and you don’t get to say what you were about to as her lips are on yours. You begin to kiss her back and then push her off. “Melissa what the fuck? You know I’m with Joy.” You tell her and she smirks.

“Then why did you kiss me back? And don’t deny it. I know you did before you pushed me off.” And you look at her speechless since she’s right. Melissa smiles at you and goes to kiss you again but you stop her.

“No Melissa, I’m with Joy now.” You tell her and she frowns.

“You wouldn’t rather be with me?” She asks and you shake your head.

“I’m happy with who I’m with. I’m sorry.” You tell her and walk out of your classroom, leaving behind a hurt Melissa who has a tear rolling down her cheek.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

If you want to be added then let me know!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #x reader #fanfic

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acewritesfics · 4 months

Text

First Christmas | TOMMY SHELBY

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No

Fic Type: Blurb

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 563

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

A/N: Since it's Christmas Eve where I am, I thought I would repost the one Christmas themed Peaky Blinders fic I do have. I won't be back to reposting until the 3rd of January (hopefully). I hope everyone has a wonderful and safe Christmas and New Years.

"Good boy," Tommy says as he picks up his oldest child's platter of biscuits and hands them to him. "Put this out for Santa, for his whisky."

Y/N smiles from the sofa as she watches her step-son lay the platter of biscuits they had baked earlier in the day near the fireplace as Tommy sets a glass of whiskey next to it for Santa.

"Alright off to bed now, Charlie. Say goodnight to Y/N and your sister," Tommy orders the young boy.

"Goodnight, Rosie. Goodnight, Y/N," He kisses his newborn sister's head before kissing his stepmother's cheek.

"Goodnight, Sweetheart, sleep well," Y/N smiles as he walks out of the room to go to bed.

Tommy stands and walks over to the sofa, where he sits next to his wife, who is cradling their three-month-old daughter. He leans back against the back of the sofa, his arm across her shoulders, admiring the two most important ladies in his life.

Last Christmas, neither of them could have predicted this moment. Their romance was a whirlwind. They'd met last November, when Y/N moved from Norwich to London, carrying the shame of a divorce after finding her husband cheating with his brother's wife. The two immediately bonded, discovering something in each other that they couldn't find in anybody else.

In January, their friendship grew into something more, and at the end of March, they found out she was pregnant. Three weeks later, they married in a tiny ceremony attended only by Tommy's family.

Rosemary Anne Shelby was born in early October with a strong set of lungs. Her cries were loud enough to alert the entire hospital that she had arrived. The baby is a spitting image of her father, with Tommy's dark hair, mesmerising blue eyes, and button nose, but she was also showing signs of having her mother's attitude, especially her stubbornness, which Y/N claims she receives from both her and Tommy.

Charlie loves his new sister and has been devoted to her since before she was born. He wouldn't let Rosie out of his sight during the first few weeks of her life. Bedtime was especially challenging for the small family. When Charlie learned the baby was safe in Tommy and Y/N's bedroom with them, everything calmed down. Both Tommy and Y/N have been amazed by Charlie's connection with Rosie. They had been worried that Charlie wouldn't take well to no longer being the only child.

Tommy breaks the silence in the room by stating, "This is our first Christmas together."

"It is," Y/N smiles happily, her head resting on her husband's shoulder. She hadn't expected her life to turn out this way, but she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

She loves their daughter, she loves Charlie as much as she would if he were biologically hers, and she loves Tommy more than any other man she has ever loved before him.

Tommy kisses her head and stares down at his sleeping daughter in her mother's arms. "You put her in her crib while I make sure Charlie is in bed, and then I'll meet you in our bed."

"All right," she kisses him and stands up, taking care not to wake the baby.

Tommy stands up and follows her up the stairs, going into Charlie's room as she makes her way into their bedroom to put Rosie in her crib.

TAGGED: @girlwith-thepearlearring | @isabbellagonzalezz18 | @forgottenpeakywriter | @rainydayteacups | @bernelflo

#acewritesfics repost #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby

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daisyblog · 5 months

Text

I Won’t Give Up

Too Young Masterlist Summary: Louis finds out YN is pregnant at his Mum's wedding.

It was the 20th of July, 2014. The day that YN had to see Louis for the first time, since their one night of passion. For the last fews weeks, YN had kept busy, uni assignments had helped with that but now that she had completed her second year she had time to think about the reality.

Louis' Mum was getting married today, and YN had been looking forward to the day. But since her and Louis steamy night and YN finding out she's pregnant, she was nervous to see him again.

YN arrived had the wedding venue with her Mum and Robin, and they were each handed a glass of champagne. YN looked at her Mum not knowing how to say no to the drink.

"Just hold it in your hand for now." Anne whispered discreetly in her ear. Her Mum and Robin were the only people to know that she was pregnant.

"C'mon...I can see Harry down there." Robin spoke to the two women, nodding his head in the direction where Harry was standing talking with Niall.

The three walked down to where there were groups of guests huddled together. Jay and Dan had got married a little earlier in the day, their ceremony was small and intimate with just their close family and friends. Therefore the other guests were invited to the afternoon and evening celebrations.

"Hey womb mate." Harry wrapped his arms around his sister after he had given his Mum and Robin a cuddle.

"Hi twin." YN gave Harry a slightly smile, one that didn't quite reach the top of her cheeks.

Harry knew his sister better than anyone. "You alright?".

YN nodded her head quickly, not wanting to make Harry any more suspicious. "Yeah..I'm fine.". YN heard Louis voice behind her, he was talking to one of the guests. "Niall...you can have my drink...I don't like it." YN lied and passed her drink to Niall before she excused herself to use the bathroom.

Once YN got to the bathroom, she touched up her make up, her way of procrastinating so she could hide away for longer. After she touched up her lipstick and fixed up her hair, YN took a deep breath and went back outside to find her family. As YN was walking towards them, she bumped into Jay and the one person she was avoiding.

"Aw YN, there you are." Jay greeted her with a warm hug. "I just asked your Mum where you were.".

YN avoided looking at Louis, who's eyes she could feel burning into the side of her head. "Toilet break." YN tried to joke. "Congratulations...you look beautiful.".

"Oh thank you my love." Jay smiled sweetly at the younger Styles. "But between us, I can't wait to get out of this dress.". Earning a giggle from YN. "Lottie is calling me over...I'll see you later sweetheart.".

On the inside YN panicked as Jay hurried off in the direction of her daughters because now she was alone with Louis.

"Not talking to me are you?" Louis wasted no time in calling YN out for giving him the silent treatment.

YN looked at the ground, not feeling confident to look at him. "I haven't seen you to talk to you."

"You won't look at me either." Louis continued to push for answers. "Look...if it's about what happened-".

"Just leave it Lou!" YN snapped, shocking Louis. "Like you said, no stings attached so stop talking about it.".

Louis wasn't expecting YN to be so defensive. "YN...what's wrong?".

"Nothing...just leave me alone!" YN huffed before she quickly went back to find Harry, leaving Louis stood in the same spot wondering what had just happened.

But little did the two know that Anne had been watching their interaction from a far, wondering why their conversation seemed so tense.

YN relaxed once they were all in the marquee and sat in their designated seats, her between Harry and her Mum. Niall, Liam and Sophia also sitting on their table too. YN had turned down many drink offers and continue to sip on her orange juice, she was glad that nobody had mentioned the fact that she was not drinking any alcohol. YN was talking across the table with Liam's girlfriend, when she saw Louis walking towards their table.

"Alright Tommo?" Niall asked as Louis stood next to his chair.

"I've got meself into a game of dare with me sisters." Louis began to explain, everyones eyes on him.

Liam's eyes scrunched up as he laughed. "What have they dared you to do?".

Louis eye's found YN's eyes. "Daisy dared me to dance with YN".

YN knew all eyes were on her now too. She wanted to say no but she didn't want any one to question why. So she put on her best fake smile and followed Louis to the dance floor.

Her hands rested on his shoulders, as his slipped around her waist. Goosebumps covered her arms from the touch, teasing her about what had happened the last time they were this close.

The song changed to I Won’t Give Up and YN tried her best to hold her tears back, trying to put on a good show.

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use the tools and gifts We got yeah we got a lot at stake And in the end you're still my friend at least we did intend For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn We had to learn, how to bend without the world caving in I had to learn what I got, and what I'm not And who I am

The lyrics were taunting her, her throat went dry and she was focusing on her breathing. “YN…you’re crying.”.

She shook her head slightly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

I won't give up on us Even if the skies get rough I'm giving you all my love I'm still looking up I'm still looking up

Louis was filled with worry and guilt as he saw a tear threaten to fall from YN’s eye. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t tell you here.” YN looked at him directly in the eye, silently pleading with him.

He guided her off the dance floor and outside to where the was a small building where his Mum had gotten ready this morning. Once he checked that the room was empty, he led YN inside.

Even though they were alone, YN still couldn’t find the words to say.

“I’m sorry about what happened between us…it probably shouldn’t have happened…I mean I don’t regret it but you obviously-“.

YN interrupted Louis. “I’m pregnant.”.

Silence.

YN’s heart was thumping against her chest now that she had said the words out loud to Louis. It was real now.

Louis was never speechless but his mind was completely blank as he stared at the girl in front of him. He didn’t really know what to expect YN to say, but her saying she was pregnant never crossed his mind.

“You’re pregnant?” Louis said out loud, looking to see if he had heard correctly.

YN sniffed from the tears running down both cheeks. “Yeah…about seven or eight weeks.”.

“Shit…fook…fookin’ shit.” Louis mumbled to himself. “Harry’s going to hate me.”.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re the dad, if you don’t want people to know.” YN offered to protect Louis.

“Hey…you’re not doing this alone.” Louis spoke. “I’m the dad and a dad to this baby I will be.”.

Hearing these words, YN pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around his torso, Louis following and holding her close to his chest.

As the pair stood as one in the middle of the room, the sound of the bathroom door opening caused them both to freeze. As they turned to look at who had heard their conversation, Jay was standing in the door way.

“I think you two have some explaining to do.”

Taglist: @jillsvalentinex @itsmytimetoodream @peterholland04 @youcan-nolonger-run @chronicallybubbly

#louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson fic #louistomlinson #louis tomlinson writing #louis tomlinson x reader #louis tomlinson fanfic #louis tomlinson fanfiction #louis tomlinson x y/n #louis tomlinson x oc #louis tomlinson x you #louis tomlinson series #louis tomlinson x styles!reader #louis tomlinson x yn!styles #louis tomlinson x harry's sister #louis x you #louis x reader #louis x yn #louis x y/n

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m-jelly · 6 months

Note

Okay, I don't know how this works so bare with me. I was thinking about Hanji having a little sister and Levi is smitten by her right from out of the Underground? First off, I don't think the sister should be like Hanji but a bit more serious and not that 🤪. Secondly, Hanji not approving Levi at first but later on she knows her sister is in good hands and could rest in peace? I don't know if this makes sense but I would love to see this.

Anon also said: Sorry! I'm the same one from the Hanji's sister. And I wanted the sister to be a medic so she could be with the Survey corps and the storyline is basically from the start to finish with a bit of post-war Levi. Thank you! PS: sister has glasses like Hanji!

Message to anon: Hi! Thank you for the ask. I won't be doing the full storyline you want as it would mean I would be writing a full fic! For this, I will do their first meeting and post-war.

One meeting, life time of love

Levi x fem!reader

Canon Au, post-war, fluff, romance, becoming a couple, being a couple, reader wear glasses, Hange's sister.

Your first romantic meeting with Levi and your sweet romance after the war.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6 @nbinairyn

"SIS!" Hange poked her head around your door. "Hi!"

You smiled at her. "You're back!" You hugged your eldest sister and pulled back. "How are you?"

"Excited! Mike and Erwin came back with a new recruit and he's so cool!"

You hummed a laugh. "I'm glad you mad a new friend."

She turned a little. "Here he is! He needs a medical check up. Can you do that?"

"Sure."

"Come here, Levi. This is my sister." Hange said your name with pride. "Best medic out there!"

Levi grumbled a bit. "Tch, I'm fine four eyes. I don't need checking."

You smiled sweetly. "I'll make it quick."

He glared at you and then paused a moment. His anger washed away and was replaced with a very strong emotion of attraction and love. His cheeks burned red as he admired your beauty. He had never seen someone more beautiful in his life before.

He moved closer to you as if he was in his own world. "You're pretty."

You giggled. "Thank you."

"You can take your time with me."

Hange pouted. "Excuse you? That's my little sister!"

You ushered her out. "I'm not little, I'm only a few years younger than you and he is near my age, probably a year or two older." You shoved her out of the room. "He's cute. Give me a shot."

"He's a thug. You deserve better."

"You don't know what I want or deserve. I love you, Hange, but I'm giving it a go." You closed the door and walked over to Levi. "Hi, so, let's exam you."

He nodded and pulled his shirt off. "I'm all yours."

You felt your cheeks burn. "You didn't need to take your shirt off."

Levi blushed. "Tch, shit."

You giggled. "It's okay. It will allow me to do a deeper exam."

He gulped hard. "G-Good."

You walked around him and inspected him. You used different tools, made notes and summed everything up. "Well, handsome, you are very healthy after coming from out of the underground. You should be proud."

He buttoned up his shirt. "That's great news."

You nodded. "Yes. It's wonderful. I will say though, you are lacking sleep." You walked up to him and touched under his eyes. "Years of surviving, huh?"

He leaned into your touch. "Yes."

You smiled. "I know how to get some sleep."

"You do?"

You nodded. "Yes, it starts with you coming on a date with me."

Levi's cheeks burned. "I...uh..."

"Oh, I read the room wrong." You nervously laughed. "Well, shit. Sorry."

Levi hurried up to you and held your hands. "Wait. You caught me by surprise is all. I uh, I would like to take you on a date."

You giggled. "I look forward to it."

The sun was so warm on Levi's skin as he sat handing our supplies to families in need. After the war, he helped out at the camps giving food, and you provided medical support. Levi was so proud of you as you healed people and cared for children. Levi recovered quickly from his wounds because of you.

"How you doing there, handsome?"

Levi smiled at your voice. "I'm doing well."

You leaned down and kissed him. "Do you need a rest?"

"I guess I could."

You walked behind him and pushed his chair. "Let's go have a picnic. I made us some tea and snacks."

He felt his heart flutter. "Thank you."

You leaned down and kissed his cheek. "You're most welcome."

A bit of guilt crept into his heart when you placed him in a stunning spot. His eye tracked you as you moved around setting up the delicious lunch. "Um."

You looked over at Levi. "What is it, my darling husband?"

He lowered his head. "About Hange...I should have...stopped her."

You held Levi's hands. "Hange made her choice. She loved us, both of us. She wanted us to be happy. I know at first she rejected us as a couple, but she came around to it." You leaned over and kissed him. "Do not blame yourself for her death. I am proud of my sister."

He smiled. "She was a pain in my ass, but she was good."

You giggled. "She was."

"I'm glad you're not mad or anything at me."

"I'm not." You sat on his lap and showered his face in kisses. "I have the best and most handsome man in the world as my husband. I am blessed."

He squeezed you. "I'm the blessed one."

You leaned down and grabbed Levi's drink. You offered it to him and smiled as he sipped it happily. "I love you, Levi. I'll always love you."

"I love you forever."

You kissed him and hummed. "Maybe I should give you a full medical check up when we get home."

He frowned. "I feel fine. I don't need...oh...oooh, you meant." He blushed hard. "Yes please."

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shes2real · 4 days

Text

Drip ♡

Featuring 🌷: solo sikoa + female!reader

Warning ☁️: smoking & drinking, shower sex, drunk sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, unprotected p in v, cumshot, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, squirting, overstimulation, creampie, 18+ Minors, please don’t interact. Thanks! ୨୧

Word count 🌷: 1.3k

Scenario ☁️: Based on Drip by Ann Marie. Solo & his wife indulge in an erotic evening after leaving the club, intoxicated by lust.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Taking off another outfit, she sighed in frustration as she scanned her wardrobe for the perfect ensemble for her night out with Solo. After a moment of deliberation, she settled on a vibrant pink mini-dress and did a small twerk into the mirror as she admired herself. Just as she began to feel more confident, Solo snuck up behind her, his arms enveloping her waist as he planted a tender kiss on her neck.

“You dancin’ in the mirror and shit, you gon do it on this dick.”

She laughed at his nasty joke before giving him a quick kiss. Solo's touch ignited a spark of desire within her, and she responded eagerly, “Yes daddy,”

With a gentle touch, he lifted her, his strength effortlessly supporting her weight, before setting her back down. He playfully bent her over and thrusted into her as if he was giving her backshots.

“Baeee!”

“I’ma get you right later, don’t even worry bout it,” He smirked, stealing a final glance in the mirror, Solo retreated to the bathroom to complete his attire.

After a while, the couple finally made their way to the bar, both dressed to impress. Entering the bar, they spotted their friends lounging by the hookah area, the dim lighting casting a cozy ambiance. The couple found themselves enveloped in a swirl of laughter and conversation with their friends. As glasses clinked and hookah smoke wafted through the air, Solo’s wife indulged in drinks, with each sip, she grew hornier. Her touch became more lingering, her movements more provocative as she teased and tempted him with every sway of her hips. Solo attempted to suppress her advances, though his resistance only seemed to fuel her desire further.

“Chill out ma,” He groaned as she grinded against his bulge. He gripped her hips as she leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

“Daddy please.“ She begged, her breath against his ear, while her cool tongue traced the contours of his face.

“Not here,” He demanded.

He knew tonight was gonna get crazy from the Hennessy she’s been sipping. Solo took a drag from the hookah as he tried to maintain his composure. Meanwhile, his wife pressed against him, her movements sending a rush of heat coursing through him.

“Wanna feel you when you deep inside it.” She slurred as she looked at him with desire.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, she began to wine against him, the movement causing her dress to rise up, revealing more than intended. Solo masked his simmering anger with a facade of nonchalance, positioning himself behind her and pulling her close to cover her bare ass. Despite his outward display of affection, a storm raged within him, fueled by a mix of arousal and irritation.

With a firm grasp, he lifted her effortlessly, swiftly ushering her out of the club.

“I’ma fuck yo ass up.”

“You promiseeeee?” She giggled. He rolled his eyes, silently fuming as they made their way to the car.

As they drove home, she babbled and slurred all about their past sexual encounters. Solo's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched as he reprimanded her.

“Yo ass need some water or sum, damn.”

“Ooh, it taste like Aquafina, gon and take a sip,” She hiccuped before opening her legs. As he closed her legs with one hand and the steering wheel clenched tightly under the other, a low, guttural mutter escaped his lips, barely audible.

As they stumbled through the house, the faint aroma of the hookah smoke and perfume clung to their clothes. Despite his own slight intoxication, he moved carefully, guiding her as they made their way to the bathroom.

After a hassle, the couple finally made it into the shower. The warm water cascaded over her, gradually blocking the haze of alcohol yet only adding fuel to the heat radiating from between her legs.

“Can I have some dick, now?”

“Ma—

“Please?” She whined.

He turned her around, making her face the wall. Bending her body and sticking her ass out, she anxiously pressed herself against him. His hands moved down her spine, rubbing his length over her folds.

She stood on her tiptoes to allow him to slide in, leaning against the shower wall. With ease, he slides in and pushes her back against his dick.

“Yo shit drippin’,” He groaned.

Her pussy grips him tightly as she begins to throw it back on him, watching his every reaction.

Solo’s hand moves down to her clit, rubbing her as she moaned out and decided to throw it back harder against him. This angered him as he realized how much she’d been acting up today, he was supposed to be fucking her not the other way round.

He growled before grabbing her neck and slamming inside of her. Her eyes rolled as she screamed out, “Yessssss!”

“You like when I beat this pussy up?…”

No response, just broken sobs escaping from her mouth.

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes! Fuccckkkk,”

“Like it when you make daddy mad so he can get you right,” Solo increased his pace, fucking into her harder. Her trembling hand reached for his hand as he pinched her sensitive clit. She even tried to inch away from his powerful strokes.

“Why you running?” He chuckled, “Stop allat running. Take this dick, you wanted dis shit earlier.”

Her pussy clenched from the overstimulation, she began to chase her orgasm as she backed into his pelvis again. As her orgasm caused her actions to halt, Solo pulled out of her, gripped her by the ass, and picked her up.

Sliding his dick inside of her, he almost nutted, literally. She was still tight from her previous orgasm. His abdomen tightened as his fingers dug into her.

He decided to taunt her from her earlier remark. “You feel me deep inside you?”

She nodded as she gripped his shoulders tightly. He bit his lip as he fought his groans, “This how you wanted it?”

Her body began to shake as her face fell in between the crook of his shoulder, she was gonna cum again.

“Yes— Right thereeee!”

Solo’s hips continued to grind into her g-spot, “Right here, baby?”

She felt a continuous wave of pleasure wash over her as she chanted his name. Her body grew limp, her legs gave out. She was only being supported by Solo’s hold. But her orgasm didn’t stop him as his quickly approached.

"Fuck." he grunted. Quickly pulling out, she shakily got on her knees. She felt his fingers curl in her hair, holding her tight as he came deep in her throat. She tried to keep going before he yanked her head away. “You ain’t slick,” He laughed, breathlessly.

•••

Her knees were draped over his shoulders, her heels knocking against the muscles of his back, as he dominated her sore pussy.

She'd never been this wet. Solo’s stamina and her sex drive were so compatible. The sex was always amazing but tonight? Solo was giving her a run for her money.

"Daddy-“ she whined, "—I-it’s, please, it's too much, I—" She began clawing at his back as she pleaded for him to pull out. She was coming again, her body curled as he pulled out of her, with an endless gush of fluid escaping her. She was a twitching, sobbing mess. Solo was shocked, to say the least, she’s never squirted.

He rubbed small circles on her clit as he slowly slid inside of her. “You good, ma.”

He soothed her as she jerked, “Got yo ass squirtin’ and shit.”

He kissed her as each thrust overwhelmed him. Her pussy was so good, it was no way he was gonna pull out. As Solo finished inside her, he pulled out gently and collapsed next to her. Both of them were completely spent after their intense session, their chests rising and falling rapidly as they caught their breath. They lay there together, still feeling the sensations from the moments before, until eventually succumbing to sleep.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Thanks for reading babe ☁️🌷

・❥ ・ @kumapassion @romanreignsbae @pittieprincess22 @cyberdejos2 @xoxoril3yyy @rwbypatootie @solefae @empressdede @adoreesun @alyyaanna @shantinextdoor @zombiedixon89 @acknowledge-reigns @nashalis97-blog @browneyedgirlfriend4l @girlnred @theasiaabattoir @glitterywitchstarlight @brienivl @melaninpvssypoppin @nashalis97-blog @truefant4sy

#wwe smut #wwe imagines #the bloodline x reader #solo sikoa fanfiction #solo sikoa smut #solo sikoa #solo sikoa fic #sefa fatu

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blue--ingenue · 10 months

Text

"Evasive Maneuvers" - Part 3

Read the next part

Summary: You've been in love with Sebastian since the moment you knocked him on his arse on your first day. Entering your sixth year, you finally begin working up the courage to confess your feelings when he suddenly becomes the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in decades - and subsequently becomes the school's most eligible bachelor.

Author's Notes: i'm having so much fun writing soft sweet Sebastian :) which means the next part is, of course, the sweet Garreth- jealous Sebastian chapter. thank you so much for reading, and for your sweet comments! each one is like a little treat i throw to my adhd brain to get it to write more

P.S. - let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist <3

In the days following quidditch tryouts Sebastian’s presence became increasingly sporadic. He had always excelled in academics, and now that Anne was back by his side for their final two years of school he felt that he truly had the time to absorb everything their professors had to offer. Every minute not spent at quidditch was consumed by a steadily-growing list of assignments. Well, almost every minute. Despite his packed schedule he always found a way to spend time with you. Whether it was a rushed breakfast before his first lecture or a stroll among the stacks at the library, you never went more than a few hours without his presence.

You were just buttering a vanilla scone and chatting with Natty when you heard the familiar cadence of his footfalls. Your cheeks reddened immediately and whatever you two had been chatting about flew in one ear and out the other. Natty noticed your change in posture, took one glance at Sebastian’s approaching form, and gave you a conspiratorial wink before getting up to leave. You shot her a grateful smile as she gathered her books in her arms and took off. She knew you’d fill her in on all the details later.

“Good morning, Natty,” Sebastian greeted as they passed each other. She glanced between the two of you before replying, “Indeed it is.” Sebastian plopped onto the bench next to you and you turned to face him, scone laying forgotten on your plate. His hair was damp, as though he’d just showered, and you pushed away the thoughts that spread a certain warmth through your chest and up to your cheeks. His brown eyes glittered as morning sun streamed through the stained glass windows and highlighted flecks of gold. You smiled as you looked him up and down before once again picking up your abandoned breakfast.

“What?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. You allowed your affection to slip into your smile as you tilted your head. “Nothing, it’s just good to see you,” you replied easily. Sebastian’s popularity had skyrocketed since joining the quidditch team. You were happy for him, to be sure, but the gaggle of girls that sat through his practices and trailed after him in the halls ignited a jealousy in you that you had never felt before. All this culminated in you upping your flirting with Sebastian. He responded in kind, and your back-and-forth banter pulled on your heartstrings with an unbearable ferocity. He had been play-flirting with you since the day you met, but you hadn’t the courage to reciprocate until after he’d taken the fall for you in the Restricted Section. While you meant every word, it was clear that flirting for him was as natural as breathing. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing his friendship if you decided to tell him the truth. At least for now you could almost pretend that he meant every flirtatious wink, grin, and suggestive whisper he shot your way.

Sebastian hummed in a tone that indicated he knew she was holding something back, but he didn’t press on. “You see me every day,” he commented as he ladled porridge into a bowl. He dumped a generous helping of sugar into the mix before spooning some into his mouth. A fleck of porridge stuck on the corner of his mouth and you laughed. You leaned close to him and adopted the most demure voice you could muster. You traced a finger from his cheek to the offending bit of breakfast and swiped it off with the tip of your finger.

“I do,” you whispered. “And each time is just as delightful as the last,” you retreated back to your spot, but not before licking the porridge from your index finger with a deft swipe of your tongue. You held his gaze for a second more before bursting into a fit of giggles. A few moments later you glanced back at him, expecting a mirror image of your own amusement, but Sebastian wasn’t laughing. In fact, he seemed petrified. If it weren’t for the scarlet flush in his cheeks, you’d have suspected someone had hexed him when you weren’t looking.

“Seb?” you asked, now genuinely concerned. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Instinctively you placed the back of your hand upon his forehead before placing your palm against his cheek.

“You’re burning up! Did you wear that extra scarf I told you to wear to practice last night? Have you caught a cold?” you fretted. He swallowed and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, coloring his soft lips a plush red. You couldn’t stop your gaze from drifting down to his lips. Involuntarily, you shuddered. Mortified, you were about to jerk your hand away when he caught you by the wrist. His grip was firm, yet gentle and you suddenly realized how close the two of you had drifted.

“Yes, I- I’m quite…” he was hoarse, voice trailing off as his eyes darkened. You were bewildered. You couldn’t have moved even if you had wanted to. As though someone had snapped their fingers and pulled him from a trance, he seemed to remember himself. He dropped your hand and your heart stuttered at the sudden loss of contact. He straightened his back and cleared his throat. Whatever mood had possessed him was gone in an instant. “I have something for you,” he declared.

You plastered on a fake smile and scooted back, keeping a healthy distance between the both of you. “Oh?” He reached into his robes and pulled out a familiar blue and brown box. Despite the fading ache in your heart, you grinned. You accepted it gratefully and tore into the packaging, catching the chocolate frog before it could make good on its jump.

“When did you have time to stop by Honeydukes? I thought practice ended just before curfew last night,” you questioned before taking a bite and sighing contentedly. Sebastian watched you with a fond smile.

“I flew by Hogsmeade after Imelda dismissed us. I’ve gotten a lot better at sneaking past the prefects in Central Hall since our little escapade in fifth year,” he grinned. You picked up the card tucked into the bottom of the box. A miniature captain of the Pride of Portree stood proudly, her arms crossed and broom propped up next to her. You held out the card for him to inspect.

“I reckon I’ll be seeing your pretty face on one of these in a few seasons,” you teased. Sebastian preened, puffing out his chest and running a hand through his curls. “You think I’m pretty?” he grinned. You rolled your eyes.

“Pretty insufferable,” you responded. This banter was much easier. No room for misinterpretation or wishful thinking. He perked up, hand flying to his other pocket.

“I almost forgot! I got you something else, too,” he exclaimed. A few moments later his fist curled around something you couldn’t quite make out. His earlier blush had returned with a vengeance and he seemed almost…sheepish? He coughed nervously. “Close your eyes,” he murmured. You obliged. Your heart was thumping like a runaway rabbit. So loud was the heartbeat in your ears that you almost believed the boy next to you could hear it. He gently unfurled your right hand and dropped something light and metallic into it. “Alright, you can look,” he said.

You opened your eyes and looked at the small gift. It was a necklace. A delicate silver chain slipped between your fingers and shone in the sunlight. In your palm, secured to the chain, was a crystal. It was rough-cut and encased in elegantly looping silver. You could have sworn it was changing colors with every turn of your palm. You squinted, inspecting the pendant closely. The swirls reminded you of something. “It almost looks like - ”

“Your ancient magic,” he finished. With deft fingers he stood, took the necklace from your open palm, and secured it behind your neck. “Well, the symbol, anyway,” he said quietly. He was rubbing the back of his neck and hadn’t yet met your eyes. You didn’t realize you’d been grinning until your cheeks started to ache.

“I bought it from a traveling merchant as I was leaving Honeydukes,” he explained. You gazed down fondly at the little crystal as he began rambling. “It’s a ‘mood necklace.’ Not like one of those muggle trinkets, mind you. This one actually changes colors to match your mood.”

He noticed you still hadn’t said anything and went on, “Not that there’s anything wrong with muggles! I know you came from a muggle orphanage before coming here. If you don’t like it, I could always return it. Or, er, I’m not sure the merchant will still be there, but-”

“Sebastian!” you cut him off with a laugh. “I love it,” you assured him. He grinned, his relief palpable as his shoulders visibly released the tension he’d been holding.

“I mean, I knew you would,” he said, chin tilted up with a confidence that was so typically Sebastian. You turned the crystal, trying to catch the moment it flickered from color to color.

“What moods do each of the shades correspond to?” you wondered aloud. His gaze flickered away from yours as he replied, “I’ve no idea. The merchant gave me a bit of parchment that explained each of the colors, but I must have lost it on the flight back.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. “Either way, thank you. Sebastian. It’s truly beautiful.”

“Yes,” he breathed. Your gaze flickered to his, and for a moment, a fleeting second that felt like forever, his eyes weren’t on the pendant, but on your face. You cleared your throat.

“We should head to Potions,” you said, trying to bury the wanting and wishing feeling you had become all too acquainted with over the past few years. Sebastian nodded, his gaze unreadable, and gathered both of your books before leading the way to your first class.

Taglist: @snickette, @findingtruenorth23, @plooloo, @paganicher, @smilesworldsposts, @snoozebun

#sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy #fanfiction #angst #pining #idiots in love #mutual pining #fluff

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farfromstrange · 1 month

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Watching the AMC tv adaptation of Anne Rice’s “Interview With The Vampire”, I got back into the mood of writing for my series ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heart’, but since it’s been a while since I’ve written anything fantasy-related, I decided to practice my vampire writing a bit more with a little One Shot. I’m going to tease it before I post it. I’m too excited not to. This baby will be yours tomorrow, and I will use my Matt Murdock Tag List for this, but if you want to be tagged (and you haven’t filled out my Tag List Form), let me know and I’ll tag you for this! Anyway, without further ado, here is a little sneak peak…

Interview With The Vampire

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Vampirism, angst, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral sex, unprotected p in v (but it’s with a vampire, so not sure if that counts as a warning), blood play, biting, marking, scent kink, mentions of suicidal thoughts, violence, age gap, Dom!Matt, long One-Shot (it’s a word-count beast)

ACTUAL SNEAK PEEK UNDER THE CUT

[…]

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him around, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

[…]

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock smut #daredevil x reader #journalist!reader #alternate universe #interview with the vampire #reader insert #charlie cox

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harrieatthemet · 1 year

Text

One Is Enough III

HERE Y’ALL FUCKING GO DAMN. HERE, TAKE IT.

Everyone is practically drowning in it now.

The silence is insufferably deafening; swallowing the entire room whole, its occupants along with it. The most begrudging, loudest silence of all is radiating from the seat next to yours. Harry’s painfully quiet. And if you’ve taken notice, it’s likely so has everyone else. It’s likely why Anne leaps at the opportunity to jump in.

“Well,” her sigh is sing-song as she smiles, happy to be the one to break the tension, “s’wonderful news, honey. Absolutely wonderful really, I could just cry!”

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit to relishing in some form of relief. Keeping a pregnancy under wraps is mentally exhausting and putting it out there on the table, almost literally, was an un-ignorable weight lifted from your shoulders. Though it became his burden to carry, evidently, as Harry slides his wine glass back onto the table without uttering so much as an exhale.

The subtle screeching of her chair across the floor is muffled by the onset of congratulations from everyone else; Gemma gushing on about having a nephew (she hopes), Clare and Mitch keen on the idea of a friend for their own little guy.

You accept the slew of kisses and hugs from your mother in law, agreeing to send her ultrasound photos and share name ideas once you have them. Harry keeps mum; expression stoic, barely moving when his mother rubs his shoulders and peppers him with kisses in congratulatory bliss.

There’s an onset of emotion, perhaps a little bit of everything all at once; anger, embarrassment, disappointment, befuddlement. hostility. The list runs onward and is so overwhelming that he, himself, is truly battling which one to address and digest first.

He’s like this for the rest of the evening; quiet, blank, and mentally removed from the physical atmosphere. You’ve been watching him out of the corner of your eye every so often, unable to ward off the ever-growing sense of uneasiness. The expression on his face hasn’t moved once, not even when everyone sang happy birthday and cheered as he blew out his candles. A weak smile was all he could muster up and give, though it was quickly wiped off.

“No wishes needed,” Clare inquires, “(Y/N) gave you the best one!”

Everyone hums in agreement except the two who are actually expecting. Of course, you smile meekly at Clare for the compliment before awkwardly adjusting yourself in your chair. But he says nothing, running his tongue over the front of his teeth behind closed lips. Unbeknownst to everyone else, you know he’s absolutely submerged in fury.

Everyone starts shuffling out one by one, couple by couple until Anne and Gemma are the only two remaining. Once the last person leaves, the door closes and he does the lock, he’s sure to blow up; it’s almost like a silent understanding between the two of you. Each time one of you catches the other’s gaze, he makes sure to shoot you one of those glares. The infamous ‘I’ll deal with you later’ glare.

“Give th’baby lots of kisses f’me,” Anne’s halfway out the door, coat hanging off her shoulders, “both of ‘em.”

About 90% of you wants to get on your knees and beg her to stay; just a little bit longer to wait out the inevitable conversation. But he’s got one hand on the door as he coaxes her out. You might not be ready to talk but he certainly is. If he didn’t love her as much as he did and adore her to death, he’d have given Anne a little shove out the door (as lovingly as possible, obviously) and shut it behind her. Biting his tongue this long and taming the fire in his gut was starting to feel impossible. He was one more photo of Anne’s recent holiday away from spinning off the planet.

The sound of the lock to the front door, even from all the way down the hall into the dining room, is almost blood curdling. The weight his footsteps are much, much worse. Each click of his heels against the wood sounded like impending doom. Closer, closer, and closer until he was standing right behind you.

You can feel his eyes on the back of your head as you clean up the table, “Did you want to save the wine or-”

“(Y/N) I don’t fucking care about th’fucking wine.”

Upon turning to face him, perched like a statue in the archway of the door, you really really wished you’d just kept your back to him. The expression of his face is taught, riddled with aggravation as the line between his eyebrows becomes prominent as ever. With lips tight-lined and pressed, body stand-offish and tense, it’s obvious it’s taking whatever shred of self restraint he’s got in him right now to keep from flying right off the handle.

“Ok,” you huff in annoyance, “I’ll toss it than.”

The spout of the bottle is in your hand, gripped so tightly your knuckles have to be ghostly-white at this point. He knows you’re trying to dance around this because your execution earlier was so wrongly mishandled. And he scoffs when you walk past him out of the dining room and down the hall; mum and without word, head intentionally low to avoid eye contact.

“What the fuck is wrong with you” he growls, hot on your heels as you do the roundabout into the kitchen, “I mean, really (Y/N), how long have y’known about this?”

It feels like he’s about to crawl out of his own body, he’s so angry. Especially because you’re keeping your back to him, as though somehow emptying out the wine takes precedent over this conversation. And when you're done with that, you just move onto cleaning something else. Like he isn’t even there.

“Tell me how fucking long.”

The escalation in tone, as well as volume of his voice lands exactly how he wanted it to. The water in the sink stops running and and the clinking of glasses comes to an abrupt halt. His eyes are trailing your body, watching you begin straightening it out before turning around to look him right in the face.

“Three weeks,” still, you’re a lot smugger than he’d like you to be, “give or take.”

He swears he can feel the blood in his body come to a complete boil. There is no rash way to address this. Or you. Desperately, he tries to sift through his thoughts and find the right way to express what he’s feeling. Three weeks is almost a month; that’s what he can’t quite manage to wrap his head around. Of all the moments, big and small, within the past three weeks you had the opportunity to tell him you chose tonight; with an audience sat congregating at his own dinner table.

When you turn to go back to the dishes as though you don’t see him vibrating with anger, he swears he might actually jump out of his own skin. And he’s honestly astounded at the audacity you’re exercising in a situation as heavy as this one.

“Y’out of your bloody fucking mind?” he snaps at you before stomping over to the sink, moving your hand and shutting the water off again, “Sat on this f’three fucking weeks?”

“Isn’t that literally what I just said?”

“Christ enough o’ that, really.” he’s truly struggling to practice patience with you right now, especially when you match his anger with sarcasm, “Y’like a petulant child, (Y/N), with th’attitude. Grow up.”

It’s admirable, really. There’s an incredibly stark difference in demeanor between you two. He’s writhing with enmity and embarrassment right now, but you’re smugness is unmatched. He would’ve thought hurling an insult would get you to waiver. Evidently, you’re not interested in backing down or waving a white flag because the expression on your face doesn’t even flinch. Unfortunately for you, neither is he.

“Had plenty of opportunity t’speak up,” and his face is so close you can almost smell the remnants of wine on his breath, “but y’decided t’cause a scene, right? Had t’do it for an audience, give ‘em a show.”

“Fuck you Harry, seriously,” and there it is, now he’s got you riled up, “I didn’t wait for your birthday dinner to drop the pregnancy bomb and unload our marital bullshit.”

A brief puzzled expression flickers on his face. What about this pregnancy was unwanted? You take notice, though it’s brief, that he really does appear to be confused by that remark. But he reminds himself that he’s mad and has to channel that back.

“Wanted t’embarass me f’something, than?” he asks, voice lower than before but still louder than you’d like, “What’d I fucking do tha’ was so awful you would keep a secret like this from me? Y’should’ve told me.”

Honestly, you have to blink a few times to keep from crying. This is definitely not how you wanted to tell him you’re working on your family of three becoming a family of four. And past all that anger is an abundance of pain; you can see it just from the look in his eye. He’s angry you embarrassed him but he’s devastated you didn't allow him the privilege of being the first to know.

“What did you do?”

You repeat his own words back to him slowly, as though you can’t even begin to understand why he’d ask something that stupid. All he does is stare, maybe blinks once or twice. He doesn't say anything though; just waits for you to spit it out and give him a reason. You owe him at least that much.

“Oh, yikes one is enough mum,” you pull a face mockingly as you do a shit job at mimicking his accent, “another baby is years off, right babe? Right love?”

“(Y/N) I didn’t-”

“All that ‘two under two sounds so bloody fucking awful’ bullshit tonight” you drudge on and, God, that accent is so bad, “and you wanted me to tell you? You’re shocked that I didn’t jump up and down with a positive Clear Blue test and ask you for name suggestions?”

The tension in his body starts to settle a bit before he can completely relax his shoulders, dropping them in total defeat. If you wanted to make him feel terrible you did an absolute stand up job. The guilt that’s starting to swallow him up is all-consuming, especially because he can see tears start to pool at your water line. Truly he had no idea. You know he just runs his mouth sometimes. He talks just to talk and he’s not fully aware of the capacity of what he’s saying. He’s always been so comfortable around you where he’s never felt the need to filter every thought. Clearly he should start.

He completely comes off the defensive when he lifts his arm and extends his hand out a little, using his thumb to wipe away a spilled tear. With that he feels you start to soften a bit as well, relaxing your body and letting any renewing tension go with an extended exhale.

“Hate seeing y’cry,” he pouts, “Especially if it’s ‘cos o’me.”

You sniffle, “Then don’t be a dick.”

“Christ, would y’let me apologize, please?” His smirk makes a more prominent indent when he evokes a defeated chuckle from you, “M’so sorry, baby love. Just wanted t’keep mum off our backs ‘n thought we had time t’plan it all out.”

He feels like his apology isn’t really good enough. The guilt is so obscure he can’t even articulate how badly he feels. Truly the last thing he’d ever want is to create an environment where you felt like you couldn’t tell him anything. Which seems to be the exact thing he managed to do here. He wants to undo it so badly.

“But this,” he hums, crouching down until he’s eye level at your stomach hand his palm is flat on top of it, “this is amazing, yeah? Angel baby - a big sister, s’amazing.”

Your tone is cautious, but you peer down at him as he glances up at you, “So you’re not.. upset.. about another baby?”

“Upset?” His exclaim is playful as he stands back up, hands rubbing your shoulders and then your arms, “M’thrilled, button. S’like our rainbow baby. But oi, next time tell me first, yeah? Makes me feel cool t’ know stuff before everyone else.”

He’s so relieved to hear you laugh; even more relieved when you pout your lips out to ask for a kiss. To which, he happily obliges before smashing them with a slew of kisses. And as a way to settle the score, he wants to be the one to tell Angel Baby.

“We gotta celebrate the right way,” you hum in turn, “but you pick! However you want. It’s my apology to you.”

“Sex,” he breathes out in such relief and desperation you almost audibly snort, “my God, so much sex.”

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