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the-artsy-plant · 7 months

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An Egregious Error || Alpha! Silva x Transmasc! Omega Reader TEASER

Ok so I woke up and decided that I would write an alpha silva x omega reader fic (I did not in fact wake up, this was an indulgent distraction from my 200+ pages of course readings *pls save me*), so here's a little teasing preview of the first part while I take my sweet time writing the smutsy bits >:)) enjoyyyyy

TW: omegaverse, alphom dynamics, a little bit of physical violence cause Silva would do that, pre-heat symptoms, implied sexual content (and some horny ahh descriptions), a little bit of omegaverse style dubcon, ya know, all the works >:)

without further ado, enjoy!

You let out a shaky sob, hands resting atop your lower abdomen as you hid in your dorm within the servants’ chamber. Your body was so desperately hot; your boxers were entirely soaked through; your blood was pumping loudly in your ears. The paperwork you were supposed to take to Master Silva’s office was scattered across the tile floor, your duty long forgotten as your pre heat symptoms fell upon you.

Out of all the days your heat could have started, it just had to happen today. Not during your two weeks of paid leave, oh no, it just had to start the day before. It had to start while you were working closely with an alpha.

Truly, you were terrified. This was your first heat cycle far from your home, a safe haven for omegas. Rather than having the luxury of spending your two weeks of heat in a safe, isolated room far from the presence of alphas, you had to spend it in the territory of your boss, Silva Zoldyck, the definitive paragon of alphas.

Silva was a tall, incredibly well-built specimen. He easily towered over you, even more so than most alphas. His presence was so overwhelmingly dominant. His rumbling baritone voice was erotically commanding. He embodied the role of alpha perfectly.

You knew that the second he found you, it would be over. His pheromones would easily trigger your heat; your resolve would die and you would find yourself perched atop his lap, desperately begging to be bred by him.

Such was the reason why you were sobbing upon your floor. You weren’t ready for this. You weren’t ready to throw away your autonomy in order to serve your biology. You weren’t ready to be bred until you couldn’t walk any longer. You weren’t ready to serve your duty as an omega.

You foolishly hoped Silva would forget about the papers. You hoped he would stay in his office far far away from your quarters. You hoped you would be able to make it out before your heat finally crashed down on you.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Any shred of desperate hope within your being died when you heard the rhythmic pounding on your door. There was no mistake; it was Silva knocking.

You took a deep breath, desperately scurrying back to the farthest corner of your room. After you were pressed firmly against the wall, a safe distance from the alpha on the other side of your door, you willed yourself to speak.

“Y-yes?” You shakily cried out, praying that your voice sounded somewhat normal.

“(Y/N), I asked for those papers an hour ago,” Silva’s deep voice sounded. You grimaced as you felt the effects of his sensual tone dampen your boxers even more, the thin grey fabric thoroughly soaked through now.

“Where are they?” He demanded, a hint of an annoyed growl present in his throat.

“I-I’m sorry, sir, I w-wasn’t feeling well earlier!” You replied, trying to suppress the whimpering whines that swelled in the back of your throat. “I-I’ll try to get those papers to you soon.”

“I need them now, (Y/N),” Silva replied, his annoyance crescendoing with your non-compliance. “Either you open this door and hand them to me right now or I will break down this door myself.”

You whimpered softly at his words, rushing onto your hands and knees. You could barely even move to grab the papers as your preheat was forcing you to succumb to your innate desires. The only movement that even felt feasible was to scramble to your bed and create a nest; moving all the way to the door to the other side of the room was out of the question.

But nonetheless, you grabbed each and every paper, whimpering as you accidentally creased one of them in your trembling palms. You shakily rose to your feet, wishing to still maintain a vague air of professionalism before being met with your irate boss.

With each wobbling footstep, you steadily made your way to the door. Though each step felt like a mile, you were determined to reach your goal.

You were only halfway across the room when your door burst in two. You felt your heart plunge into your stomach when the two halves of your door fell down. With that, Silva furiously strode inside.

Instantly, against your better judgement, you fell to your knees, letting out a pathetic whimper as you held your papers above your head.

Silva snarled as he snatched the papers from your hands. You shakily breathed as you slowly looked up at the alpha before you, watching anxiously as he looked over the files in hand.

When he came across the paper you had pathetically crumpled, he let out an unadulterated, furiously primal growl. He threw the papers to the floor and immediately snatched you up by your wrists, dangling your pathetic little body above the ground so that his piercing blue eyes could bore into your soul.

“What the hell is the meaning of this, (Y/N)?” Silva snarled as he glared at you, his fury evident by the tight clench of his grasp around your wrists. You tried your best not to think of how absolutely hot it was that he could grasp both of your wrists within just one hand.

“Do you know how important these papers were?!” Silva shouted. “Two of those contracts were for our most prestigious clients. We have been in partnership with them for generations. It is most disrespectful and dishonorable to present such a client with crumpled, torn up pages of a contract!”

“I’m sorry, Master Silva! I promised, I didn't mean to crumple it!” You pleaded.

“(Y/N), you are a Zoldyck Butler. Out of hundreds, you were selected for your precision, dexterity, grace, stamina, and efficiency. What the hell could possibly be your excuse for such an egregiously stupid, infantile mistake?”

“I-I’m sorry, Master Silva! Fuck, none of t-this was supposed to, fuck, happen. I was scheduled to leave tomorrow, but…um, my, uh, my…you know, it, uh, came…”

“Your what came?” Silva growled, shaking you slightly to emphasize just how pissed he was.

“My pre-heat,” you finally, pathetically whimpered out, tears beading in your eyes as you desperately prayed that nothing would happen to you. “It just started a few hours ago…”

Silva fell silent. He blinked slowly as he processed your words. He gently pulled your smaller form close to him, giving your neck an experimental sniff, groaning as a wave of pheromones ensnared his senses.

You let out an agitated whine, cursing yourself for letting his dominant display unleash your heat. Your scent glands felt hot and throbbed as Silva breathed in your delicate, sweet, but fearful pheromones.

“I see…” Silva muttered.

You were absolutely bewildered at your boss’s reaction. What the actual fuck was this supposed to mean? You desperately squeezed your eyes shut, unable to look your boss in the eye at this moment. You prayed desperately to any higher power there was for salvation, grace, and clarity in this moment.

You let out a quick, frightened gasp as your boss suddenly released you from his grasp, only to immediately scoop you up into his arms. You let out a confused hum as you looked up at him. Now you were really praying for clarity.

“Gotoh!” Silva suddenly barked. You heard the head butler’s footsteps sound as he entered your room.

“Yes, Master Zoldyck?” Gotoh replied, bowing before Silva.

“Straighten those papers out for me,” Silva said, watching as Gotoh picked them up from the floor.

“I expect these on my desk, pressed and restored, by tomorrow morning. And send out word to the Aguiló and Jarjay households, letting them know that their contracts will be delayed. And that we express our sincerest apology for this oversight.”

“As you wish,” Gotoh nodded.

With that, Silva began carrying you out of your quarters, acting as if he hadn’t just shattered your door before interrogating you.

“And Gotoh?”

“Yes, Master Zoldyck?”

“Be sure to order the omegas on our staff heat suppressants next time,” Silva commanded before leaving the room with you tenderly tucked against his chest.

#hxh #hxh smut #hxh fic #silva zoldyck #zoldyck butler au #omegaverse #hxh omegaverse #silva #zoldyck family #omegaverse au #abso dynamics #fic preview #hxh fic preview #silva zoldyck smut #fic snippet #hunter x hunter #silva hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter fic

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channajen · 1 year

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"BATMAN, MEET TEAM PHANTOM" has updated! We are almost to the end now! only 2 chapters left to go! It's all written, just waiting to be posted. This is story 5 in the "Ghosts in Gotham" series. Story 1 is found HERE. Chapter 1 of THIS story is HERE.

Chapter 47 summary: A chapter in two parts: Part 1: A slice into the afternoon thoughts of one Alfred Pennyworth Part 2: The end of an era, as a broken man passes through the veil

Teaser below:

PT 1 Teaser:

Although now, Alfred had to admit that “adopting” five children/young adults at once was a new record for his charge. He briefly wondered if his almost-son was compensating for his lonely childhood by giving a family to extraordinary children in need. Adding to Mr. Pennyworth’s happiness was the inexplicable way that Master Bruce found just the right children to fit perfectly into the family. He never brought home a child that couldn’t find a true home in Wayne manor. Every single one of them had a place within the tight-knit group that made up their family. The new arrivals were no exception. Master Danny and Miss Jasmine were both coming from a horrific home situation; yet, they still maintained a good heart and sense of right from wrong. He was given to understand that Master Danny and his group of friends had provided the only protection that his hometown had from the extra-dimensional incursions allowed to come to Earth through their former parents’ carelessness. The briefing that Batman had given Alfred said that Master Danny had been leading this group of children, quietly saving the planet, time and time again—without any help—for over three years. Yes, the young man—and the ones who came with him—would fit in well with the vigilante family. Master Bruce would be able to help them heal, and train them to be more effective in their various areas of specialty.

The elder gentleman thought back to the early days, when Master Bruce was still learning the art of parenthood—he had made many mistakes, but he learned from them. He had put aside his pride and let himself become a better father because of those times of failing. Alfred knew that Master Bruce’s greatest regret and feeling of failure surrounded the death of his second son, Master Jason. The young man’s revival and road to recovery had been a long and hard one, and wasn’t done yet. Somehow, though, that journey seemed to have become the most precious path that the one known as “Batman” was walking. Having Master Jason back in the family, and reunited with his father gladdened the heart of the old not-only-a-butler.

And look at how far the two of them had come! Just the other day, Alfred’s heart had swelled with pride when he saw Master Bruce and Master Jason chatting quietly together in the library, just like they had done in the latter’s childhood. The “Batman” of five years ago wouldn’t have been able to accept the gift he had been given so gracefully. The older, more tempered father that Batman had become was able to accept his child back home with open arms, and the sense of peace that radiated from the pair almost made the elderly man swoon. He would never admit that he turned away, not for the others’ privacy, but to hide his tears of joy at the return of something he thought was lost forever.

Pt 2: Read it! It's a little sad, though! ;-)

Please enjoy the chapter!

👻👻👻

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cal-kestis · 2 years

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NIK’S FOLLOWER PARTY ★ Music in the Kenobi teaser for @userobiwan 💌

Tales of a Jedi Knight/Learn About the Force Obi-Wan Kenobi Theme (Unconfirmed) ↳ In A New Hope, this mystical leitmotif plays when Luke encounters Obi-Wan Kenobi - going by the name “Ben Kenobi” - in the Jundland Wastes. Since it hasn’t been confirmed as the music behind the first 5 seconds of the teaser, it's possible this could be a new theme for the series borrowing from the original trilogy’s score. Duel of the Fates ↳ Written for the final duel between Darth Maul, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi in The Phantom Menace, this score crescendoes with a choral chant based on an archaic Welsh poem, Cad Goddeu (Battle of the Trees). The English translation reads: “Under the tongue root / a fight most dread, / and another raging / behind in the head.” Battle of the Heroes ↳ For Revenge of the Sith, George Lucas requested a piece that would function as a tragic version of “Duel of the Fates” - one between two former friends. This theme swells at the heart of the climactic duel on Mustafar between Obi-Wan Kenobi and his once Padawan, Anakin Skywalker, now called Darth Vader. Anakin’s Dark Deeds ↳ Looming behind the teaser's title screen and the sound of Vader breathing, this score (introduced in Revenge of the Sith) shadows the newly apprenticed Darth Vader slaughtering the Separatist Council on Mustafar, as the Galactic Republic becomes the Galactic Empire. This piece notably references “The Imperial March,” otherwise known as “Darth Vader's Theme.” The Force Theme Binary Sunset ↳ Williams originally intended this piece to be the theme of Obi-Wan Kenobi. First introduced in A New Hope when Princess Leia gives R2-D2 the Death Star plans, its most prominent inclusion occurs as Luke Skywalker gazes out to the twin suns of Tatooine. As the leitmotif for the Force, it is repeated and renditioned across the musical score of the entire Star Wars saga.

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embyrinitalics · 2 years

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Hey, just as a bit of a brain-teaser/prompt, if you're feeling up to it, based on that recent reblog of BOTW Link in Ancient Armour on horseback, could you do a small one-shot of TP Link absolutely BOLTING across Hyrule Field on Epona towards Hyrule Castle after hearing/thinking Zelda has been attacked/hurt in some way? Idk I just feel like TP vibes paired with that scene would be absolutely divine. Hope you're doing well! Cannot tell you how entertaining your MM streams have been lately.

— Control —

Being Captain of the Queen's Guard was both a responsibility and a privilege—one usually bestowed upon a seasoned knight with the respect of his men and an impressive record to recommend him. So it surprised everyone when a ranch-hand from the backwater southern reaches showed up out of nowhere—lanky, awkward, baby fat still in his cheeks—to claim the position. No one had expected him. And there had been growing pains; challenges to his authority, or very public errors as he muddled his way through castle politics and the unfamiliar etiquette that kept the city afloat.

Control, the queen had told him, an encouraging smile in her eyes. To survive in this place, you must show control.

Link took those words to heart, wanting to be useful to his queen and country and do right by her besides. All things considered, earning the respect of his skeptics didn't take terribly long; he had seen enough suffering and sacrifice and bloodshed to know what it was to be disciplined. He had to admit it felt strange, though, to mute joy, or sorrow, or pride, the way he might rein anger. But that was the way of things here. People hid what they were, and anyone who let themselves be seen was flaunting weakness.

He did have more to rein in than most. Not only because he tended to wear his heart on his sleeve, but because he had a creature living in him that had no concept of restraint whatsoever. Sometimes the Wolf would claw its way out, drumming his fingers during tedious meetings or narrowing his eyes when they ought to have been unreadable. But he always beat it back down, cognizant of appearances. Cognizant of the chaos a wolf on the loose in Castletown could cause.

It all crumbled when a messenger from the Castle burst into their training camp just outside the Great Bridge of Hylia, red-faced, panting, drenched from the rainstorm, with a sealed letter clenched in his fist.

"The queen," he managed, breathless, holding the message out for him. "There's been an attempt on the queen."

Read the letter, the knight in him said. Weigh your options. Don't be rash.

The wolf said, Run.

He'd burst out of the tent, thoughtless and reckless and burning with feeling, and set the horse call in his teeth and blown so hard the signal was shrill and unintelligible. Epona knew it anyway, tearing out of the temporary stables to meet him as he yanked a torch out of its sconce and carrying him out into the night before the clamor behind him could slow him down.

The rain and the muck were awful, drenching them both and sucking at her hooves. But she could feel her master's fury, the way all the parts of himself he normally kept under lock and key were radiating off him now in waves. He knew he was driving her too hard, the foam dripping from her mouth whipping up to paint his shoulder and her neck frothing white under the torchlight. He thought of running as the wolf; but even exhausted, Epona was faster.

They spotted him from the watchtower and called to bring down the bridge. He drove her through town, through the castle gates, and slid off the saddle before she had a chance to stop. Her legs were trembling, her nostrils flared and barrel swelling with each labored breath. But the grooms would see to her.

He tore into the atrium and down the halls, every breathless demand of Where is the queen? met with stunned gestures and choked out, garbled answers. He weaved up into the towers, and finally burst into her private library, where she was sitting up late in front of the fireplace with a book in her lap.

She seemed... fine.

She looked up at him—and then, slowly, her features marred with a gentle scowl. He must've looked as much a mess as Epona: soaked through, shaking with adrenaline, hair matted with rain, wind, and sweat, and too out of breath to cobble together a sentence.

She demanded, "Did you read my letter?"

"No," he admitted, panting, and raked a hand through his drenched hair. "I didn't. No time."

She sighed. "I told him to make sure you read it."

"Then you're—?"

"I'm fine."

The Wolf seemed to ripple out of him with his sigh of relief, his legs suddenly the consistency of jelly and his eyelids so heavy he could've put his head on her couch pillow without a thought of lifting it until the morning. His breath puffed out of him a few more times, that, the fire, and the patter of the rainwater dripping off his tunic the only sounds in the condemning silence. He finally moved, sliding down to the floor on his hip with his back to the furniture and dropping his forehead to her knee, still panting. This position would be neither dignified nor appropriate if there were anyone around. But it was late, and he couldn't imagine anyone following him up here after the scene he'd made. And even if they had. To Twilight with propriety.

He swallowed once, muttered, "Good."

Slowly, softly, her fingers found their way into his hair, across his scalp, and it sent soothing jolts of electricity down his spine. It made all the tension fall from his shoulders.

"I should scold you," she hummed, but when he lifted his eyes she was smiling at him. "But it was very sweet."

He untangled one of her hands from his hair to bring it down to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"Scold me later," he suggested, and dropped his face back into her skirts.

She traced the long line of his ear while he caught his breath. Imagining the wolf, swishing his tail. It made her lip quirk.

He was very sweet.

On ao3 | inspired by this art by @rrliiion

#Legend of Zelda #Twilight Princess #zelink #fanfic #fic request #Mrmilktrayman14 #Control #Zelink Promptly #inspired!fic #I'm leaving on a trip today but you inspired me to whip out a fic first!#hope you like this lil nugget; thank you for reading and for the request! 🥰#and I'm so glad you've been enjoying the streams 😆 thank you for watching!#embyr writes

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littlefreya · 4 years

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Penny Dreadful

Summary: Sherlock is cold, troubled and upset, his mind is fixed on cracking an unsolved murder. It’s the worst time to disturb him. But his hot-blooded little succubus wants to drag him into sin.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (First-person POV)

Word count: 2.5K

Warning: 18+, smut, teasing, bratty behaviour, ass-smacking with a cane, slight cane play, primal play, unprotected rough sex, biting, slight size kink, MaleDom, drug use. Lots of curly hair descriptions.

A/N: Not canon to books Sherlock, obviously, but seeing the photos and teaser Henry as Sherlock just sets up the vibe. So I had to. Many thanks to my beta @agniavateira !! Sorry for the ugly cover art :D.

Title: Penny Dreadful

Sherlock’s study was a bleak, musky chamber deprived of heat, notwithstanding the many candles that burnt at every corner. Perhaps it was the pristine heaps of snow that piled on the ledge of the window, or maybe it was his sullen mood that gave the room a sense of icy wilderness.

Fumes rose from his mouth, vaping into the air. The tawny light kissed his thick mane of luscious, chocolate curls while he stood at the fore of his desk and leered at some parchments that troubled his brilliant mind for whatever reason.

Fist seizing the golden tip of his cane, his thumb stroked the engravings that embellished the metal. Cases that he couldn’t crack often left him frustrated to the point of madness. Those wicked, sly obsessions made him even more irresistible.

My nails bit into the wooden doorframe. Consumed by yearning, a blaze licked up my soul with its monstrous tongue. I often wondered how something so pure as love could be dangerous, to which Sherlock would reply,

“Love is the greatest villain of them all.”

Unlike him, I didn’t care for evil.

The detective unclipped the small chain he kept fastened to his vest and opened the silver locket, gathering a wisp of white powder on the tip of his pinky finger and pressed it to his nostrils. A small grunt escaped him, his eyes turning glassy. The “fairy dust” tended to sharpen his perception and elevate his stamina.

I dropped to my knees at his sight, crawling on the floor. The black silks of my dress made a brushing noise as it dragged on the Persian carpet; my breasts peeked as my corset shifted with every move. Sherlock often said we must imagine ourselves as animals once we let desire play our strings.

Accepting my inner wildness, tonight I was a cougar stalking her prey.

By nature, his senses were sharp as blades, though the substance that streamed through his veins made a more heightened grip of the reality that surrounded him. He noticed and yet ignored me, letting his hot-blooded harlot crave for his attention.

If I was to be the feline predator, Sherlock was the hunter who pursued me for sport. An unfair game, yet nevertheless my favourite.

Bathing in my own little fountain of mischief, I allowed my fingers to sneak toward his cane, brushing up and down the mahogany in slow, languid motion. My slender digits licked along the shaft and my bosom followed, pressing against the hardwood. I dragged myself up slightly to glimpse at my master from below: my Sherlock, always a sight for a famished girl; a colossus, intimidating, and breathtaking. Like a moth to a flame, I inched closer dazed by the light, wanting to bask in its radiance.

The muscle in his cheek tensed, thick brows furrowing. A little squared wrinkle appeared above the bridge of his nose as he brushed through his dark locks with agitation.

“What ills that glorious mind of yours?” I hummed, playful fingertips climbing further up at the length of his cane.

“Something I can’t grasp,” he spat, not giving me the time of day. But I knew he noticed every detail of my wanton behaviour, it was evident by the way his breath swiftly became heavier. Sherlock might have solved crimes by profession, but all women were natural detectives; evolution granted us with a definite survival instinct, learning to read men between the shadows.

“You can possess me,” I offered, fingers scraping over his thumb as it pressed onto the cane’s golden tip. My voice dropped to a whisper while my hand left the cane in favour of his thigh. The muscle flexed and twitched under my sinful touch, the fabric of his breeches stretched as his cock grew with its natural need to fulfil the wet, convulsing void in me.

“You’re distracting me,” he warned, voice low and stern. His lashes hardly even fluttered to my direction.

Every delicate little hair stood up at the sound of alarm yet instead, I inhaled the soot of peril, allowing my hand to travel further and meet his hungry girth. It rose to my touch with gratitude, flinching even harder at the clutch of my claws. The flavour of desire was honey and salt on the tip of my tongue.

The low animalistic vibration of his voice wavered through his solid form. I felt it shudder all the way down to his swelling cock. A cautious man, Sherlock was measured and forbearing to a point that made me wonder if he even liked women at all before we fell into the vicious pit of decadence and violent delights.

It was the contrary that was true: Sherlock loved women very much, his desires were simply… of a certain quality.

His groin was warm and firm against my cheek. The crystalline-blue glare finally graced me with a sight so brooding my bones clattered.

“Later, I need to work.” By the drop of his voice, I knew there won’t be a third warning.

“Later, Later…” I taunted, rolling my chin over his aching need. “All work and no play…”

The gasp that pushed out of my lungs nearly whisked the candles off as Sherlock hauled me up by his hand and bent me over the desk.

“Should I teach you how to respect my time?” He snarled, throwing the skirts of my dress over my head like a cape of the midnight sky. Stars collapsed under my skin at the sensation of his touch exploring the curve of my bare ass. Talons ruptured the tiny blood vessels, squeezing with the affirmation of his ownership.

“No undergarments?” Sherlock growled dangerously while his thumb brushed over my silken entrance, toying with the rich elixir and smearing it further down my anticipating petals. I answered with a deep moan, stretching on this desk with a succumbing plea.

“You came here aimed at disturbing me while I work.”

Settling onto the surface of the desk, I reached forth one arm lazily and chuckled. “You are a great detective, I… oh!”

Something cold and solid caressed my dripping lips, driving between them in slow, calculated strokes. Throwing my head over my shoulder, I noticed Sherlock holding his cane against my sacred cove, staring at it as if I was yet another piece of evidence to be explored. The golden arched-tip pushed-slightly between my petals and entered just enough to make me hiss. For a mere second I wondered if he was going to fuck me using nothing but his cane.

“Look away; this is going to hurt.”

I hardly had time to protest when the first smack hit the pillow of my cheek. A wheeze of disgrace shot from my throat, husky and embarrassing, but not as degrading as the sting the metal left at my burning backside.

“Bad girl,” Sherlock ticked his tongue and lifted the cane midway in the air, a flare of noxious desire bursting in his pale-blue orbs. This time I turned away and shut my eyes, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned dead-white. If only it did anything to dull the pain, the sting was even more prominent, shooting all the way up to my spine where it coiled and forced a strident yip from my clamped lips.

Yet the throb in my cunt was unmissable.

Sherlock knew very well that the hurt allied with pleasure, enhancing it even, like his powdery magic dust.

Another smack and my nails scratched at the wood. Like a sinner nun indulging her own beating, I rode the waves of pain as they broke onto shores abundant with pleasure. There were hidden cracks in our public figure, the place where I burnt and Sherlock ascended as we pried our claws into mortal deadly sins. My senses rose to conflict with every smack and Sherlock took joy in every involuntary squirm of my body.

Tongue pressed between his lips, he hummed as he admired his handiwork, painting my ass in obscene hues of violence. “Had enough? Or want to see which will break first, the rod or your arrogance?” Sherlock chided and pinched my sore cheek to further increase the pain.

Embers whispered beneath my flesh, my legs jolted from the intense beating and by god, the trickle of my juices rolling down the back of my thighs made even a sultry woman such as myself drown in white shame.

Sherlock’s breath was a heavy guttural waft. His cane dropped to the floor and I heard the sound of metal clicking as he fumbled with his belt. I would be damned if I let him fuck me from behind. To have those eyes look away as he entered me was a vice I wouldn’t stand.

“No!” I yelled, bracing on my wobbly elbows as much as I could and turned to face him.

Sherlock’s glare widened, a chill of ice blew through his eyes and his pupils dilated like a crazed feline. “You’re saying no to me?”

“Yes!” I heaved and reached my hands to cradle his skull, pushing myself against the hardness of his body and forcing my lips on his. My kiss was feral, bruising the plush skin on and around his mouth, nibbling and biting until we tasted iron on our tongues. It was not long before I was shoved against the wall, our mouths still united, sharing one breath.

Or rather stealing it from one another.

We were pleasingly unequal. Sherlock was all iron and stone; a bulky, tall man who could tear me apart with his bare hands. I was a little lush thing, so tender, so easily bruised. Despite his power, the desire to claim the tiny wet hole between my legs was unquenchable, reducing him to a savage thing that spoke in raw inarticulate sounds.

He tore his mouth from mine and swept me up from the ground, hiking the skirts of my dress urgently to expose what he coveted the most. I felt the supple velvety texture of his hardness grind against my thigh, smearing the pearly drops of his arousal onto my skin. We both moaned at the sensation and moved to the rhythm dictated by our most primal instincts.

“You want my cock?” He growled and gnawed his teeth at my neck, biting deep enough to break through the skin. I whined in pain, my voice rising a pitch as I writhed against him to ignite the smallest of frictions and serve the demon of desire in me.

“Fuck me!” I begged, sliding my fingers through the mass of soft curls and tugging them with need.

Answering my plea, Sherlock speared into my unruly cunt, brutally spreading me open like he would tear the petals from a flower. I yipped into his luscious hair, my nails tearing into his nape as his intrusion claimed everything my body had to offer. I always found it odd how my flesh would resist and beg for him at the same time, my succulent canal fighting to push him by instinct yet he only further rutted into me. He reached his hands to my sore ass to squeeze my cheeks apart.

“Such a tight little harlot,” he groaned, engulfed by my garden of mysteries. Moaning so loudly, our duet reverberated through the corridors of the house. His lashes fluttered with ecstasy as he pulled back only to force me down on his imposing cock, attempting to rip through my denial. Or it was to tame me as I clenched around his girth, accepting and resisting him at the same time. I was nothing but a vessel for him to fill, and he did so with a fiery passion, glaring straight to my eyes while thrusting deep and hard into me.

Books fell from the shelves nearby as we battled against the wall, my legs sliding up and down his waist, spreading helplessly in the air until my boots pressed into his arse. One of his hands reached for my corset, tugging on the ludicrous outfit to expose my breast. Ravenous, he licked his bloodstained lips, giving me a stare that made my cunt clutch him harder before he sank his fangs to pierce cavities in my tit.

“No!!!” I cried out and gasped as he thrust deeper to punish me for my protest. His heavy cock hit a spot so deep inside me that tears instantly emerged and fell down my cheeks, the pang bringing through a spasm of odd relief.

Blood and saliva smeared along my cleavage as he dragged his lips further, licking and then kissing every patch he bruised. I moaned breathlessly, throwing my head back against the wall as his nimble fingers surveyed my neck, laying small threats to show me how easy he could simply suspend my very basic need.

But my survival instincts already flew out the window the moment he penetrated me.

His lips hovered above mine as he fucked deep into my body, our cries creating an obscure symphony as he continuously slammed into my hilt, harder and more urgent with every plunge. The tears that fell down my cheeks were tainted with the conflicting aphrodisiac that pain brought through. In that instant I was whole, gratified by the friction created of the collision of our wet organs.

“Do it!” I gasped and nodded through glossy stares, swallowing hard to gesture what he already knew. With a swift snap of his hands, his fingers were bruising on my neck and he slammed into me at a furious pace, giving no care for my broken screams.

Euphoria tore through my soul, crashing like hot waves of eternal fire. I came apart around his thick rod crying for God and Satan at once. Sherlock never slowed down, not even as he felt the tightening of my ring around him. It only made him fuck me harder, burying his face at my collarbone, chasing his own rapture at a punishing speed, grunting like a beast. Finally, he shuddered and pumped me full of his thick, silky milk. The muscles of his behind flexed and he ground his hot load into my warm cavern, making sure I received every drop. My hands reached to squeeze his taut ass as my legs clutched him still, wanting to keep him inside me.

As if he had any intentions of leaving as he moaned and spasmed inside me.

Smoke filled the room as few of the candles died; the scent of ash and the musk of our sex seeped through our noses while we remained entwined, shaking in each other’s grasp. Breathless and damp with sweat, Sherlock lifted his face from my neck and glanced at me looking so vulnerable, almost appearing lost. I moved my trembling hands back to his face, my thumbs caressing his sharp cheeks.

“I know I am harsh…” he murmured, his eyes digging into my heart with nothing but a gaze of despair, “but please don’t ever leave me.”

My face fell at the sound of his words, my lips parting with awe. My detective could solve the most outrageous crimes, and yet he couldn’t realise I was shackled to him for all eternity.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x ofc #henry holmes #sherlock holmes

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afishlearningpoetry · 3 years

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Hi! I've loved Sherlock since 2012 but I'm new in the Johnlock fandom. Your meta is one of my favorite! I totally agree that S4 is John's story/blog/alibi etc, but I wanted to ask you: if this time Sherlock is working with John to take Mary down, why is John jealous? How can he think Sherlock has feelings for her, if Sherlock wants her dead? Also: how do you think John faked his suicide? Is there a body? Maybe it's David's? I really hope it is all John's plan! It would be so smart and badass.

Hi, thank you so much.

It's funny you ask that first question because this (John's enduring jealousy) is a thing that was established the series 3 finale in 2014, and the particular scene in which it culminates is so convincing that it's not an exaggeration to say that currently almost no one knows what actually happened in it, which is in large part due to how manipulative Sherlock acts to John in the latter half of that episode, and also how people believe Mary's stated intentions (especially after her death, which was supposed to make her look like a saint, which definitely worked on viewers) and and underestimate John's intelligence.

Just to recap for anyone else: John's jealousy is conceived when Sherlock and John enter Magnussen's office and Sherlock deduces that the smell of perfume is Claire de Lune, which is the perfume Mary uses. This also comes right after the scene outside the elevator to his office, where Sherlock manipulates Janine into letting them in. John says, "But Sherlock, she loves you," and Sherlock says, "Yes, as I said –– human error," as John looks on, terrified. Later in the episode, John confronts Mary and says that the first thing Sherlock said when he woke up was her name. When Sherlock disappears from the hospital after being shot, in part because he doesn't want to be questioned by the police after who shot him, because he's trying to protect Mary to protect John, Lestrade asks John why he would disappear, and who he would be protecting from whatever happened in Magnussen's office. John asks the same thing, and then looks at Mary's perfume, which is sitting on the table next to him (he doesn’t even consider Sherlock is protecting him). To summarize, he assumes Sherlock is protecting Mary because he secretly loves her and that they had an affair, which in his mind is only confirmed later in the episode when John learns Mary was (is) an assassin, because John draws a correlation between him assuming Sherlock loved Irene and now Mary, to Sherlock being a sociopath and only being able to care about other sociopaths who enable him, which also means he could never love John. He says during the loft scene where they treat Mary as a client, “You two should have gotten married.” There's some comfort in the idea that Sherlock isn't capable of love to begin with, it's another thing to see this. (Something cool about its shape is it's echoed in Mary's wedding earrings, which are hearts with a hole in them, as well as the coin she shoots; "I will burn the heart out of you.")

So there are a couple explanations why John would still be jealous, even after him and Sherlock team up to stop her. The most simple is that it doesn't even matter to John that he's trying to kill her now, because he's convinced he's a sociopath for the majority of series 4, so he doesn't have any lingering feelings about turning against her now because he doesn't care about other people in that way. John isn't jealous to the extent that he wants whatever their relationship was (at least consciously -- there's a lot to talk about how he makes his subconscious insert of Eurus into a brazenly over the top sociopath that Sherlock has to learn how to love, but even then, John still locks himself into a sibling relationship where he's caged up and they can only see each other when there's glass between them to stop him from attacking him), so much as that there was any initial love/connection or sexual affair between them. Throughout TST, Sherlock follows a trail of breadcrumbs he thinks will lead him to Moriarty, but actually leads him to Mary, so the real events of that episode involved him realizing the two of them are working together (if he didn't already realize this at the end of TAB -- there's debate whether he is or if it's still subconscious, but either way he's right on the edge).

So John wants to stop Moriarty, or Mary for working for him (she's working with him, but they wouldn't know this yet, because it's being saved for the series 5 reveal), which compounds his anger at her betrayal, but he doesn't know that right away. He already has enough motivation before that because he still thinks they had an affair. Sherlock doesn't have sex with Janine, but John thinks he did. John doesn't even understand what that kind of relationship would be like, if there are any emotional feelings involved, which is why he asks, "So how does it work, you and the woman?" at the end of TLD. His jealousy is also magnified by the idea that he fell for a sociopath in Sherlock, so a lot of it is just swelling self-hatred that John can't escape, that keeps growing and growing until he's choking on it by series 4, so it still doesn't matter Sherlock is trying to kill her now. In the teaser for series 4 they were both drowning.

If anything, their covert mission being focused around her means that John probably can't stop thinking about it. If Sherlock loved her then he could he do this now?

Then he looks at himself, and he starts thinking about how whether or not he ever loved Mary to begin with, and then he thinks about how Mary was supposed to be different, and oh John actually fell for a sociopath for a second time just like Sherlock, so is he any different? Of course he should know that he is, even if he's wrong about Sherlock, but then he starts thinking about how his love for Sherlock actually makes him a monster, and that his love for him isn't real either because it could never be the same thing as him loving a woman, or maybe he could never love anyone to begin with, not really, and that maybe John himself isn't real either, maybe he isn't even a real person, or a person who should stick around at all. But no no no, first he has to stop Mary. He has to stay around to stop Mary. His goal for the first two episodes of series 4 isn't about trying to fuck Sherlock anymore, it's all about stopping her.

Of course we know that he can't stop thinking about it, because not only does he write Mary and Sherlock having a perfect relationship that doesn't exist where John is considered more worthless than a dog (calling back to Moriarty calling John Sherlock's pet by the pool in TGG), the cheating subplot established two episodes ago (and clarified by Sherlock in TAB, which is another explanation, but he isn't even aware that John thinks they had an affair), isn't addressed at all, even on the surface text/blog level in series 4. It's just dropped completely, which went over the heads of most viewers watching because they didn't even pick up on or remember it from before (fitting because it's not mentioned in John's blogs in series 3 to begin with iirc). John does this to absolve both himself and Sherlock, because there's no way he could resolve it without offering motivations for either Sherlock or himself to kill her. He finds ways to sublimate it though, because he has to make them flawed so it's a believable event. So to answer: John's jealousy is a huge, invisible, growing monster sitting at the heart of series 4 and everything that happens in it. It's largely irrational and trying to ask him why he would even think any of this would just make him retreat further into denial of the truth: that Sherlock loves him, which he's deeply afraid of.

When Sherlock manipulates John into thinking that Mary shot him non-fatally in order to cover for herself while saving his life, he's lying, because he literally died lmao. But he decides not to let John in on the secret, which is a huge mistake, and John can see through what he's doing and that Sherlock is using him, but he plays along in order to take Mary down. Sherlock underestimates John, so it's only fitting that Sherlock underestimates John again when he fakes his suicide, because John doesn't let Sherlock in on his secret, in part so he can know what he felt during and after the fall, because all of this is about the fall (and John tries to communicate with Sherlock while Mary is manipulating him, as we see at the end of TST with John’s note that is also dropped from the plot completely) (Sherlock does let John in on their plot to stop Mary sometime after the loft scene, but by that time John's already operating on his own to some degree, because Sherlock still isn't letting him in on the biggest secret of all that would explain everything to John). So because John is mastering the level of deception Irene, Sherlock, Moriarty and Mary (and Emelia Ricoletti) showed him over the course of the show, he would also leave a body behind. He would have planned it extensively, and part of that is by manipulating public opinion. He even gets really blatant with his prose and has himself sitting in front of a carpet of blood (calling back to how Sherlock sees the pile of blood before Mrs. Carmichael, explained here). You already saw this post but he would also need a body to draw Mary out of hiding by making the suicide convincing, which he also does by writing so many suicidal themes into series 4 so that when news gets out and people in-universe (and real life) react to his death, they put the clues together, which is like a double deception in order to make it seem impossible that he could have faked it. (#tw suicide)

So these plot points have been ongoing for seven years now lol and they’ll be key to series 5.

#sherlock bbc #john watson #mary morstan #sherlock holmes #john x sherlock #tjlc #meta #series 4 #series 3 #his last vow #the six thatchers #the abominable bride #the lying detective #john's blog #also about David: I haven’t seen anyone write about that in a while and I need to refresh my memory on the possibility #so I can’t really answer that one

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zalrb · 3 years

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SE Fanfic Teaser - Dialogue

I was watching clips of a couple and that prompted this portion of the next part. Which couple was I watching? (Give you a hint: Not Nick and June and not Stelena and it’s not a couple I talk about often).

Elena looked out the window to the main road in front of the house and saw Stefan standing outside. They locked eyes, making her lips part as her heartbeat quickened at meeting his gaze and her stomach squirmed with guilt, for being in this house, at this event of the season, peacocking in front of suitors she had no interest in when all of her interest belonged outside. He appeared anguished before looking away and his expression sprung Elena into action, into slipping through the crowded room until she found a way out of the house. Stefan saw Elena leave the mansion and immediately got out of the driver's seat. "Miss, you shouldn't be out here, if Lady Miranda--" "I didn't think about it," said Elena, somewhat dizzied by her impulsiveness. "I just ... left. I saw that you looked upset and---" Stefan shook his head, shook away how pleased he felt that she came out into the night chill to inquire about his mood. "Miss---"

"I wish you would stop calling me that," said Elena abruptly. "I don't like it, the distance it puts between us." "Distance exists between us whether or not I stand on formality, Miss." Elena touched her chest, an instinct, like she'd been stricken. "No, you don't believe that." "Funny thing about facts is that they remain true whether or not you believe in them." Elena blinked, wounded, and Stefan felt instantly regretful, wanting nothing more to never be the person who turned her face into that expression ever again. "Forgive my tone, I shouldn't have spoken to you in such a manner, Miss."

Elena furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head at Stefan's neutral, professional tone. He continued. "I accept whatever punishment you see fit to---"

"Stop it. Stop it!" She nearly yelled. "What has happened? Ever since we've arrived here you've been cruel."

"Cruel? Beg your pardon, that was never my intention." "This is what I'm talking about, you never speak to me this way." Stefan pressed his lips together. "Miss--" "Back home, you are warm, you are funny, you ... you speak to me in a way no one else can, this isn't you, Stefan I know it. I know you better than I know my own family, I know you better than anyone."

Stefan looked at her, his face flushed from emotion, and he cursed the warmth of spring -- he couldn't blame the redness of his face on cold air. He felt both better and worse that she looked as flushed as he did, tears brimming her eyes.

"Are you never going to speak?" "Why am I here, Miss?" "Stefan."

"Please answer the question," he said a little desperately. "Our chauffeur fell ill and I knew you would be able---" "No, this is not my trade, there are other drivers in the city that your family could've employed, it was said that you insisted---" "And it was agreed because you were the most trusted of the staff, even more so than---" "Elena, please ---" "I wanted you here. I wanted you close, Stefan. I would think that would be obvious." "Yes but I would like to know why."

"Because I needed you here," she said simply. "I need you here." "To torment me, I suppose."

Elena took a step back, affronted."To tor --- what would possess you to say such a thing?"

Stefan ran his fingers through his hair, that look of anguish more pronounced. "Because this night, the nights before this one, the nights after this one, it will only serve to do just that." "I didn't realize that this would be such a burden for you," she said harshly. "Yes, a burden. The heaviest burden."

"To be around me?"

"To be here." "This feeling in me. This ..." Elena's voice trembled and she tried to calm herself, starting again. "This ... ocean of ... that swells every time I see y--" She took a deep breath in, an attempt to keep the tears at bay. "I thought we shared in it. That night by the tree, the comet ... I just," she cleared her throat. "I thought you would know--"

"I do know," said Stefan. "I do, except, there is no swell, it's constant. It is ... unbearable," said Stefan, choked. "Made even more so by my duty-bound obligation to deliver you to your suitors. To wait outside while you dance with men worthy enough to share in your company."

"Formalities," said Elena.

"Only because Master Grayson has chosen your suitor already."

"I didn't ask for him, I didn't ask for any of it. You act as if I have a choice in the matter. As if this isn't difficult for me as well. I asked for you to be here because you are my only comfort. With all that is happening, I can't lose that feeling."

Stefan had the overwhelming urge to go to her, to embrace her, to kiss her but her willed himself to stay rooted. "This isn't sustainable. Being here has thrown reality into even harsher relief." Elena said nothing for a few moments. "All those faces in the crowd and I look for yours, every request to dance I imagine your voice, does that not mean anything?" Stefan lowered his head, shaking it. "It means everything," he said. "Yet changes nothing, Miss."

#stelena #stefan salvatore #elena gilbert #the vampire diaries #dobsley #stelena fanfiction #teaser #stelena teaser

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luninosity · 4 years

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Chapter 5 of Ember & Serenity up now! (Has it really been since October last year? In my defense, Character Bleed ate my brain.)

In this chapter: some sharing of information, and some of you were probably right about a villain... (Also Ember’s still-theoretical future niece is almost definitely named Penny.)

Read at AO3 here! Teaser below...

Chance, in the breakfast room, had made tea and found the end of a loaf of rye bread and some goat’s milk cheese and a few more apples; he was sitting on the corner of the table, swinging a leg with deliberately casual poise, when Ember and Serenity came in. His eyes took in Serenity, dressed in Ember’s shirt, and Ember’s slowly building embarrassment. The swallows in the wallpaper swooped, entertained. “Tea? Sugar, or not? I think we’re out of milk.”

“We’re not,” Ember said. “It’s in the back of the ice-box, in the pantry. You just weren’t looking.”

“Oh, well, obviously I wasn’t.” Chance held out a teacup, the final one of the outrageously expensive blue-and-gold enameled set; their father had broken most of those in fits of petulance. “I’ve been trying very hard not to look at certain things in the last few moments. Someone explain how that happened, before I have to explain my brother’s decisions about bedroom partners to any royal ministers.”

Serenity took the teacup and put a decent amount of sugar in. Chance gave him an approving nod.

Ember sat down heavily in the chair closest to his brother’s legs. Chance handed him another teacup—the last ruby one, with the chipped handle, and no sugar—and waited.

“I told your brother you wouldn’t like what I have to say.” Serenity perched on the broad arm of Ember’s chair, a message about allegiances and also about not being tied down. “And that, as you put it, happened because we both wanted to. And it was splendid, and it will most likely happen again, in case your ministers would like to know. Shall we get to the terms of our sharing of information? I want some assurances, first.”

Ember shifted, opened his mouth, subsided. Guilt nibbled along his bones and kept him quiet. He drank some tea instead. It was very hot.

“I’m open to negotiation, generally speaking.” Chance waved a piece of bread and cheese grandly, a king leaving crumbs for accidental emphasis. “Start with what you want, aside from my brother.”

Ember winced.

“I do want your brother,” Serenity said. “I…enjoy his company. Leaving that to one side, I would like protection from any retribution, both from the client in question and from the Crown. I would like your promise, with documentation to prove it, that no one will send guards or wizards or soldiers to toss me into some sort of prison after the fact. And I want to be free to leave. Whenever there’s a ship bound for Alba. Passage arranged by you, naturally.”

He was delicate and pretty and young, dressed in Ember’s borrowed shirt; he was built of brazen self-confidence and sharp experienced eyes, sipping tea from a king’s mismatched teacup. He had not asked for money or personal gain; he had asked for security and for freedom to go. Ember was baffled by him and delighted by him and abruptly overcome by a swell of want for him, an aching desire to kiss him or put arms around him or kneel at his feet.

I do want him, Serenity’d said. About him, Emberly Lyon. Unflinchingly. To Ember’s brother and King.

“Most of those should be possible.” Chance slid the tea-tray over; Serenity picked up some bread and spread goat’s cheese atop it, unhurried and leisurely. “The ship will depend on the captains themselves and their schedule, though we should have some wool shipments coming in next week, and I expect at least one merchant trader would be happy to take you along with stores of salt and mead and woven carpets, upon departure. Protection…I’m hardly planning to do anything to you, given that you appear to be making my brother happy, and—”

“Is that a condition? My freedom will depend upon his pleasure?”

“Not at all,” Chance said. “Only pointing out that you’re in fact already sleeping with the person who’s the best equipped to protect you. I told you we can’t afford any regular guards. I would, however, prefer that you not steal from anyone else, while you’re here.”

Their eyes met, sparkling green and calm hazel, across teacups.

“I’m here,” Ember grumbled. “Do I get an opinion?”

“That depends,” Chance told him promptly, “on whether you’re thinking with your…happiness, let’s say. How are you at being a bodyguard? Protective magic?”

“You certainly get an opinion.” Serenity set down the teacup just to take Ember’s hand. “Heroes often have them. Though your choice of taking a thief you’ve just met to bed might not inspire confidence.”

“I’m beginning to think it was an excellent choice,” Chance said. “Would you like a job? Some sort of, oh, chief negotiator or representative for dealing with local guild masters on my behalf.”

“Ah, but you can’t afford to pay me.”

“I’m pretty good,” Ember said, “at protective magic, concealment and misdirection and shields,” and his brother caught his glance, and it was Chance who looked away and then back up, awareness of their shared past visible in his silent apology for momentary doubt.

“Very well, then.” Serenity picked up the teacup again, eyes flickering between them, taking in emotions. “Ember will protect me, and you’ll provide me with written assurances regarding immunity, and safe passage as soon as might be reasonable. And on my end, I’ll tell you everything I know about this particular commission. And about magic, though I truly don’t know much. Mostly what everyone knows. But that’s everyone outside of Lyonheart, of course.”

Chance looked briefly surprised by the last point, having not been privy to discussions in Ember’s rooms, but nodded. “And you also won’t practice your profession while you’re here.”

“Which profession?” Serenity widened eyes at him. “I’m an exceptional cartographer, translator, dancer, knife-thrower, courtesan, acrobat, and judge of fine jewelry, cosmetics, and fabrics, particularly in terms of how well they flatter a man’s backside.”

Chance outright laughed.

“I’ll promise to not accept any proposed commissions here on your island,” Serenity said. “In my other profession. Will that do?”

“I think so,” Chance said. “Ember?”

“Oh, I do get an opinion…”

“As my magician and my brother,” Chance said, serious now under the teasing, a king with a trusted advisor, “yes.”

Ember exhaled. He still had Serenity’s hand in his; he slid his fingers down to encircle that slim wrist. Harder, holding on; Serenity did not flinch, only smiled slightly.

A prickle of shared sensation hummed and sang. A susurration of sea-salt and cherries, a distant murmur of sun-warmed stone and billowing pleasure.

“I trust him,” Ember said. “Not around the crown jewels, if we still had any, but when he says he’s telling the truth, he means it.”

Serenity’s smile grew. “You did, in fact, trust me with your crown jewels, as it were.” But his expression was pleased, even a bit startled: Ember believed in him.

“I’m so thrilled you’re finally enjoying yourself,” Chance said, to Ember. “And also thrilled that you’ll vouch for his honesty.”

“Honesty might be going a bit far.”

“How dare you,” Serenity said lightly, and slid down from the chair-arm to land squarely and weightlessly in Ember’s lap. “Insulting my honor. After we’ve had lovely discussions about preferences and popped corn.”

“You stole a book from me and then told me I owed you a favor!”

“Don’t you?”

#ember and serenity #my fic #original fic #fantasy

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atiny-piratequeen · 4 years

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𝓐𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓣𝓲𝓭𝓮-𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓻 #𝟑

(Please click image for higher quality. All teaser images created by @vvnte, thank you again, bby <3)

Text Reads:

Jung Wooyoung & Choi San

‘The Star Crossed Lovers’

The Sailing Masters of Ateez.

Both of them fell in love while being transported to a brothel and planned to escape.

Their attempt failed, and both of them were to be executed, but Hongjoong and Seonghwa happened to walk by and Hongjoong killed Woosan’s captors, freeing them and the others in the brothel.

Deciding to follow the pirate duo, they’re the third and fourth members of the crew, pledging themselves to Hongjoong and gaining immortality themselves

San ran a hand through his hair before he looked down at Wooyoung, smiling fondly at the peaceful way the younger man’s breathing started to even out.

"We'll be in port soon." He whispered, running a hand through Woo's dark hair. Wooyoung cracked his eyes open, smiling up at him, his eyes shining in adoration despite the bruise adorning his swelled cheek.

"We'll run. I can be strong, if I'm with you. We'll see the world and how beautiful it is without these chains on us." He sleepily mused, his eyelids growing heavy. San felt his heart growing heavy, biting his bottom lip hard as Wooyoung drifted to sleep.

"But..I've already seen my entire world. He's right in front of me."

Setting Sail In:

5 D a y s

#fie writes #against the tide #ateez fic #fic teaser #jung wooyoung #choi san #woosan

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animebw · 5 years

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Short Reflection: Skilled Teaser Takagi-san, Season 2

2018 was a damn good year for anime. From Violet Evergarden breaking KyoAni’s staggering production record yet again, to My Hero Academia and Attack on Titan having their beast seasons yet, to A Place Further Than the Universe and Devilman Crybaby starting the year off with a bang, 2018 was lousy with incredible shows around every corner, new classics and cult classics and smash hits almost every season. Yet as a downside, with so many incredible shows competing for attention in such a short period of time, there were always going to be some worthwhile properties that slipped through the cracks, that didn’t get the attention they deserved. Where was the all-consuming love for the trashy family antics of Hinamatsuri, the warmly realized melodrama of Iroduku, the return of Cardcaptor Sakura? At some point, we’re just gonna have to collectively decide to do a full 2018 retrospective and give a second look to all those shows we did dirty the first time around.

Until then, though, thank god for sequels. Because of all the 2018 anime I hoped would get a continuation, Skilled Teaser Takagi-san was one of the most promising. I’m still stunned I got so much enjoyment out a series that essentially boiled down to a middle-school boy being made to suffer for his tormentor’s crush on him for twelve episodes straight, but here we are. Not only was the first season of Takagi-san able to keep its simple formula from growing stale, always finding new and endearing ways for the titular teasing master to rustle Nishikata’s feathers, but it made for a legitimately sweet, even wholesome rom-com that captured the infatuation and giddiness of puppy love better than it had any right to. Can you remember the last time a period joke felt so good-natured and innocent? Because I sure as hell can’t. But that was the charm of Takagi-san; it never crossed over into being mean-spirited or cruel. It simply existed to make your heart go pitter-patter at a very unconventional young courtship, and it succeeded brilliantly.

And now, I’m happy to report that the second season is even better.

Sure, from a structural standpoint, nothing much has changed. We’re still following Takagi and Nishikata’s everyday lives, every episode is divided into several parts, Takagi is always able to tease Nishikata, and Nishikata’s attempts at launching a counterattack are always thwarted by a) his own lack of preparation, b) Takagi easily seeing through his poorly crafted schemes, c) Nishikata’s inability to handle his growing crush towards Takagi, or d) all of the above. The formula is exactly the same as it was in season 1, so don’t come in expecting some radical re-invention. And yet, from the very first episode, I realized that not only was I still enjoying seeing essentially the same joke told over and over again in infinity iterations, it felt like the joke was actually going somewhere. I wasn’t just excited to see these two kids slip into the same routine, I was eager to watch that routine grow. And over the course of the second season, that wish was fulfilled.

You see, despite how simple and straightforward Takagi-san is, it’s got a secret weapon that keeps that simplicity engaging no matter how many times Takagi trips Nishikata up: actual romantic progression. The narrative moves slowly, but it does move. The characters and their relationship to each other do change, bit by bit, so subtly you don’t even notice it until you reach the end of the first season and you realize that these two dorks aren’t the same dorks they were at the start of the show. And season 2 doubles down on that momentum, building off of where Takagi and Nishikata left off at the end of the first season and pushing their relationship to even more adorable extremes. Sure, the first season made me laugh and grin and blush pretty regularly, but this season captures something even more special and ephemeral; the swelling delight of watching something special bloom right before your eyes.

In other words, not only does Takagi-san season 2 double down on everything that made the first so charming- adorkable chemistry, sweet-natured teasing, fantastic performances from Yuki Kaji and Rie Takahashi- it builds off last season’s stopping point and develops into a romance with genuine meat on its bones. This is a full-blown love story now, one so sugary sweet you can almost feel the diabetes creeping in at points. You can actually feel their bond deepen with each passing episode, as these silly games and competitive clashes of wit start molting into something softer, sweeter, more intimate. And it is wonderful. Not a single episode passed without my smile stretching past the boundaries of my cheeks. Not a single sketch didn’t have at least a couple absolutely uproarious moments of comedic brilliance. And with each passing moment, every hand almost held, every touch almost connected, I could feel my chest swell bigger and bigger until the final two episodes delivered a payoff that made it burst. Forget Given, forget O Maidens, forget Domestic Girlfriend and Quintessential Quintuplets, this is the best romance of the year. This is what I’ll look back on once 2019 is over and feel my heart grow three sizes bigger.

Takagi-san is a show I never thought I would love as much as I do. It’s not the most inventive anime, it’s not the most original anime, and outside the main duo it still doesn’t have any characters worth following. But there’s a beating heart at the core of this thing, a heart that’s only beating louder and louder as time goes on. I hope we get more of this show; I hope the Takagi-san anime gets sequel after sequel until the manga’s finally over. But until then, let season 2 stand as a testament to everything wonderful about romance done right. It’s touching, it’s euphoric, it’s hilarious, and it makes even the darkest days seem that much brighter. And thus, I give Takagi-san’s second season a score of:

8/10

Sometimes, the world is kind after all. And next on my summer review schedule, we come to a show I’ve been trying to wrap my head around ever since it started, to little success. See you then!

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #karakai jouzu no takagi-san #Skilled Teaser Takagi-san #summer 2019 #summer 2019 anime #summer 2019 sr

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carmenlire · 5 years

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Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 42

read chapter one

read on ao3

The blinking cursor seems to be taunting him and Magnus doesn’t know how much more he can take before he throws the whole damned laptop off his balcony.

Dot had sent over his latest draft-- always so full of red pen-- but Magnus was ignoring the technicalities for the moment. September was officially in full swing and the next few weeks were dedicated to finishing the last hundred or so pages that would tie everything together. Magnus could pontificate all he wanted about how imperialism had fucked up so many colonies during WWI until he was blue in the face but none of it meant anything if he couldn’t also discuss the long ranging effects on the lands and people that were still being felt today in the twenty first century.

All things considered, his book was coming along swimmingly. Maybe the smoothest it’s ever gone, Magnus reflects with a wry grimace. But still, writing was never easy and he was wading through a mountain of information and condensing it for the everyday reader who didn’t have an academic interest in the topic, who probably just held an idle curiosity when they picked up his book from the history section of their local bookstore.

Deciding to take a break, Magnus stands, rolling his shoulders as he grabs the glass of wine he’d been enjoying while staring at a paragraph discussing the similarities between Zimbabwe and India that seemed unaccountably wordy.

He leaves his office, draining the rest of the wine with a sigh. He’d left his phone on the kitchen counter and as he picks it up, he smiles at the text that’s waiting for him.

Hope you’re having a good evening, babe. I miss you:(

Setting his glass down, Magnus takes a minute to reply to Alec. He feels warmth in his veins and it’s a familiar sensation, even if it does seem absurd.

I figured that if I wasn’t going to be seeing your pretty face, I’d get some work done. My book is becoming a pain in my ass, Alexander.

I miss you too-- How’s recording coming along?

Tucking his phone into his pocket, Magnus goes to refill his glass with the pinot he’d had with dinner, thinking about the past few weeks as he does.

Both he and Alec were busy as hell and a little stressed with it. The fall semester had started and with it, Magnus’s workload had increased immeasurably. Summers were notoriously slow and so the fall was always completely ridiculous. Magnus was only teaching two classes this semester-- an intro to modern Europe and a senior thesis course that he taught each semester-- but as students flocked back to campus, the department was inundated with stressed freshmen and panicked seniors. He had a handful of students he was mentoring this year during their Masters or Doctoral programs and there were two new professors who needed shown around and settled in.

Add his writing-- the book and a lengthy article he was a contributing author on-- and Magnus was in his element, albeit a little more aware of just how much was on his plate than he’d been before.

He blames Alec for that.

Before, Magnus had been able to lose himself in academia and its rigors. He’d loved every second of it even if he did want to tear his hair out and dreamed of nothing so fondly as running away and opening a bar on some far flung Caribbean island.

He still loves it but he's only managed to see Alec once in almost a week, so busy that it felt like he was running around like his ass was on fire. Alec’s schedule didn't help anything either, as he’s also inordinately busy.

Magnus is faintly concerned that Alec hasn’t left the studio in days. Every time they talk, Alec is just leaving the recording booth or getting ready to lay down another set of vocals. The past few weeks, he’s been at the studio all hours, working late into the night. They’d spent a few nights together last week and Alec was a dervish, writing and listening to demos and running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

With a small smile, Magnus wonders that it’s a good thing Alec’s birthday is next weekend. They could both use a day or two to forget about work.

Ah, but who is he kidding. Magnus shakes his head a little, exasperated with himself. He loves this, too. They check in when they have a free moment and they’d grabbed a harried lunch off campus late yesterday afternoon. It’d been twenty minutes of them inhaling burgers and catching up before Magnus had ran off to meet with his strategic planning committee and Alec had hurried off to a photoshoot.

They’d both leaned in for a quick kiss, only for it to devolve into something entirely inappropriate and edging on desperate before they remembered themselves.

It’s nice, this. Magnus has never been in a relationship that was so easy before, even when both parties were consumed with other responsibilities. He’s had partners who’d broken things off because when Magnus was under deadline, when work consumed him and he lost himself in the daily tasks that accumulated so fast in his position, they couldn’t handle it and resentment swelled. They always wanted Magnus to pick them, to cast aside his work and that was something that Magnus would never do. The very thought was abhorrent.

With Alec, however, there’s mutual understanding and exasperated amusement. They steal little pockets of time when they can and sometimes it’s enough just to collapse into bed together and sleep wrapped around each other before dashing out of bed the next morning to face another day.

Magnus is just set to head back to his study and finish his self-imposed goal-- another thousand words before he can call it a night-- when his phone’s vibrating. It’s after nine, too late for anyone to be calling, really, but when he takes out his phone an instant grin lights up his face.

He answers with a quick swipe before bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Alexander,” he greets warmly, resolutely putting off work for a few more minutes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just missed your voice, is all,” Alec says gruffly as something plays in the background. Magnus can’t help but wonder if it’s something from his upcoming album, curiosity killing him while he tries not to ask.

“You just saw me yesterday,” he teases lightly as he settles into one of the chairs in the living room, turning his wine glass absently as he loses himself in a few minutes with Alec.

“Yeah, well, that’s not today, is it?”

Laughing a little Magnus just shakes his head, amused at them both.

The sun sets as they talk, shadows dancing at the edge of the room. Magnus doesn’t notice the time going by until he hears someone yell in Alec’s background.

His lips turn up, tired now that he’s had a little while to decompress with Alec. “Duty calls?”

Alec sighs heavily and Magnus can just imagine his boyfriend running a hand through his hair, annoyed. “Yeah, we want to finish this song before we call it a night. I’ll see you soon?”

Raising a brow as he thinks over his schedule, Magnus offers, “I’m free tomorrow night after eight? I have class until then but we could grab a late dinner?”

“Sounds great, babe-- You could spend the night at mine after?”

“You read my mind, darling. I’ll see you then,” Magnus agrees and then they’re ending the call with last minute goodbyes.

As he hangs up, Magnus plays over the last few minutes. There’d been an odd pause on Alec’s side of things before they’d ended the call and he briefly wonders what it was about before dismissing it.

Maybe he’d ask Alec about it later, he thinks with a shrug.

Looking down at his watch, Magnus groans and tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling. At the rate he’s going, he won’t be in bed until dawn.

Sighing, Magnus stands and resolutely heads back to his study.

His book won’t write itself, after all.

The September sunshine spills through his office window as Magnus grades quizzes from his Intro class. His windows are open and he can hear the sound of students milling about on campus, even from the fourth floor. It’s perfectly mundane and as Magnus marks yet another question wrong on this particular quiz, he’s perfectly content.

The radio is playing low from his laptop and the rest of his afternoon rolls out as he plans to finish grading sixty multiple choice quizzes and entering them into Blackboard before going downstairs for his senior seminar.

His attention fractures, though, as he hears Alec’s name from the radio DJ.

“Hey everybody, welcome to the top of the hour. This is Deluca from Q92 and we have a special treat in store for our listeners this afternoon. Everyone’s seen Alec Lightwood’s Instagram recently-- he’s been posting pictures and teasers from the studio and rumours have been circulating that he’s going to drop his next album soon without notice. While we can’t attest to that, we do have exclusive access to the next best thing. Here’s Lightwood’s brand new single, Feel Something, reportedly the title track for Album number seven.”

Deluca laughs before offering one last teaser. “I, for one, can’t help but think that Alec must be getting some inspiration from that new boyfriend of his, the professor.”

Abandoning his work, Magnus’s total focus is on the music that’s started and he listens with rapt attention. It’s a little different to Alec’s usual stuff but he’s immediately enamored over the muted tones, the thoughtful, almost meandering tempo before he’s swept up in the chorus.

The words wrap around him and he bites his lip, thoughts racing. His own heart aches at the emotion in Alec’s voice and it feels like he’s pleading, full of hope.

It’s strikingly similar to how Magnus has felt the past few months.

The song ends and Magnus turns the radio off, instead opening Spotify and searching for Alec’s profile. The single is already available and so Magnus selects it impatiently before clicking on the repeat button.

He listens to the song a handful of times, losing himself in the lyrics and music and what he hopes to God is the intention behind it before running a hand through his hair and blowing out a heavy breath.

He doesn’t know what it means-- if it means anything at all. Deciding to ask Alec about it tonight, Magnus puts all the questions out of his head as he turns back to the pile of quizzes that need handed back tomorrow.

He keeps the song playing in the background, relaxing in his chair and smiling faintly as he draws a red line over another wrong answer.

The smile is wiped from his face a couple of hours later as he picks up his mail from the department secretary and sees a letter from Otisville.

He can’t help the dread that starts gnawing in the pit of his stomach as he carelessly tosses the rest of the bundle onto his desk, holding the thin letter from Upstate New York with tense hands.

Sitting heavily into his chair, Magnus debates for several minutes before sighing and reaching for his letter opener. Sliding the single page out of its envelope, Magnus unfolds the piece of paper and starts reading against his better judgement.

My darling son,

It has been a while, hasn’t it? You didn’t come to my parole hearing a few months ago and I have to admit, I was disappointed. I had hoped to lay eyes on you again, for the first time in years.

How are you doing, Magnus? You don’t write, you don’t call. You certainly don’t visit. I sometimes feel like I don’t have a son at all but then I am swamped in memories of your childhood, before everything went so terribly wrong.

I listen avidly for any news from the outside. You’re a professor now, I hear, and an excellent one at that.

I’ve read all your books. They’re quite good even if I wasn’t overly interested in the topics discussed.

But your life is so much more than just your job, is it not?

I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re in a relationship now. But not with just anyone, isn’t that right? You managed to snag one Alec Lightwood and for that I couldn’t be more proud.

I’m impressed, Magnus, even if I am a little surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you but here you are, following in the old man’s footsteps.

I couldn’t be more proud.

Tell me, what are your plans? If I may, I’d like to offer a few tips, tricks of the trade I learned along the way that might help you.

Above all, it’s imperative that you act demure. Don’t always make the first move. It’s important that you not rush him-- or at least make Lightwood think that he’s in charge of the pace. That way, before he quite knows what’s hit him, you’ll have maneuvered him exactly where you want him.

However, I’d advise you to say I love you first, if you haven’t already. Emotions are weakness son, so pitifully human, and people fall for soft words and sentiment faster than you’d believe possible.

I can only imagine that you have grand plans for marriage and so I must add this final point: Marry him as soon as you can and do not-- absolutely do not-- sign any sort of prenup or legally binding document. While I’m sure Alec’s a nice enough boy, this is not a love match, after all, and you certainly have nothing to prove.

A year should be sufficient before filing for divorce. I have a few lawyers you can call when the time comes and they’ll squeeze Lightwood for every penny he’s worth.

The truth is, I’m hurt that you didn’t come to me with your plans. I am an expert, after all, and your father. I only hope that now that I’ve bridged the distance between us, you will not hesitate to reach out as well.

I’ve missed you, my darling boy. I’ve been an outsider looking into your life for far too long.

I look forward to your call-- or letter, or perhaps even a visit.

Otisville is only two hours from the city, after all.

Love,

Asmodeus

P.S. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that my sentence was commuted. I will be released in eight years, not the thirty plus I was originally saddled with. I’m very much looking forward to seeing the outside world again, and most importantly, my only son.

Magnus feels resentment and overwhelming bitterness rise in his throat at his father’s words, so cool and cold. Really, he wonders, what could he have expected. Asmodeus could smell an opportunity a mile away and he did so love keeping a thumb on the pulse of the outside world.

It’s just like his father to assume that Magnus couldn’t possibly have feelings for Alec, that he was just playing the long game.

And don’t get him started on the postscript. He’s angry at the panel who allowed Asmodeus’s sentence to be shortened. He’s angry at his father for slithering back into his life with a letter that’s as insidious as it is unwanted.

He’s angry at himself for wishing, even for a moment, that he could have his father back, that they could go back to the way things were before his world fell apart over a decade ago.

Angrily refolding the letter, Magnus shoves it back into the envelope before grabbing his folder for his evening class and dashing out the door.

He doesn’t have time for this, for his father’s vile nonsense.

He’s built quite a nice life without his help or presence and he has no plans to backtrack now.

Magnus lets himself be pulled into Alec’s apartment with a laugh. He finds himself pinned against the hastily shut door and looks up at Alec with amused eyes.

He feels better than he has since he read that damned letter earlier in the day, Alec warm and distracting and just what he needed to mostly throw off this bad mood that had clung to him since he checked his mail all those hours ago.

Dinner had been lovely as always with the two of them enjoying a leisurely meal in a Chinese restaurant that Magnus had been dying to try for months but whose wait list was a mile long.

He has to admit that Alec does have some lovely tricks up his sleeve.

Relaxing against the door, Magnus merely raises an expectant brow as Alec studies him without saying anything. He’s just set to ask if there’s something on his face when Alec speaks.

“What’s wrong,” his boyfriend asks, apropos of nothing.

Magnus’s tone is arch as he replies and he tries to ignore the undercurrent of defensiveness that clings to the words. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Alec dryly explains, “That you were your usual charming self during dinner and I’d go so far as to say we both had a good time. However, I could tell something’s wrong and now I’m asking you about it.”

Breath catching as Alec brings a hand up and sweeps a thumb over his jaw, Magnus lets his eyes close as he feels Alec lean in before nosing along his cheek.

“I’d like to think that I’m getting to know you pretty well. I know when something is bothering you.”

Magnus sighs before opening his eyes just to see Alec considering him with a steady gaze, patient and open.

Swallowing hard against the words that don’t quite want to escape, he manages to smile just a little.

“And I thought that I was hiding it so well,” he mutters to himself before resting his hands on Alec’s back, bringing him a little closer.

Alec huffs out a laugh. “It took me until the appetizer was almost gone to realize,” he admits. “But once I did, it was pretty obvious that something was going on in that brain of yours.”

He doesn’t say anything else, lets Magnus take his time to fill the expectant silence and he has a moment to wonder if Alec wouldn’t have made a great soldier, ducking and weaving and lambasting through the most stalwart of defenses.

He’s grateful for Alec’s patience, even if he’s well aware that he’s not getting out of this without telling Alec the shit he had to deal with today.

“Well, I had nine students fail a quiz that was multiple choice and open book today,” he offers, smiling a little as Alec rolls his eyes.

“That does suck,” Alec agrees. “But that’s not all.”

“I put a dollar in a vending machine on campus this morning and it did that stupid thing vending machines do where you almost get your snack before it stops turning and it's some sort of sugar purgatory where you can just glare through the glass as though you can will your snack to fall down.”

Alec laughs but still shakes his head. “That’s still not it,” he insists softly.

Magnus glares at Alec with little heat as he finally relents. His hands sweep under Alec’s shirt to land on warm skin and it grounds him for a brief moment before he’s sighing and straightening from the door. Taking Alec’s hand in his, he doesn’t say anything as he guides them to the balcony that runs the length of Alec’s apartment. The two of them settle outside in the warm evening air and look out over the city, settling on a couch.

Magnus lays an arm over Alec’s shoulders and his boyfriend doesn’t hesitate before crowding a little closer and resting a hand on Magnus’s thigh.

It helps being outside, out of the silence that was growing a little oppressive. The background hum of a city that never sleeps helps ease some of his doubt.

He’s mostly over it, is mostly secure that Alec won’t run for the hills, that this won’t be the final straw and he’ll decide that Magnus really is too much effort.

But still, the unease is there, niggling just enough to ache.

Taking a breath, Magnus says, “I had a letter waiting for me in my mailbox this afternoon from Otisville Prison Upstate. From my father,” he tacks on at the end so that there’s no confusion about just why he’s in such a mood.

Alec doesn’t say anything for a minute and Magnus feels the thumb sweeping over his thigh like lead.

“And what did he have to say,” Alec asks.

Magnus looks up and tries to decipher Alec’s expression to no avail. There’s no judgement, no condemnation. Alec’s just studying him with warm curiosity, acting for all the world as though he has no worries.

Magnus laughs caustically. “He said a great many things, most of which I’m loathe to repeat. However, if I want this thing between us to work, I should probably be up front.”

Alec arches a brow before turning to look in front of him, over the landscape. It helps, not to be the total focus of Alec’s intense attention.

“He told me that I ought to snap you up so fast that it would make your head spin.” Shaking his head, he continues, “He told me not to do anything that would interfere in taking at least half your fortune and he assured me that he could connect me with a fabulous divorce lawyer after I put in my due time.”

“How long is our supposed marriage to last,” ALec asks idly.

Magnus scoffs. “A year.”

Looking over at Alec, Magnus is a little surprised to see him smiling as though amused.

“Darling?”

Laughing a little, Alec just offers a half assed shrug. “What?”

“You’re not upset,” he asks hesitantly.

It’s Alec’s turn to scoff as he nudges Magnus with his shoulder. “Of course I’m not upset. Why the hell would I be when we’ve established that your dad isn’t the best guy around. This seems pretty in keeping with his character, if we’re being honest.”

“Still,” Magnus can’t help but prod, unsure at the easy acceptance he reads in Alec’s eyes, in his posture. “I’d think most people would be angry, maybe a little hurt, at the idea that I’m nothing but a gold digger.”

Alec shrugs again. “I’d hope that we’ve established that I’m not most people by now and in any case, what your father says has nothing to do with you. You told me and it’s obviously bothering you. I hope you’re not feeling guilty or whatever the shit.”

Magnus opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Alec just watches him, amusement glinting in his eyes at the way he’d managed to confound him.

Finally, he gets out, “That’s-- that’s it. That’s all you have to say.”

Alec makes a show of thinking before nodding slowly. “Yup, seems about it. What else is there to say?”

Swallowing hard, Magnus offers, “And if I told you that the letter also mentioned that his sentence was commuted over the summer and instead of getting out in 2041, he’ll be released in 2025?”

Humming, Alec just says, “Then I’d say that we’ll deal with Asmodeus’s release whenever it happens. No use worrying about it until it slaps us in the face.”

Magnus laughs incredulously. “Yeah? I didn’t take you for the devil may care sort.”

“I’m not usually,” Alec replies dryly. “But we have, what? Eight years until his release now? That’s a long way away and it seems like an awful lot of effort to worry about something we have no control over.”

Alec pauses for a minute before continuing, “Whatever happens, whenever it happens, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Magnus’s lips quirk up in an approximation of a smile as he plays over Alec’s words. “Together,” he repeats, question in his tone.

“Yeah,” Alec says quietly. “We can deal with whatever happens when the time comes.”

Magnus knows that his voice is overwhelmingly fond, that it’s betraying his emotions as he softly replies, “Whatever you say, darling.”

The two of them relax in the fading light for awhile afterward. Magnus focuses on deep breathing, relaxing his tense shoulders. All around, that’d gone much better than he’d anticipated and he wonders that Alec seems so relaxed.

The two of them open a bottle of wine and bring it out to the balcony as twilight deepens. Magnus has just poured his second glass and is taking a sip with a quiet, contented sigh when Alec breaks the easy silence that’s fallen over them.

“We should go somewhere.”

Lowering his glass, Magnus looks over to see Alec studying him with something indefinable in his eyes.

“Did you have somewhere in mind, darling?”

“Maybe,” the blasted man says cryptically and Magnus grins as he relaxes into Alec’s side.

“Okay, then,” Magnus agrees. “Let’s go somewhere.”

It’s Alec’s turn to look surprised as he asks, “Really? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Magnus confirms. “We’ll have to look at our schedules but I love travelling and I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than travelling with you.”

“How’s this semester looking for you?”

Thinking, after a moment Magnus offers, “I have fall break this time next month? I have about a week off. We could make something happen then?”

“Sounds great,” Alec agrees with a private smile. He takes a sip of wine before turning his head and nosing along Magnus’s hair, ducking to place a kiss under his ear.

Magnus sinks into the warmth that envelopes him at Alec’s easy affection, lets it settle into his chest and chase away the lingering shadows from earlier.

He starts thinking about plans and where they might go, what they might do. It all seems terribly romantic, if he’s being honest with himself.

A few days away from everything is just what he needs. Distantly, he thinks wryly that he certainly has incentive to finish his book’s deadline now.

As his thoughts switch to another route, Magnus bites back the question that lands on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t want to put Alec on the defensive, after all, and Magnus has always prided himself on being an adept hand at picking up on context clues.

The answer is staring him right in the face, he reflects with a grin, looking down as he takes another lingering sip of wine.

Settling back, Magnus lets everything fall away except this quiet evening with Alec, the two of them taking a few minutes from their hectic, busy lives to enjoy each other.

It’s enough for now. It’s more than enough.

#httbt #my writing #malec fic #malec wip

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