#technically i have enough time to write another chapter...

[wombywoo]

do you have any ghostsoap favorite fics, perhaps?

boy do I....

I should preface this by saying that I'm pretty...particular with what types of fics I enjoy reading (I only like certain character interpretations/tropes/writing styles, etc) so bear with me...

These are all mostly canon-compliant, non-AUs, ones that I regard highly~

Seasons--by StinglessWasp: This is pretty much my go-to fic rec for anyone into CoD and ghostsoap in general. It showcases everything I love about these characters, in a setting that feels as authentic to the games as possible, while also exploring the depth and sincerity hidden under the surface. So well-written and paced--the dialogue and military references all contribute to that 'feels like a mission out of the game' experience. Plus, I just love this interpretation of our boys--the humor, the inner struggles, the intimacy--Wasp 100% *gets* these characters and it's a joy to read <3

Except You, You Can Stay--by Iravaid: While this one isn't *technically* ghostsoap until the last chapter, in my opinion, it's required reading for anyone who gives a shit about Simon Riley. This is *the* character study--an intimate dissection of Ghost's past that seems so realistic and grounded, you forget how ludicrous those comics really are. Ira takes such care in treating these heavy topics with delicacy and effectiveness. Each chapter has you going 'oh wow, this is even better than the last', but as a whole--it's a stunning, fleshed-out glimpse into Simon as the character he was always meant to be. And the final chapter which eases you into his relationship with Johnny is so authentic and sweet, it just makes perfect sense that they should be together, and that this poor poor man deserves some goddamn love <3

bleeding in the house of god--by revolvermonkcelot: This is a really great 'missing scene' fic, a perfect opportunity to explore the in-between moments that the game so carelessly chooses to gloss over. I can't praise Monk's writing enough--it's slick and crisp and very tasty; the imagery just jumps off the page and you can practically feel the sweat. Plus, the dialogue exchanges between our two boys are so well-timed and in-character--love all the slang and British references~ This whole fic reads like an addition to their mission flirting, and I'm all for it! You can truly tell this author has such deep understanding and experience with this franchise (winkwinkwink, this is a joke) Read it--it's good!

The Dead are all Living--by Kabbal: This fic blew me away when I first read it. It's such a unique take on the retirement trope, I just adore this interpretation of Simon as an aging recluse while he builds his home. I tend to lean towards more subtle, grounded characterizations of Mr Riley, and this really fits the bill. All of these glimpses and fragments into his post-military life contribute to an overarching love story; the scenes with Johnny are so poignant, it's like you're pining alongside them both. I love how not-perfect they are; flawed and difficult and real. There are some moments and lines that just....struck something in me so deeply. I'm sure I'll still be thinking about it for a long long time <3

Portrait of Taction--by a_platypus: Another Simon-centric fic that I absolutely love. The character voice in this is off the charts, I can hear him so vividly in all of his inner dialogue and stunted attempts at conversation. Simon is so endearingly dense in this fic, you're just waiting for him to finally get his act together, but the clumsy, oblivious steps he takes in his relationship with Soap are truly a treat to read. I love this version of Johnny too--confident and considerate, but still hopelessly crushing on his superior. It's comedic, well-written, and the paragraphs describing Soap's journal give some of the best insights into his character I've seen <3

come on, haunt me--by flyby2: This was a really good long fic that I took my time savoring. What could have been a typical 'on leave' fic instead took time to develop a unique spin on the backstories as well as throwing our boys into some wholesome encounters. Both Soap and Ghost felt very true to character, and I appreciate the exploration of PTSD and the subsequent struggles that come along with...all that. There was a really nice balance in having their romance spread across the chapters, and I can promise a very sweet, happy conclusion <3

in the mess of it all--by flowersferns: A lovely one-shot that exhibits some of my favorite aspects of these two characters. I'm a sucker for 'one of them is hurt, the other is freaking out, they are both idiots in love, etc'. There are some really great dialogue and character moments in this, plus the overall prose hits hard. Love this take on their romance--the mutual trust, the familiarity of their bond. And just the general theme of impermanence--the inevitability of what this relationship means for them--two soldiers, willing and ready to sacrifice their lives at a moment's notice, still clinging to each other because...god...that's all they have---big fan of this :'D <3

Lapsus--by Lisbetadair: Another really great one-shot and 'missing scene' fic. The authenticity in the writing is spot-on--it's like you can feel Soap's pain right off the bat. I love how smoothly the banter flows between the two, and the attention to detail and references all help lend to that 'hardened military man' exterior. Ghost smelling like flowers because of a face wipe is such a delightful addition, plus the scene where Soap is, ah, donald-ducking it in just a t-shirt with his jewels out is such a funny mental image, I still think of it fondly from time to time. It's funny, it's surprisingly cute, it's very in-character. Stick around for some awkward but adorable cuddles <3

I'm sure I have more to recommend, but these are the ones I can personally endorse for now~

#asks #fic rec #I've never actually done a fic rec list like this before... #a small glimpse into my nightly routine of browsing the ao3 trenches for something remotely readable 🫡 #funny how most of these are Ghost centric... #I'm *very* particular on how I prefer Soap to be portrayed and wooo boy...is it a struggle 😔

[grison-in-space]

Currently rereading Eric Flint's 1632 and reflecting on just how influential Flint was to me and my approach to both praxis and politics as a teenager. I found Flint when I was about thirteen or fourteen, around the time I found Pratchett I think, and he's left an equally wide thumbprint on my soul. Isn't that the most wonderful thing about stories, that people you've never met can help shape our adult selves? Mother of Demons I often recommend for its SFF worldbuilding--Flint built a species with at least four genders, only some of which are reproductive, and associated "normal" sexual orientations, and then proceeded to write in a textually intersex character and queer the hell out of it.

1632, though, is the one where a little West Virginia town in 2000 gets picked up and dropped in the middle of Thuringia, Germany in the eponymous year--right in the middle of the Thirty Years War. The local United Mine Workers of America chapter plays a major role, particularly its head.

As I write this I'm listening to the scene where the little town of Grantville, having admitted after a few days that they are probably not ever going home, is crowded into the high school gymnasium listening to the mayor lay that reality out and suggesting an interim council to help the town set out a sort of constitutional convention so they can work out what on earth they're going to do moving forward--especially since there's a bunch of displaced refugees collecting in the forests nearby. Sensible of them, really; the Americans murdered the shit out of the local soldiers that displaced them, on account of how the shaken mine workers that went out to figure out WTF happened not being super down with suddenly running into a bunch of fuckheads raping the locals and torturing people to find out where their valuables might be. After that, said Americans proceeded to retreat into the town boundaries and gibber quietly to themselves. I would go lurk in their woods, too.

Anyway, the mayor sets up this proposal, everyone agrees, and a CEO who was visiting for his son's wedding at the time steps forward and says: look. I know how to lead, and I'm probably the most qualified person here. I lead a major industry corporation effectively and I did that after my time as a Navy officer. I put myself forward because I'm qualified. Now, we're going to need to circle the wagons to get through the winter, tighten our belts, but we can get through this. We can't support all these refugees, though; we'll have to seal the border so they can't bring disease--they're a drain on our resources we can't afford--

and the UMWA guy, he gets really mad listening to this. There's this Sephardic refugee woman he's real taken with who got swept up in the town first thing, and she's sitting in and listening; he's thinking about throwing her out, thinking about how much she knows about the place they're found in, and he's furious. But he gets a good grip on his anger and he marches up and he says, look. This dude has been here two days and he's already talking about downsizing?! You're going to listen to this CEO talking about cuts, cuts, cuts? Nah. Trying to circle the wagons is probably impossible, it's stupid, and if you think my men and I are going to enforce that, you can fuck off. That proposal is inside out and bass ackwards. We've got about a six mile diameter of Grantville here; how much food do YOU think we're going to grow? How about the soldiers wandering around, do you think we're going to be able to fight armies off on our lonesome? Look at the few refugees we already have in the room, they'll tell you how those armies will treat you! We could do it for a while, the amount of gun nuts here, but so what? We don't have enough people to shoot them! Not if we're going to do anything else to keep us going! We have about six months of stockpiled coal to keep going, and without another source or getting the coal mines working, we're screwed. We have technical strength but we don't have the supplies or resources we would need to maintain it. Those refugees? They're resources. We need people to do the work we will need to keep ourselves. The hell with downsizing; let's grow outwards! Bring people in, give them safety, see what they can bring to the table once they've had a moment! He invokes: send us your tired, your poor!, and the CEO yells in frustration: this isn't America! so he yells back "it will be!"

And of course everyone cheers. I love Flint for many reasons but he is unapologetic about affection for the America of ideals--ideals, he freely admits, that are often honored in the breach rather than the observance, ideals that are messy and flawed, but nevertheless ideals that can work to inspire us to become the best version of ourselves. For Flint, history is as valuable as a source of stories to inspire ourselves as it is a repository of knowledge, and on this I tend to agree with him. We must learn from our moments of shame but equally we must learn from moments that show us how to be our best selves.

It's been twenty three years and the text is now an interesting historical document in its own right, hitting points and rhythms in beats that are sometimes out of place today. It's not perfect. But the novel contains a commitment to joy and to emphasizing the leaps of faith and understanding that regular, everyday people make every day to try and support each other that I routinely try to match in my writing.

Anyway, one of the strengths of the novel, I think, is its gender politics: it's a very ensemble kind of novel, lots of characters, and it's preoccupied with positive masculinity in a lot of ways. There's a lot of these hyper masculine characters--Mike Stearns perhaps more than anyone else--and--and...

... And Flint's characterization of Stearns, as he sketches out who the man is--his pivotal American leader, ex boxer, working class organizer, big man.... well, it lands equally on "he is delighted and astonished to find a local woman who quickly assesses how the cushion of air in tires works," and "he considers who to set up a Jewish refugee in the middle of Germany up with and he thinks to ask the Jewish family he grew up with to host her and her ill father because he thinks she'll be most comfortable there", and "he views people as potential assets rather than potential drains." A younger man asks him for advice on whether to pursue a professional sports career because of the boxing and he says no, you're in the worst place of not being quite good enough and you'll blow out your knees without accomplishing safety. He frames that interaction such that he allows his own experiences to make him vulnerable and invite the younger man to understand when a struggle have worth it.

It's actually a really deft portrayal of intense masculinity that also makes a virtue of a bunch of traits more usually associated with women: empathy, relational sensitivity, the ability to listen. As a blueprint for what a positive masculinity can look like, vs the toxic kind, it's very well done. I think sometimes when we look at gender roles in terms of virtues, and when masculinity is defined in terms of opposition to femininity, people get lost by arguing that virtues assigned to one gender are somehow antithetical to another gender. In fact that's never been the case: virtues are wholly neutral and can appear in any gender. What the gender does is inflect the ways we expect that virtue to appear in terms of individuals' actions within their society.

Gender isn't purely an individual trait, basically; it's a product of our collective associations. Two characters with different genders can display the same virtues and strengths, but we imagine them expressed in different ways according to our cultural expectations around gender. And I just think that's neat.

#Eric Flint #1632

[dear-bunnyboo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐖𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

important note: my face claim will be madison beer but you can imagine whoever you desire. also the songs mentioned are not all technically all madison’s i will be incorporating other songs from other artists.

all the pictures seen below are not mine, however they were edited by yours truly. credits to the owners.

and just like that, all hell breaks loose 🫢 (hope this makes you guys temporarily forget that bae played like ass last sunday 🥲)

side note: I am really proud of this chapter. so proud that it might be my current favorite <3

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Joe Burrow x Singer!Reader / Brief Ex!Jack Hughes x Singer!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Can Joe save you when everything comes crashing down?

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, cursing, haters, rumors, liar!Jack, toxic ex, crying, angry!reader, media, joe being a sweetheart, light fluff, flashback, protective!Joe

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐍𝐇𝐋 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

This week has been proven to be challenging for you.

Halfway through your tour you have a mandatory rest week as you’d like to call it— not only for yourself but for every single people involved behind the scenes as well, they have been working as hard as you were, if not even more.

You were a workaholic, and a day off is enough for you to get recharged. Which is why you were finding it so hard to get through the week— you were itching to perform. You had to distract yourself with a pen and paper for your own sanity— writing helps release the energy and tension from your body.

It’s only been two days since the rest week started and you were silently going insane. It doesn’t help that Joe just messaged you saying that it was their bye week of the season— you really didn’t know what to do with the information he gave you. You are more closer to Joe now than you were before, from the frequent late night talking, FaceTimes, texting— and you loved it. You just didn’t know what his break had to do with you— until he spells it out for you.

I’m coming over

He texted you this an hour ago. Joe has been over your house before and vice versa— you were continuously teased by Y/BF/N which really wasn’t a surprise to you. Your best friend has declared herself the president of the Joe and Y/N Fanclub and it’s borderline psychotic but you love her anyways.

Again— this week is a challenge.

Joe was coming over and you found yourself wanting to throw up— you had zero clue as to why your stomach was hurting and why your palms were getting clammy. You placed your palm on your forehead, lightly feeling for a fever but with no avail.

You have been refusing the feeling for months now.

You hated it.

It was happening all over again. The same feelings, the same outcomes. It was bullshit.

Those damn butterflies that died that night seemed to resurrect from the dead every time you talked to Joe— every time he laughed and smiled at you the butterflies not only show up but get trampled by a stampede of animals.

Sitting cross legged on your living room sofa as you waited for the quarterback— you looked around your surroundings. Around you was littered with papers with scribbles of your panic writing, your electric guitar discarded right next to you. A ding broke you out of your thoughts and upon looking down on your phone, you see another message form Joe.

I think you’ll really like my surprise, lovebug.

You were gonna throw up— a butterfly is about to come out of your mouth.

Yeah?, well, color me intrigued.

Tossing your phone away from you, you wiped your sweaty hands on you sweatpants and continued writing— you were writing with so much fervor that your handwriting started to look like you were writing a medicine prescription but you understood it.

You understood it.

Lovebug

Joe started calling you lovebug a couple months ago when he came over your house for the first time.

You and Joe were talking animatedly about your favorite SpongeBob episodes on your couch. The two of you just finished watching the first SpongeBob Movie and now you both were just geeking out and giggling about iconic episodes.

“Nothing will top the chocolate episode. Still makes me laugh out loud till this day.” Joe chuckles as he placed his arms on the sofa just behind your head— he wasn’t touching you but you felt the heat of his body by how close you two were sitting. The feeling was somewhat more intimate than actually being touched— it was the longing for it that was getting to you.

“The episode where they performed at the Super Bowl halftime was my favorite! I thought that would be your favorite. Nothing will ever top that.” You bounced on your seat, facing Joe even more now— looking at him like he grew three heads for not picking that episode as his favorite.

The quarterback laughs at you as he watched your eyes grow wide in excitement as you talked about that episode, “Ok, ok! That’s a great one as well, I’m not gonna lie.” He put his hands up in surrender but before you could even reply back to him, you caught sight of something moving from your peripheral vision— turning your head slightly, you spotted a tarantula climbing up your sofa and with no hesitation whatsoever you bolted out of your couch screaming.

Joe looked at you alarmed, immediately standing up and walking towards you slowly in concern, “What’s wrong?” He carefully eyes you with his beautiful baby blues— if it weren’t for the predicament you found yourself in you would have turned red but you didn’t have time for that. You pushed Joe away from you, your eyes still trained on the spider as you directed Joe’s body to face the insect.

“There is a huge spider, Joe!” You whisper-yelled, trying your hardest not to yell as you inched your back towards the wall. Joe, however, turned to look at you with a grin on his face— you gave him a look as he continued to look smug.

“What!?” You scolded him.

“You’re scared of spiders?” He asked in both a concerned and amused tone.

“Gee, Joe— no I’m thrilled. That was me screaming in joy.” You blurted out sarcastically, slightly pushing him towards it again as you hid behind his towering figure, “And that is not a spider, that’s a fucking Pokémon at this point— get it out!”

The blonde, laughed at your attitude— just now meeting this new persona of yours, you’ve always been so sweet to him that this side of you was amusing him. Sassy— he liked it.

“Joseph! Are you just gonna stare at me? Or are you gonna actually help? That thing basically owns the house at this point— please, Joey.” And there it was, the sweet side Joe was just thinking about, Joe shook his head and smiled at you before moving towards the insect.

“You know, it’s also scared, right? We probably look hideous to it as well.” Joe consoles you while you continued to watch him quietly reach his bare hands to catch the spider— which were as big as his hands.

“Congrats, you’re a Disney Princess.” you rolled your eyes at him— there was no convincing you when it comes to spiders.

Joe just let out the biggest laugh at your sassiness, “You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m here all night.” You stuck your tongue out at him.

He struggled to keep the spider in place as he carefully wrestled it around his palms as the spider stared squirming. You slowly inched closer to the couch now that Joe has reached your front door, “Be careful. Don’t hurt it— I want it out of my house not dead.” You muttered but Joe heard you loud and clear, earning another a warm smile from him.

“Look at you— I thought you were worried about me for a second but it was for the spider. Who’s the Disney Princess now?” Joe winked at you before walking out of the front door to get the spider out.

Joe saunters back in shorty looking smug as if he just wrestled an alligator out of your house. Placing himself next to you back on the couch he looks at you in amusement and before you could give him an attitude— Joe raised his hand up to remove the stray hairs out of your face, your hair slightly disheveled after running for your life.

You remained still as you watched him watch you— Joe was looking at every single part of your face as if he was memorizing every inch of you before muttering something under his breath. It was so low that you missed it.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you asked, “What?” You managed to breath out.

“Lovebug”

His baby blue eyes finally meeting yours. You sat stunned— not knowing where all this was coming from.

“What?” You started to sound like a broken record as you asked him again.

“You’re such a lovebug.” The quarterback shrugged before removing his hand off of your face, now facing your TV as he tries to move on from the situation. Joe must have felt your eyes still on him as you tried to process and understand what he just said— what he was trying to say.

“You’re full of love. You’re such a good person. Just a few months of knowing you and being your friend and I’ve noticed how much love you have to offer— it’s amazing really. You are terrified of spiders but you didn’t want it dead, unlike some people would.” Joe shrugged shoving chips in his mouth as if he didn’t just say the sweetest things to you.

“Joe, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Thank you.”

“It’s true” he nodded at you. “Lovebug is scared of a little bug.” Joe continued to joke earning an exasperated look from you.

“That thing was not little, Joe. It was practically a grown adult.”

You remembered the feeling you felt when he told you those things that night.

You understood how fucked you were.

You understood how this could be another one of your biggest mistakes, you continued writing on the paper— words, phrases, lyrics were spewing out of you as you continued to think about that night— the TV not even distracting you for a second.

You didn’t know why your heart was feeling this way. How it could start beating the way it is as if it wasn’t beaten and bruise— you didn’t understand why this was happening to you.

All of you thought that love off the table.

So why?

The heart is resilient— love is resilient. It can suffer for years, it can be broken and used over and over again, it can be shattered into pieces, it can make you feel numb— but then it surprises you when it flutters again. Flutters from the happiness, the giddiness, excitement, and even love— again, it’s resilient.

You’re brain however, it’s logical. It has stored all the memories; the good, the bad, the traumatic into specific file cabinets— it gathers information from your previous experiences and helps you stop yourself from going through those same experiences again.

Your heart was telling you to go for it while your brain was telling you to let it go. They never seem to listen to each other but they also couldn’t live without each other— the heart and the brain, just another love story.

Your doorbell rang pulling you out of your thoughts. You quickly gathered yourself together before standing up to answer the door— opening your front door, you were met with Joe who has one hand in his pocket while to other one was hiding a paper bag behind his back.

“Hey.” And just like that he single-handedly managed to get the butterflies in your stomach to awaken from their slumber.

Holding to door wide open you gave the man in front of you a smile, “Hey, you.” You greeted Joe before side stepping to let his huge frame in— as he walks in your house you addressed the paper bag clasped in his hand.

“What you got there?” You nodded your head towards the bag, looking up at him in curiosity as he placed himself down on your sofa. Joe took a quick look down at the bag before reaching out to hand it to you.

“It’s the surprise I was talking about.” Joe eyes you up and down, his eyes feeling like lasers as the heat started to build up throughout your body. You simply shook your head as you sat next to him— carefully opening the paper bag.

A peak of yellow was seen— pulling the huge box out you were met with the new Bowser Lego set that you have been looking to buy for a while now; it’s been sold out everywhere. One of the many surprising things that you’ve learned about Joe was that he loved Legos which you found exciting cause you had a mild but concerning obsession with Legos.

You eyed the box with wide eyes before looking up back at Joe who was looking at you amused— you couldn’t contain yourself so you launched yourself on the quarterback and tackled him in a hug.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I don’t know what occasion it is for you to give me a present but I’m not complaining!” You muttered excitingly in the crook of his neck as Joe squeezed you back in return, laughing at your explosive reaction.

“There is no occasion— and I have connections.” He said proudly before slowly scanning the papers scattered in front of him.

You let out an over exaggerated gasp, “You have Lego connections?” your eyes widening even more as you scooted closer to him— all your undivided attention now on him.

Joe nodded as he chuckles at your excitement, “Can I know those people, please?” You begged hoping the man next to you would give you what you asked for.

“I’m your Lego connection. I’ll buy you all the Lego you want— you have me.” Joe answers his eyes still trained on the papers in front of him as he tried his hardest to understand your manic handwriting.

“I do have you. That’s sweet.” You looked down on your lap smiling.

You hate yourself

“You have me.” Joe mutters under his breath.

You hated him.

You hated everything— why is this happening to you?

You hated how easy it is for your heart to love again. You hated how your body reacted to Joe— he could breathe in a weird way and you’d find it cute. You hated how you folded for a man who could easily disregard you like they all did.

You wanted to cry.

You hated how scared you are, it’s almost a year since the cheating scandal happened and you were still scared— you weren’t scared of falling, you were scared of crashing.

Trying your hardest to swallow the lump that formed in your throat, you turned to look at Joe who was quietly trying to read your lyrics— in a flash, your hand swooped down and compiled all the paper towards you.

“Uh uh, these are potential songs— no spoilers for you.” You tutted at him as you arranged the folded and crumpled pieces of papers in your arms.

“I couldn’t read them anyway. You have terrible handwriting, Y/N.” He teased as he eyed you for your reaction which you immediately responded to.

“Hey! I have very pretty handwriting. It just so happens that my brain was spitting out too many ideas at once that my hand couldn’t keep up.” you raised your chin high up— looking up at him, you’re eyebrow raised as to challenge him to disagree with you.

“Alright. I believe you.” The quarterback flicks your chin up with his fingers as he took a quick good look at you— Joe finds himself doing that to you a lot recently.

“Anyway, are we gonna make my baby Bowser? Or not?” You gave him the most childish smile you could muster making Joe smile back at you warmly before smirking, a mischievous look covering his handsome face.

“I thought you were gonna ask if we we’re gonna make a baby.” A huge grin twitching to form on his face and in turn you remained still looking at the man in front of you with wide eyes— your mouth opening and closing however, words weren’t coming out of your mouth.

“Maybe next time, lovebug.” Joe continued which shocked you even more. You had never expected that Joe Burrow would be like this prior to meeting him— he looks like such a serious man who means nothing but business. In fact, before meeting him you were sure that he had zero personality, you doubted it’s existence. You were so sure that football was his only personality trait, but now here he was making sex jokes— or was he flirting?

“Joseph Lee Burrow!” You yelled at him before smacking him on the shoulder with the box you were holding— the contents moving around making clanking noises inside the unopened box.

“Ow! I’m joking— but yeah, let’s make your baby Bowser.” He jokingly mocks you while he rubbed his shoulder that you had just hit.

That’s how you found yourselves the next couple of hours— playing with Legos.

You two were sat on the ground on the carpet, finding it more comfortable to work there than your expensive couch. The two of you worked in silence— unless when you two found yourselves singing along the songs in Joe’s playlist.

The bass to Future’s song Codeine Crazy was blasting in your speakers as you and Joe finished Bowser’s legs— you were bobbing your head to the beat as you mindlessly danced in your spot, your eyes solely focused on the manual in front of you— you were too focused that you failed to notice Joe watching you with a fond smile on his face.

What didn’t go unnoticed to you though was the reporter reporting celebrity news on your TV. Before Joe arrived, you were flipping through the channels on your TV looking for something to watch when you decided to leave it on ENews while you continued writing— ultimately you were now regretting that decision.

“New Jersey Devils’ star player Jack Hughes finally speaks up regarding his very public split with Grammy Award winning singer Y/N Y/L/N.”

Apparently this doesn’t go unnoticed by Joe as well who was now watching you as your eyes shot up and remained glued on the screen in front of you.

“Almost a year after videos and pictures surfaced of NHL star Jack Hughes kissing a unknown woman— Jack finally breaks his silence. We interviewed Jack after his game last Saturday against the New York Rangers and the 22 year old had a few things to say about the situation.”

“I just want to clear everything once and for all. You’ve only heard one side of the story. After three years of dating Y/N, never once did I cheat on her— when those pictures came out we were already broken up for a few months, so there was no cheating.”

You’re hands were now shaking while your chest moved up and down in an abnormally fast pace— the Lego piece you were previously holding was now disregarded on the table. Joe— you could barely hear him trying to call out for you. You were solely focused on the TV.

“I hope this stops the baseless rumors, the false narrative that has been put out through the songs— I don’t appreciate it.”

“Why do you think Y/N would lie?” the interviewer asked.

“I don’t know. She has been getting cozy with Burrow— maybe she’s projecting but I do wish her all the best.” Jack chuckles as he gives the interviewer a smile.

Silence

Joe managed to find the TV remote and turned it off but it was too late— you heard everything you needed to hear. You would have heard about that interview regardless, the internet is fast.

“Y/N.” Joe’ stern voice broke the silence. You failed to realize that he was now crouching right next to you.

The soft touch of his hand drawing circles on your back managed to bring the tears out to surface. You felt the burning pain in your chest that you’ve grown familiar with the past couple of months— everything came crashing down on you like the waves during a storm.

“He’s lying.” Was all you’ve managed to muster up. You’re voice was now raspy from the struggle of trying not to break down and cry.

“He’s lying.” You said again, more so to yourself— trying to calm yourself down.

“I know. I know. I believe you.” Joe reassured you while he continued playing with your hair. The blonde’s words shocked you. Why would he believe you? Why should he believe you?

“Why?” You sniffed looking up at Joe, you’re eyes getting more blurry as they filled themselves with tears.

Joe remained calm offering you a comforting smile before gathering you into his arms— he was now sitting behind you with you in between his parted legs, his arms wrapped around your entire torso as he gently pushes you backward to lean against him.

“We haven’t known each other for that long, Joe. How do you know that what he said wasn’t all true?” You pushed releasing a shaky breath not understanding why he is choosing to blindly trust and believe you.

The quarterback doesn’t know about Jack, he knows that you just recently ended a long term relationship but never the specifics— unless he researched you prior which seems uncharacteristic of Joe and unlikely at that.

“I believe you because you wouldn’t be acting like this if you were lying. I believe you because if you were lying, you wouldn’t tear up every time you performed a certain song. I believe you because if you were lying, you wouldn’t have a distant look on your face every time you get reminded of your ex. I believe you because I know you not him.”

The tears that gathered in your eyes finally fell. You were crying again— sure, Jack caused it but you were crying because deep down you knew that you were falling again, for someone who’s talking to you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, someone who unbeknownst to you have been watching your every move.

“He’s ruining my life. He keeps hurting me, Joey.” Sobs wracked your body as you curled up against his chest. “Shh, you’re okay, you’re alright. No one can ruin anything for you or hurt you without your consent, lovebug.” Joe coos as he tries his best to remove the hair that was now sticking on your face from the tears.

The ringing of your phone pulled the both of you out of your little bubble that you’ve just created, grabbing your phone you see Y/BF/N and Trevor calling you for a group FaceTime, quickly answering the call, you started to cry even harder— the overwhelming things that just had happened in a matter minutes getting to you.

“Y/N?” Your two best friends started in unison, their faces filled with concern as they finally saw the state you were in.

“Hey, Popstar.” Trevor gave you a sad smile as he tried to make you smile back at him.

“He’s a fucking liar, Z.” You looked at them sadly, your tears now falling slower than before but consistently.

Trevor looked at you defeatedly as he was just as hurt and disappointed at Jack as you were. He didn’t know why Jack would do something like that to you— he didn’t understand why he cheated in the first place. When Trevor confronted him that night, Jack stated that he was drunk and he didn’t mean to do it, that he wanted to apologize to you and take you back but still continued to date the same girl he cheated on you with and now this— lying to the world, turning the story around. Trevor was just as pissed.

“Y/N, I want you to breathe, okay? I already contacted your publicist for you and I’ll be back there by tomorrow— we’ll figure it out. We always do.” Y/BF/N calmly but sternly confronted you. Y/BF/N went back to her hometown for a couple of days to meet her family which is why she wasn’t with you currently like she always was.

“I know. It’s just people are gonna think I’m a fucking liar now— and that I cheated on him. He fucking implied I’ve been talking to Joe while we were dating and that I was projecting.” upon the realization that Joe’s name was brought into the conversation, you cried even harder.

You didn’t want Joe involved. He doesn’t deserve to be involved in such nonsense— he already gets bombarded by questions about you, now he’s gonna be apart of cheating allegations.

“No one is gonna believe that asshole, Y/N. Sure his die hard fans who wants to jump his bones might but that’s it— he’s dumb.” Y/BF/N explained.

“How do you know that?” You blurted. The pain and anger now reaching the surface ready for you to explode. Thankfully, Joe was quietly listening— his fingers slowly drawing patterns up and down your arm, whispering sweet nothings in your ears that could turn you into a melting puddle if you weren’t so angry right now.

“Because! We were all at that golf course a few weeks before the pictures of Jack cheating came out, remember? The paparazzi got photos of you two latched to each other like a couple of leeches, Y/N! Don’t you see? Jack didn’t think his plan through properly. People won’t believe his bullshit story about you two breaking up months prior and everyone knows you and Joe met after the fact.” You could kiss Y/BF/N through the phone right now. She was right. A few weeks before the drama exploded on your face; you, Y/BF/N, Trevor, Cole, Alex, Jack, Luke, and Quinn went out to play golf together— the day after that the tabloids had pictures of you and Jack together full on PDA.

He’s a dumb motherfucker and that dumb motherfucker is dead to you.

“So, do me a favor— grab your pen and paper and start your magic. I hate seeing you cry because of that fucker. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Joe don’t think I can’t see you, take care of her please.” Y/BF/N gave a stern look through the screen.

“I will.” Joe curtly answered before squeezing you tighter making you melt into him even more.

“Are you telling me the Joe Burrow has been right there this entire time? I’ve been looking at your zoomed in face when I could be looking at Joe Burrow?!” Trevor voices out, moving his head side to side as if he could get a glimpse of the NFL player that way.

You slowly inched your phone away from your face, Joe’s face now appearing on the screen earning a literal gasp from the hockey player.

“Oh my god, hi!” Trevor waves at the quarterback earning a chuckle from Joe and a small smile from you.

Trevor looked at you with a grin after finally making you smile, “I have a game against the Devils this week. I’ll bash his head in against the glass for you.” Trevor said his voice now serious as ever, along with a determined and pisses off look on his face that you only see during his games.

You only hummed in reply before deciding to bid goodbye to your two best friends— lyrics floating around your head waiting to be written out of anger.

“Your friends are sweet.” Joe comments once the call ended, now watching you as you pulled out new blank pieces of papers— both of your positions unchanging, in fact you two were even closer than before.

“They are— you are too.” Turning to meet his intense gaze you managed to give him a genuine smile as you watched him watch you.

Joe was holding you so close and so gentle that it made your heart ache in a good way. “Thank you.” you whispered.

“You can talk to me, always.”

And that’s what you did. Not moving from both of your places, you told Joe everything. From meeting Jack to losing Jack— you told him everything. You shed a few tears as you told him how bad it hurts, how it broke you— you told him how scared you were, how scared you are now of love— of falling in love; and Joe listen. He quietly listened as you poured your heart to him, until Joe caressing your arms and him whispering reassuring words to you slowly lulls you to sleep.

The energy you drained from writing your songs and from crying pulled you into a slumber. You remained motionless in Joe’s arms— your back leaning on his chest as he circled his arms tighter around you, protecting you from the world as he watched your chest steadily move up and down, your soft snores filling his ears making him smile.

Joe enjoys your company. Meeting you was one of the highlights of his life— you were a breath of fresh air. You were so beautiful inside and out, you were funny and witty— the banter and conversations you two would have kept him on his toes. Joe never once denied what he felt and he knew he will have to work hard for you to believe his feelings especially now with how fragile you were— Joe cares for you and he hated how your smile instantly dropped after hearing the news, he hated seeing and hearing you cry which is why as he watches you sleep in his arms, he carefully pulled out his phone.

Joe was just as pissed as you were and everyone will know that.

𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

dividers: @cafekitsune

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUESTS AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡

-𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲ఌ

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[seeingivy]

sofia

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

previous part linked here

songs mentioned: champagne problems by taylor swift, when emma falls in love by taylor swift, and minor sofia by clairo insinuation (+ the name of the chapter)

“Can I ask for a favor?” Eren asks. 

You look up to find Eren and Armin standing in front of the dining table, both leaning on the backs of the chairs. The first whiff you get is a mix of sweat and deodorant, and you instinctively push your notebook closer to you and nod. 

You hate that Eren and Armin work out together. 

Not really, of course. You’re glad that Armin was able to find some type of segway that felt comfortable enough for him to interact with Eren, that they were slowly building back whatever it was that they lost. 

You just hate that Eren always wears that stupid headband to keep her hair back and insists on wearing a tank top – or no shirt at all –  for the five mile run they do at the end. 

You’re lucky that today is the former and not the latter. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” you ask. 

Eren places the little glass bowl in front of you, before giving Armin a nod, and sliding into the chair across from you. Armin takes his leave with Annie at his side, before giving you a passive wave over the shoulder. 

The first thing you note is that Eren’s fish tattoo is on display. It’s one of the few moments that you get to admire it – the physical reminder of you inked on to his arm – since the makeup team is always covering it up or he’s wearing a jacket. 

And the second is that Eren doesn’t really fit in the chair – because his legs are overstretched and hanging against the sides of the legs – and he nearly falls back when he moves a little too much. 

It’s crazy to think that there was a time that you and Eren would have your feet dangling in the air from how high the chairs used to be. 

You eye the little bowl, before reaching forward for it, and taking it in your hands. There’s only two little requests left, though you swear yesterday that you only had one left – which was Eren’s. 

“I know I technically already have a request in there. But could you please do another one for me?” Eren asks. 

“Sure. Which one is it that you want me to pull? The green slip or the pink one?” 

“Oh, no. It’s a separate request. I need you to write a song about Mikasa for me.” Eren responds. 

“Ah, yeah. Sure.” 

You reach forward into the bowl anyways and pull both of the slips out but Eren’s quick to reach forward and snatch them from your hands, much to your dismay.

“Hey!” 

“I just asked you to write a different song. Why did you take both of these out?” Eren asks. 

“Why are you in such a rush? I already have a song about Mikasa somewhere in one of my books, I just need to find it. I’m more curious about who added a request yesterday because there was only one left last night.” you respond. 

“It’s part of my gift for Mikasa. The wedding is next week, idiot.” 

Shit. You had yet to plan what you were going to give Jean. 

Eren looks back at the little slips, before tucking the green one closer to him and handing you the pink. You take it in your hands and find Sofia’s name scribbled over the top and open the slip. 

“It’s Sofia.” 

You pale when you read the slip. 

write a song with historia about how she said no to ymir’s proposal. (please!!!! if you can!) 

You hand it over to Eren who reads it before setting it down on the table. 

“Just don’t sing it at the end, especially if Ymir is there.” Eren responds. 

“I…do you think I should? From my very limited information, I think Ymir would hate it if Historia wrote another song about her.” you respond.

“That information is very limited because you refuse to talk to Historia. And Ymir won’t talk about it unless you ask, which you won’t.” Eren responds. 

You slouch back into your chair. 

“I’m not refusing to talk to her. I’m just in my nice….ignorance is bliss bubble. I like Ymir and Sofia but I also like Historia. I don’t want to get all complicated with the feelings if I know everything that happened.” you respond. 

Eren rolls his eyes. 

“You’re already mentally siding with Ymir because you know that Ymir got on her hands and knees and begged Historia to be with her after she said no to the proposal. And because you like Sofia.” Eren responds. 

“Can we go back to when you weren’t calling me out on my shit? What gift are you getting, Mikasa?” you ask. 

Eren smiles, before leaning forward. 

“For the record, I…I sided more with Ymir and Sofia too. Or did originally at least. I feel like you’ll run into the same thing as me, but we can’t really hold it against Historia. She just has different priorities than us and picked differently than we would have, but it doesn’t mean she’s wrong. And I’m making Mikasa an edited video and I want the song in the background to be about her. Preferably written by her best friend.” Eren responds. 

“Do you think Historia will hang Sofia at the stake for requesting this?” you ask.

Eren shrugs. 

“I’m positive that Sofia just requested it because Historia’s been making lots of snide comments to Ymir all week. And saying stuff about Sofia that she eventually finds out about. Everyone’s been telling her about how the songs and stuff have been helping them with their own situation, so she might have just seen it as a segway. Just don’t tell Historia who asked for it and  make it seem like it’s your idea. I don’t think Sofia meant ill will.” Eren responds. 

“No. No, I don’t think she meant anything malicious either. She’s so sweet. And she must feel awkward since we all grew up together and she’s the other woman, or something” you respond. 

“Yeah, she is really sweet. She kind of reminds me of you, sometimes.” Eren adds. 

“As if. She reminds me of you – she literally has the same dimples.” 

Eren scoffs. 

“Lots of people have dimples. I would look like half of the people on the planet by that logic. She actually reminds me of you, when you first got here. She’s just so…” Eren responds. 

“Normal.” you respond. 

Eren sighs. 

“Yeah.” 

 You choose to withhold your comments about how you're not that type of normal anymore. And it sours all together – because that was one of the things that Eren really loved about you when you first started dating. 

Eren gives you a smile before making his move to leave. But he stops before he retreats to his room, his hand is warm on your shoulder as he squeezes. 

“Still the same in all the ways that matter. To me, at least.” Eren mumbles, before walking off. 

You sigh. 

If Sukuna was still here, he’d call you hopeless. And you’d have to agree with him. 

--

You find Historia on set, intently watching Eren and Armin while they’re filming. You take the seat next to her, reaching forward to squeeze her shoulder and catch her attention, as she shuffles to the side and makes space for you. 

“Hi Hisu.” you whisper. 

“Is the Y/N L/N finally gracing me with her presence?” Historia responds. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Shut up.” 

You feel a tiny smack, before you turn around to find Levi glaring at the two of you. And the guilty culprit – the pencil he projectile launched at the two of you. 

“You two shut up.” Levi warns, before walking back to where he was standing at the viewfinder, with Hange. 

You both smile, like you’ve been caught passing notes by a teacher, before looking back down at the script to the scene that they were filming. 

“So what did you think?” Armin asks. 

“About what?” Eren asks. 

“About Y/N?” Armin asks. 

You lean forward, tucking your legs close to your chest, as you watch them. 

“The makeup team did really well with the hair.” Historia whispers. 

“Yeah. It almost looks like he still has the man-bun.” you respond. 

“Which hair was your favorite?” Historia asks. 

You pause. 

“I like the length it’s at right now. But, I kind of liked his short hair, like from before. Sometimes I feel like when his hair is too long it kind of drowns everything else out, like his eyes and stuff.” you respond. 

“Imagine thinking you’re not in love with the guy but talking about him like that.” Historia grumbles, as you reach to shove her in the side. 

“Who said I think that?” you respond. 

You watch as Historia’s eyes widen and you turn back to the two of them. 

“Do you think she’ll be able to forget about you and live happily with someone else? Just like you wanted.” Armin asks. 

Eren shrugs. 

“Well. Who knows?” Eren asks. 

Armin reaches forward and punches Eren in the face. You bite down on your cheeks to stop yourself from flinching, as you turn to your left to find Reiner and Connie shoving their faces into their own scripts to avoid distracting them with their laughter.

Reiner and Connie never got over laughing at immature stunts. Like punching each other. 

“The hell kind of answer is that? I still haven’t forgiven you! How do you feel about the fact that you ignored Y/N’s feelings?” Armin screams. 

You bite down on your lip. The deja vu feels uncanny. 

“Y/N risked her life and only ever had eyes for you. Did you really think you could say forget about me and it would be just that?” 

Sometimes you wonder if Eren’s a sadist for writing scenes like this into the show. You’re positive Levi must have insinuated the same when he suggested the entire thing to him. 

“At the very least, Y/N should forget about a heartbreaker like you and find happiness. She might find a good guy sooner than you think and hit it off with him.” Armin responds. 

It comes out quietly – Eren’s voice. Almost like a whimper. 

In all honesty, you had almost forgotten he was there for a second, with Armin’s screaming. But when you look over, you find Eren sitting there in the water, with tears streaming out of his eyes. 

“No. No, that would kill me.” Eren responds, his voice breaking. 

You press your hands to your cheeks, letting your fingers block out the periphery as you watch the two of them, and feel your chest compress. It’s almost like you can feel everyone else looking at you – Jean and Mikasa, Historia at your side – and you choose to ignore it for the time being. 

“I don’t want her to find someone else. I want to be her one and only for the rest of my life! And after I die, I want her to pine after me for at least ten years!” Eren responds. 

Armin pauses, lifting his hands to tousle his hair. 

“Oh. I didn’t think you’d say something so…pathetic…” Armin responds. 

Eren sighs, shoving his palms into the sockets of his eyes to still the crying. 

“Don’t tell Y/N any of this. I want her to find happiness. I really do…I don’t want to die. I can’t leave Y/N…or any of you.” 

Armin crouches down, hands heavy on his shoulders, as he pleads. 

It’s enough to make the wave of discomfort bubble up in your throat – because it’s the exact same as last time. And even in the fictional version, Eren won’t heed anyone’s advice. 

“Eren! Let’s keep trying! Let’s find another way!” Armin screams. 

You can’t watch them anymore. You reach for your script, giving Historia a smile, before you retreat to the dressing room and give Levi a wave as you pass. You can tell that he shoots you a concerned look, which you shake off, before you settle into one of the makeup rooms at the back and slam the door behind you. 

“We don’t need you till later.” 

“Yeah, I…just needed a breather from out there. Do you mind?” 

The stylist shakes her head as you shoot her a smile and settle into the chair. You lift the script again, still open on the page that they were just shooting out there, as you pause. 

You focus more carefully this time on the lines. You had read this scene when Eren wrote it – way back when, when he and Armin were still fighting. But Eren had given you the second half – about meeting each other in hell. 

You never read the part that he just said because Eren never wrote it. The only line that he was actually in the script was the first one, about how it would kill him. 

He had improvised the rest. 

It was like a lingering thought that was in the back of your mind at all times. 

Now that your previous excuse, that you needed everything to be settled before you could even think about Eren, was virtually gone. 

You had done the awards show, you had given your performance. And as annoying as it was, Eren was right. The heaviness of letting go was because now you had to move forward, because that chapter of york ife was sealed now. Danny and Sareen, Scott Clarkson and Hyla, Ricky even – they were always just going to be a footnote from here on out. 

Which is why you spent all three days of the break that Levi and Hange gave you thinking about Eren. About what would be the right way to approach him again. And every idea that you came up with seemed horrible, not good enough to bring him back. 

Deep down, you knew that Eren wanted you. That some part of him still loved you, and that if you made the move, he wouldn't reject you. 

The fear was what came after that. What if your relationship wasn’t the same? What if you two had changed too much, that there was just too much baggage that you both came with, that it would eventually drag you down? 

Then you’d really lose Eren forever. It almost felt safer to keep it the way it was now. 

But that came with its own mess. Because Eren wouldn’t wait for you forever and if you had to watch him move on with someone like Sofia, the same way Historia had to watch Ymir, you’re positive that you would handle it worse than her. 

There’s a knock on the door and it’s almost like you’ve summoned her by thinking about her. Because Historia’s peeking into the room, gesturing for you to follow her out. And you oblige, as the two of you quietly march back to the townhouse, arm in arm. 

--

Historia takes you straight to her room. And you note the sign scribbled on the door, how Historia’s crossed Ymir’s name out as you walk in. You both settle into the sheets, Historia throwing the throw blanket over the two of you, as you stare up at the ceiling. 

It’s quiet. And the thoughts are racketing around in your brain like a pinball machine. 

“I’m getting deja vu.” Historia states. 

You laugh. 

“Tell me about it.” you respond. 

“Can I tell you something that won’t help in any shape or form?” Historia responds. 

“Please.” 

“He improvised all of those lines.” Historia responds. 

“I knew that already. I realized it when I went into the stylist’s trailer.” you respond. 

“Well, he kept going after you left. He’s either down horrendous or he really wants to win an award.” Historia responds. 

You smile. 

Eren probably would win an award for this. And if he was lucky, he’d win Actor in a Leading Role – and actually get to celebrate it this time around. 

The thought of getting to win a triple threat again crosses your mind, but falls dead in its tracks. No one’s ever gotten it twice. And it was insinuated enough that it was more of a…lifetime achievement award, so your chance was already out the door. 

“So. You said no when she proposed to you?” you ask. 

She doesn’t respond. You look over to find her staring at the ceiling, her eyes almost blank. You reach for her hands under the blanket, following her lead instead of asking again. 

You can only imagine how agonizing it must be to watch someone as…nonchalant as Ymir beg on her hands and knees. 

“I would have married her.” she whispers. 

You feel your chest tighten, as you pinch your eyes shut. This is exactly what you didn’t want to hear. 

“I-I really would have, I swear. I just wasn’t ready.” Historia repeats. 

The retort is on the tip of your tongue. How were you not ready when you’ve loved Ymir since you were kids? 

But then again, you’ve loved Eren since then you were kids too. And you have yet to muster up enough courage to go for him, when he’s standing right in front of you basically waiting for it. 

“It was really perfect. She had invited everyone to fly out and come watch us, after I was done touring. Levi and Hange were there, Sasha and Jean, even Erwin was there. And they were all watching from afar and…and she…” 

Historia pauses. 

“I…I was already crying when she started by saying my dear, Historia. I could see the little box in her hand and I knew what was coming. And then she….she dropped to her knees.” Historia starts. 

She shakes her head, almost like she’s trying to rid herself of the mental image. 

“I always had this stupid running joke, ever since we first got together, that Ymir would never humble herself to propose on her knees. That…that was never really her style, to do something like that even though I’ve always wanted someone to propose to me like that. I’m more traditional and…and Ymir really hates that type of shit, so I just figured she wouldn’t do it when the time came.” 

You sigh. 

“I only knew the answer was no when she actually got on her knees and asked me. Because…because if it was me, I…I wouldn’t ever do that for her.” Historia adds. 

“What?” 

“I wouldn’t do that for her. If getting on my knees and proposing wasn’t my style, I wouldn’t get on my knees and propose. But…Ymir would, for me. And I know it’s fucking stupid and not that serious, but I just…” 

Ymir loved Historia, more than Historia loved her.

“I couldn’t say yes in good faith… because I wouldn’t give something up for her like that. Or…or for anyone, at that time. Even if it was something as trivial as where you stand while you’re proposing.” Historia states. 

You pause. You can tell what she’s trying to get at, though the comparison is hardly fair. 

“Well, your career is hardly trivial to you. But in all honesty, I don’t think you’d lose your career if you were a popstar who was gay.” you note.

Historia sighs. 

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I know that…that a lot of you don’t and that…that I must seem stupid but. But –” 

You hear her sniffle, turning your side to note that there’s tears flowing out of her eyes. 

“I’m not a bad guy for wanting to keep my career the way it is now. I’m not the villain for saying no to her proposal and not wanting people to know that I’m gay. Getting to make music, being in shows like this – it’s what I love. You know that most things like this are…are temporary anyways. I still need something I can fall back on.” she responds. 

You deflate. There was a small part of you that was hoping that she would deny it. That this wasn't really the reason that she said no. You lean closer to her, resting your head against her shoulder. 

“No one thinks you’re the bad guy, Historia. And you’re not the villain for wanting to keep your own life private. We…we just don’t like that you think you can’t be a popstar and be gay at the same time. There’s….there’s so many people who are successful. Just look at Hange.” 

Historia shakes her head. 

“Hange…doesn’t count to me. I had even tried to talk to them about it, but…it didn’t really apply. They even agreed with me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Hange blends in more than I do. Then Ymir and I would. They’re dating Levi and...if you didn’t know, you would think they’re a straight couple. On the outside, when they walk on red carpets together, they still look normal to people. But if Ymir and I…” 

“It would be different. There would be no question.” you respond. 

“You know that Hange gets overlooked for certain opportunities, right? Imagine if it were me. I’m not charismatic like Satoru Gojo and…and maybe I don’t want to have to forge my own path. I get that it’s glamorous to do things like this to some people but…it feels unfair that everyone else gets to do things normally but I have to be some trailblazer just to get to the same place.” 

You don’t know what to say. Because it makes complete sense to you. And she had checked you on what you had been thinking yourself. 

That Historia was insanely talented and that she’d continue to prove herself just as she did before people started doubting her. That when she came out of it at the end, people would love and praise her – for going above and beyond mere expectations that were put on her and staying true to herself. 

But it wasn’t fair. And you know well enough now, there’s nothing glamorous or fulfilling about climbing your way to the top like that. To have people speculate on every portion of your life, especially something so sacred like the ones you hold ear. To expect Historia to do it would be unfair. 

Eren’s words echo through your mind. Just because her priorities aren’t the same as ours doesn’t mean she’s wrong. 

It’s a silent thankfulness you have – that you and Eren are on the same page. You wouldn’t be able to handle it half as well as Ymir if he wasn’t. If he had picked his career over you.  

“Things like love aren’t temporary, though. You could have fallen back on her when things got hard.” you murmur. 

Historia scoffs. 

“You don’t believe that.” Historia seethes in response. 

“I do. There’s…there’s so many examples of it around us.” you respond. 

“I know that everyone’s on a high because Jean and Mikasa are getting married next week. But you weren’t here when they were fighting. I promise you, no part of that was pretty for Jean. She gave him more hurt than he deserved.” 

“But they moved past that! They love each other now.” 

“But not everyone does. Not everyone gets to rock bottom and climbs their way out – and in fact, most people don’t. Jean and Mikasa are the exception, not the rule. If you didn’t think that was true, you and Eren would be going to the wedding as a couple.” 

You sigh. She’s wrong. She’s so wrong – but you can’t throw it in her face. 

“It doesn’t seem like you really believe it either.” you respond. 

Historia shrugs. 

“Two things can be true at one time, Y/N. I can believe in love but know that Ymir and I are hopeless. We have been since she kneeled.” 

You reach for your notebook, which you had discarded on the floor, and for the shitty pen that was left in between the pages and scribble on the first open spot you find. 

sometimes you just don’t know the answer till someone’s on their knees and asks you 

The question bites at you. Historia still loves Ymir. 

“Would you say yes if she asked you now?” you ask. 

“Yeah. I think I would.” 

“Even if she got on her knees?”

“I’d crouch down just to be there with her.” Historia responds. 

The earnestness in the statement makes your heart crush. She was already too late. 

“What do you think about Sofia?” 

Historia rolls her eyes. 

“It’s irritating how likable she is. Like it actually pisses me off.” 

You snort. That sounds familiar. 

“Lacy, oh lacy…” you hum. 

“You’re not funny, bitch.” Historia responds, reaching to shove you in the side. 

You both laugh. 

“I wrote a few songs about her and Sofia. No one knew it was about them, but…but Ymir knew. Sofia knew, but she was too nice to say anything about it. I wrote this song called traitor, because technically, Ymir actually knew Sofia while we were still together. And she got mad because…” 

“Because how is she a traitor if you’re the one who said no…” you finish. 

“Yeah. It…it really hurt, Ymir. And maybe I did that on purpose, just because…I never actually expected her to move on. It felt like a betrayal to me.” Historia adds. 

“I know you’ve been making…comments here and there. To Sofia and Ymir. I know you don’t like her, but…you made your bed, Historia. You have to lay in it now.” you respond. 

She doesn’t respond. 

“I think Ymir and Sofia just want what’s best for you. Sofia is the one who wanted me to write a song with you about it, just…just so you could get some of it off of your chest. We all want you to be happy.” 

Historia pushes up off the bed, hiking her knees to her chest, as she buries her face into the hardness of her knees. You can tell that she’s racking out a sob, her breaths heavy, as you wrap your arms around her, resting your head against hers. 

“Historia–” 

“If Ymir wanted me to be happy, she would have gotten back together with me when I asked yesterday.” Historia mumbles. 

You cringe. 

“Don’t tell me you –” you murmur. 

“We…we were talking about how nice it was to be around each other again at the funeral. And Ymir was saying that…that I’d always be someone who would bring comfort to her, just like I did to her then. I thought she was trying to say that it was always going to be me so I asked. I begged her this time. And she said no.” Historia adds. 

“Historia, I’m so sorry. You–” 

She shakes her head. It’s almost like you’ve hit a brick wall, because instead of talking further, reaches for your notebook and scribbles the words onto the page with you. You can tell that the conversation is over, and that in true Historia fashion, she’s so stubborn she won’t touch it again. 

Wwith your permission, she rips the page out of the spine. The look she spares you over her shoulder before walking out of the room is haunting. 

--

Eren pops his head into your room an hour later. 

“Can you do me a favor?” Eren asks. 

“Can you stop asking me that?” you retort back. 

“My response is contingent on your answer.” Eren

“Yes. I can do you a favor, Eren. What is it?” 

Eren smiles, holding his hand out to you, as he all but yanks you off of your bed. 

“It’s not really a favor. I just wanted you to come into my room. Gabi and Falco are trying their outfits on for the wedding.” Eren responds. 

You smile as you walk straight across into Eren’s room, to find Gabi and Falco sitting eagerly on the couch. There’s four big boxes in his room, freshly delivered from the courier, as you take the seat next to Eren on the bed. 

“Okay. Falco, this is yours. Gabi, you can change in Y/N’s room and Falco take the bathroom. And don’t rip anything or you’re both going to the wedding naked.” Eren instructs. 

You watch as the two of them burst out into a fit of giggles, before they shuffle into their respective rooms with the hangers stretched over their shoulders. You turn to Eren, tapping on your thighs, as you wait for them to come back. 

“Your dress is here, too. If you want to try it on.” Eren offers. 

“Oh! Yeah, maybe I will. Are you going to try yours?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I might.” Eren responds. 

It’s swelteringly awkward. You have no idea what to say. 

“I…found the song I wrote about Mikasa. Nico and Armin put together a backtrack for me so I’ll send it to you.” 

You watch as Eren’s eyes light up. 

“Thank you so much! I really hope she likes it.” 

“She will. You know how sentimental she is, I-I think she’s really going to love it.” you respond. 

“Speaking of. What are you getting Jean? I am morally obligated to hang you at the stake like it’s the Salem witch trials if it’s something bad.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“I actually need your help with my gift for Jean.” you state. 

Eren dramatically places his hands on his chest. 

“It’s your lucky day, Y/N! I live to serve. Especially when it’s you.” 

“When did you get so theatrical? Are you on something?” you state, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Not only am I extremely helpful, but I’m really generous too. I’ll give you some of my fix.” Eren responds, returning the energy back in full flesh. 

“Not me getting the princess treatment! What did I do to deserve this?” 

Eren shoves you in the side. 

“Shut up. What do you need my help with?” Eren asks. 

“Well…” 

It’s right at that moment that you hear Falco and Gabi’s giggly voices again, as they both run into the room. You immediately press your hands to your cheeks and nearly squeal at how cute they both look – and specifically melt at Falco’s bowtie matching Gabi’s dress. 

Seeing Falco wear suits is less cute than it was when he was a kid. Only because he looks like a full grown person, instead of being a sweet little kid, and it makes your heart hurt at how big he’s getting. 

You know that Falco can tell what you’re thinking and he preemptively complains about it. 

“Y/N. Quit looking at me like that. You’re embarrassing me.” Falco states. 

“Do you remember when you threw up on me in first grade? Don’t talk to me about being  embarrassing.” you scold. 

Eren shakes you off, before gesturing for Falco to walk closer to him. Eren’s readjusting the collar against the coat, tightening the tie, before he gets up and rummages around in his drawers. 

“Okay, Falco. I’m going to let you borrow my cuff-links for the wedding, but you have to promise to take really good care of them, okay? These are really special to me.”  Eren states. 

“Really, Eren? You’re going to let me wear them?” 

Eren reaches forward to lightly mess with Falco’s hair, before he hands him the box. Falco sticks his hand out as Eren secures them on for him, before offering him a smile. Falco’s sheer excitement makes your heart flutter – and melt that Eren so freely offered something of his own – as Falco excitedly shows them to Gabi at his side. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” you whisper. 

Eren shrugs. 

“Of course, I did. It’s Falco.” Eren responds. 

Eren turns back to the two of them, watching the excitement on his face, as they thank him profusely. 

“What’s special about the cuff-links, Eren?” Gabi asks. 

“I wore them at one of my first award shows where I won something for Attack on Titan.” Eren states. 

Gabi curls her nose in disgust. 

“Eren. You hate award shows. You don’t even care about awards!” Gabi complains. 

“You’re right. I don’t. But, it was a pretty memorable one for me. Got my first tattoo, performed with Y/N for the first time.” 

You turn to him, as he gives you a knowing smile, and you shake your head. And he has the nerve to call Mikasa over-sentimental. 

“Wait, Gabi. I have something for you too.” 

Eren watches as you quickly rush to your room, noting that you must really be rummaging through things in your dresser since he can hear you drop things and shout in pain, before you run back with a little blue box in your hands. 

You hold it open for Gabi, as she admires the little earrings. 

“Do you like them?” you ask. 

“I love them, Y/N.” 

“You can wear them at the wedding. Here, I’ll put them on for you.” 

Gabi excitedly pushes her hair back, as you watch Falco with his lovesick eyes as he observes you fixing them. You tuck her hair behind her ears as you admire her dress in full, squeezing her wrists. 

“You look beautiful, Gabi. They’re perfect.”

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I love you so much.” 

You can’t help but frown as she presses herself into your arms, returning her warm embrace in full. You look over at Eren, who wraps his arm around Falco and smiles at you. 

“Gabi! You’re going to be the prettiest girl at the party. You should have at least given Mikasa a fighting chance.” Eren jokes, as you watch Gabi shake her head and blush at the compliment. 

“You’re corny, Eren.” Gabi responds. 

“Do you have a date to the party, Gabi? It would make my night if the prettiest girl at the party walked in with me.” 

Eren’s so sweet. It reminds you of how Levi used to be with Sasha. 

“Sorry, Eren! You snooze, you lose. Falco already asked me.” Gabi responds, linking in her arm with Falco’s. 

Eren clutches his hands to his chest, giving the two of them a dramatic display of hurt, before he puts his hand on Falco’s shoulder. 

“Fair enough. You’re a very worthy opponent, Falco. Make sure you put the cuff links and the earrings back in the box nicely. And again, if you rip your clothes, you are going to the wedding naked.” Eren states. 

It’s an innocent thought that crosses your mind. That Eren would be a really good dad, when it came to it. 

The two of them wrap their arms around you again before they run out of the room again and Eren turns to you, narrowing his eyes. 

“You’re a copycat. You only got the earrings idea from me.” 

“You’re just bitter because she gave me a bigger reaction than Falco gave you.” you bite back. 

Eren shakes his head, as he starts shuffling through the tagged clothes and looking for your dress. 

“Have to ask. What’s so special about the earrings?” Eren states. 

You smile. 

“I wore them to Levi and Hange’s vow renewal.” 

It was the first time you and Eren said that you loved each other.  Eren turns back, giving you a soft smile. 

“You’re a sap.” Eren responds. 

“Takes one to know one.” you respond. 

Eren places the dress at your side. You eye the silver beading through the little zipper, admiring Mikasa’s cursive handwriting on the little label. 

“So what do you need my help with?” Eren asks. 

“Oh. Well.” 

You tap the open spot next to you. 

“When we were going to the awards show, Jean told me something. I had asked him back then if he was delaying his wedding because you and I were fighting. He said that it wasn’t just that, but it was because…he wanted you as his best man and he was having a hard time letting go of that thought when it was how he always imagined his wedding.” 

Eren nods. You figured Jean had told him as much. 

“He said that he’s always imagined his wedding the same way. That Mikasa would have long hair, a short train but a long veil. That you would be the best man and I would be the maid of honor. And that we’d sing a song for them, one that we wrote together for their first dance.” you state. 

Eren smiles. 

“Fuck. Your gift is way better than mine.” 

You laugh. 

“Is not.” 

“You’re giving Jean his dream wedding. I’m giving Mikasa America’s Funniest Home Videos.” 

“She loves that show!” you defend. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll help you write the song.” 

--

Levi attempts to ban Connie from coming to set the day you’re filming the kiss scene. Naturally, Connie decides to sneak in by dressing up as one of the crew members, before he’s dragged out by the ear when Hange catches him. 

You count yourself lucky that Hange and Levi had thought ahead and made sure that the cabin scenes were the last ones that you filmed for the show. Dead last – meaning everyone would have already been gone by the time you and Eren actually prepared to film them. 

It was enough consolation that you’d be alone with Eren in the last few days, before it was all really over. Similar to the way it really started, just the two of you in the townhouse.  

Eren’s sitting high in the makeup chair, lazily reading through the lines of the script, as the artists paint deep red lines into the sides of his cheeks. You give him a halfhearted wave as you take a seat a few feet away, cracking all your knuckles in nervous anticipation as they start powdering your face. 

Levi and Hange walk over, hands on their hips, as they look over to the two of you for weary eyes.

“Are you ready?” Levi asks. 

You give him a nod, Eren shooting two thumbs up to them, as they both squint their eyes. They don’t believe you.  

“Just one kiss. It’s not a big deal – you’re both grown adults. And you’ve done it before! So it’s not awkward. If anything, it’s like a peck. Just a quick one and you’ll be good, Y/N.” Hange adds. 

Eren glares at Hange.

“If it’s not awkward, why are you being weird about it?” Eren deadpans. 

Hange deflates. 

“Right then. Well, legs up in five!” Hange responds, before shuffling off to the other side of the room with Levi. You can hear the two of the murmuring under their breaths, rolling your eyes at how utterly disbelieving the two of them were of you. 

You turn to Eren, the two of you giving each other a shared annoyed look, before you turn back and focus on the scene at hand. You watch as the entire crew tasks themselves with testing the lights, pulling the cameras into view, and scribbling quickly on the clapperboard. 

It’s fairly simple. You just have to stand there and kiss him. No lines, no big confession – just one kiss.  

The cast stages you and Eren – bustling hands fixing the lapels of your clothes, the stray strands of your hair as you and Eren look at each other. 

“Hey.” 

Eren smiles. He seems fairly calm, considering things. You on the other hand, you can’t help but feel that bubbling ball of anxiety pulsating in your stomach. 

“Hi Y/N. How are you today?” 

“I’m good. Good, good. You?” you respond. 

“Great.” Eren responds. 

You shove your hands into your pockets, wiping the accumulating sweat on the inside of the pants, when you feel the little plastic box in your pocket. 

“I have something for you actually.” you add. 

You pull the box of Tic-Tacs out of your pocket, before holding them out in front of Eren. He gives you a hearty laugh, before cupping his hands and holding them out to you and you pour three in his hand, before downing your own. 

“That was very self-preservationist of you. But, I’ll have you know that I didn’t eat anything all day just to avoid this type of issue.” 

You snort. 

“No way.” 

“They had pizza for lunch. God forbid I taste like marinara sauce when you kiss me. I’m not a dog.” Eren responds. 

“I’ll admit. I did eat the pizza, but then I vigorously brushed my teeth for like five minutes.” you respond. 

Eren smiles, placing his hands on his cheeks. 

“All for me? I’m flattered, Y/N.” 

You smile. 

“Okay. So, like…do we need a gameplan? Do I lean towards the right? The left? Do you have a preference? Because I can –” 

You watch as Eren’s eyes go wide, as he looks at you like you’ve grown another head. 

You can tell that he’s trying not to laugh. You glare at him, huffing as you cross your hands over your chest. 

“What?” you seethe. 

“Are you…staging a kiss right now?” 

“Just so we’re on the same page! You know, I don’t want to just lunge at you and catch you off guard.” you respond. 

Eren smiles, before reaching forward and placing one of his hands on your neck. He uses his thumb to rub into the softness of your cheek, before narrowing his eyes at you. You can tell what he’s trying to say. 

Relax. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll just do what feels right. Sorry for being weird.” you respond. 

Eren shrugs. 

“S’not weird. I just think you’re overthinking it. We’ve done it hundreds of times. It’s on your move anyways, so you’re in control.” Eren responds. 

“You guys ready?” 

You and Eren look over at Levi and Hange, their legs crossed in the director’s chair, as you give them a nod. You turn back to Eren, who gives you a mini-salute, as you back up a few steps and shake your hands at your sides. 

“Alright, Y/N, we’re rolling. On your move.” Levi calls. 

It’s like your feet are cemented into the ground. You can feel the unease that had been pooling in your stomach all day wash over you as you become acutely aware of how thick and warm the air is. It’s almost like it’s weighing down on you – hanging heavy on your skin, nearly throwing you off balance. 

You try to shake the feeling off, shutting your eyes before cracking each of the knuckles in your fingers. You can see it out of your peripheral vision, Levi shifting his head to the side to look at Hange, and the embarrassment bubbles in your throat. 

“I’m good. I just need a second, sorry.” 

Levi shakes his head. 

“Take your time. Whatever feels right.” Levi responds, giving you a comforting enough smile. 

It’s just a kiss. You’ve done it hundreds of times. 

The walk towards him, though it’s only two or three steps, is excruciatingly long. The clothes are too starched, too constricting, as you reach forward, and press your hands to Eren’s cheeks. The makeup pressed to his skin comes off on your hand, as you tilt his head up – slotting your lips against his. 

Eren’s quick with it. His lips quickly glide over yours, the familiar taste of the mint you had just offered him lingering, as he lifts his hands too, pulling your face closer to his. 

Eren can feel it – your entire body freezing against his, like the first time he had ever kissed you. The urge to swoop in and fix it, even though you’re the one who was supposed to take the lead is too overwhelming. 

He knows it’ll crush you if you don’t do it right. 

(And maybe Eren’s a little selfish.)

You can feel the blood rushing to your head, as Eren brings his hands up – one hand cupping your cheek and the other one slithering around your back to pull you closer. You nearly gasp into his mouth as he leans forward this time, the softness of his hands making you melt in his hands. 

It’s Eren. Tender, soft, and intoxicating. You don’t want to stop. You return the kiss in full this time, properly leaning forward and giving it back. 

But Eren’s the one who pulls away, resting his head against your forehead, as he lightly squeezes at your neck, where his hands are resting. You’re both panting in tandem, eyes still pinched shut and foreheads pressed together, as you swallow hard and try to catch your breath. 

“Hey guys. Quick note for you.” 

You both flinch at the sound of Hange’s voice in your ears, awkwardly taking a step away from each other, as a different embarrassment washes over you. You avert your eyes from Eren and look at Hange, who shoots you a weird look before focusing back on Eren. 

“Hm? What, Hange?” Eren mumbles. You can see him out of your peripheral vision – lifting his fingers and pressing them to his lips, a slight shake in his hand. 

“Eren, honey. She just decapitated you. Like, cut your head off. You are dead.” Hange clarifies. 

“Right?” Eren hums. 

“So, you can’t use your hands to kiss her. You don’t have hands anymore! And…and that was way too lively for someone who is supposed to be dead. Tone down the excitement a little.” Hange responds before shuffling off, as Eren’s cheeks go bright pink. 

Eren turns back to you, giving you a sheepish smile, as you shake your head. 

There was no need to be embarrassed. Not when you were the one who led wrong and he was trying to fix it. 

Not when you enjoyed that way more than you should have. 

Eren watches as you march back to your spot, shaking your hands at your side, as you fix your hair. Eren turns back to look at Hange and feels the humiliation increase when they mouth something that looks an awful lot like touch starved. 

Eren throws the thought out of his mind as he leans back again, tucking his hands behind his back. The situation is less than ideal, with his eyes closed – because Eren doesn’t really clock that you’re kissing him until you’re actually doing it. 

It’s your sweet hands cradling his face and then the warmth against his lips – before he can feel himself sinking into your embrace.

You can tell that Eren’s more apprehensive this time, as you flutter your eyes shut and lightly bump your nose against his on accident. You pull him up closer to you, scanning his face and smiling, before you lean forward and rub into the skin on his cheek. You can’t help but smile as you lean forward, the anticipation palpable as you press your lips to his. 

Eren can still feel his heart thrumming, at the way you’re so carefully holding him like glass, while making him feel like his body was on fire. He’s caught off guard when he feels your tongue against his, unable to contain his smile. 

You pull back, your lips burning and skin humming, as Eren looks at you, with a soft smile on his face. You give his cheek a little pinch, which he responds to by giving you a wink, before Levi walks over – his hands crossed over his chest. 

Eren groans. 

“What did I do now?” 

“Not you, Eren. Y/N. Well, you too, but she started it. Y/N, you just murdered the love of your life. LIke fully, had to be the one to murder him even though you didn’t want to because you were the only one strong enough to do it.” 

“Right.” 

“Could you not…smile into the kiss? You have no reason to be smiling.”

You cringe. 

“Right! Right, so sorry, Levi. Won’t happen again.” 

“Okay, because. You smile and then he smiles because you did. And again, just for extreme clarification, he is dead. This is supposed to be sad.” 

Levi rolls his eyes, as he shuffles back to the chair. You spare him a glance while Eren isn’t looking and he mouths something that looks an awful lot like the word freak. You shake him off, as you turn back to Eren, giving him a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry.” you offer. 

“Not a problem. I love it when you smile.” Eren responds, running his fingers over his lips again before he drops them. 

You can feel your head spinning. 

“Okay. Last one.” you clarify. 

“Third time’s a charm, princess.” Eren responds. 

You walk back to the spot, before you wait for Levi to give you the cue. And this time, walk forward as slowly as you can and repeat it to yourself. No hands, no smiling, no tongue.  

You reach forward, placing your hands around his neck, and lean forward. You slide your lips over his, circling your fingers into his neck to ground yourself into the touch rather than his intoxicating smell, as you kiss him. It’s overwhelmingly tender this time – the way you linger over him, before you pull back and let go. 

But the second you pull apart, it’s an immediate pang in your chest. It felt too final. 

“That was great guys! That’s the one.” Hange responds, as you look over and give them a smile. 

You awkwardly drop your hands, letting go of Eren, as he offers you a polite smile in response, holding out his hand to give you a high-five. You oblige, slapping your hand into his, though you can’t help but notice that the smile he gave barely reached his eyes. 

--

On your way out, you can feel the steaming that was pooling under your skin fizzle out as you walk out into the cold air, as you start marching on the pavement back to the townhouse. You prepare yourself for the unnecessary barrage of questions, and for how irritating Connie can be, as you push into the foyer. 

When you walk into the main room, it’s unexpectedly quieter than you thought it was going to be, the faint sound of the piano getting louder as you walk closer. And when you push into the room, the quiet warmth that was blooming under your skin is replaced with an ice cold pinch when you catch sight of what’s happening. 

Historia’s playing the piano, for the group of them. 

Mikasa looks up at you immediately, giving you wide eyes, as you press your hands to your temples, and look to your left. Jean and Connie give you the same look, the group of you all sweltering in the awkwardness, as you avert your gaze back to Historia. 

You booked the night train for a reason So you could sit there in this hurt

Bustling crowds or silent sleepers You're not sure which is worse

Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems

Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems

Eren walks in right behind you, nearly bumping into you, as you press your hand to his forearm and squeeze hard. 

“Wha-” 

“Be quiet!” you whisper. 

Eren gives you a puzzled look, as you watch his eyes scan around the room, and watch the realization register in his face. He looks down at you, giving you an awkward look, as you shake your head. The two of you avert your gaze to the left again, to find Sofia crying with one of her hands pressed to her chest. 

How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through

One for the money, two for the show I never was ready, so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you

"She would've made such a lovely bride What a shame she's fucked in the head, " they said But you'll find the real thing instead She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred

Watching Ymir is like watching someone get sucker punched in the face in real time. It reminds you of the same reaction that Eren gave you the other day, while you were filming, a visceral physical reaction. You watch as Ymir stumbles back, nearly loses her balance, as the tears start collecting in her eyes. 

And even worse, watch as Sofia tries to reach for her but Ymir pushes her away. 

And hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing With champagne problems

Your mom's ring in your pocket Her picture in your wallet You won't remember all my Champagne problems

You won't remember all my Champagne problems

The second she stops playing, Ymir runs up the stairs – her feet leaving a pounding sound before the door slams shut. And you watch as Sofia takes a deep and heavy breath, before running out the front door. 

--

You find Sofia two hours later, a block and a half away from the townhouse, on a bench. You reach down, picking up her bike off of where it’s toppled on the concrete, and rest it against the edge of the armrest, before taking the seat next to her. 

Sofia doesn’t hesitate to talk – like almost half of the people you know. 

“Is Ymir okay?” she asks. 

You shake your head. 

“Last I know, Eren and Mikasa went to talk to her. I’m sure they talked her down.” you respond. 

Sofia gives you a nod, inhaling shakily, as she hikes her knees to her chest. You can barely see her face – the hood pulled over her head obscuring her face – as she presses her cheeks into her knees. 

“I didn’t think she was going to sing it. I’m really sorry, I –” 

“Did you know that Historia asked Ymir to get back together with her yesterday?” 

You deflate. 

“Yes. She told me right before I went to film with Eren.” you respond. 

Sofia doesn’t respond. It’s chilling – to see someone you’ve only seen smiling for the past week and a half so defeated in one fell swoop. And even more than that, knowing how small it can feel to be competing with things that feel larger than life, in an entire world that you don’t feel like you’re a part of. 

“Ymir said no. I know she really loves you.” you offer. 

“I know she did. She came and told me right after it happened. She walked in all hot and heavy, nearly red in the face, pissed at the audacity Historia had to say that.” Sofia states. 

She pulls her hood back, resting her head against the back of the bench, as she flutters her eyes shut. 

“There’s nothing that…that gets Ymir moving like Historia. Whether she’s mad…or happy…or sad, no one can make Ymir feel as much as Historia does. If Historia and her have a good talk about how they’re always going to be important to each other, she’s on top of the fucking world. If she gets on her hands and knees and begs for her back, it’s enough to send her into a blind rage. And if she sings a song about how she got away…it’s enough to send her sobbing into her room.” 

You swallow hard. 

“I feel like I’m intruding on people who are meant to be. I don’t think I should be here.” she adds, her voice cracking. 

You shake your head.

“Ymir really loves you, I-I can just tell by the way that she looks at you. It would kill her if you left, Sofia.” 

She shrugs. 

“I know I’m never going to be Historia. And I know that first loves and…and sexual awakenings or whatever are sacred to people, but…I can’t sit here when I’m not even a part of the competition. I’m smart enough to know when two people still care about each other more than they should. I feel like I’m committing a fucking crime by keeping them apart.” Sofia responds. 

You bite down into the hardness of your cheek, before leaning your head against her shoulder. She welcomes the touch, leaning her own against yours before you break the silence. 

“I don’t necessarily think you’re wrong. There isn’t anyone that gets Ymir going like Historia. But that doesn’t mean that they’re right for each other. It doesn’t mean that you aren’t Ymir’s perfect match.” you respond. 

You shift. 

“Just because Ymir gets to these big…big emotions with Historia doesn’t make her better than you. In fact, I think that’s the leg that you have up on her. Why you’re the one who is marrying Ymir and not her.” 

“Really?” she whispers. 

“I’m not sure how familiar you are with Jean and Mikasa’s situation but –” 

“I know. Jean slept over at our house once when they were fighting. We ate ice cream together at three in the morning and talked till the sun rose.” 

You smile. 

“Jean told me that there’s lots of different types of love that you have in your life. And I just think that there’s one person…or one situation that deeply cuts into you, so hard that it changes you. I think that’s what Historia is for Ymir. Because to her, it must have been devastating that she would have done anything, that she could have changed herself any type of way, and she still wouldn’t be enough for her. I think that would get anyone moving, being reminded of the deep hurt, the complicated feelings that come with that person.” you respond. 

You feel your phone buzz, as you look at the little screen. 

[eren]: did you find her?  [eren]: ymir wants to see her.  [eren]: really badly. 

You respond back, before turning back to her. You have to turn this around for Ymir. 

“The big feelings aren’t the ones you chase after, Sofia. They fizzle out eventually, when the spark is gone. You pick based on comfort, on consistency. And Historia’s never…been consistent. She could never give Ymir what she wanted like you could. Like you do.” 

Sofia gives you a halfhearted smile. 

“You’re really sweet, Y/N. I really like you.” 

You smile, your chest panging with hurt. 

“I really like you too, Sofia. I hope you know that Historia didn’t do any of that to hurt you. She just…feels first, thinks second. It’s how she’s always been. And it’s not fair to you, but…but I hope you know it’s not personal. Or anything about you.” 

Sofia puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“Thanks.” 

You can tell that she’s ruminating over your words and the two of you sit there quietly, dangling your legs over the side of the bench, as you wait for Ymir. Your stomach rumbles loudly, as you shoot her an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry. I didn’t take my lunch after Eren and I were done filming.” 

Sofia’s eyes light up, through the redness and puffiness. 

“Didn’t you kiss?” 

You groan. You only oblige the conversation because you know she means well. 

“Yes. We kissed.” 

“Was it hot?” Sofia asks. 

You snort. 

“Um…kind of. I accidentally used my tongue the second time.” 

Sofia gasps, excitedly pressing her hands to her chest as she leans forward. 

“The second time? Meaning you did it more than once?” you ask. 

You bury your face in your hands. 

“Three times. He…he got too into it the first time. Then I got too into it the second time. It’s supposed to be a really sad scene but –”  

“But you guys are horny, I get it.” Sofia finishes. 

“We’re not–” 

“Ymir says you guys eye fuck each other. I thought she was being kind of crude, but you really do.” 

You groan. 

“Sofia–” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You guys are actually really cute and I hope you don’t think we’re all pressuring you. I just think it’s really neat the little things you guys do for each other. Connie was telling me about the mints that you got him before you kissed.” 

“Oh. Yeah. I was just kind of trying to break the ice so he was comfortable and stuff.” 

“No, I totally get what you mean. Okay, like. The first time Ymir and I went on a date, I was so ready to kiss her – I had been thinking about it all week. And before we got into the car, I ate an entire box of Altoids.” 

“An entire box? Doesn’t that get painful after a while?” 

“Listen, she’s like way out of my league. I had to impress her! Plus, it gets rid of that doubt in my head when I lean in and stuff.” 

“You wanted to impress her with minty breath?” 

“Okay, don’t question my methods. She’s my fianceé now. After we kissed and I went home,  Ymir told me that she really enjoyed it. So every time I went to see her, I would eat another box just so that she would enjoy it again.” 

“You know that Ymir hates mints, right?” 

“Is this just common knowledge that everyone knew or something? I literally had no idea. Mikasa told me a month later and I was fucking furious. God, I never bought another pack again.” Sofia complains. 

“You didn’t? I thought you said it got rid of the doubt.” 

“Yeah but, why would I? She doesn’t like them. I got over it.” Sofia states. 

You pause, leaning your head back. You refuse to comment on it, because winning her over was Ymir’s battle. And you surely hoped Ymir would be able to do it, because this was, in fact, her perfect match. 

Who would give up trivial things for her, like kneeling on the ground or chugging mints, just because Ymir asked. Just because it would make her happier. 

“How did Connie know I gave Eren the mints? Hange kicked him out.” you state. 

“Oh. He climbed onto the roof. That kiss was really important to him and Mikasa.” Sofia states. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Of course it was.” 

You scoff, before shaking your head. It’s enough to make her laugh through her tears. And surely enough, Ymir and Eren appear after twenty minutes – out of breath and panting. You take the cue and jump off the bench, reaching for Eren’s outstretched hand, as the two of you quietly walk back to the townhouse and leave them to it. 

“They’ll be fine.” Eren murmurs, trying to pull you into walking the other way. He’s trying to reassure you. 

You look up at him and smile. 

“Yeah, I’m sure they will be.”

--

Jean and Mikasa don’t do bachelor or bachelorette parties. Early on, Eren had clocked that something like that, a party celebrating them get married without the other present, wasn’t something that wouldn’t even be remotely fun to them. 

But you still had to do something. Which is why Eren settled for throwing the two of them a laid back party after filming at the end of the week, with enough alcohol for them to get drunk to their hearts desire. 

“Sometimes I have genuine concern for how their livers are still functioning.” Eren states. 

You avert your gaze from Gabi and Falco – who are sitting in the corner playing a very intense game of cards together and giggling – to Jean and Mikasa, who are very drunkenly dancing with Niccolo and Sasha, who unfortunately got roped into it. 

“Tell me about it.” you respond. 

You can’t help but smile as Niccolo takes turns spinning Mikasa around, as Sasha and Jean attempt a very dangerous version of a dip, which results in Jean dropping her flat on the floor. Eren’s ready to jump up, but Armin gestures for him to keep sitting before jumping up. 

“Sometimes I think it’s sweet though. I think back to all those award shows and realize that they probably had a really great time together. Just dancing together, enjoying each other's company.” you respond. 

“Yeah. That first one we did though was really fun. I mean, Sukuna and the lollipop thing was like really fucking annoying. But besides that, I really liked that we were all just sitting together having a good time.” 

You snort. 

“Do you ever think about how…important moments seem after the fact? And that…sometimes you don’t really know how much something will mean later?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” 

“When we went to Seattle, I was talking with Lana. And I was telling her that Sukuna and I are nowhere near as close as you and her are. And she was telling me that Sukuna and I were like that. And that back then, when I met him, I was the one of the first people to kind of… understand that he was joking. To not immediately think bad of him or be weirded out by it, I guess.” you respond. 

Eren shrugs. 

“I guess. I mean, you showing up for my birthday dinner, it must have seemed to you that I was being so reserved when I left with Hyla. But that was the moment for me that I knew I wanted to be out of that thing, that kind of started everything.” Eren responds. 

You feel your cheeks heat up. And you’re sure that the four shots that Mikasa gave you earlier, the slight buzz in your veins, is what makes you say it. 

“This is one of them too. The important moments I’ll look back on.” you respond. 

You watch as Eren’s eyes go wide, before he awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck and smiles at the ground. 

“How so?” 

“All of this time that I get to spend with you. It’s up there, with everything else.” 

Eren reaches forward, linking his hand in with yours, before he squeezes three times. 

“Me too.” 

The two of you keep your hands that way, linked together and raised in the air, before the wind nearly gets knocked out of you by Jean leaning his entire weight on you. You can see that Mikasa is doing the same to Eren, hands tangled around his neck and nearly strangling him. 

“Did you guys know you’re the best maid of honor and best man ever?” Mikasa whines. 

Eren takes her hands, untangling them from cutting off his circulation, before letting her lean against his shoulder. You can see that he’s pleasantly surprised from the affection, wrapping his arm around her and leaning his head against hers as well. 

“Yes, Mikasa. We know.” Eren responds. 

“Stop being cocky, Eren.” Jean grumbles, as you turn your head to the side to smile at him. 

“Yeah, Eren.” you respond, emphasizing each syllable as he rolls his eyes. 

Eren shakes his head at the two of you, before looking down at Mikasa. 

“Are you ready for your gift, Mika?” Eren asks. 

“What? Really?” 

Eren gives her a nod as she nearly jumps up with excitement, teetering on the heels of her feet as Eren momentarily disappears to grab the little tape. Jean looks down at you, giving you a steely glare, as you roll your eyes. 

“What, Jean?”

“You are getting me a gift, right?” 

“Do you think I’m a nutjob? Obviously, I’m getting you a gift. You’re getting married.” 

“It better blow my fucking mind, Y/N. I have seriously high hopes after finding out what Eren got Mikasa.” 

You grin. 

“Trust me. It’s going to be everything you wanted and more.” 

Jean glares at you. 

“I don’t like your tone. If it’s a gag gift, you’re not meeting any of my children.” 

“They’re also Mikasa’s children. She’ll let me see them.” 

“No, I won’t let her.” 

“You don’t own the kids, Jean.” 

“The fuck do you mean? They’re my kids.” 

You elbow him in the sides. 

“These aren’t even real kids yet! Why are you getting territorial over people who don’t even exist yet?” 

Mikasa slings her arm around both of your shoulders, before squeezing the two of you way too hard under her grip. The two of you give each other wide eyes as she nearly cuts off your circulation and scolds both of you. 

“Why are you guys always so mean to each other? I thought you guys were getting along.” 

“We do get along!” Jean responds. 

“So along! We’re two peas in a pod!” you respond. 

Mikasa slightly loosens her grip as Eren walks up, twisting the little CD in his hand, as he eyes the three of you. She absentmindedly links her arm in with his and Jean, as Jean and Eren mimic their motions and loop you into the circle. 

There’s tears bubbling in her eyes, as you and Eren spare each other a glance, and prepare yourself for the waterworks that are going to follow. Mikasa was always an emotional drunk. 

“Thank you guys for planning such a good party for us. And for being really good friends to us.” Mikasa responds, voice cracking. 

You smile, cheeks nearly hurting, as you squeeze Eren and Jean’s arms. 

“Of course, Mikasa. You-” 

“We’re never going to be able to repay you both. I never forgot how many times you both took the fall for us back in the day whenever Levi got mad at us for switching our rooms around. And that you guys always did it whenever we asked.” 

Eren shakes his head. 

“I promise that we wanted to switch rooms just as badly as you guys did. Relax, Mikasa.” 

“I want you guys to be so happy. You guys are both such good people that it makes my heart hurt. You’re so, so perfect for each other.” 

You can feel Eren stiffen at your side as your cheeks heat up, the awkwardness sweltering in the air. 

“Thank you, Mikasa. That’s very sweet of you.” 

“I want my kids to be like ring bearers or flower girls at your wedding! I want our kids to be best friends like we were best friends and make those stupid videos like we used to do back in the day.” 

“Speaking of those videos, can I give you your gift now, Mikasa?” Eren asks. 

Mikasa lifts her hands, wiping the wetness off of her face, as she nods. Eren walks towards the TV, setting up the little video player, as you grab the group of them and signal them to join you around the couch to watch the video. 

The song starts playing, the soft little piano, of a song you had coincidentally written about Jean and Mikasa years prior. You and Jean had visited Mikasa on the set of one of her old films, Emma, and you had half heartedly scribbled some lyrics about it. You were able to find the old book in the back of your drawers and piece it together properly with Armin and Niccolo’s help. 

When Emma falls in love, she paces the floor Closes the blinds and locks the door When Emma falls in love, she calls up her mom Jokes about the ways that this one could go wrong She waits and takes her time 'Cause Little Miss Sunshine always thinks it's gonna rain When Emma falls in love, I know That boy will never be the same

'Cause she's the kind of book that you can't put down Like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town And all the bad boys would be good boys If they only had a chance to love her And to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I was her

Eren pieced together the perfect videos. You’re positive that he’s stolen from all of Levi’s old tapes, as well as the dumb camera that the group of you all used in the early seasons. The clips are all of Jean and Mikasa – of such seemingly unimportant moments that nearly make your heart burst at the sight of the two of them now. 

There’s sprinkles of you and Eren in the videos, of the two of you recording them in the background holding hands when you were trying to catch their attention. And of Connie and Reiner just blowing kissy faces at them or Sasha and Bertholdt trying to imitate the two of them. 

Nearly everyone’s laughing at the clips – at how little Jean and Mikasa look at all of the clips – and Mikasa secures her hand in with yours. 

“Is that you singing? Did you write this song about me?” 

“Yeah. Way back when you filmed Emma.” 

You can see her face curl up in emotion, before she leans her head against your shoulder. She still has one of her hands wrapped in with Eren’s, stopping every few seconds to give him a really big smile that you can tell means the world to him. 

Emma met a boy with eyes like a man Turns out her heart fits right in the palm of his hand Now he'll be her shelter when it rains Little does he know, his whole world's about to change

'Cause she's the kind of book that you can't put down Like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town And all the bad boys would be good boys If they only had a chance to love her And to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I was her Yeah, between me and you, sometimes I wish I was her

The clip ends with the group of you hugging, when you had finished wrapping season one. You remember the moment distinctly – the dread that came with it. Because you didn’t know if you were going to get a season two, if anyone was even going to like the show, or if you’d ever see any of them again. 

Armin initiates it first, by leaning forward over the couch and wrapping his arm around Eren and Mikasa. And then one by one, you’re all piling on each other – warm tears in your eyes as everyone ruffles Jean and Mikasa’s hair – the two of them pink in the face with their tears. 

You stand up to pop the CD out of the box as you watch Eren and Mikasa give each other a long hug, Eren responding warmly to the babbling mess coming out of her mouth. 

“Eren. Eren, I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, Mikasa.” 

“This is perfect. This is so perfect, you’re one of my best friends ever, you know that?” 

Eren laughs, before placing both of his hands on her shoulders. 

“You’re one of my best friends too, Mikasa. Save one dance for me at the wedding, okay?” 

“Of course. Of course, of course we have to dance together. You can’t leave me hanging, Eren.” 

“This was my idea! And you’re the one who’s going to be so busy. Just don’t forget me.” 

You’re caught off guard from watching the two of them when you feel a tapping on your shoulder to find Ymir at your side. You give her a smile as you both lean against the wall. 

“Hey.” 

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor. You can say no.” Ymir states. 

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” 

“That was…a really sweet song you wrote about Mikasa. I’ve always really loved how you can feel the emotion in songs you write.” 

You smile. 

“Is there any way that you could write a song with me? About Sofia? Because, we’re good but I want her to know that she means the world to me. And she’s been a fan of yours for so long that I think that it would be something that was really special to her. And I know that things are complicated because of Historia and that you might have picked a side, but I’m just asking you for this as your friend and –” 

“I’m on your side too.” you state. 

“Hm?” 

“Historia is my friend. But you are too. And I want you and Sofia to be happy, I really like her and I really like you.” 

You watch as Ymir deflates. 

“Really?” 

“You’re meant to be together. I think that she can really love you in the way that you deserve.” 

Ymir leans forward, uncharacteristically affectionate, as she wraps her arms around you and squeezes your arms. 

“You’re a really good person, Y/N.” Ymir states. 

You laugh. 

“You must be as drunk as Mikasa.” 

“No, no I really mean it. You always have really good intentions at heart. I know that your whole lover girl branding must be…frustrating to look at after everything that happened. But that’s always who you’ve been, with all of us. It’s a really good part of you.” Ymir states. 

You smile. 

“You’re speaking really highly of me. All I did was say I was going to write a song with you, Ymir.” 

“I think you deserve really good things. People have given you way too much hurt than you deserve.” 

--

The following morning, you’re able to snag Armin to help you play Ymir’s song for Sofia. And surely enough, you can feel it radiating as you watch her face light up, the way she nearly beams at the two of you as you sing. 

You sit abandoned in the room, hours after Armin, Ymir, and Sofia trickle away. 

Only because it’s so overwhelming that it nearly suffocates you. The love in the room. 

Ymir and Sofia. Jean and Mikasa and Gabi and Falco. The way Eren and Armin have reconciled and how you always see Levi smiling at you from the back of the room when the group of you are messing around. 

You’re so full of it that you can barely breathe, so nervously anxious that it makes your stomach hurt. 

“You okay?” 

You look up to find Eren looking down at you. At the love in the room, staring at you so intently. 

“Yeah.” 

“I had a question.” 

You tap the open seat on the couch next to you, shuffling to the side, as he joins you. 

“Sure. What’s up?”

You watch as Eren leans forward on his knees, eyes trained on the ground as he cracks through each of the knuckles in his fingers. 

“You can say no. You don’t have to feel obligated to answer in any way because it was just an idea I had. I won’t be hurt if you don’t want to, or…or had other plans I don’t know about because you’re obviously entitled to that! And you know, it’s a harmless type of thing that I just wanted to –” 

“Eren.” 

He pauses, looking up at you. 

“Just ask.” you finish. 

“Will you be my date to the wedding?” Eren asks. 

You feel the butterflies swarming in your stomach as you smile at him, squeezing your hands into fists as you hold them close to your chest. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I want to go with you. We’re doing a song together and…and we’re all good. It would be nice to be together, like we did back when we wrote invisible string. That and I kind of need you to point out all the love in the room for me just so I can remember it all.” Eren responds. 

You smile. 

“Of course. We’ll take turns. I’ll point one out and then you.” 

Eren grins. 

“Deal.” 

You reach forward, placing your pointer finger against his chest. He looks down before looking back up at you, confused. 

“What?” he asks. 

“You just asked me to point out the love in the room.” 

You watch as Eren leans his head back, unable to contain his smile, as he shoves your hand away and mimics the motion by pointing back.

--

next chapter linked here

an: anyways ymir requests a song about her relationship with historia later on and they write you're losing me. and yes, you're losing me and champagne problems end up being about the same relationship. also historia being so jo march coded by saying she would accept ymir's proposal now that she's actually with someone else and can't have her....anyways jeankasa wedding oh we cried

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beneath the mask ✩ chapter 4 ⬅ch. 3

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. kinda mean!ghost. forced proximity. blood, war, and death. wc 5.3k. ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | this one was fun to write!! it's a bit longer than previous chapters too. thank you for all the messages and ideas for this fic, i hope i do it justice! and as usual, feedback is appreciated &lt;3

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

...al mazrah…

you sat trembling on board the razor-1, your bag tucked between your legs, wedged nervously between two insanely muscled marines that made you feel minuscule in comparison. ghost stood as the aircraft began to land and soap gave you a reassuring look from across the terminal. 

you undid your seatbelt and you felt your fingertips vibrate as they clung to your tactical vest, all of your adrenaline was starting to make you feel sick. 

“this is capture or kill,” soap had said to you. “but we need him alive.”

“that’s where i come in,” you mumbled under your breath. 

soap nudged you on the shoulder. “don’t worry so much. you’ll hang back while we infiltrate the base hassan is camped up in. then you can swoop in to save the day when i have him bleeding out on the floor.” you rolled your eyes at soap’s confidence. “easy.”

“right,” you mocked, trying to hide the terror that was slowly seeping into your bones. 

ghost began rambling off orders, the aircraft shaking as it made contact with the ground, and you tried to instill it in your brain that you had nothing to be so fearful about; this was just another mission for the guys. they did things like this all the time for the sake of their country. but the fact that you had never been on the frontline before kept niggling your mind. you began to wonder if you were really made for this kind of shit.

it wasn’t that long ago you had wanted nothing more than to join the military to help wounded soldiers when you realized you had nothing left for you back home. after your friend died in combat, an injury that could have been mended if they had enough medics in their arsenal, you decided to put on a brave face and save soldiers just like him. regardless of what you thought about war, you wanted to be a medic, meaning neutral ground. you were there to mend the fallen, it didn’t matter to you what side they were on.

and as much as you didn’t like to brag or be filled with a sense of pride–it always made you uncomfortable–it was just a technicality to say you were at the top of your class. the best of the best , as price had said. 

“keep up,” ghost grunted to you as he turned to exit the craft, walking down the ramp. you shook yourself out of your head-pounding thoughts and quickly followed the group of men out of the ship, leaving team alpha behind. 

you stumbled onto the ground, the strays of your hair that stuck out from under your beanie beneath your helmet fluttered in the wind as the ship took off to take team alpha downrange. 

“razor-1, all bravo deployed. moving to secondary hlz,” the pilot said over the comms for everyone to hear. 

your eyes locked onto soap’s, his gun at the ready. he nodded his head, urging you to follow him. you both made your descent with the rest of bravo, willing your hands not to shake as you held your gun up, your night vision goggles set over your eyes.

“all stations- razor-1 is bracketed, we’re getting lit!” the pilot’s anxious voice echoed in your ears. “incoming- flares! flares!”

you watched as the horizon lit up in front of you, hustling to stay beside soap. 

“shit that was close!” another voice spoke. 

and then, an urgent “second missile!”

you tensed, scurrying after the group of men who crept down the small incline. things were picking up fast. you had barely been out of the ship–it was certainly less than two minutes–and explosions and gunfire were already filling the air.

“oh fuck…!”

“razor-1 going down! we’re going down!”

your teeth clenched as you switched into a run, all your gear slowing you down and making you huff your breaths. 

“stay close!” you heard soap yell in your ear. 

you nodded even though you knew he couldn’t see you. the smell of ash began to fill your senses.

“hold up,” ghost commanded. the team stopped, a small explosion erupting at the bottom of the hill where building 1 was located.

“alpha, what’s your status?”

coughing and wheezing breaths harrowingly echoed on the comms. 

“alpha, how copy…?” ghost said with a bit more urgency. 

“bravo- alpha is immoblie. multiple critical!” a brief pause sounded between the man’s reply. “oh, shit! we’re taking effective fire!”

you clenched your gun. what if you, or soap, or ghost had been assigned alpha? you sucked in a breath of air and tried to calm your racing heart. 

“alpha, we’re moving to building 1. hold tight.” ghost’s voice was so smooth as he spoke like this type of shit was a regular occurrence to him. the same candace as someone who was greeting a friend in a coffee shop. his nonchalance sent shivers up your spine. 

“ghost, we need to secure that crash site now,” soap spoke.

“first, we clear for hassan, that takes the heat off alpha. then we secure the crash site. clear?”

“roger that.”

“let’s move.”

ghost, hustling towards the rocky house, swept into your line of sight. soap turned his head and when he saw you were close behind him, he took off after ghost. 

“force up to the house.” ghost whispered. 

you stumbled over the uneven terrain, the weight of all your gear and the obstruction the goggles caused was making it difficult to see. 

the sound of shuffling pants, boots crunching the pebbled earth, and the slight hum of machinery was the only sound in your ears when no one was speaking. you felt your chest tighten with nerves. 

suddenly, with your body realizing the height of the situation, you began to steady. you were good under pressure. exceptionally good. this is why you were here , you told yourself. you could do this .

you heard an enemy soldier shouting something in the distance that you couldn’t quite make out–he must have been speaking arabic.

the group rounded up outside the house and ghost scaled the edge of the building. a man handed him a sledgehammer. “breacher up,” he said faintly before he slammed it into the wooden door. you felt a chill catch along the hairs of your arms as he broke open the door in one swift motion, you could see his muscles taut even through his thick layers of clothes. 

“sweep through,” ghost called. soap was at the doorway and began shooting.

you tried to pay attention to your surroundings as you waited for soap and ghost to clear the way. the blazing fire in the distance sent eerie shadows along the buildings and barren trees. 

“first deck clear! negative on hassan,” a bravo said. 

another replied, “copy that, second deck’s clear!”

“rog,” ghost grunted. 

you slipped into the building behind the men, watching as they scanned their surroundings and made themselves safe behind barriers. 

“contact! building 2!” a voice shouted. 

you stumbled back against a storage cabinet as gunfire ricocheted off the walls. 

“they know we’re here!” ghost shouted. in a startling motion, he turned to you, spying you immediately as you shifted your weight. “stay down!”

you nodded and huddled behind a workbench. the men began shooting rounds at the men in building 2. the sharp metallic clank of a bullet hitting a metal desk off to your right made you jump, the shell clinking on the floor like a fallen coin. you felt your eyes widen slightly. 

“all bravo, move on building 2!” ghost stated, his voice a welcoming sound through your headset. you tried to focus on his voice instead of the shouts of men and blasting echoes of weapons.

ghost and someone from alpha spoke to each other as the men started their way towards building 2. soap appeared beside you and helped you up. “you alright, lass?”

you nodded, “m’good.” you brushed yourself off and followed soap as he led you out of the building and towards another that was roughly 100 feet before your squad. you could see ghost already approaching the second building, his feet shuffling as he stayed out of the line of sight of the open doorway. 

shouts in arabic made you stagger as you walked. gunshots in the distance followed by the occasional explosion filled the otherwise gorgeous night. you slid your goggles up and glanced at the starry sky. if it wasn’t for the bloodshed unfolding before you, you could easily see yourself laying out on one of these hills, the cool night air ruffling your hair as you watched the stars–they were so bright without all the light pollution.

soap slid up to one of the open doors and motioned for you to huddle beside another fellow sergeant. soap was bundled in his uniform, his sleeves rolled up, and his night vision goggles on–same as you. you wondered if you looked as intimidating as he did. 

“prep for breach,” ghost said. 

“7-1 moving interior,” soap responded. 

he quickly shot down three enemy soldiers before disappearing inside the building. you followed in pursuit, your heart hurting as you saw slouched bodies pool with blood, even if you knew they were the enemy. you hurried after soap and caught a glimpse of ghost using his knife to slice into a man with barely any effort. blood began to coat his gloves. 

you crept behind soap as he slowly moved up the stairs to the second floor. gunshots repeatedly fired in front of the two of you. 

“i’m hit!” a bravo shouted. 

you dashed up the stairs but soap pulled you back before you reached the top, gripping your utility vest to bring you into him. “hey! wait till i clear it!” 

“okay, then hurry up!” you huffed as soap went ahead of you and leaned around the corner, taking out the men in the other room. 

you used that time to scurry off behind him and out onto the terrace where the injured soldier had crawled in order to get out of firing range. 

you crouched beside him and slung your bag off your shoulder. “here,” you said as you pressed a cloth to his bullet wound. “hold pressure!”

a loud shotgun in the next room made you jump. you turned to look, your hands deep in your bag. you spotted soap and let out a breath of relief knowing it wasn’t him at the end of the barrel. 

you heard soap’s footsteps return out onto the deck. “one’s in the hallway,” the soldier said to soap. 

you worked deftly to pack and wrap the wound as soap slid off down the hall and you heard a strangled cry as he knifed someone. 

“ghost, enemy rockets down,” soap said in your ear. 

“thanks,” the man before you mumbled as his hand replaced yours where he began to hold the bandage. you heard soap speaking in the next room.

“the house is clear. time to go,” ghost muttered in your ear. 

“it just grazed you,” you said to the sergeant. “you should be alright as long as we limit the bleeding.”

soap appeared beside you moments later, helping the man up as he limped. “you good to walk?” 

the man nodded. 

“all bravo circle up outside,” ghost commanded. 

“let’s go,” soap said down to you. 

you ran after soap down the steps and out into the field. you spotted the crash site not too far ahead and you felt your ears ring seeing the formidable tower of flames in the backdrop.

it didn’t take long to approach the ship and you followed soap and ghost as they entered the terminal.

“we got five k.i.a., one wounded. it’s just my gun and i’m low on ammo.” 

you slid past soap and rushed to the man on the ground. the sergeant was knocked out cold and you quickly tried to make a mental note of his vitals. you tried to remember his name, but with everything that was occupying your brain right now, it eluded you.

you knew the others were talking, but you didn’t hear them as you honed in on the man bleeding out before you. 

“get your gun on that tree line,” you finally deciphered through your hazy thoughts as ghost spoke.

you looked over your shoulder as loud explosions went off and shook the craft. 

“fuck, man! fuck,” the alpha said. 

“you called it, lt.!” soap said as he aimed his gun out the ship’s window. 

as you bandaged the man, ghost and soap began firing rapidly. 

“they’re getting close. secure the ramp!”

your heart felt like it was in your throat. another bomb went off and the craft shook violently. you yelped, falling sideways. 

“sergeant!” ghost called. you pushed yourself up and tried to orient yourself. ghost shouted your name when you wouldn’t reply. you looked up at him. “you alright?”

you stared at him before your eyes flickered to soap who was shooting his gun out the window. 

“are you alright?” ghost said more forcefully, his frame bending in half, his face now in your direct line of sight to grab your attention. it hadn’t registered that ghost was talking to you. you were only frazzled from the rocking of the craft, the explosions ringing in your ear, but you were otherwise safe behind ghost and soap, so you weren’t sure why he was so set on making sure you were okay. 

however, ghost seemed to not be able to accept that you were okay until you verbally told him. 

“yes,” you said faintly. ghost turned back to aiming his gun out the window without a second thought.

after another minute of gunfire, there was a lull. 

“we clear?” soap asked. 

“for now…” ghost replied. 

you finished wrapping the arm of the bleeding soldier, and assessed that he had hit his head and had knocked himself out. 

“alpha, you’re with us.” ghost commanded as he took off out of the ship. you and the men followed. you spoke over the comms to let the others know you left a soldier back in the crash site. he was wounded, but would be okay. 

“those fuckers used us as bait, didn’t they?” alpha 0-2 said. 

“they’re well supplied and fighting relentlessly. thanks to hassan,” ghost said unhappily. 

soap looked back at you. “keep up. we’re gonna need ya.”

you hustled behind him, your pistol at the ready.

the lot of you ran a wide berth, sprinting towards building 3, hoping hassan was inside. the sharp whistle of a bullet spiraled past you. 

“a.q. sniper on the roof! get down!” ghost shouted to everyone. before you even had a chance to move, ghost was pushing you down into the grass. you gasped as you were squashed beneath him, laid out on the dirt. he held his gun up and aimed at the roof as he lay beside you. 

“soap, take out the shooter. rest o’ ya stay low until we’re all clear!” ghost said, not acknowledging the fact that he had just pressed you flat to the ground, his body half covering yours. 

soap shot a bullet. “sniper down!”

ghost rolled off of you and stood up, giving you a quick hand as he heaved you upright. he didn’t even look at you before he took off running towards building 3. your entire body was tingling.

it looked like a gallant eruption of fireworks above the building as enemy bullets fired toward you. air support lighting up the sky. soap was a few feet behind you and picked off the snipers one by one. you followed close behind the others as you approached the building. 

soap was quick to follow, coming up from behind and going up the stairs and into the decrepit house. “7-1, moving interior,” he said. 

glass exploding rippled in the building and you peeked inside to see soap shooting someone down. 

“check the bodies, we need positive i.d. on hassan,” ghost said as he slid off to go in the right-side entrance. 

you hunched over slightly as you followed behind him, looking down at ghost’s trail of corpses as you did, checking for hassan. 

“anyone have eyes on hassan?” ghost asked after a minute. 

“negative on hassan,” soap replied. 

you tripped over rubble and fell to your knees with a huff. “shit,” you muttered to yourself. your foot was lodged in the concrete chunks. you tried to pull it free but that just shifted the rubble further, a large piece falling over your ankle. it was too heavy for you to move yourself. the house shook.

“sergeant,” ghost said, making you look up. he had backtracked when he realized you were no longer behind him. 

“i can’t get my foot loose,” you said. 

arabic echoed down the hall making your head snap up in alert. ghost began moving faster, squatting down as he approached you and heaving the rubble aside to get your foot out in one easy motion. 

“ow, fuck,” you said, biting your lip to try and muffle your sounds. 

ghost’s eyes flickered to yours before he moved the last piece that set your foot free. 

the rest of bravo had already moved to the antithetical end of the house when the voices began to close the distance. 

“shit,” ghost mumbled, pulling you up. he did so with such force that you collided into him, your hands landing against his chest with a gasp.

the men sounded close and you counted at least four different voices. their candace rose as they edged closer, like they were right around the corner when you were moved by ghost and suddenly faced with darkness. 

“wha–” 

ghost’s hand covered your mouth to silence you, pushing you against a wall. your eyes adjusted and you saw a sliver of light pour in through the slats of the door. ghost had pulled you into a closet. a very tiny closet at that. 

your chest was pressed flesh against ghost’s, the room far too small to hold yourself and ghost–who was already too big to fit in a closet on his own, let alone one with you. 

you could feel his chest move up and down as he steadied his breathing. your hands were on his utility vest. the voices of the men were now right outside the door. your fingers gripped tight on his vest as you tried to be as quiet as possible. he slowly let his hand fall to his side when he could trust you to be silent.

why wasn’t ghost attacking them? you’ve seen him take down trained men in less than two seconds. so why did he decide to hide now? was four too many for him? you doubted it, but you also tried not to think of the logistics because all that swam through your mind was how close ghost was to you. there was almost no space between your bodies, his front flesh against yours as he pushed you against the wall. 

a rectangle of light slid across ghost’s face, illuminating his eyes which were visible now that his goggles were turned up on his helmet, making the brown in them gleam. like he could feel you staring, he looked down at you and you felt your face heat. you shifted your stance, trying to widen the distance between your bodies but your back was already flat against the wall. there was nowhere to go. 

“what’re you doin’?” he said quietly.

you glared at him in response as you continued to slightly shift your body, wanting to at least have it so your side was pressed against him and not your front. you tried to shuffle your feet, wanting to turn, to push him back a bit, but you ended up just rubbing against him instead.

“quit squirming!” he finally hissed, his hands coming out to rest on either side of your head. 

well now you were just stuck in an awkward stance so you tried to move your hips a bit, wanting to pull them away from ghost and back to how you were originally standing, but with the limited space, you were essentially just moving your hips against his own. 

ghost growled in his throat and you stopped moving and let your breathing steady. you felt something hard press against your stomach and your eyes widened as you stared at ghost’s chest. 

oh my god, you thought.

you couldn’t help yourself as your eyes flickered to his own, his eyes already pouring into you. your breath got caught in your throat. “i told ya to quit fuckin’ wiggling ‘round,” he said as if that made things more appropriate. 

a flash of heat ebbed through your core. you told yourself that this was purely a physical thing– men could get turned on by a goddamn gust of wind if it hit them the right way. this had nothing to do with the fact that it was you pressed against him. this kind of bodily response would have happened no matter who it was against him.  

you went to clench your thighs together in nerves and heat but you were stopped by ghost’s thigh. you realized the ceiling in there was too short for him and he had to hunch over, his knees bending and leaning on the wall between your own legs. oh my god , you thought again.

your face went red hot. fuck, of course you were stuck with ghost in the world’s smallest closest.

ghost’s eyes traced your face when he felt your legs press against his own, a sudden flare igniting in them. 

oh no, did he think you were… you quickly worried. you wondered if ghost could tell you had been squeezing your legs together to subdue the quick sweeping sensation of arousal you got–this was not the time or place!

ghost’s head shifted ever so slightly closer to your own and his eyes were now disguised by the shadows of the closet. you could feel his warm breath against your face as he panted through his mask. you were trapped. he had you pinned, his large arms encasing your head, his leg between your own, his face inching closer to yours. 

you felt your breath get lost in your throat, your mind suddenly going blank. 

“ghost! ghost, where are you?” soap’s voice broke through both of your ears. 

ghost halted any and all movement, his eyes flickering between your own. you realized you no longer heard iranian voices and wondered how long the men had been out of range. 

it was as if ghost realized that at the same time you did because he pushed away from you and slid out the door, into the dusty and war-torn living room. now that he was away from you and not clogging your brain, you thought you might have imagined the way he had been edging toward you.

“deck one secure. any i.d. on hassan?” ghost spoke, his voice strained. 

you slid out of the closet behind him. “negative, lt.” soap replied. 

ghost turned to you as you stumbled into him, your ankle giving out at the most opportune time. 

“ shit ,” you grunted. ghost turned his head to look at you, his eyes glowing in the flames that brewed inside the building. “sorry,” you muttered. 

“keep close,” he said to you. you felt your chest ignite. you had to control your eyes from shifting to his waist to see what you felt moments earlier. you were surprised your willpower was strong enough. 

ghost led you around the bend and up a set of stairs, soap appearing beside you both. “pushing second deck.”

you slid on your night vision goggles and watched as ghost scurried to the side of a door when he made it to the top of the steps. a man opened it and walked through, ghost grabbing him and slamming him against the wall, the man’s gun pressed to his chest. in two swift motions, ghost shot his abdomen then his head, letting the body sink down. 

jesus . you always knew ghost was a ruthless killer, but that was more so knowledge in theory. it was another thing entirely to watch it unfold before your own eyes. 

you followed the men as they stealthed into the next room. you heard soap’s gun go off, and then ghost’s voice. “clear. hassan’s everywhere…” 

you could hear hassan’s voice as it played in the distance, seemingly from every room. a video on loop of him speaking nonsense sat in the shadows like a horror movie. you felt a chill run down your legs realizing that no matter which way you turned, hassan’s voice was not far off. 

“everywhere but here,” you mumbled. ghost’s eyes scanned you up and down before trailing on into the next room. you swore every hair on your body stood on its ends. 

“the perpetrators of general ghorbrani’s execution must be sentenced to the death penalty and the world must witness the death of those responsible!” hassan’s iranian accent sang through a crackling radio. 

you and soap poked around, not finding anything of use, apart from soap spotting hassan’s uniform, meaning he had recently been here. 

“so he was here,” you muttered.

“lost him when we secured the crash site,” ghost spoke, looking between you and soap.

“are you sayin’ we shouldn’t have helped?” soap asked.

ghost averted his eyes on his next words as if he didn’t like what he was about to say. “choices have consequences…” his eyes gazed over to yours, burning holes through his skull mask. you could see the disappointment and guilt that was attached to his statement. you were surprised at how much emotion he was able to exude through just his eyes. you wondered if he knew that. 

“all bravo- we got movement out here,” someone said over the comms. 

ghost reached up to click his receiver, his eyes still on yours, “on the way.”

you followed behind the two men as the continued to speak. as you made it out behind the house, ghost spoke, “what do we got?”

“a warehouse. roll up doors open. heard somethin’ inside.”

ghost spoke with a sense of assuredness, “copy, let’s clear it.”

you trailed the men as they all took off towards the large warehouse, ghost and soap hoping that hassan was nestled inside. 

you rested your back against the building as the men started inside, gunshots and smoke bombs going off as they fought the enemy planted in the warehouse. 

“all alone?” a husky voice with a thick iranian accent spoke. you looked to your right, your hands grabbing your gun, startled, when a man disarmed you in a quick, fluid motion. 

you yelped as his hand wrapped around your neck, pressing you forcefully to the exterior wall. you saw static stars begin to spread across your vision. 

shit, shit, shit.

your legs flailed as you tried to kick and squirm your way out of his grip. his hand held you tighter. you swore your feet began to lift off the ground. recalling all the training you had done the last two weeks, you propped your knee up, bending it as much as you could against your chest, then shot it out with all the strength you could manage. the man stumbled, releasing you, as he collapsed onto the ground. 

“eahira” bitch . he scrambled to get up and you panicked, trying to get your knife out of it’s sheath. 

before the man could grab you again, his body just a hair from your own, a bullet pierced his skull. flecks of his blood squirted across your exposed face like red freckles. you stood in complete shock, the man sinking to the ground with a thump.

it was ghost that replaced the dead man, his hands resting on your shoulder, his deep voice saying your name repeatedly. 

you finally looked up at him. “are you okay?” you swear you could see a bit of pride in his eyes as he took you in.

you nodded weakly, wincing as your neck muscles throbbed in pain from the small movement. 

ghost yanked your mask up to look at your neck, already beginning to bruise. 

his eyes darkened as they met yours again. “if that fucker wasn’t already dead, i’d tie him up and rip off his limbs one by one for that.”

you couldn’t help the astonished laugh from escaping your lips at the exorbitant threat. then a pang of heat surfaced when you realized ghost had made no such threats as his other men were picked off. he also didn’t seem to rush to their aid immediately. yet here he was… with you. 

“hassan,” you said meekly. 

ghost’s hands left your shoulders as he straightened. you felt a bit of sadness at the loss of contact. 

“not here. found an arsenal of ballistic missiles. american missiles.”

your eyes widened at the information. “and shepperd…”

“already alerted.”

you nodded. “so that’s it then?” you asked, referring to the war trail you and your men left behind with nothing to show for it. 

ghost gave a nod back. “we’re one step closer. we’ll find him.” 

you don’t know why you took his word with such ease, but you knew he meant what he said. ghost wouldn’t rest until he had hassan in his clutches. 

day broke by the time a humvee arrived to carry you all back to base. the injured men were loaded on one, the rest of bravo and alpha on another. there were significantly fewer men than when you started this hours ago. you felt a heavy feeling swarm your chest. 

you were busy making sure your bag was closed and that you had all your things in it when you looked up and saw ghost step into the back of the vehicle. 

you scurried to catch up, the last one as you climbed into the back. as you went to stand, the humvee took off, making you stumble and lose balance. 

fuck , was the last thought you had as you felt yourself falling backward out of the vehicle. your arms flailed, trying to grab onto something, when a hand gripped your vest, yanking you forward and onto the humvee. 

you looked up in relief to find ghost glaring at you. his hand was still tight around your tactical vest, the other men closest to the back were out of their seats in an effort to grab you. but of course, ghost got there first. 

his eyes bore into your own, an odd wave of spite in them. 

you knew it was your fault for dilly-dallying, but was he really going to be upset at you for almost falling out of the vehicle? it should cause more annoyance than anger, really. 

you gulped and ghost released you, moving back to his seat. you stared after him until you felt soap touch your wrist. “sit,” he mumbled. 

you focused on him instead of your lieutenant and sat in the empty seat beside soap. 

you shifted your bag so it was on your lap, the men around you silent, all of them exhibiting a mix of disappointment in their mission and exhaustion. 

you felt his eyes on you–something that seemed to happen a lot lately. you tried to resist, but you looked in his direction and met his gaze. you thought he’d look away, but he held you in a challenge across the truck. he still had all his gear on when most others had stripped some of theirs off.

he sat a bit forward, resting his arms on his knees as he glared at you. 

you felt your heartbeat race and you felt like you might be sick with all the adrenaline running through you today–it couldn’t be healthy.

you finally coward away and looked down at your bag. a looming feeling coursed through your body. for whatever reason, the moment he pulled you into the truck felt like it was a breaking point for him. he was right back to hating you. despising everything you did. you felt yourself shrink in on yourself.

you never felt his eyes leave you the entire way back. 

chapter 5 ➡

#ghost #simon riley #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2 #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #mw2 fanfic #beneath the mask

[die-pink-maus]

A Weekend in Vienna 🇦🇹

While vacationing in Germany, Chantelle’s (OC) best friend, Adrian (also an OC), books an impromptu trip to Vienna to visit extended family. Chantelle decides to join her for the last few days of her trip, where she meets an interesting friend of Adrian’s family who offers to show the two around the city for the weekend🤭

TW: Pretty much none, not for this chapter anyway, but things will get 🌶️spicy🌶️ in the next parts. Also there is an age gap between OC and König, she is 25 and he is about 36-37.

CW: FemOCs, female pronouns used, while both characters are technically OCs please feel free to imagine them however you’d like, ultimately the main character is the reader, I just didn’t want to use “Y/N” so I gave them names 🙈

Word Count: 1,516

*DISCLAIMER*

This is my first time EVER writing any kind of fan fiction so please go easy on me 😭 if you like where things are going, likes and reblogs would be greatly appreciated! If you’d like to see anything in particular in the next part or part(s), I’d love to hear it!

This version of König is based on the above interpretation drawn by @lettaniko (I hope you don’t mind me using it! I absolutely love this drawing it’s perfect! 🫶🏼)

I like a nice build up to the smut so if you like to get right into it this is probably not going to be for you…but if you can wait I it out I promise it’ll be worth it 😂

Enjoy! 💋

7:30am. There’s approximately 30 minutes before my train departs for Vienna, and I still haven’t reached the train station yet. I scrambled as I dashed out of my hotel room, hoping I’d left the place in a somewhat decent state and I hadn’t forgotten anything valuable as got into the elevator. I’ve been exploring Munich for the past two weeks and I’ve been having the absolute time of my life. Although traveling alone can be quite scary, oddly enough, I’ve never felt more at home. Munich is such a vibrant city, filled with all kinds of exciting things to do and I’ve met so many incredible people, it’s definitely been the experience of a lifetime. To say that I am not looking forward to going back home to Vancouver would be an understatement, but all good things must come to an end. I’d spent about a year and a half learning to speak German, and promised myself that I would plan a trip in celebration of achieving fluency, so here I am! Now, Vienna wasn’t initially on my list of places to visit when I decided to come to Germany, but my best friend, Adrian, ended up booking a spur of the moment flight last week to visit extended family in Austria and suggested I come hangout with her during the last few days of my trip. Seeing as its only a 3-4hr train ride from Munich, I figured why the hell not! I’ve heard Vienna is beautiful, and Im at all not opposed to exploring another city.

Upon arrival at the train station in Vienna I was greeted by Arian, excitedly jumping up and down while holding up a large white sign that read “Willkommen in Wien, Schlampe!” I rolled my eyes and shook my head, laughing as I got off the train and ran over to her, tackling her in a tight embrace as she laughed hysterically. “Did you have to let the whole station know that I’m a bitch or…?”

“Honestly, they should’ve known the moment they saw you.” She said jokingly. “How was the ride over?” She asked.

“Amazing, I haven’t slept that well in years. It also didn’t feel like a 4 hour train ride.”

“Trains in out here are quite quick so I wouldn’t be surprised if it somehow took less time. They definitely shit on the ones we have back home.”

“Oh for sure.” I agreed as we began walking over to the car.

“So a family friend of ours just came back from a mission in the states, he’s in the military bee tee dubs —“

“Yeah kinda pieced that together when you said ‘mission’.” I chuckled.

“I don’t drive out here so he’s gonna give us a ride back to my aunts, cool?”

“Sounds good.”

“He’s also a lot more familiar with Vienna than I am, so he offered to show us around a bit later on this evening.” Aw how nice of him. Knowing Adrian, the first place she’ll want to be taken to is the nearest bar, that girl can drink! If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my time in Germany, and my 10 years of friendship with Adrian, it’s that Europeans love their liquor. There are people from all parts of Europe in Germany and that’s one thing that remains quite consistent across the board. I also love my liquor, which is probably why I ended up fitting in so well.

We finally arrived at the car and opened the trunk to begin loading all of my luggage inside. I’d brought a small carryon suitcase, a duffle bag, as well as a large suitcase that was full of clothes I’d over packed from home, and a bunch of other clothes and souvenirs I’d bought in Munich. “Okay this one’s gonna be a tad heavy.” I warned as Adrian grabbed hold of the handle on the top. I reached forward to try to help her lift, but neither of us could manage the weight. “I got it.” His voice was low, but gentle. He had an accent, but it wasn’t overwhelming or harsh, nor did it make anything he said hard to understand. I wasn’t expecting to see the person I saw when I’d finally caught a glimpse of him…I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man like this in my entire life. Adrian and I stepped back as he grabbed hold of the suitcase, lifting it with absolute ease, as if it were light as a feather. His arm muscles bulged within the confines of his olive green long sleeved shirt as he tossed the suitcase inside the trunk. My heart began to race, It felt as if I was watching him move in slow motion. “Easy peasy.” He smirked as he turned around and looked down at me, his dazzling dark blue eyes awash with amusement at Adrian and I’s prior struggle. Jesus Christ…This man is an absolute unit. He’s gotta be at least 6 foot 7, if not taller. He’s incredibly easy on the eyes in a rough and rugged kinda way — a nice low trimmed beard, medium length dark brown hair, and a smile that is captivatingly dangerous to say the least. His presence alone exudes a confidence that causes me to grow weak in the knees. “I’m König,” he smiled knowingly as he stretched his hand out towards me. I know I’m definitely not the first woman to look at him the way I am. Even though I’m trying to keep my composure, it’s very clear that he can see right through it. “And you must be Chantelle?” He asked, eyes slowly roaming about my frame from head to toe. He bites his lip slightly as they return to my gaze, suggesting so much without saying any words at all. “I — yes.” I blushed, sheepishly brushing my hair behind my ear as I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He said. “Oh yeah, König Chantelle, Chantelle König.” Adrian yelled from the backseat. He laughed and shook his head as he closed the trunk.

We arrived at Adrian’s aunts house about 45 minutes later. König helped us load all of my things into the foyer before letting us know he’d be coming back in a few hours to take us out to this bar that he and a few of his buddies on his task force frequent whenever they’re home. I’ve been thinking about him ever since he left — those mysterious blue eyes, the way he slightly bites his lower lip just before laughing at something ridiculous Adrian has said, the way his arm muscles swell beneath his shirt with the slightest movement…God, he’s sexy. I could think of a million different ways I’d want him to ruin me. The thought alone of being trapped beneath his large brawny frame writhing in pleasure as he thrusts into me over and over has me clenching around nothing. Though I’m not usually one for a one time fling, I have a feeling he’d be able to convince me. “So, you wanna tell me what all of that was about?” Adrian asked as she helped me settle into the guest room. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “Since when are you a shy girl?” She giggled. Sigh. I figured she was referencing my unusual silence during the car ride over here. “He’s hot as fuck but I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Ugh!” I groaned as I covered my face with a pillow. She’s right. I’m not very easily intimidated. I’m quite the confident woman and I ensure everyone in the room knows it, but this was different. Almost as if our energies were fighting for dominance, and mine didn’t stand a chance. “Hey if it’s any consolation, my jaw dropped the first time I saw him without his mask too.” Mask?

“Mask?” I asked.

“Yes…the last time I was here he was on base training recruits, so I’d see him often in full tactical gear. He’s a snipper, so he wears a mask to hide his face in the field. I mean, that was hot too, but in a Ghostface kinda way”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the comparison, but I was curious to see what his entire ensemble looked like. “How old is he?” I asked.

“I think he’s in his mid to late 30s? I’m honestly not too sure, and it doesn’t matter to me either way.” She winked. “I was sensing some unspoken vibes between the two of you in the car though. Don’t think I didn’t see both of you stealing glances at each other every now and then.” She smirked.

“Stop,” I scoffed. “A man like that is definitely not single, and even if he is…I don’t know” I blushed. “I didn’t see him looking at me..”

“K well I see everything, he definitely likes what he sees, and clearly the feeling is mutual on your end as well. Looks like tonight will be interesting.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen, Adrian.” I laughed as I rolled my eyes. Nothing’s gonna happen…right?

PART II 👉🏽 A Weekend In Vienna 🇦🇹: PART II

PART III 👉🏽 A Weekend In Vienna 🇦🇹: PART III

#cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw3 #könig #konig cod #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig smut #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig smut #könig fanfiction #konig x you #konig modern warfare #konig

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 1.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 4.6k

aegon wasn't as badly injured from Rook's Rest like in canon in this AU, he has a few burn scars near his torso but wasn't crippled / bedridden.

this is for my 100 followers poll. it was supposed to be a oneshot but will be a mini series in 3 or 4 parts. this is my first time writing aegon and it will also be somewhat of a character study.

thank you for 100 followers and everyone who participated in the poll. love &lt;3 thank you @randomdragonfires for beta reading, mwah mwah.

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn

its been so long - the living tombstone • nobody - mitski

chapter specific warnings: awkward sex, p in v, virginity loss

Every day felt like a new restraint, a new button added to the collar choking around Aegon’s neck. He had done it– he had freed the realm of the false queen, his half-sister– and lost almost everything to do so. When did it end? When did he get to relax and run the realm as he saw fit, since they so intended to have them at the helm. He wore the conqueror’s crown, wielded his sword and bore his name and yet he couldn’t do as the conqueror actually did. Rule. He felt more like a dog than a dragon these days; but that was just a pattern in his life. They wanted him when they needed him and he was to shoulder their burdens as eldest son.

His grandsire kept breathing down his neck to secure another wife, another heir, another alliance brokered with another pompous house. 

“Listen to me, Aegon,” Otto began, his fingers laced together as he sat at his desk. He had summoned Aegon to the Tower of the Hand– he was summoning the King, rather than the King summoning him. Somehow, his council had let Otto weasel his way back into the position of Hand, Aegon’s mother in tears, pleading for it. There wasn’t anyone else fit for the job since Criston had died– and he was never really fit for it anyhow. “We must move quickly to provide you with a new wife. The realm won’t remain stable if we tarry in producing an heir for the throne.”

Aegon sat in the seat across from him, feeling more like a child than a King. He twisted the signet ring on his pinky finger. “It’s too soon. It would be an insult to Helaena.” he replied, not looking up at Otto. Helaena had only passed a few moons earlier and the wound was still fresh for all of them. Aegon never loved her like a wife– how could he, they were too different, too young– but he cared deeply for her as his sister and the mother of his children. Even thinking about taking another wife this soon felt like a betrayal. He would be like his father then.

A small huff and a rustling of papers was heard– Aegon was still too distracted by his signet ring, the thin light filtering through the half drawn blinds, causing a small glint off of the bronzed metal. He didn’t want to look up to see the expression on his grandsire’s face, he knew it was one of disappointment. Aegon couldn’t remember the last time that someone hadn’t looked at him with contempt, disappointment, melancholy. 

“You must understand. You have a duty to the realm–” 

“Fucking duty– don’t speak to me of it. I’ve done my duty for enough lifetimes. I let you put me on the throne and usurp my sister and look where that’s gotten us? Everyone is fucking dead, Otto. Jaehaerys, Maelor, Helaena, Aemond,” he paused for a moment, lifting his head up to meet the Hand’s gaze head on, “Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey– do I need to proceed? The majority of our bloodline is wiped out because of you and your ambition.”

Otto snorted, standing up from his desk slowly. He grabbed a decanter of wine, pouring them both a goblet. “You misunderstand. Everything I’ve done has been… for our family’s legacy– for the realm,” he placed the glass stopped back into the carafe, “Don’t you dare act as if I am not hurting for the loss of family– but war is war, boy. People die. It is unfortunate that… the ones close to us did. But we can’t live with our head in the clouds any longer, there is a realm to run and the crown comes with responsibilities. A wife and heir are one of those paramount responsibilities.”

“I have an heir. I still have one remaining child– Jaehaera is my heir. I deem it.” he spoke quickly, staring at the goblet of wine. He had reduced his intake of alcohol since the war ended– but the need for it was always there, always aching. He suddenly felt parched. Giving Otto a haughty stare, he took a sip from the glass, feeling his muscles instantly relax.

“Don’t be daft– have you so quickly forgotten what happened when the King last named a female heir?”

“It wasn’t that Rhaenyra was a woman, Otto. People would’ve learned to adjust if…” Aegon took another sip, clearing his throat, “If she hadn’t been infatuated with her freak of an uncle, you would’ve been able to control her easier, hm? It's always been you and mother behind the crown these past two decades– not me, nor my father.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Otto griped back, gripping his glass, “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about. Rhaenyra–” he stopped, taking a breath, “Rhaenyra is dead. They’re all dead, you’re right. But there is still the whole of the Seven Kingdoms requiring a leader, especially now. A leader with a united front with a queen and babe. I won’t argue further on this matter.”

Aegon acquiesced. He would rather deal with Otto’s venomous viper tongue talking him into things he didn’t want to do now instead of his mother visiting him hours later in hysterics– he couldn’t bear it. Alicent was more of a mess now than ever. “Fine. I leave this in your very capable hands,” he stood up, swiping the whole jug of wine, “At least find me a pretty one.”

–

She was plain, unbelievably plain. Long, curled brown hair desperately in need of a trim, a poorly tailored dress that needed to be more fitted at the waist, stature too small and unremarkable to stand up to anyone of importance. Oh, and picked cuticles, the spots of red eking out from her nail beds. Mayhaps she and his mother would get along just jolly, then. She was to be his prospective wife and bear him more heirs. He wanted to shove it back in the council’s face and say he has an heir, his only living child, Jaehaera. Melancholy and withdrawn as she was, she was his heir.

The council disagreed, allowing Borros Baratheon to shove his last unwed daughter at him like a piece of meat that no one wanted.

Her eyes wafted up to glance at him, every move of hers uncertain, cautious. She was so deathly aware of each minute gesture, her posture having to be adjusted to straighten every few minutes. 

Lyanna Baratheon wasn’t of prominent knowledge and reputation like her sisters, aptly named ‘the Four Storms’ – she didn’t remind Aegon at all of a stag or a doe, but rather something more diminutive and easily killed, like a prey animal. Mayhaps a rabbit– it would be an apt description, as she had giant eyes, brown –almost black– in their hue, a shiny glaze over them as she stared at the ground. Every so often, their eyes would meet, brown to violet, and she would look apt as Aegon thought she was.

A rabbit begging for its life.

Borros Baratheon stood beside her, murmuring something into her ear. He was a boorish oaf of a man who couldn’t even read– Aegon wasn’t the brightest star in the sky when it came to matters of literature, that’d always been his brother’s realm, but atleast he could fucking read. He thought it quite hysterical that his house sigil was that of a Stag when Lord Borros reminded him more of a boar. Mayhaps he should change it. 

As he continued to whisper to his daughter, her expression went from sordid to panicked, then back to sordid. She wasn’t very good at masking her emotions– she would need to learn if she were to survive at the Keep. The tips of her fingers twitched slightly and she was obviously holding herself back from tearing into her nail beds. 

“Lord Borros,” Aegon broke the tension, “Perhaps I should show your daughter around the gardens while you speak with my grandsire. We have the most beautiful gardens here and I’d imagine that Storm’s End wouldn’t have something quite as grand,” he glazed over Borros’ blank stare, “due to the storms, of course.” 

Lord Baratheon adjusted his doublet, which was far too small for him— did the Stormlands not have a proper fucking tailor? — and nodded, “Yes, that would be amicable. It would do some good to familiarize yourself with one another before the wedding in a week’s time.” 

Aegon’s throat felt parched. He knew that they were speeding things along but he didn’t anticipate it to be this fast. Grabbing a bottle of wine from a nearby servant, he descended back to Lyanna, intent on whisking her away as quickly as possible. Not because he found her particularly interesting, rather the opposite, but he needed an excuse to get out of the room. The insistent thrum of his pulse in his neck was all too loud. His arm looped under Lyanna’s, “Come, my lady,” he hummed, trying to seem like he was somewhat collected and kingly and not on the edge of chugging the entire carafe of wine and smashing it over the next poor fucker’s head. “To the gardens.” 

He practically strung along the poor girl, who hurriedly agreed and tried her best to keep up. “Y-yes, your grace,” she mewled, her feet tapping on the ground at irregular rhythms as she hung onto Aegon’s arm, bouncing against the stone walkway toward the gardens, “King’s Landing is… very beautiful, my king– your subject must be very pleased.”

As they descended the cobbled steps down to the garden, Aegon eyed her warily, “Did your father tell you to say that?”

“N-no, not exactly–” 

“He did. Anyone with half of a brain and a working nose knows that this accursed city smells of shit. You shouldn’t lie, my lady. You’re quite bad at it,” he took a small breath as he looked at her expression– the poor thing was on the verge of tears. “You will get better in time,” he continued with a slightly softer tone, “This Keep is full of great liars and you don’t seem… too much like your father. I am sure you will pick up quickly. How old are you?”

“Nineteen, your grace.” 

Aegon resisted giving a derisive snort, instead uncorking the wine bottle and tossing the stopper into the grass, “You’re quite young, then,” he took a swig, feeling the bitter tasting liquid coat his mouth, “All the better for heirs. Or so I’m sure that we’ve both been told.” 

In truth, some would consider her a bit late in age to be married– but Aegon didn’t care as long as he wasn’t robbing the cradle like his father did to his mother, or Daemon to Rhaenyra. He was twenty-six himself and tried to remember what he was like when he was nineteen; he couldn’t exactly pinpoint an exact memory. It was mostly a blur.

“I am… hopeful to provide you with many healthy heirs, my king,” she replied, her words sounding rehearsed. She is as poor of an actress as she is a liar, then. She paused for a moment, looking at her hands, “I… do not wish to replace the late queen, her grace, Helaena– I merely wish to fulfill my duty to the realm and my family– I am terribly… sorry to hear about Helaena, my king. As well as your prince brothers. War is a terrible thing.”

Aegon blinked profusely a few times. Her words after her pause sounded genuine– mayhaps she is capable of thinking for herself. She seemed… softhearted, even if a bit naive. He regarded the bottle in his hand for a moment, swishing it around. No one had really apologized to him for his losses– the enumerable amount of them he’s gone through these past few years. They all bowed their heads and wouldn’t meet his gaze, as if their blood was all on his hands. Mayhaps it was. He swallowed, his mouth pursed in a thin line, “... War is indeed a terrible thing, my lady.”

They walked for a few hours around the garden, talking about various things. Aegon still found her quite boring and uninteresting to look at– she wasn’t ugly by any means, and could be considered pretty, but she was just so terribly plain that it bored him to tears. Her speech was all faux and he tried to eek out any genuineness to her words through different subjects– all to no avail. It seemed the sore subject of Aegon’s family was the only thing to break her from her carefully crafted script.

Eventually, they parted ways– for the better, he thought. She was a fine match, a fine age, a fine vessel for his seed to produce a royal heir and whatever other innocuous thing his grandsire needed from him. 

What a terribly dreadful life he’s let himself sink into.

That night, he drained two bottles of Dornish Red, falling much into the same state of mind he had when he was nineteen. Wandering to the Street of Silk, he whored and drank himself into a state of sloven mania.

In the midst of his drunken ramblings, he wondered if he could ever find someone who would truly love him or if his opportunity had already passed.

– 

The wedding followed in the timeline that Borros and Otto had set– as quickly as possible. The council dipped into the coffers to make it happen, it was to be an extravagant event, a new beginning for the realm. Artisans, fine bakers and cooks were all hired to make the wedding a facet, stringing up red, green, yellow and black banners, making dozens of delicate pastries and even cooking six turduckens to line the tables.

It was all lavish and opulent– and Lyanna could not feel more out of place. The past week at the Keep had been a whirlwind of planning, gown fittings, flower picking. Her sisters were there in attendance, speaking up more than she on what to pick. It was fine with her, as she couldn’t bring herself to care for it. The gaudiness of it all made her feel ill. 

She had only met with Aegon the one time, the first time. Lyanna felt she made a terrible impression— she was so nervous that day that she’d vomited twice that morning, all while her father screamed at her to get it right, to say exactly as he told her to. For the most part, she had done just that— played the perfect little puppet for him and said all those empty words that meant nothing. 

She was meant to see Aegon at least three more times before the wedding, as there were a few dinners arranged between their two families. He had been absent for all, his mother citing that he was unable to attend for various reasons but nothing overtly specific.

Alicent Hightower was a nice lady— she was warm to Lyanna, talking to her at the dinners when no one else had bothered. She was the person who Lyanna felt most comfortable with in the Keep and was grateful that she was to be her good-mother. Alicent was a bit frayed at the ends from the loss of her other children; she was haunted, her eyes constantly red-rimmed and murmuring prayers under her breath. 

The morning of the wedding, Lyanna was summoned to Alicent’s solar to get ready. 

She knocked on the door, “Your grace— it’s Lyanna.”

“Come in, my dear,” she called out, a maid opening the door to let her in. “How are you feeling this morn?” Alicent was perched on the settee when Lyanna came in, and immediately rushed over to her, taking the young girl’s hands in hers. 

“Quite nervous,” Lyanna responded, her hands quivering ever so slightly, even under the warm touch of Alicent. “May I speak plainly, your grace?” 

“Of course,” she ushered Lyanna to the loveseat and had the maid pour them both tea, then promptly shooed her out. “It’s just us now, speak your mind, sweetling.” 

“I-I am afraid that… Aegon will not like me. I fear I didn’t make a good first impression— he seemed quite bored of me.” 

Alicent took a sip of her tea, giving a small sigh. “I will do you the favor of not sugarcoating words and speak plainly like you have done with me. Aegon will not like you,” she pursed her lips into a thin line, twisting the signet ring on her finger, “Aegon is a creature of debauchery and sin— and you are a good, pious girl. You are like oil and water.” her brown eyes met Lyanna’s, her expression softening. The two women had a fast camaraderie, praying together each morning in the Sept. “You… may not love him, or even like him— but there is a duty upon you to fulfill. It is a burden we carry as women, my dear. We are always behest to the men in our lives,” she stopped, her eyes glazing over with a far-away look, “I don’t mean to be discouraging. You are a… good hearted young woman and I believe you can channel that into something positive as the Queen.” 

Lyanna felt her stomach quivering at Alicent’s words, her skin flushing. “I… appreciate your plain speech, your grace. I just… do not wish to displease him.”

Alicent’s mouth twitched at each end as if she were mulling something over. “It will be hard to please him, my dear. You are nothing like the women that usually please him,” she wiped a hand down her face, “You remind me so much of myself, Lyanna. Pushed into something you are… ill-suited for. You’re a sweet and kindhearted girl and I don’t wish for you to tear yourself apart on the inside and feel as if you’re not good enough for him– you are, you are too good for him, too pure, too-” Alicent took a measured breath, “You are not what he wants and you never will be, my dear. It will do you well to know that now rather than years later. There is always someone else in their eyes– women like you and I do what we can. I pray you will find things that keep you happy.”

Lyanna picked up her tea cup with trembling hands, taking a sip. There seemed to be more to Alicent’s words than them just being about Aegon– but she didn’t want to push it. Dipping her head, she thanked her good-mother-to-be once more.

– 

“Wake up, wake up!” a voice boomed, rousing Aegon from his haze as a carafe of cold water was poured on him. The girl latched to his cock like a leech let out a shrill scream and scrambled away.

“Fucking hell– who the fuck?” Aegon slurred, blinking profusely half a dozen times before his vision came into focus. It was one of the Kingsguard, one more behest to his grandsire than him– and his grandsire, Otto, who had the now empty container of water in hand.

“Wake up, you ingrate,” Otto growled, grabbing his grandson by his collar, hoisting him up onto his feet, smacking his cheek gently. “Your wedding is in two hours and you’re passed out in a whorehouse. You’re the king, for the Seven’s sake– I thought you left this debauchery behind, atleast have your whores at the keep instead of being in these pits of sin.” 

“You can put a number of different hats on a bear, you know,” Aegon slumped against the wall, “Many kinds of hats; a hood, a felted dante, a linen coif, a cowl, a straw hat, a jester’s garb– heh, that’d be quite funny–” 

“Is there a point to your drunken babbling, Aegon?”

“Yes, ah– you can put many types of hats on a bear and change its look but at the end of the day, its still just a fucking bear,” he straightened out his stained tunic, “Point being– you can stick a crown on my head, put a sword in my hand and put me through a war to keep me on that fucking throne but guess what, grandsire, I am still just a bear at the end of the day.”

Otto stared at him, brow furrowed. “You aren’t a bear, you’re a dragon and a king, so act like it. You are getting married in two hours and you look like a sloven mess. You’re lucky that Borros is as blind for power and recognition as he is or he would take his daughter back to Storm’s End and you’ll be stuck with the next best choice.” 

“That boring rube of a girl was my best choice? I must be fucked, then, either way.”

Otto and his Kingsguard dog dragged Aegon back to the keep, and observed while maids scrubbed him clean, red and raw. He was put in a nicely fit green suit, his House cloak strapped to his shoulders. It was a whirlwind of events that led up to the doors of the Sept being opened and Aegon ushered in.

His stomach churned and he felt sixteen again, forced to wed his sister. He remembered being hardly conscious throughout the ceremony, fumbling over his cloak and practically smothering Helaena in it.

He looked down the aisle at Lyanna, who was dressed in a pale yellow dress with long, flowing sleeves. She had a high collar with black lining and antler embroidery all over the garment. It was actually well fitted this time, likely thanks to his mother, and it turned out she actually had a figure, with plush hips and a well-endowed chest. Her brown hair was half up, half down with an assortment of intricate braids– it reminded him of how Rhaenyra used to wear her hair and he wondered who thought to style it like that, and he wondered if he was the only one who noticed.

As he walked down the aisle, he saw his mother in the front row– she was crying, thumbing a pendant in the shape of a Seven Pointed Star. 

The ceremony was a blur to him, as he put the cloak over her shoulders and sealed their union with a kiss– a chaste one. She tasted like lavender tea. As he pulled back, he noticed that her eyes were rimmed with tears, and he felt the familiar sting of tears in his own eyes.

The feast was much the same, as he drank himself into a numbing stupor. He only had one moment of clarity, as some of the rowdy guests began to poke and prod at Lyanna, talking about the bedding ceremony. She looked visibly uncomfortable, picking at her nail beds under the table. Something about the sight of her discomfort and pain stirred something in Aegon that he couldn’t name– maybe he was feeling sentimental from the alcohol, but a surge of possessiveness flowed through him. He wasn’t known to be possessive, much the opposite in fact. But the egregious actions of these men pawing at his wife– their fucking queen, mind them– making disgusting insinuations. If she were a whore, it’d be different– but she was so… innocent, so coerced in all of this just as he was, it felt wrong. 

Aegon snapped, slamming his cup down, “There won’t be any fucking bedding ceremony,” he growled, “My wife and I will be retiring to our chambers– alone. And if… any one of you lays another paw on her, you will lose it.”

Lyanna stared at Aegon, those huge brown eyes wide. Her lips were parted slightly as he once again strung her along the halls to his– no, their– chambers. She was shaking.

Once in their chambers, he let go of her, uncorking another bottle of wine and taking a swig. “I presume you think that this is where I will fuck you, hm? Stick my prick in you and make an heir and we will all live happily ever after like a child’s storybook.”

Lyanna stared down at her feet. “It… it would be… the duty of husband and wife to consummate–”

“Fuck duty! I’m not going to fuck some weepy eyed maiden because my old fuck grandsire said so. I don’t have need of you in that way.”

Her hands were trembling as she unlaced the back of her dress, her movements autonomous– she was doing what she thought she should be doing in this situation. She began to undress, slipping her gown off and leaving her in her silken shift, which didn’t leave much to the imagination. The sight of her body, soft, stirred something within him for a moment, like a spark trying to ignite kindling.

“We don’t have to do this, Lyanna,” he murmured, using her name for the first time. He put down the wine bottle. “We can wait.”

“N-no! Please, I want to– please,” Lyanna whispered, practically pleading for it, as if she wanted to get it over with. “Please.”

Aegon rubbed a hand down his face. “Get on the bed then. Lie on your stomach.”

She did as she was told, laying flat on the bed on her stomach. She clutched some pillows as a lifeline.

He knew he should warm her up, he knew that they should want to touch one another, he should want to see her face– but he didn’t. He couldn’t bear to look at her face, or touch her for longer than was necessary. He barely shimmied down his trousers before he began poking at her entrance with a half-hard cock, partially trying to give her a moment to get used to the sensations, and partially trying to find where he was supposed to stick it– he knew, of course, he’d fucked his way through King’s Landing and then some, but he hadn’t fucked many maidens, and especially not when he was blind drunk.

Eventually, he hit home and slid into her, his movements slow at first. He could hear her whimpers and knew they weren’t of pleasure. It reminded him of his wedding night with Helaena where they’d both cried– all the memories of that night came flooding back, causing him to falter.

Lyanna looked back at him, her eyes puffy and red, “I-Is it over?” 

Aegon swallowed sharply, cringing as he stared at her. The moment of arousal he had– purely from stimulation alone– was gone now, his half-hard erection deflating completely. “Fuck– yes, it’s over.” he didn’t have the heart to tell her that it in fact had hardly started before it was over– and not in the good way. He pulled out of her, taking in a deep breath as he walked to the water basin and soaked a cloth with warm water, offering it to her. “Wipe yourself– it will help with the… pain… and blood.” 

She took the cloth, wiping away the remnants of their half-fulfilled consummation. “I-I’m… sorry,” Lyanna whispered, sniffling, “I know I am not what you want.” 

His mouth was pulled into a thin line as he turned away. “You’re right. You aren’t.”

They fell into bed next to each other and Aegon’s mind was swimming as he tried to sleep. He didn’t know what he wanted. He never wanted any of this– he just wanted to be a kid again with no responsibilities, with all of his siblings, even Rhaenyra– he would’ve… he would’ve been nicer to all of them, he wouldn’t of picked on Aemond, he would’ve gotten to know Rhaenyra better, he would’ve played with Helaena’s bugs, he would’ve taught Daeron all of the secrets of the castle. He would’ve told his grandsire to fuck off when they were to crown him and had Sunfyre char him to a crisp and given the crown to Rhaenyra.

He would’ve been loved then.

He just wanted to be loved.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing #wine red tears gold

[quoththemaiden]

The final chapter of @mrghostrat's Big Name Feelings Good Omens AU is dropping tomorrow, so obviously there was no way I could resist writing another fanscene. (Previous scene 1, 2, 3) Inspired by the sheer domesticity of chapters 15 and 16, enjoy this end-of-series scene.

—

Crowley's key fumbled against the lock — still Aziraphale's lock, technically, but very firmly Crowley's key. "Dinner was good, though?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes a little at how much more attention his face was getting than the keyhole. Sherlock Holmes might have blamed the wine they shared at dinner for the scratches around the lock, but Aziraphale knew better. "It was delicious, of course. You should know; you were there."

"Nnyeah, well, it's your opinion I care about." As if that weren't obvious from Crowley having gotten them a table at one of the city's best restaurants on Valentine's Day and insisting on not even letting him see the bill.

As if Aziraphale was ever any good at hiding his appreciation of good food.

"Quite sure," Aziraphale replied with a gentle touch on Crowley's arm that swiftly turned into snagging the key from him to open the door himself. Crowley let out a huffy laugh as he followed him inside. "Tea?"

"Sure, if that goes with whatever we're doing next." Crowley had been trying to wheedle Aziraphale's planned gift out of him for the past two weeks, and Aziraphale had remained utterly firm in not sharing it with him. Crowley insisted that whatever Aziraphale planned would be alright with him so there was no reason for Aziraphale to be shy about it, and Aziraphale had said "I know, dearest," and somehow that's as far as Crowley's attempts at learning Aziraphale's plans ever got.

Aziraphale fussed around with the tea and put on some music — old-fashioned stuff on actual CDs, the sap — and Crowley was left to lean against the doorjamb watching him and coming to terms with being so terribly, completely besotted that their evening plans could be "absolutely nothing" and Crowley wouldn't love it a single speck less. Aziraphale had said that he'd always thought of Valentine's Day as just another day, and that he'd certainly never considered that he might be able to celebrate it publicly, so Crowley was already delighted at having coaxed him out to dinner. Crowley found himself very suddenly aware that if Aziraphale's supposed plans amounted to nothing at all, he honestly wouldn't mind. His fifteen-year-old self would eat him alive if he knew, and Crowley felt warm inside to know that that was his younger self's loss.

Crowley blinked out of his reverie in time to help Aziraphale carry the teacups into the living room, and was almost surprised when Aziraphale brought a bag in with him as he followed. "Whazzat?"

"Painting supplies, dear." Aziraphale set the bag down on the coffee table.

Another point in favor of another evening spent doing nothing unusual. Crowley relaxed back into the couch, wondering if his melting heart could leave stains on the fabric. "What're you gonna paint?"

"You!" Par for the course again, then. Aziraphale gave a happy wriggle. "I hope you aren't ticklish!"

Wait, what?

"Uh?" Crowley picked up one of the paints Aziraphale was setting out and found that the label said, quite clearly, "body safe." "Angel?"

Aziraphale looked at him with a smile that said he was still 100% confident in his plan despite Crowley's confusion. "I thought it might be a nice reminder of the con. Getting an airbrush and making stencils didn't seem sensible, really, but I know how to use a brush well enough."

Crowley let out a breathy laugh. "'Well enough' 's an understatement. Geez, now MY gift feels—"

"—completely, perfectly tailored to me," Aziraphale cut in. "I would have been actually cross if you'd insisted on getting me another sword." Crowley laughed again, and it warmed Aziraphale's heart that he'd seemed to do nothing but laugh all night. Aziraphale patted Crowley's hand before picking up his tea, taking an appreciative sip and willing it to calm the excited fluttering in his chest. "What do you think? Another serpent on your cheek? I was thinking a tree would look rather lovely spread across your spine and shoulder blades..."

Crowley shivered a little at that, easily able to picture Aziraphale straddling his hips as he lay on the bed, Aziraphale's left palm spread flat on his back to keep himself steady with the rise and falls of Crowley's breath, his paintbrush tenderly tracing a line along his spine...

"Snake first," he agreed quickly. "And then..." He looked down on Aziraphale's arms and swallowed. "Think you could paint on your own arm? I could help hold things steady for you."

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley's heart clenched in the best of ways. He had no idea how Aziraphale always managed to say that like he was falling in love all over again, time and time again, but he did.

No, that wasn't quite right. Crowley probably did know. He suspected it came from the same place as the way he'd looked at Aziraphale as he helped him out of the car today. Aziraphale had taken his arm without hesitation and looked up at him with a warmer smile than any mortal had ever earned, and Crowley had been certain he was wearing his own heart on his sleeve, his vest, and every other garment he owned.

He adored him, and somehow, ineffably, it was the smallest moments that made it stand out the most.

"...right," Aziraphale managed to say around the happy tightness in his throat. "Some art for the both of us, then."

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #bnf au #fanfiction of fanfiction #my writing #absolutely amazing fic bilvy #you should be proud!!

[chaithetics]

Furtive Hands

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) reader

Word count: 7.3K

Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established/secret relationship, smut, fingering, P in V intercourse, some fluff, soft but also kind of dom-ish Stewy? Vague-ish mentions of canonical childhood abuse/trauma, and toxic family dynamics, Logan makes a cameo at the start (deserves its own warning), Logan's death and grief mentioned also Roman being a bit of a douche. I think that's it?

(Reader is technically a Roy because that's how the plot/idea worked but I avoided physical descriptions other than reader having AFAB physical characteristics. You're more than welcome to canon this reader as being adopted or half-siblings with the other Roys. I try to avoid giving physical characteristics and am tempted to continue to code all my readers as readers of colour out of spite due to the lack of intersectionality in fics. My reader in A Cinematic Lover has no physical characteristics other than being chronically ill but is Desi coded.)

Author's Note: I didn't proofread all of it, whoops. This is also my first time writing Stewy and I'm not too sure how I feel about this fic. I don't feel super confident in saying that "I captured his voice" etc. But I adore Stewy Hosseini and Arian Moayed and we need more Stewy fics. Please let me know your thoughts! I'd really appreciate the feedback :)

Like being in the Roy family, being the youngest in the clan had its perks and downfalls. You’d been able to get away most of your life with your father’s wrath directed towards your older siblings but at a certain point when they’d reached adulthood before you and it was quickly redirected towards you. You and your older brother Connor were the only ones to stay out of the family business, Connor was technically more involved than you which said a lot to anyone familiar with the family’s affairs. 

Despite being the youngest it would be fair to say you were the most emotionally mature of your siblings (although you could easily admit that’s a very low bar) and the most well-adjusted (again, another relatively low bar). You were a practising clinical psychologist who had of course undergone a bunch of therapy yourself for your childhood trauma. You’d wrapped up a session and were walking a patient out before heading back into your office for your office lunch date when you were interrupted by a booming presence. 

“Dad?” You immediately questioned. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here-” 

“I thought I’d stop by. See the new office-”

“I’ve had this office for 3 years.” You interjected. 

Logan quirked an eyebrow at that, he seemed almost amused at your assertive call out. You had been a louder child like Roman but unlike your brother, you became quieter as a teenager. You knew your father had assumed that was because you didn’t have whatever “deficiency” he believed Roman had and that you’d grown out of it. The reality was, that it was a trauma response and you’d learnt that life was easier with him if you were quiet and made your presence as sparse as possible. 

He’d always found playing his games with you particularly interesting due to this, you weren’t as quiet now as you were as a teenager and you weren’t as loud as you were as a child, somewhere in the middle. You could slink off at the few family gatherings you intended to not be questioned or dragged into shop talk. But you still had a known presence and you were the only one of his children who could somewhat confidently cut him off and respond to him with what he’d deem as some sense of calmness. You weren’t as pliant to him as your siblings which made his mind games all the more intriguing to him. 

“Right. Well, it’s a nice enough place.” 

“Thanks.” You bit your lip as you waited for your father to continue, he didn’t show up for no reason. 

You were trying to project a calm facade you were starting to worry for a myriad of reasons. With what was going on with your family this wouldn’t be any pure coincidence. You weren’t the most involved in the family business but you were well aware and received updates from Kendall. But there was also concern over the potential sighting of your lunchtime visitor. 

“Well dear, I need you to do something for me.” You tilted your head and your brow furrowed at his words. 

“Since when do you need favours? Specifically favours from clinical psychologists?” You questioned. 

“It’s to do with your siblings.” Logan spoke flatly as he then sat himself down on one of the armchairs in your waiting room. He was mildly irritated that you hadn’t invited him into your office and that you’d kept that room off limits for him, blocking the doorway to it. 

You scoffed at his words and rolled your eyes, one thing was for sure, whatever this was, it wasn’t good. 

“Continue.” 

Logan’s eyes narrowed at you slightly as he watched you as if it was the first time he was seeing you. He was used to you being uninterested and not the way that Shiv tried to play everything cool with Logan. You were genuinely uninterested, your eyes looked cold.

You had a colder approach with your father in comparison to your siblings, it was healthier and the easiest for you to maintain without being sucked in like they were. It wasn’t a big surprise to anyone that you weren’t impressed with the confrontations that happened in your presence, your siblings had weird concepts and responses of support. But there were the built-in responses as you’d gotten older, Kendall defended and you comforted. 

Logan hadn’t always given you a great deal of attention in those moments but he was familiar with your mannerisms as he’d call them now. But today you seemed annoyed, this wasn’t an emotion that Logan felt like he’d seen from his youngest in almost a lifetime. He  found it to almost be the most interesting he’d ever found you, he mused that you must know or be hiding something. 

“Well, you grew up with Kendall, Roman and Siobhan. You understandably know them well and you have a unique skillset with your area of expertise.” He paused for a moment watching your face as he said that before continuing. 

“And?” 

“You would’ve made observations of their behaviours over the years. Symptoms-behaviours- whatever the fuck you want to call it. You have the power to diagnose.” You looked at him and the cooler facade you normally actively projected with him was starting to fade into one of horror. “I’d like you to write a piece on that, about your siblings. Their credibility, illnesses. A media circuit perhaps as well. You’re a credible and telling source.” 

You stared at your father in silence, you didn’t know what to say to him. This was awful, even for him. 

“So?” He broke the silence, his eyes were deadly serious, and his lips were in a small but twisted smirk. 

“No. No! Just no…That’s absolutely fucked up. No.” You looked around starting to think about how messed up that your father hadn’t just come up with this idea but that he was willing to do it to his children, your older siblings and drag you into this. “No, and if I did that who would then get the chance to write the think piece on you?” You asked sardonically rubbing your brow. 

“Well, I’m sure Shiv could whip up a sequel to her letter on Kendall.” He bit back almost nonchalantly. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised but I just can’t get over the fact that you’d do this, that you’d ask me to do this dad. What you did to Kendall after that Board vote, was sick… And again? To all of them?” You were starting to feel nauseous and weaker around him. 

“Are you talking to Kendall?” He asked in a cold tone. 

“He’s my brother.” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“And I’m your father.” 

“Unfortunately.” You looked into his eyes and bit your cheek. 

He scoffed at that. He’d come in relatively calm, well calm for him but he was quickly becoming agitated at your lack of cooperation.  

“He’s a lousy excuse for a son and a brother.” 

“Kendall doesn’t interrupt my day of work for a fucked up favour.” You spat out, you weren’t shying away from his gaze even though his presence was getting too much for you. “I think you should leave Dad. I have patients and I need to eat something, I need lunch.” 

“Fine. Don’t give my regards to your fucking brother.” He said as he started to get up, you just leaned against the wall. 

“Hey-” Stewy’s voice crackled against the thick tension between you and your father as he waltzed into the entryway of your waiting room. He paused for a second as his gaze quickly landed on your father and you. You thought you saw a brief flicker of panic in his eyes but he quickly and efficiently plastered over it. 

“And what the fuck are you doing here?” Logan directed at Stewy with a huff and an eye roll. Logan’s concern and suspicion were piqued significantly now as his disappointed gaze flicked over to you. 

“Well sir Roy, your deleterious business plans and board meetings are getting a bit too traumatic, that much I now need to see Dr Roy.” Stewy immediately and confidently jumped in, his playful and pointed lie came across smoothly and convincingly. Logan scoffed at that and started to walk out. 

“Don’t think about trying any of your peacock philandering with my daughter,” Logan said to Stewy as he walked past him. 

“How thoughtful, safe travels sir.” Stewy laughed off Logan’s comment which just seemed to irritate him more. 

“Think about it.” Logan said as he looked back at you as he was in the doorway, you just held his gaze for a moment. 

“I’ll see you at the wedding.” You calmly stated, he narrowed his eyes again at you for a second and then just walked off. 

**********

Stewy wasn’t a patient of yours, he fortunately never had been, that would’ve been a massive ethical violation. He was meeting you at the office for lunch, something that you two often did. It had been vaguely discussed in the past that if somebody ever saw him in your office it could be easy to dismiss it as him being a patient or wanting some kind of psychological consultation relating to work. It was never an excuse that had been needed before today and you were surprised at how quickly Stewy went into that mode and how he simply sold it. 

You were sitting on the sofa in your office with your legs in Stewy’s lap, he had an arm over the back of the sofa and his other hand was gently caressing your legs as you recounted the brief visit from your father before Stewy came. Stewy was playful and a bit chaotic but he was also intelligent and he could be serious and thoughtful, which he often was for you. 

“I should call Kendall before something happens.” You said looking at Stewy and he nodded, continuing his comforting, soft touches on your sprawled-out legs. 

You grabbed your phone and called Kendall, the phone barely rang before it was answered. 

“Yo?”

“Dad came by the office earlier today.” 

“Oh? What did the old fuck want?” Kendall teased.

“He asked me to write a piece on you, Rome and Shiv. To air out everyone’s laundry, basically ‘diagnose’ you all and try to discredit your side of what’s going on. It was so fucked up Ken.” There was a pause for a moment, you heard Kendall sigh and then inhale. You made eye contact with Stewy who was silent and watching you. 

You had a requited soft spot for Kendall. He was your older brother and he was a good one at that. He was fiercely defensive of all his siblings, which he seemed to prioritise over his own trauma and feelings in confrontations with your father. But as the baby of the family and not having the same tongue as your siblings, you suppose you came across as weaker, more vulnerable. You’d concluded a long time ago that this added to the soft spot that Kendall has for you. You also thought subconsciously it was also linked to the fact that you were the most patient and sympathetic sibling he had. 

“What did you say?” Kendall finally asked, his voice was more serious now. 

“I said no, a bazillion times. I told him it was sick and asked him to leave.”

Ken nodded, and then he remembered that you couldn’t see that. 

“That’s pretty fucked up. Not surprising though I guess…”

“Are you with Rome and Shiv?” You asked. 

“Uh-huh, they’re in the uh, they’re inside.” Kendall answered quickly. 

“Can you tell them?” 

“Yeah, sure but-” 

“I’m really sorry Ken but I have another patient soon, I just wanted to tell you as soon as I could in case something happened. I didn’t want to do it over text.” You answered. 

“Okay, I’ll see you at the rehearsal. Thanks as well.” His second sentence was softer. 

“Yeah, of course. See you then.” You then hung up and looked at Stewy. 

“Did he sound okay to you?” You asked Stewy. 

“Sounded pretty okay for Ken.” Stewy responded as he moved his hand away from your legs and to hold your now phone-free hand. You just nodded and Stewy changed the subject to something else for the rest of your lunch hour which you appreciated. 

****** 

You would say you have a complicated but good relationship with your siblings. While you had the same mother as Kendall, Shiv, and Roman, you and Connor were bonded by your outcast status regarding family affairs. You didn’t agree with a lot of the opinions that left Connor’s mouth but he was still a compassionate older brother to you. You often were iced out together at family gatherings as it was all a business opportunity for your father’s attention. 

You were glad that you just had to relay your father’s request to Kendall. Roman was unpredictable and Shiv would’ve assumed that you had sold them out and this was a mind game. An opinion she’d probably make clear to everyone else and in some way to you as well. 

There had always been significant sibling rivalry in the Roy household. But Shiv had always seen you as her competition in particular, you two were the only women and she lived in a man’s world always striving to prove herself out of spite and nature. Even now she still believed your kinder nature was an act to disarm. She never hid the looks of distrust in her eyes.  

You were now home. You still had your apartment and stayed there occasionally but that was more to save face than anything else. Somewhere along the timeline of your relationship, you’d almost practically moved into Stewy’s apartment. The walk-in wardrobe was equally divided, and your favourite teas were in the kitchen. “It’s closer to your office” had been the justification at the time when he’d been encouraging you to stay over more. 

It was surprising that you hadn’t been caught yet with that in mind, part of you would sometimes wonder if your siblings did know but they were saving it but you knew that if they did it would’ve come out to slap you in the face by now. 

When you’d first met Stewy what felt like a million years ago you never would’ve expected something like this to happen. Then when this all happened and started a few years ago it was still, very unexpected. But he knew probably better than what anyone else would ever be able to comprehend what it meant to get seriously involved with a Roy, even one not involved in the family business. He and Kendall had an interesting friendship and history, with Stewy having been mostly good to your brother. But Stewy was always good to you. 

As you let yourself in you kicked off your shoes lost in your thoughts but you quickly noticed Stewy wasn’t back yet. This wasn’t a surprise though, your job meant you got to work more of a typical 9-5. Something you were grateful for, it seemed like life was just one, endless business meeting and opportunity for everyone involved at Waystar. 

You’d made yourself a cup of tea and were now leaning against the bench in the kitchen with it while scrolling on your phone. You had Google alerts set for all of your immediate family and Stewy, surprisingly there didn’t seem to be too much drama online today. 

“Ugh, fuck!” Stewy’s voice boomed and you heard a bang. 

“Shit, Stewy? Are you okay?” You quickly called out as you made your way over to the apartment's entryway. 

“Yeah, just tripped over your shoes again.” Stewy responded with an amused expression as he took his shoes off and moved them along with yours out of the way. 

This wasn’t the first time it had happened and Stewy knew it wouldn’t be the last. 

“I’m sorry.” You said bashfully as you walked over to hug him, pressing a soft, playful kiss to his lips. “I guess, it’s a good thing you love me.” You kissed him again, teasingly nipping on his bottom lip that was in between yours. 

“You’re such a brat baby.” Stewy smirked as his hand wrapped more firmly around your waist and he kissed you back. 

“I thought you loved that?” You teased between kisses as each one became more heated and desperate with lust. Despite Stewy often being caught or easily roped into your family drama he was the best distraction, escape and companion from everything. 

“I do.” Stewy breathed out as he continued to kiss you and was now kissing your jaw. 

“And I love you…” You whimpered out as his lips started to travel down your neck. He now had you pressed against the wall.  

“And what is it that you love exactly baby?” Stewy purred out as he nibbled around your pulse point. He was always such a tease. 

“I love your hair-” You moaned out as you dug your fingers into his soft, gorgeous curls that were always perfect. “Your voice, eyes, those goddamn turtlenecks, your smile, your colossal vocabulary-” 

“Didn’t you say it was farcical the other day?” Stewy said as he stopped kissing you and looked at you. 

“Stewy!” You whined out, you couldn’t feel his lips on you any more but you could still feel him against you but it wasn’t enough. You needed him. His gorgeous dark eyes were blown out with lust but he had his signature playful, mischievous smirk painted across his face as he cruelly teased you. “You’re such a tease.” 

“I thought you loved that.” He quipped back. You rolled your eyes and took the bait.  

“I do, I love how much of a tease you are.” He felt your breath against his neck as you spoke and then pressed a kiss against his neck, breathing him in. He always smelt so good, despite being a bit of a natural peacock it wasn’t showy, it was more subtle but strong enough. You were certain there was sandalwood in his cologne. “I also love how you feel inside of me.” You spoke as your soft lips kissed his handsome jaw, your soft lips a burning contrast against the tickle of his perfectly trimmed beard. 

“Someone’s getting laid tonight.” Stewy got out, pressing his hips against you as you continued kissing along his jaw and neck, tugging his now tousled curls. 

“That was the plan after all Mr. Hosseini.” You smirked against his neck, feeling him continue to harden against you. He let out a soft, melodic moan as you sucked softly on his neck. 

“How does now sound?” 

“Perfect.” You left his neck to kiss him on the lips, you moaned against his mouth as his teeth clashed against yours. 

One of his hands left your waist to quickly unbutton your pants. Once he’d done that, he quickly slipped a hand in, teasing you as he palmed you and then started to tease your bundle of nerves over your underwear. Your arousal had already started to dampen your underwear and it only grew with his attention. You continued to moan against him, as he gingerly traced a pattern.  

“You’re already so wet and I’ve barely touched you.” Stewy teased. “So beautiful and needy.”

Stewy smirked as he felt you press into his hand more, even with the friction of your underwear, you needed more. You wanted him then and there. You kept hungrily kissing him, feeling starved. Stewy snaked a finger under your underwear and rubbed it along your clitoris for a few seconds before dipping it inside of you making you gasp. 

“More, please Stewy.” You begged between kisses, panting as he chuckled. 

“Such a desperate girl with a needy pussy.” Stewy whispered into your ear as he added a second finger in, he picked up the pace a bit he continued to finger you and his thumb moved to rub over your clitoris a few times. His fingers were covered in your slick and you didn’t have any interest in holding back any of your moans. 

You stayed sandwiched between the wall and Stewy, just moving to press your head against his shoulder, the fabric of his blazer muffled some of your moans as he continued to finger you. You looked down and started to undo his belt and pants. 

“What do you think you're doing baby?” Stewy asked in a low voice that was just making the space in between your thighs grow into an even bigger pool of dampness, you were melting against him. 

“I want you.” You tilted your head up so it was still resting against his shoulder but you were now facing his neck more, you started to kiss his neck again, biting it softly and then licking it. “I want you to fuck me Stewy.” 

“Beg.” Stewy breathed out as he let out a little moan as your tongue darted over his pulse point. His fingers were still entering you but not as deep as before and his thumb was painfully slowly, languidly massaging your bundle of nerves. 

“Please Stewy. Fuck me, I need to feel you deep inside of me.” You nipped him softly right near his pulse point and revelled in the groan he let out at that. “Please, I’m begging you Stewy. I need you.” 

“Tell me exactly what you need.” His thumb cruelly left your clitoris for a moment making you gasp out in shock but he added a third finger inside of you, getting to that soft spot that made you melt and his thumb gently returned to your clitoris after a few seconds. 

“I uh, I-I need you. I need you inside of me now Stewy. I need to feel your cock inside of me.” You moaned out. “Nobody has ever and could ever fill me up the way you do. It feels so good, you make me feel so good. Pl-please Stewy. Please.” You mewled out and you couldn’t quite see his face but you knew it would have that beautiful arrogant smirk. 

“I’ll fuck you, baby. I just need you to come for me first, you can do that, right? I can tell your desperate little pussy is already so close.” You nodded desperately, he wasn’t wrong. You were close to unravelling, he could tell from your breathing and how you weren’t just flooding his fingers but also clamping around him. 

“I’m so close, Stew, fuck.” You moaned out, panting against his neck, it tickled him slightly. You bit your lip and moaned against his neck, he could feel the vibration of it and he loved that, that and the sound of your pleasure. You could feel it coming and gasped into his neck again as you came, Stewy could feel it and smiled as his fingering eased to a slower, gentler pace as you came down from your orgasm. 

“How was that?” He smirked as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“It was- it was…” You paused for a moment as your breathing started to settle, your heart was still pounding from that high though. “Good.” 

“Good? Only good?” He questioned with a tone of mock hurt.

“Just shut up and fuck me now, please Stew.” You bit his neck, just feeling even more needy for him than you did before. 

“I thought you liked my colossal vocabulary and voice?” He teased as he playfully grinded into you “I distinctly remember you saying so a few minutes ago.” 

“You’re so mean Stewy.” You giggled softly, gently pulling on the roots of his curls. 

“Was that just to get me into your pants?” Stewy paused the grinding, his tone acting as if he was hurt and that the insinuation was possibly true. 

“I guess not because that obviously didn’t work very well.” You responded, leaning back against the wall. He raised an eyebrow at you and then looked down at his belt. You rolled your eyes playfully and started to undo his belt, palming him. He was completely hard but you already knew this from when he’d been grinding into you. 

“Bedroom baby.” Stewy moaned out as you pulled his hard cock out and rubbed it with one hand. 

“You can fuck me here, you’ve done it before.” You pouted and he just chuckled as you kept up with your ministrations. 

“You said I was mean, so you’re not getting it here. You can wait the whole ten seconds it takes to walk to the bed. Our bed for me to have my way with you.” Stewy’s voice was low and firm but there was still that natural teasing tone there. 

You walked briskly to the bedroom that you two shared and Stewy followed and chuckled over the eagerness of your gait. As soon as you both were in the clean room, you kissed him hungrily again. He smirked and expertly unbuttoned your blouse as you pushed his blazer off. You kicked your pants and underwear off and he quickly followed suit. 

Stewy pressed you into the bed and you tugged on the turtleneck he was still wearing to bring him closer to you and then started to push it up off him. 

“Do you love my turtleneck baby?” Stewy teased as you did. 

“Absolutely love it.” You breathed out with a smirk. 

As soon as it was off and thrown to the floor, you were kissing each other again as if you couldn’t survive without the other. You were running your hands over Stewy’s back and up his neck to the luscious locks you loved as he quickly undid your bra. You were both now naked and he continued to kiss you as his hands cupped your chest. 

You moaned out as he started to caress you and pinch your nipples. His lips travelled from yours down to your jaw, your throat, he kissed your breasts and teasingly licked along your nipple for a minute as he started to rub your heat with his other hand. 

“Please Stewy.” You begged out in a desperate moan as your eyes were closed in pleasure. 

“Please, fuck you?” He again teases as he starts to line himself up at your entrance. 

“Yes, please that.” 

Stewy stopped his teasing and happily obliged after what felt like an eternity of almost edging. He pressed his head into you and you gasped as he did, gently scratching his shoulders as he did. It wasn’t long till he was bottomed out, he waited a few seconds for you to adjust before he started to slowly thrust inside of you, eliciting the most melodic moans he’d ever heard. 

“You’re so beautiful and tight, I love being inside of you baby.” Stewy cooed out as his pace quickly picked up a deeper and slightly faster rhythm. 

“You feel so good Stewy, so good inside of me.” You mewled out. 

Your words were literal music to his ears and it wasn’t long till he was grunting out as his thrusts became deeper and harder. 

It was so easy to become lost in Stewy. Especially when he was fucking you like this, having his way with you in the bed you shared. How couldn’t you be lost in him when your eyes were open he was all you could see?

His scent was dizzying as it mixed with the sweat he’d built up from snapping his hips into yours, he was all you could feel, on you and in you, his grunts, words and the filthy sounds you were making together were all you could hear. Stewy was intoxicating, overwhelming, a sensory overload in the most spectacular way. 

You were pulling on his hair as you felt him hitting that perfect soft spot deep inside of you. Your bundle of nerves was already sensitive from the teasing and your earlier orgasm and you could feel the warmth of another orgasm building. 

Stewy wasn’t clueless about this, he could feel you clenching around him especially as he reached that sensitive spot of yours and you were flooding him in your arousal. Other than the feeling of being buried deep inside of you, Stewy couldn’t think of anything sweeter than the noises of your moan and whimpers and the sounds of the squelches made of him thrusting into you and being met with your juices. 

Stewy continued to pound into you, his thrusts were faster and needier, and he was getting close himself. He pressed some sloppy kisses to your neck that warmed your insides up even more with desire and love for him. Stewy’s lips travelled back to yours and you opened your mouth inviting him in as your tongues and teeth passionately attacked each other. 

The kiss became deeper and deeper, you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and felt him groan at that against your lips which in turn made you smirk. You two continued to kiss and he started to rub your clitoris with his thumb, you moaned into his mouth at the sweet pressure and slightly writhed under him. 

“That feels so good Stew.” You panted out as the kiss broke for a second and you both panted as he continued to thrust into you while rubbing a circular pattern on your bundle of nerves getting closer to their peak. 

“You feel so good. I love you.” He panted out between moans, as his eyes rolled back at the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around him. 

“I love you too.” You moaned out, as your legs tightened slightly around him and you scratched his back. “I’m, so, so, so close.” 

“Yeah? I can feel that baby. Oh fuck, I want you to come for me, come on my cock baby.” He encouraged as he continued. Kissing along your pulse point, fully knowing that would drive you closer to your climax. 

You moaned out while scratching his back and pulling on his hair as you unravelled from your orgasm. Stewy smirked against your neck and continued to massage your sensitive bundle of nerves and thrust at the same, perfect speed as you chased your orgasm and rode out that high. 

“Thank you, baby, that was so good. I want you to come, to fill me up.” You panted out as you placed a hand to cup his cheek as his hips continued to snap back into yours. 

“Fuck, I’m pretty close.” 

You dug your nails into his back as he felt you clench around him in the most spectacular way as you orgasmed and post that. He began to chase his own high and you knew he was close as his thrusts spread up and the pace was more sporadic than rhythmic. 

After a couple more minutes of thrusts, Stewy grunted and kissed you more desperately than he had all day and finally chased his own climax and finished inside of you. Before he pulled out the kiss changed to a gentle, affectionate one and you lightly combed your hands through his hair and then ran them along his face and jaw as he kissed you like that. 

Stewy kissed your forehead softly and then pulled out to go towards the ensuite to get a washcloth to clean up the mess you had made together. He was so firm but gentle with you. 

After that, he laid in bed again on his back, you were cuddled into his side, with your head on his warm chest feeling almost half asleep. 

“What do you think of marriage now?” Stewy asked interrupting the peaceful post-sex silence. There was an air of playfulness but his voice was softer, quieter, almost sleepy. 

“Pardon?” You shifted slightly off his chest to get a better look at his face. You were certain you’d heard him correctly but you weren’t sure if maybe you’d fully given into sleep and this was gibberish or a dream. 

“We’ve talked about eloping before.” 

“Yeah, yes we have but-” 

“I wasn’t joking.” Stewy said as he gently held your chin between his index finger and his thumb. His voice was still soft but it was a bit firmer now, more serious than tired or playful. You bit your lip unsure of what to say as he continued to look into your eyes with his beautiful, diluted ones. 

“You know what that would entail Stewy. Your career-” 

“I do and-” 

“Stewy.” You rested your chin on his chest looking at him. He could see that you were tired. 

“So you don’t want to marry me right before your brother and Willa? Maybe a day or two after? Get that IUD out, then pop out a few babies. I’ll even be super fucking generous and get a vasectomy.” His tone was more teasing now and you had a feeling the humour wasn’t completely genuine but partially a cover-up of possible hurt. 

“Sweetie, I love you. Can we talk about this tomorrow? Maybe not talk about this ‘post-coitus’.” You offered him a small smile and combed your fingers through his hair, admiring the dark locks and the stunning strands of silver. 

“Yes ma’am.” Stewy nodded and kissed your forehead. You settled back into his chest and it wasn’t long until you had dozed off in his arms and on the comfortable pillow of his chest with the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. 

********

You’d been the only one of your siblings to stay for Connor’s wedding. Weddings were just business opportunities in the world of the Roys, grief couldn’t exist with the market and leadership decisions. You didn’t like how the wedding or death side of that traumatic day went down or how it was handled but unexpected deaths weren’t meant to be convenient or follow logic. 

You were now in your deceased father’s penthouse at his wake, having spent most of the morning hiding in a corner from as many eyes as possible. You’d really only spoken to Connor and Willa, your other siblings were in a sitting room being as business-focused as possible. 

It had been a little while into the Wake and you were with your siblings when Stewy and the Furnesses came in. Connor and Willa had been the easiest to talk to which wasn’t really anything new. Kendall and you occasionally made little remarks to each other and even you and Shiv exchanged some looks over other people’s comments or well, audacity.

You took Stewy’s handsome face in, he looked well-rested and fresh-eyed despite the fact that he’d been up most of the night with grieving you. He was handsomely dressed and groomed as always. You wanted to be held by him again, to leave and be curled up in a ball with him. Normally you two acted amicably when your paths crossed in the Roy world and public like this. But you were too depressed and exhausted for the usual furtive nature. 

He’d hugged and given his condolences to your sister Shiv and then she’d moved on to Sandi. You looked at Stewy and gave him a small smile, he went to give you a hug and a faux kiss on the cheek as he did for Shiv but you needed more than that, you needed him. You genuinely hugged him and pressed your head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat, a firm, undeniable reminder that he was there was always comforting. You didn’t care that your siblings were nearby, it wasn’t an indecent act. 

Stewy couldn’t and wouldn’t say no to affection from you ever, let alone in your state in this context. He reciprocated the genuine hug and you held onto him for maybe a few seconds longer than you should’ve if you wanted to avoid the suspicion of your siblings. 

You pulled away despite never wanting to do and tilted your head to see that he was looking at you warmly, sympathy written all over his eyes. His hands had moved to softly rest on the sides of your arm, the touch was comforting but could easily be perceived and argued as platonic to an onlooker. He had a small, genuine smile on his face as he looked at you. 

“Hey,” he said softly. 

“Hey.” You responded back quietly. You wanted to kiss him, you were almost tempted to and then Kendall was quickly whisking Stewy away. 

You went back to your corner and eventually, you were joined by Kendall and Roman. You saw that Stewy was making his rounds of small talk and his eyes occasionally wandering, searching for you to see where you were and how you were doing. 

“Have you thought about psychoanalysing yourself?” 

“What?” You questioned exhaustedly as your mind was pulled away from stealing glances at Stewy by Roman’s words. 

“That was a bit too touchy with Ken-doll’s boyfriend.” Roman retorted. “I didn’t realise jumping on your brother’s BFF was one of the five stages of grief.” 

“Excuse me?” You now glared at him. 

“Oh, I guess it must be a new one they added in.  Are you gonna get a model named after yourself? Or are you saving the Roy model for something more fucked up?” 

“I’m not doing this Roman.” You sighed in exasperation and walked off to find a glass of wine but were quickly disturbed again. 

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t actually know about you two,” Kendall smirked as he whispered to you. 

“What the fuck Ken?” You jumped at the fright from Kendall, you were grateful that you were still empty-handed or else you’d have stained your outfit if not all of your surroundings from your brotherly jumpscare. Your reaction just made Kendall’s smirk grow. “You knew? But Stewy never told you.” 

“He didn’t. I figured out a while ago that you two were uh…” He dramatically paused for a moment as if he was thinking of the right word with a teasing smirk. “Copulating.” 

“Ken!” You elbowed him softly to try and get him to quieten down. “Why did you never say anything?” You quietly questioned. 

“Well, it was pretty fucking weird at first. He’s not the worst Harvard finance bro out there.” Kendall said with a playful expression. “He keeps you happy-adjacent right?” 

“Yeah, he does. Thank you.” You gave Kendall a tight-lipped but grateful smile. 

“You know, you don’t have to hide it anymore right?” 

You looked up at Kendall, questioning him with your eyes. You and Stewy’s relationship was complicated and you’d say it was pretty healthy despite the furtive nature, it had been that way for everyone’s personal and professional sake. Kendall’s smirk started to slowly slip as he took in your expression. 

“He’s dead.” Kendall spoke softly as you stared into each other’s eyes, he placed his hand on your arm as his face grew more serious. You eyed Kendall trying to find the right words. Sure your father had been part of it but it was a complicated situation with many pieces. 

“I could live with dad icing me out, cutting that relationship. I made peace with what that is a while ago. But-but, it’s when Roman, Shiv, and you. That’s what really hurts.” 

“That’ll be all that Roman says and well Shiv, she’ll only say anything about it behind your back.” 

“So comforting and reassuring.” You dryly said. 

“I’ll send you the invoice for Kendall Roy’s Therapy.” He teased and you both chuckled dryly at that. 

There wasn’t much else to say to that and you knew Kendall wasn’t ready to talk about the bigger problems yet so you gave your brother a tight hug that he quickly reciprocated. You stayed in each other’s arms for a few moments, it was healing and reassuring in a way. 

You then left to sit on a miraculously empty couch as Kendall went off to talk to Roman and Shiv again about company matters you didn’t want to hear about and that they wouldn’t want to discuss in front of you or Connor anyway. As you sat there, Stewy caught your eyes again and this time he finally came over. He sat next to you on the sofa but left a reasonable, person-sized gap between the two of you. 

“Kendall knows, you know.” You quietly state looking at him tiredly, the events of the last 24 hours and your lack of sleep were quickly catching up with you. 

“Well, I’m in private equity not acting baby.” You scoff at that and smile, sinking a little further into the sofa. 

“Perspicuously not in comedy either, babe.” You say with a smile that grows. You tilt your head to look at his expression, his big beautiful eyes are watching you and there’s the cocky smile plastered on his face that you’re in love with. 

“I’ve learnt it’s best to save the wit for the Roys.” He shoots back with a mischievous gleam in his eye. 

Stewy’s here and he’s being cheeky for your sake. You love that about him, his tongue isn’t biting like your siblings but his humour is a way of showing up. 

“Do you want to go on the balcony for a minute?” You questioned. “I want some fresh air.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He leaned his hand over that empty space of safety between you two to squeeze your hand for a second before you got up and he then followed you. 

He leant against the railing and watched you once you were both out on the much more, pleasantly quiet balcony. 

You laid your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, listening to his heart calmly beat as he pressed his chin against the top of your head and exhaled. Stewy’s thumb was tracing reassuring patterns on your arm. He hummed softly for a moment and you could feel the vibration of it on the top of your skull. 

You and Stewy both knew this was a sure way to be caught but neither of you cared in this moment and didn’t care about any of the consequences. They were manageable, they felt minor now and realistically they were. This would shift the family dynamic and having furtive hands with your lover always seemed to you to be in the best interests of Stewy’s career and the dramas between him, Kendall and Waystar. 

You were pretty okay with being out in the open with Stewy and he felt the same way. As the relationship went on, he wanted that more and more. His post-coitus conversation was serious and not a post-orgasm thought. 

“You were serious about eloping before Connor’s wedding weren’t you?” 

“Probably poor taste to say it right now but yes baby, dead serious.” 

You laughed at that and he felt it vibrate against him and it made him smile. He just wanted to bring you a bit of comfort and joy on an awful day like today. 

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” 

“Are you saying you want to get eloped?” 

“Well, I was thinking of leaking the story to ATN that Stewy Hosseini is so whipped by the Roys that he gets a vasectomy for one and not the one they’d expect.” You teased, laughing a bit more and he laughed as well. 

“Well, as much as I think we could find you something short to wear as an elopement dress, maybe something fun and scandalous like Sharon Tate’s since you like those old flicks. I don’t think we should leave your dad’s wake to go off and elope, might be the cultural upbringing differences but seems a little rude to me.” Stewy teased, you laughed and kissed him on the lips softly for a moment. 

“How does tomorrow sound?” 

“For an elopement?” “Yeah.” 

“Perfect.” 

#stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x you #stewy hosseini smut #stewy hosseini imagine #stewy hosseini x reader #stewy hosseini x roy!reader #stewy hosseini x f reader #stewy hosseini fic #stewy hosseini fanfic #stewy hosseini fluff #succession #succession hbo #hbo succession #succession s4 #succession smut #succession roy reader #kendall roy #shiv roy #logan roy #roman roy #siobhan roy #arian moayed #arian moayed fandom #arian moayed characters #arian moayed fanfiction #succession fanfic #succession fanfiction #succession fandom #fanfic #teamstewy

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn in BG3: Chapter 2

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 2: Now that all the companions are gathered it's time to move on to the druid's grove.

Link to AO3

A/N: Thank you to everyone giving part one love! <3 The more I write this the more I fall in love with my own Tav lol.

Lae’zel was just as arrogant when rescued as she was in the game, but surprisingly she was the one to suggest ditching a couple of party members.  It’s too conspicuous to travel with so many, so Tav made the decision to send two on to make camp nearby.  And of all the people to send, he sent away Shadowheart and Gale.  They each questioned the decision but headed off soon enough. 

You wonder why he chose to keep you, clearly the weakest link.  You wonder those thoughts aloud when you approach the Emerald Grove and hear Aradin demanding entry, and the goblin assault begins.

“Hardly the time for those questions,” Astarion answers.  

“Just stay back,” Tav warns.  “And get your dagger out.”

You stand atop the small hill across from the gate, two goblins on the stair-like cliffside and climbing up, while Tav and Lae’zel jump down to help those at the gate.  Astarion has his bow drawn and sends an arrow to the closest goblin’s face—it goes down with a heavy thud, body tumbling into the other one knocking him down long enough for the vampire to pull out a dagger and start stabbing.

You do as Tav says and pull your own dagger from your boot..  What once felt large in your hand now seems incomparably small when facing a group of goblins.  

And there’s no turns here.  The goblins aren’t about to wait patiently for you to stick your blade into them.  The fray is nothing but chaos until a young man in a red coat jumps down from the top of the gate, rapier in hand.  That stills the goblins enough for you to make sense of some of the battle.

Tav and Aradin have taken down two goblins themselves while Lae’zel thrusts her sword into the bugbears chest—another two goblins are felled by Astarion and the female archer, and then the last of them are taken out by Wyll’s Arms of Hadar.  The green and black tendrils erupt from the ground, draining the nearest creatures of life before fading back into the dirt.  All the while you stood behind Astarion holding the tiniest dagger known to Faerun.

You take careful steps to the edge of the cliff, avoiding any spilled blood, and look at the carnage below.  Astarion moves up to the ledge below where you stand, saying something that sounds like “good to have you in the group” but you don’t pay him any mind.  There’s too much blood rushing in your ears to hear his snark, and that phantom limb has grown friends as it reaches towards the dead that surround you. 

Take, something whispers, take what is yours.

Take take take take! 

It repeats in your mind as the body nearest you twitches, legs twisting as if alive but stills as soon as Astarion pulls the arrow from its face.  The squelch of sputtering blood is enough to draw you from your trance, facing Astarion.  

“What did you say?”  Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“A sheltered one, aren’t you?” he asks.  He thinks you’re scared of the bodies, the violence.  You nod, because he’s not technically wrong.  Those limbs retract and that little voice that demanded something of you vanishes.  Let them all think you’re scared of the blood, because that’s what the trill in your chest was, wasn’t it?  Fear.

“I’ll get used to it,” you say more to yourself than Astarion.   You stow your blade back in your boot, noticing that Tav is leaping between the goblin bodies and searching them for loot.  His tail wags in the air as he bends to scavenge each corpse, eagerness on display.  

“I would have almost guessed you were excited by the way you gripped that dagger.”  Astarion holds a hand out to you.  He’s a ledge below you, waiting to help you down despite the attitude you hear in his tone.  Or maybe not attitude but…accusation?  No. That doesn’t fit him.  But neither does helping a stranger down a rocky cliff, yet there he is holding out a hand.

You stupidly stare at his pale hand, pondering its purpose.  He sighs with a roll of his eyes before he grabs your hand and tugs.  “Come along then, all the scary goblins are dead.”

You let him lead you down the cliffside, his hand actually…warm?  Well, nothing llike the heavy warmth of Tav, but still comforting as you pass the dead.  Astarion swaps holding your hand with his left rather than right as you reach the bottom, placing his now free hand on your back to guide you on the last large descent.  

“There now,” he says, all fake smile and fake emotion, “safe and sound.”

His words are directed at Tav, who is still searching the last body.  Ah, he’s endearing himself to Tav.  Help the person the leader is helping, because you’re stuck with them anyway, and you’ll look better to the group overall and be less suspicious should anything unsavoury happen to them.   The memory of critically failing your rolls when he fed on your Tav comes to mind and you make a mental note to keep your dagger very close at night.

Astarion lets go of your hand once Tav deems you safe enough.  You give him a small thanks and receive that fake smile in return.  You can’t bring yourself to smile back, knowing what you know.

“Hurry inside!” a tiefling shouts from atop the gate.  Zevlor.  “Before more of them come!”

“Here,” Tav says excitedly.  He pushes his hands towards you, a staff laying gently on both palms as if this were an offering to his better.  The top of the staff is decorated with some poor creature's skull and assorted bones.  A fox, maybe?  No matter, its bones have now been shaped and tied together along the smooth wooden staff like some sort of talisman.  As you take it Tav adds, “It may not be what you’re used to, but it should help you channel your magic.”

Your brows raise—he was more perceptive than you thought a barbarian would be.  Even if he was assuming you could use magic, and were having trouble doing so.

You notice there are small clear crystals dangling from some of the stones, and two large cut pieces of amethyst within the eye sockets of the skull.  The more you look at the staff the more you see how finely it’s been crafted—hardly the work of goblins.  

“Thanks,” you say.  You twirl it in your fingers, watching the crystals sparkle in the light and feeling a comforting chill fall over you.  Almost like stepping into the shade on a hot summer day. 

Tav’s tail swishes back and forth at your approval.  “Let’s get inside before they change their mind.”

Inside the grove Aradin and Zevlor are already arguing.  Like with Astarion’s false cries for help, Tav is quick to move ahead and get into the thick of things.  You can hear a woman crying above the gate—Arka, mourning the loss of her brother.  You block it out as much as possible, along with the voice in your head that whispers, Take.

You watch Tav settle the argument without any fists flying, then Aradin and what’s left of his crew storms off.

Zevlor and Tav exchange a few words, but your attention is on the spaciousness of the grove itself.  It looked so small on a computer screen, but now you can appreciate the majesty of it; the smell of the forest, the way the wind comes from down in The Hollow and wraps you in a safe cocoon.  It would be so peaceful if not for the scared tieflings, and the angry druids, and of course the rats you know aren’t really rats.

“Goblin got ya?” Zevlor says to Tav with a bit of surprise.  “You should talk to Nettie—she’s not as profound as Halsin but she can take a look at you.  While you’re there maybe you could talk Kagha out of this Rite of Thorns.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Tav replies.

“We’re messengers now?”  Astarion has no qualms complaining directly in front of the one making the desperate request.

Without thinking you give him a quick elbow to the ribs.  You hiss, “Be nice!”

Astarion is so taken aback by your assault he can only baulk at you, eyes wide.  You try to keep your face as neutral as possible while you stand next to him, ignoring his stare in your peripheral vision.  Tav snickers at your actions, and that in itself is enough to keep Astarion at bay.  You imagine a die in your mind, the big number one mocking you as you try to push away the thought of Astarion feeding on you in the dead of night.  

You felt a glare directed at the back of your head as you followed Tav and Lae’zel down the hill and into The Hollow. It could be your imagination, but there was a particular weight to Astarion’s gaze whenever you looked back at him.  Still, you stood by your decision and kept your chin up.  

Tav stops to talk to the three siblings, successfully convincing them to stay and help the other tieflings.  You all take the boarded path towards the back of the cave where Aradin and his crew sit, and there you spot Meli, a young tiefling refugee, about to pickpocket Barth for his mothers locket.  You wonder if you should stop him but it’s Tav that steps up and sets a hand on the boy's shoulder, surprising Meli and you.  Tav squats down and whispers something in the boy's ear—whatever it was it has Meli smiling and darting off, locket all but forgotten. 

“What was that?” Barth asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Just telling him he should challenge himself,” Tav answers.  He doesn’t elaborate and instead goes right into questioning the trio about Halsin.  

You listen as they discuss the wizard in Baldur's Gate and the Nightsong when you feel the faintest touch at your hip.  You glance to your right to find Meli dashing off, and the weight of the bag beneath your coat gone.

“Hey!” you shout.  Meli doesn’t even turn around as he runs out of sight beyond the bend.

Astarion chuckles.  

You spin towards him standing behind you, where he would have had an uninterrupted view of you getting pickpocketed.  

“Really?” you question.  

Astarion shrugs in response, one arm crossed over his torso while he waves his other hand up as if to say, “What can you do?”  

You don’t even know what you lost but the embarrassment of being robbed, with witnesses, brings a heat to your cheeks.  Frowning, or maybe just pouting, you hurry after Meli.  At least you know where they are.

You pass by the siblings that have made their way down, past Dammon, and the two older women of which neither were human, to get to the kids’ hideout.  You wonder if Mol would be kind enough to return your things as you go over the different events that could give you her favour.  

You’re ready to beg, honestly, for a look at what you lost at the very least.  For all you know your entire identity is in that bag that you haven’t had a moment to investigate. But that gets put on the back burner when you hear a woman yell, “Shut up!  Just shut up!”

“Arka, please,” a man says.  You turn to your left, spotting Arka and a male tieflings whose name escapes you in the makeshift prison.  She’s already got her crossbow aimed at the goblin Sazza.  You swear under your breath as you look back at the others, Tav still engaged in conversation with Aradin and Lae’zel talking to Remira.  The only one that watches you now is Astarion, all the other tieflings around you minding their own worries.  You bounce on your heels, unsure if you have time to get Tav before Arka takes her shot.  When you hear the goblin taunt her about losing her nerve you decide you can’t wait, and dash into the prison.

“Here it comes you little—“

There’s a lot you could do to stop Arka.  You could shout, “Stop!” or “Help!” or hit her with your new staff.  But none of that happens.  Instead you let out a puff of air that’s supposed to be words, drop the staff, and dive to stop the arrow from penetrating the goblins skull.  It works…mostly.

You see blood splash onto Sazza’s face before you feel the pain.  When you land, the collision with the ground vibrates through your body before you feel the shock of the arrow that now penetrates through your right hand.

If it wasn’t for your plush coat, you would have felt the gravel digging into your hip.  You can certainly feel it on your right thigh, the small slide along the ground enough to grind the rocks against your body.  Your right arm is bent at the elbow with your hand in the air, head down as you try to take stock of all the different things you’re feeling in that moment.

Embarrassment from being robbed, pain all along the right side of your body, a piercing burn in the palm of your hand, and more embarrassment that you didn’t just smack Arka with your staff because that is literally what it is for.

The three beings that surround you stay silent, as if they too cannot believe you just did that.  You’re lucky the arrow is thin and crudely made—a stronger one would have probably gone through your hand and into Sazza’s eye.

“Oh, my,” comes Astarion’s lilting voice, “it seems I missed the show.”

Weakly, you raise your head and turn to face him, body relaxing onto the ground.  He stands in the doorway of the prison, a finger to his lips as he grins at your valiant display of courage.  Not everyone would do what you did!  Not everyone was so reckless as to risk their life for a goblin that would kill them just for fun.  Yes…that was a special kind of stupid.  Your face burns again as Sazza laughs loudly.

“Looks like the Absolute sent me a saviour,” she says, voice scratchy and mocking.  It’s directed at you just as much as it is Arka.

Arka growls.  “Why did you do that?!”

You cough away the dust you’d been breathing in and straighten on the ground.  There are a few responses you can give, but the honest truth isn’t one of them.   You’d let her kill Sazza before, multiple times—sometimes you skipped the scene all together!  But…when it’s no longer a game something in your soul drives you to stop it.  All you’re left to do is shrug and shake your head.

Arka glares at you as you lift yourself to your feet.  You’re shaking again like when you’d first woken up, except this time there’s a clear reason why.  The arrow through your hand is forcing your body to pump out heavy doses of adrenaline, and if not for the arrow you’d probably be bleeding profusely.  It still drops down your forearm as you hold it above your waist.

“She’s a prisoner,” you finally relent, “she’s not here to be killed.  She could have useful intel on the goblin camp.”

Sazza huffs at the idea of her giving up her tribe.  You ignore the goblin and watch Arka bite her bottom lip and storm away.   The male tiefling—what the hells was his name again?— bows his head as thanks before following her.

Astarion moves out of the way to avoid any misdirected rage from Arka.  As he approaches you he says, “I see you’re one of those self-sacrificing types.”

“No, just stupid,” you reply.  

A sudden puff of a laugh comes from him and when you try to meet his eyes you find him looking away from you, a smile hidden beneath one hand.  “That’s another way of putting it.”

He doesn’t come too close to you as you observe the wound.  While it hurts, it’s not as bad as you thought a piercing wound would be.  Not that you thought much about that, anyway.  You flipped your hand around, observing the wound carefully—should you just pull the arrow out?  You recall how difficult it had been to get Gale out of the sigil and think better of doing the task yourself.  You hold your bloody hand towards Astarion.  “Do you mind? I won’t be able to do it myself.”

Whatever he’s thinking is kept to himself, his mouth still and eyes unwavering as they survey your face.  

“Why don’t we find you that healer?” he suggests.  “I’m sure this Nettie will get you fixed up and ready to dive in front of a fire arrow in no time.”

When you only nod Astarion adds, “I feel this should go without saying, but don’t jump in front of a fire arrow.  Unless it’s to save me, at which point, follow your instincts, darling.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to hide your growing smile.  He called you darling.  It sounded so much sweeter with those red eyes on you than it ever had in game.  You let the smile out and laugh.  “No promises, but I think I’m okay with losing a bit of blood for you.”

“Oh my goodness!” 

You and Astarion look to the doorway to see Auntie Ethel standing there, mock worry on her face.  It really did look genuine though, if you didn’t know what she is.  She is a much better actor than Astarion.

“You poor thing,” she says, hurrying to your side and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, observing your injury.  “What happened?  Oh, no matter, I’ll get this treated.  Come with me, petal.”

Despite her frail appearance, Auntie Ethel is able to strong-arm you out of the makeshift prison.  She makes a fuss the whole way to her little cove within the cave.  You’re careful to avoid looking for Arka, and to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes as the woman makes a fuss over you.  You can’t hear Astarion’s steps but you know he’s following, if only by the icy grip that reaches out from the back of your head.

TAGLIST

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub

#bg3 #reborn into Baldur's Gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #badger's gate 3 #astarion #tav #lae'zel #gale dekarios #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

[foodsies4me]

End of the Year Fic Recs!!!

thank you @echo-bleu for tagging me! <3

I adore this as a game because I love reccing fics (and really should do it more often because So. Much. Good.Fic). This is going to be all shadowhunters I'm afraid though because I am still very much in the shadowhunters brainrot stage and haven't read much of anything else. (Also, sorry to those I haven't left a comment for yet, I WILL, spoons have just been low this year...) Also, I'll try to keep it to one rec per author because there are so many wonderful authors, but definitely go check the other fics of these people (if you haven't already) they're all excellent.

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

Running from the Night by @to-the-stars-writing. My forever fic spouse and the fic I reread themost this year goes to the fantastic, angsty Alec goes to live in a small village to get away from the Clave because the poor dude is traumatized fic from to-the-stars. This fic is my fics spouse (yes I got @to-the-stars-writing's permission to marry this fic) and I love, love, love it so much.

Flames to Embers by @notcrypticbutcoy: teenage!Alec is poofed into the timeline of his older self and it is lovely, sad, and heartwarming all at the same time. Also, teenage Alec is delightfully grumpy and Adult Alec is even more delightfully Done with teenage!Alec's grumpiness.

starshine and moonlight by she_who_reads (all_fandoms_reader) A three +1 fic where Alec isn't enough until he finally is. This fic is angsty and delves into Alec's (not all that great) self-worth issues and it hurts. Might or might not have cried reading it.

The Warlock's Cat by @dreaming-marchling. I hesitated a while which one I should pick from Marchling, but I ended up choosing this one (that said PLEASE go read Bleed for Me as well it is so goooood). The Warlock's Cat is a delightful "Alec gets turned into a cat and ends up in Magnus's care" fic. I adore it, and while it has its angsty or whumpy spots, it's mostly a nice, feel-good read.

Magnus Bane: Menace by AceOnIce To give some reprieve from all of the angst in this list, here is a fic of pure, unabashed fluff. Starring: Warlock Alec and Shadowhunter Magnus, the latter of which writes some truly ridiculous mission reports to HOTI Ragnor's grief.

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

The river cannot go back by @lawsofchaos1. Alec being Alec and completely in love with Magnus which leads to him committing treason like it's nothing. It is a short, brilliant fic that had me screeching like any @lawsofchaos1 fic does.

I'm finding it hard to breath by Honey_Hued_Hermes This one is pretty heave, but it does have a Hopeful Ending. Alec never promised he would tell Magnus if things ever got that bad...and sadly they do. Diving into Alec's Suicidal Thoughts and his Self-Harm tendencies.

A Most Fundamental Truth by autisticalec A missing scene from 2X10 when Alec tells Magnus that he's never been as terrified as when he feared Magnus had died from the Soul Sword. This one-shot dives into the "Alec was really very not okay emotionally" in this scene, so go read it!

The Difficult Task by @dani-dabbles: Another Alec is going through it emotionally fic (there are quite a lot of these on this list I just realized, oops). Thankfully, Magnus is there to offer support when Alec needs it because Magnus is still the best boyfriend. (also the repeated "not good enough"is evil and I am suing for emotion damages, please and thank you very much)

come to me (in the night hours) by @moonlight-breeze-44 Izzy is a supportive sister and is there emotionally for Alec right before his wedding to Lydia. This fic left me feeling all sad and weepy. This fic is technically part of a series, but as no other parts have been posted yet I am posting this in the one-shot part.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies).

I've Always Dreamed of Meeting Someone Like You by ColorfulWarlock A non-magical Alternate Universe this time around. Single-dad, fashion designer, and CEO Magnus needs someone to draw his designs for him after a hit-and-run leaves him unable to draw for himself. Insert Alec, the wonderful babysitter, and game designer who seems to understand what Magnus envisions and draw them into reality!

Angelus ex Machina by BlueA The series starts with the sudden disappearance of demon activity and the way that lack of activity impacts the local Shadow World. I love the way the parabatai bond is portrayed in this fic (especially in the third installment).

through the fire and pain by alxndrlightwoods is another parabatai-bond deep-dive that goes deep into how a parabatai bond can change shadowhunters. It also explains why, if parabatai are so powerful, there aren't that many of them. Love this fic!

i cannot touch because they are too near by @faejilly nobody manages to write poetry without writing poetry quite like @faejilly for me, seriously the words are always so beautiful I am in awe. This fic has to be my absolute favorite though because deep-dives into the parabatai bond are interesting to begin with but the way Jilly decides to do so in this fic makes it go from interesting to absolutely brilliant.

Greater Love Hath No Man by @lawsofchaos1 Okay, I lied, here is a second Laws fic, but considering this fic led to the demise of my laptop, I felt that it deserved to be on the list. (No, that wasn't a joke). Dad!Alec is forced to send baby!Max away to a warlock orphanage when his magic grows too strong for him and leaves him injured. The pain is real and it is excruciating, tissues are advised.

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

As much as I adore reccing fics, doing self-recs is awkward, so I'm going to keep this to one rec before I combust into flames.

All Was Golden (everyone has probably read that one already because it's my most-read fic which makes this slightly less awkward than reccing any other of my fics.) Anyway, soulmate AU with a kind of ugly meet that has some angst.

Tagging, without any kind of pressure, the authors I tagged in the rec-list (if they haven't participated already) as well as @miss-mouse.

#rec game #foodsies rambles #I love all of these fics so much #and there were so many more I wanted to include #maybe I should do rec lists more often #even if nobody reads them

[yesimwriting]

Final Girl (Part 2)

Final Girl Series Masterlist (currently updated parts 1 - 9 and extras) 

A/N this one’s a bit of a filler but it’s needed and i’m looking forward to part 3!! a scene in part 3 inspired this entire fic :)) also i love feedback!! comments make my day and motivate me to write :)) so if you’re so inclined,, i’d love to hear your thoughts :) 

also lmk if you’d like to be tagged!!

Fandom: (original) Scream

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s.

Chapter Summary: The only good thing that’s come from Casey’s murder and your injuries is that your good friends Billy and Stu are determined to help you. 

also i made the reader’s birthday Halloween bc it helps the plot and i love halloween and am so jealous of fall birthdays!! So on the really good chance that your birthday isn’t on Halloween, just go with it!! Also I named the mom character bc the reader’s connection to her mom is kinda specific and relevant for plot and that felt easier lol 

Warnings: maybe a tiny bit too fluffy in some parts but there’s a reason for it!! also gaslighting and the beginning of emotional manipulation (it’s billy and stu, y’all should’ve expected it lol)

----

I’ve always hated hospitals. Waking up with bandages I don’t remember getting placed on me just to receive the news of Casey’s death certainly hasn’t made me grow fonder of them. If anything, each additional second I spend in this hospital cot adds to the agony in my body.

“Miss L/n, are you feeling any better?” Nurse Samantha’s voice is cautious and smooth, but not overly peppy like Nurse Molly’s. 

In another life, in another situation, I might have really liked Nurse Samantha. She gave me extra Jell-O when she noticed that it was the only thing from my tray that I picked at. She was the only one willing to be honest about Casey’s death with me. But this isn’t another life or situation, so when I look at her, all I can think about is what it felt like to wake up here. Alone. 

But that’s not her fault, so instead of attempting to get out of this damn bed again, I just nod slowly. “A little.” My voice is so hollow and hoarse that it sounds wrong in my ears. 

She waits for me to clear my throat before speaking again. “Your boyfriends are here to see you, but if you’re not up for visitors--” 

“Boyfriends?” My voice is slightly less gritty than it was when I first spoke. “I don’t have a boyfriend, let alone a plural amount of them.” 

Nurse Samantha’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh, my apologies,” she then tilts her head slightly, leaning against the doorframe of the hospital room. “But you might want to consider breaking that news to the two boys that have been harassing our receptionist since a little after you arrived.” 

My eyebrows draw together in confusion. What is she--

“You said she was awake, which meant she could take visitors, so take us--” 

Yeah, even in my state, that voice cleared everything up. “Billy.” 

He’s close enough to Nurse Samatha to tower over her, but when he snaps his head in my direction, all sense of anger is gone. In an instant, he’s in my room. I must be more out of it than I thought, because I’m slightly surprised when Stu comes in right behind him. 

“Visiting hours are technically over, but considering what you’ve been through and the late time you were brought in, I can make a bit of an exception. If you need anything, press the call button.” 

I nod again, a little more grateful for Nurse Samatha than I was before. Not only do I love the idea of not being alone here, I’m also glad she decided to let Billy and Stu in before they got irritated. I know I haven’t known them that long, but I think Billy has a bit more of a temper than he’d like to let on, and Stu takes not getting his way personally. 

“Okay, thank you.” 

She disappears down the hall after a quick nod of her head. 

Billy has pulled forward one of the hospital room’s chairs so that he’s sitting as close to my bed as possible. He grabs my hand as soon as he’s settled. His fingers are squeezing mine so tightly it’s slightly uncomfortable. “Hi.”

His greeting is oddly hesitant, maybe even a little nervous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Billy this unsure before. “Hey.” 

The silence that falls over us after that is serious. Much too serious for Stu to just stand on the sidelines in silence. Actually, it’s weird that Stu’s on the sidelines at all. What’s his deal? He never needs an excuse to be touchy and now that I actually need a hug, he’s choosing to keep his distance. Where was this restraint when I made eye contact with a cute boy during lunch and Stu decided that that’d be the perfect time to rest his head on my shoulder? 

I tear my gaze away from Billy’s hard stare, ready to call out Stu for being so weird. But then I see his expression. His face is oddly pale and his eyes are wide and kind of blank. 

“Stu, I’m fine, you can’t catch a concussion.”

Instead of taking the out and making some kind of joke, Stu’s expression falls even more. “A concussion?” 

Oh. Maybe Stu’s more worried than I thought. “Relax, we don’t know anything for sure. Concussions can take up to days to form, it hasn’t been long enough.” He doesn’t seem eased. “Would you stop looking at me like that? I’m fine, Casey’s the one that--” My voice catches on itself. Nope—still can’t even say it. “Would you please just come over here and be normal? I’m tired and I-I really want to pretend that I’m not in a hospital and I can’t do that with you staring at me like I’m on death’s doorstep.” 

His eyebrows draw together, but all he does is shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Stu,” Billy’s voice comes out so low and harsh I find myself gaping at him. “Y/n is asking you for one thing. For you to be normal.” 

On a normal night, I’d brush off their tension with some kind of joke or laugh. It’s not the first time I’ve ever witnessed the way they disappear into each other. A slightly longer than average glance or a simple sentence is all it takes to initiate one of their silent exchanges. Whenever they get like that, I can’t help but wonder what they’re like when they’re alone. 

Stu nods once, the motion oddly stiff, but then his eyes move so that he’s looking at me. And just like that, they’re back. Stu shuffles towards me. He moves like he wants to hug me but can’t figure out a tactful way to do it with all the wires connected to me. He settles for a gentle, barely there shoulder squeeze. It’s so awkward and unusually gentle I find an unexpected fondness tugging at my chest. 

He lets go of me, his hand moving forward to allow the knuckle of his pointer finger to graze the edge of the cotton bandage on my forehead. “It’s okay, Stu.” When he doesn’t ease, I continue, “No stitches. Doctor said it won’t even scar.” 

With that, Stu softens completely. He grabs the hand that Billy isn’t holding. “Won’t even scar, huh?” 

His easiness is infectious. “Nope.” 

“Good thing, too,” Billy says, “Wouldn’t want anything hurting that pretty face.”

My eyes widen slightly, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Shut up, I’m a total mess right now. I’m literally in the hospital.” 

“And you still look like an angel.” If I thought that the earlier comment had me struggling to form a coherent thought, this is something else. I hate how stunned into silence I am, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s totally reveling in my reaction. “Don’t even think a scar could make you less pretty.” 

Weakly, I try to cover how sentimental I’m feeling. “I almost got murdered, you have to be nice to me.” 

Billy exaggeratedly frowns. “I’m always nice to you.” 

I pretend to contemplate his words. “Mm...nice-ish.” 

There’s something oddly comforting about Billy’s mock gasp. It’s a display of the softer side of him that I’ve only ever caught glimpses of. “Now who’s mean?”

“Still you.” 

Billy rolls his eyes at Stu’s reply. I turn, expression easing at the look on Stu’s face. “You’re on my side?” 

“Always,” he hums pleasantly, thumb running along my knuckles. He’s definitely lying. Billy and Stu seem to understand each other in way that I’ve never seen between two people, but the gesture is still nice.

The realization that I’m really glad that they’re here settles into me comfortably, in a content sort of way. “I’m happy you guys are here.”

Stu tilts his head, his free hand moving to gently catch my chin between his thumb and pointer finger. I blink, eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. He’s staring, analyzing me with a focus I didn’t think he was capable of. “You’re cute when you’re high.” My lips part in protest, but before I can get any words out, Stu continues, “You probably watched your friend get gutted, they definitely gave you something strong.” 

I frown, sinking further into the hospital bed without thinking about it. Noticing my reaction, Billy throws a dirty look in Stu’s direction before leaning over me in order to punch Stu’s arm. “Shut up.”

“What? She knows I didn’t mean it in any bad way.” He then turns to look back at me. “You know that, right?” 

I’m not exactly in the mood to brush off Stu’s insensitivity the way I normally would, and I don’t think I have the energy to humor him--but I also can’t bring myself to alienate them. I nod once, the motion tired and vague.

Billy runs his thumb over my knuckles gingerly, brining my attention back to him. “You did say you wanted him to be normal.” 

At that, I almost laugh. “Yeah, that’s on me.” A moment of silence passes, and for whatever reason, I don’t like it. “Y’know, I didn’t see anything. I-I was knocked out before it happened.” I can’t believe I’m talking about this. “I didn’t even know what happened to Casey until one of the nurses told me so that I’d cooperate with police questioning.” 

“The police already questioned you?” Billy’s question comes out too fast, too urging. “We’ve been waiting to be able to see you for hours, we didn’t know if y--” 

“Billy.” Some hard to name aspect of his personality takes on a darker shade, but he does stop ranting. So much for getting used to slightly more lighthearted Billy. “If it makes you feel any better, I was asleep for most of the time. One of the nurses had to borderline sedate me because I kept trying to pull out my IV and disconnect the heart monitor.” 

Instead of finding humor in my admission, the corner of Billy’s mouth turns downwards. 

“Why?” Stu asks Billy’s silent question before tacking on something to ease the tension, “This stuff looks important.” 

My nose wrinkles. There’s no good way to describe the panic I felt when I woke up here. No way to summarize the need I felt to be anywhere but the hospital. The desire to see Casey and be told that everything was just a bad dream. “Just didn’t want to be here,” I explain weakly, “I didn’t know what was going on and I freaked.” 

Stu’s eyebrows draw together. I’m too tired to hide the way I study him. It’s not that he’s never serious (though it is kind of rare), but there’s something strange beneath the way he’s looking at me. His eyes seem dark, tired and emphasized by the bruise forming near the top of his cheek.

Now it’s my turn to frown openly. Slowly, I pull my fingers from his grasp. Stu lets me move my hand towards his face with no reaction until my fingers just barely graze the line of barely formed purple.

He catches my wrist between his pointer finger and thumb, his grip just a little too tight. “You okay, angel?” 

The nickname leaves my face a degree or two warmer. Stu grins in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Your face is bruised--what happened?” 

“You’re in the hospital and you’re worried about me?” He lets out a breath, demeanor shifting back into something easier.

I roll my eyes, glad that his strange worry is passing. “Shut up.” 

His hold on my wrist loosens. Stu twists my hand in order to press a quick kiss to the inside of my wrist, right above my pulse. “Billy and I were going to watch a movie. He threw the tape at me a little too hard when I wasn’t paying attention. Between you and me, I think he did it on purpose.” 

Billy sighs, throwing a mean look in Stu’s direction. “I told you I was going to give it to you right before--” 

“Yeah, give not throw--” 

“You were right next to the VC--” 

“Guys.” My interruption isn’t particularly loud, but they both instantly shut up. On a normal night, I really doubt that would have worked. I guess being in the hospital has its perks. “I’ve dealt with enough conflict.” 

After a second, Billy concedes, “You’re right.” He squeezes my hand once, eyes softening. “I can’t believe the police questioned you right after you woke up. You must have been so confused,” his thumb runs up and down my knuckles, “Probably still are. You can’t be sure about anything you picked up on.” 

An uneasy feeling I can’t name settles in my chest. The police were the ones that insisted on speaking to me as soon as possible, but if I accidentally gave them anything that leads to an inaccurate lead, I’m not sure I’d be able to forgive myself. “It was a man, I know that. I know that I wasn’t confused about that.” That was something I told the officers confidently. The voice on the other line was masculine and distinct and my attacker was too large and tall to likely be a woman. “I didn’t really remember anything else.” 

The memories of right before are seared into my mind perfectly. Casey and her polaroid camera, the phone, the popcorn. Or--or was it the other way around? Did I make the popcorn before or after the phone call? Did Casey come in with the movies before or after she took those pictures of me? 

What were her last words? 

I can’t remember them and for some reason, that makes me feel guilty. He wants to talk to you. That’s when she gave me the phone for the last time. The phone I threw at the killer’s head. Did it hit him? And then she screamed. Wait, no, she clasped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t scream until the glass broke. And then...there was a second scream much later, a much more pained, animalistic sound. 

My mouth goes dry. That might have been the last sound Casey ever made. I heard it, but I was too busy trying to escape the killer to pick up on it. Which would mean she was killed while I was being attacked. Which means...

“Hey, don’t think about it too hard. Don’t think about anything too hard, you said it yourself, you hit your head.” Billy’s voice is soft yet assured. He’s right, I know he’s right, and yet I can’t snap out of it. 

“I,” my throat aches, a part of me regrets sending away the nurse before she could bring me ice chips, “I think there were two of them.” 

The admission is so slow and unsure I instantly feel the need to defend it. “Maybe. I-I mean, I don’t--” I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly all I can see are stars that turn my stomach. The sharp ache in my head is returning. “I didn’t remember before, but now that I’m thinking about it--Casey ran while I was being attacked and I heard her scream. And not just a scared scream, it was the kind of scream that victims in a scary movie let out right before they die. I think what happened to Casey happened while I was still awake. Which would mean there were two of them.” 

The two gape at me before glancing at each other. Their silence feels like some kind of reproach that tears at my insides. Stu breaks the quiet with a laugh. A loud, free kind of laugh that’s usually only ever used after the kind of inappropriate joke that earns him some kind of scolding from Tatum. 

“You’re cute,” Stu hums with the kind of fondness a parent would use towards a child that proudly declares insanely unrealistic goals. Sure you’ll be the first president in space, here, have a gold star for being so creative. “This isn’t one of those books you read or a project for newspaper. This is about a real murderer that probably got hard watching you try to fight him off of you and finished to the feeling of killing Casey.” 

I flinch. A full body, knee jerk reaction that has me pulling both of my hands away from them. Blinking, I cross my arms across my chest. I’m tired and the irritated frustration and embarrassment running through me aren’t making things easier.

The look on my face is probably only making me look more childish. I’m only a grade behind them, but it’s come up before. Only in a semi-joking way after a particularly naive reaction to something. Like the time Stu made a vague sex joke that everyone rolled their eyes at but I missed. Need me to explain it, kid. Stu had said, emphasizing the nickname to further embarrass me before Tatum smacked him in the arm. If she’s a kid, then that was a total pedo move. 

Billy punches Stu’s arm again. This time he’s harsher. “You’re an asshole.” Billy then looks at me, expression placid with understanding. “Do you really think there were two of them?” 

“I--” Now my already rickety train of thought feels even more unsteady. “I don’t know. It was just a thought. My memory of right before has been kind of iffy.”  I scratch the back of my wrist, eyes focused on where my skin meets the plastic of the IV. “But shouldn’t I say something? Just in case? The police said that if I remembered anything a little more I should call.” 

“You’re the one in AP Psych--aren’t most serial killers loners?” 

The urge to rip off the tape that’s holding the IV in place leaves my fingers itching to do something. I tap my nails against thin hospital sheets. “We don’t talk about that kinda stuff, but yeah, I guess.” 

Billy’s gaze flits away from my hands and towards my face. “So that means it’s unlikely for there to be two of them.” That’s a fair point, or at least, a point that’s a lot fairer than Stu’s. “You can say something if you want, but they’re so desperate for leads they questioned you right away. And we both know that police officers aren’t necessarily the most driven.” He’s gently referencing my mother’s boyfriend, who’s a cop and the bane of my existence. Billy and Stu both know exactly how I feel about him. “What if it does more harm than good?” 

I frown, letting his words slowly sink in. Maybe if my head felt less sore and my body less far away, I’d be reacting a little more. “Yeah,” I mumble, “I’ll wait, see if it’s something I actually remember or not.”

The corner of Billy’s mouth turns upwards. “Good, would hate to throw off your step-dad.” 

My glare is violent, which only fuels his smile. “That man is not my step-father. You know that.”

“Leave her alone, Billy,” Stu mumbles. I turn my head forward, gaze shifting upwards. Stu’s eyes are softer than they’ve been all night. He reaches for me, expression falling when I pull my hand back at the last second. “Aw, baby, don’t be like that.” My hand stays near my chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for laughing, I’m sorry for what I said about you and your friend.” I try to glare at him through my lashes, but the look feels like more of a pout than anything. “Don’t give me that look.” He moves his hand again, placing it on my cheek before I can protest. “C’mon, hurting your feelings is like kicking a puppy.” 

Some instinct forces me to ease into the contact. Even though my shift is small, Stu picks up on it, because of course he does. My reaction unfortunately encourages him. His thumb gently brushes up and down my cheek. “Then don’t be mean.” 

It’s a sad attempt at holding onto my anger, and I’m sure all three people in the room know it. “Promise,” Stu nods, “Anything you want.” I thought he was laying it on thick as some kind of joke, but when I look into his eyes, I don’t see anything that indicates his usual brand of teasing humor. “I’ll even watch one of those lame chick flicks you’re always talking about with the girls.” 

A small, awkward noise that’s a hybrid of a scoff and a laugh escapes me. “Clueless may be my guilty pleasure, but it is not lame.” 

Stu kind of smiles, but he’s still stiff. “Still. I’ll watch it, whatever you want.” His touch loses all sense of hesitance. “You know I’d-I’d never hurt you. Not really hurt you.” 

“Stu.” Billy’s voice comes out a little too heavy, but I can’t look away from Stu.

“I’d never do anything to really hurt you, angel, you know that, right?” There’s something urging about the way he’s speaking. He’s waiting for an answer. 

I think of Stu, who I’ve only known for a little while but also forever somehow in a weird way. Stu, who’s always throwing an arm around my shoulders. Stu, who seems to know when I’m getting nervous before I do. Stu, who is always willing to hold my hand or say the wrong thing when I need a laugh. Stu, who’s always touching me but I’ve never thought twice about it until right now because he’s like that with everyone. 

Still, though, there’s usually something a little strange about the way his touch feels. More often than not, there’s a tension I don’t understand beneath his fingertips. Like he’s almost always trying to restrain the urge to hold on harder, to squeeze tighter, to keep pushing. 

I don’t know what that’s about, but I know that he always stops. That he’s never caused me any real pain. For all I know, he’s just so energetic that he has to constantly remind himself of his own strength. “Yeah, I know, Stu.”

My words are too honest. Something in Stu relaxes and that’s when I realize he wants me to be sure enough for the both of us. It’s an incredibly unfair--and weird--thing to ask for. 

Something flickers across Stu’s expression, but it’s quickly replaced by a grin. A genuine one. He leans down, pressing a shocking kiss to my forehead. My gaping doesn’t take away from his enthusiasm. “Does this mean I’m going to actually have to watch that movie?” 

“Oh, one hundred percent. No chance of getting out of it. Billy too.” 

Billy’s eyebrows draw together. “I didn’t make you any promises.” 

I feign a hurt look as best I can, turning my head to better face Billy. “I, your friend, was almost murdered and you can’t put aside your surprisingly good, but let’s admit it, pretentious taste for one movie?” He gives me a hard look, but it lacks any bite. “You know, if the killer comes back for me, you’re going to feel so guilty about saying no.” Billy must feel a little bad for me in some sense because at least he’s letting me continue this rant. “It’ll haunt you--I’ll haunt you.” 

He tilts his head downwards, the front strands of his hair falling forward. It’s an attempt to distract from the fact that he almost smiled. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.” 

I roll my eyes dramatically. “That was like the least important part of my argument.” 

“It was the main part of your argument.” Billy ignores my extremely pointed sigh. “Fine, compromise: a movie I pick, and then after, we can play your movie.” 

Biting my tongue, I fight down a grin and force myself to narrow my eyes. “Nothing too gore-y or stab-y.” 

“Deal.” He sighs the word like he can’t believe what he’s been conned in to. 

The feeling of having enough influence over these two to get them to agree to something like this leaves me beaming. They’re likely going to complain the whole time, but still, it’s the thought that counts. “No take backs, even when I’m out of the hospital.” A subconscious part of my mind begs me to yank out the IV and try to get out of here. “Which should be as soon as my mom gets here.” 

My mom and Wells were on a date--a show and a fancy dinner somewhere two towns over. The nurses and police assured me that my mom had been contacted, and that she was doing all she could to get here as soon as possible. But with traffic and the amount of time it took for them to get ahold of her, I’m not surprised that Billy and Stu beat her here. Actually, no, it is a little surprising. We didn’t have plans together that I missed and I’m not sure they’ve ever called me unexpectedly. Who told them I was here?

“How’d you guys know I was here?” The question is just as unexpected to me as it is to them. 

“Stu was over when your mom called me,” Billy says, ignoring the way I raise my eyebrows, “She said she still had my number from the time you called me from her phone when we were working on that history project, remember?” I nod, still in disbelief. 

Billy has been in my house twice. Both times were to work on the same project. My mom spent both of those times watching him like he was a danger to my entire future. I think in her head she was being subtle, but I can’t blame Billy for noticing. 

I give him a semi apologetic look. “You’re making it sound like my mom hates you.” He gives me a look that silently asks if I’m kidding. “She doesn’t hate you.” 

“Really?” 

“She doesn’t!” I sigh once, my face already feeling warm as I struggle to figure out how to best word my thoughts. “She doesn’t hate you, she just--” Ugh, there’s no non awkward way to say this. "On Halloween, I’m going to be 17. That’s the same age she was when she had me. She just worries and she’s going to keep worrying and giving any guy I’m friends with a hard time until I’m in college.” 

Billy pauses, letting the implications of my explanation sink in. With no warning, he pulls the sheets down just enough to expose a bit of my thigh. “So she’s worried that I’m gonna knock you up,” he teases, punctuating the comment by quickly pinching the newly exposed skin. 

My face has never been this hot in my life. I laugh, the sound somehow both lighthearted and nervous. “Shut. Up.”

Another rough yet brief pinch to exposed skin leaves me almost jumping out of my skin. I look up at Stu, glaring as he barely attempts to fight down a laugh. “Stu!” 

“What? I could knock you up just as easily.” 

I let out a sound that’s basically a snort. "That’s such a weird thing to want to be included in.” 

Stu half shrugs, placing a hand back on my thigh. Instead of pinching me again or doing something brief, he comfortably moves his hand up and down the expanse of visible skin. “The process would be fun.”

He’s joking, He’s joking. This is Stu--he’s definitely joking. Snap out of it, don’t be weird. I blink, coming to some sort sense. Pulling my legs forward, in an attempt to brush him off, I force myself to meet his gaze. “Fun for you maybe.” 

“I’d rock your world, babe.” I’m ready to roll my eyes, but before I can Stu moves his hand, pressing it firmly into my upper thigh. He slides his hand forward, his fingertips digging into the start of my inner thigh. I struggle against the instinctual need to press my thighs together. “You’d be begging to go again before we even finished.” 

In all fairness, I should have known better than to challenge one of those kinds of joke coming from Stu. He doesn’t know when to stop and doesn’t feel satisfied until I’m flustered. My brain must be as mushy as it feels, because I find myself digging my heels into the sand. “Pretty sure you’re all talk.” 

He tilts his head downwards, eyes darkening. “I’ll prove you wrong right now.” His fingers press even deeper into my skin. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found small, fingerlike bruises on my thigh tomorrow. 

“Mhm,” I manage after a long second, “There’s a supply closet in the hallway, give me a second to disconnect from all this and I’ll meet you there.” His expression is too good for me not to laugh. “Relax, I’m messing with you.”

“Haha,” he mumbles dryly, but makes no attempt to move his hand. And for some reason that I’m sure is head trauma or pain killer related, I don’t do anything to get him off of me. “You’re hilarious.” 

I poorly suppress another laugh. Stu frowns. Oh my god. There’s no way he’s going to be a baby about this. He’s the one that found a reason to put his hand between my legs and I haven’t smacked him upside the head for it. “Don’t pout. You had to have known I was kidding the entire time.” 

“Yeah, if she wanted to go to the supply closet with anyone, it’d be me.” I’m not sure if I’m more surprised by Billy’s comment or the way he says it. He’s much more evidently joking than Stu. The look he gives me after makes that clear. 

But there’s still something pointed about the way he said it. Pointed in a way that’s not meant for me. It’s another thing between him and Stu. I know I should make some kind of equally teasing comment just to keep everything normal, but I can’t help but sneak a glance at Stu. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something distinct about the turn of his head. More pressure is added to my thigh. Okay--that’s starting to become uncomfortable. 

“Alright,” I finally decide on, forcing a partial laugh into my voice, “We are dangerously close to either a bunch of threesome jokes or another one of those play fights over me.” I grab Stu’s hand by the wrist, moving it off my thigh before relaxing my legs. “And I do not have the energy for either.” 

Stu turns his hand over in order to press our palms together. I let him link our fingers. “You brought up threesomes pretty quickly.” 

My mouth falls open. “What?” 

“Fantasy or--” 

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Stuart.”

He holds up his free hand in defense, but he doesn’t have a chance to make some kind of comment. 

“Oh my god!” I’d know that panicked gasp anywhere. It’s been the same my entire life. One of my earliest memories includes that exact same shout, a bloody knee, and a tricycle that let me fall off the side walk and onto the (thankfully empty) road. 

Mom! “Okay, i know--” 

“Don’t you dare try to calm me down!” She reaches me in a flurry of motion that’s so her I can’t help but feel comforted. Stu steps out of the way after a second and my mom closes the distance between us, her fingers gripping the bed’s railing. “Oh my god, a concussion? You could be one of those professional football players--don’t they all have to retire early?” 

She presses the back of her palm to my forehead like I might have some kind of fever. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if she demanded the doctors perform more tests on me because something about me didn’t feel right. “Mom, be serious. Since when do you know anything about football?” 

Ignoring my response, she moves to cup my cheek. “I am so sorry it took me so long to get here. We were in the theatre when they first called and our cell phones were completely off. Never again.”

There’s so much emotion in her eyes I find myself feeling a lot less calm about everything. “It’s fine, how could you have known?” She’s still staring at me with so much maternal concern. Being so directly motherly is rare in our dynamic. If anything, I’ve spent just as much of my life parenting her as she has raising me. “I slept for most of the time, and when I woke up I had good company.” 

At that, my mom looks at Stu, analyzing his appearance. I’m ready to squirm for him. She then shifts her gaze to Billy and I bite my tongue to resist making some kind of joke. 

Her lips part and I fight the urge to interject, but then all she says is, “Thank you. I-I couldn’t think of anyone else I could call so late that knew her.” 

Billy’s expression is blank, but his silence lets me know that he’s as surprised as me. “No problem,” he finally settles on, “Wouldn’t have wanted her here all alone.” 

My mom nods once. She then looks over at Stu, “We haven’t met. I’m Gloria, Y/n’s mom.” 

I have spent my entire life dealing with reactions to people finding out my mom is my mom. I love her to death, but I don’t always love the way guys my age react. She’s pretty, I can’t be mad about that, but she’s also young and cool and I’ve had guy friends be super weird about it in the past. And she’s wearing a date night outfit. A dress that’s just a little too short that I’m pretty sure she stole out of my closet. 

And I know Stu. I know that he rarely filters through his thoughts before speaking. “I’m Stu,” he says normally, “I was over at Billy’s when you called.” 

My mom nods, processing the information before turning her attention back to me. I draw my eyebrows together, giving Stu a look. “Did they run tests on you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Answering was pointless, she’s already turning towards the hall. My mom waves down some poor, unsuspecting nurse. “You--I’m her mother,” she points back to me, “I want-I want her chart read to me, and I want every single possible test you could run done.” The doctor blinks. “If it’s something that could have been harmed, I want it checked out, I don’t care how unlikely--” 

“Ma’am,” the nurse finally says, “I can personally assure that your daughter received excellent care. I worked with her myself and her vitals have been regularly checked. I understand that this is an emotional time, but--” 

“If you tell me to calm down, I will sue this entire damn hospital and then find a way to personally sue you.” She takes a breath to prepare for her upcoming war path. “So go get a doctor. Now.” 

The nurse’s tired eyes widen before he scurries off. “Mom!” She turns to me, giving me a look that’s barely apologetic. “Relax a little, okay? They ran like a thousand tests on me already. They even said that if you approved, I could leave tonight.” 

“No way,” she gasps the words like the thought alone offended her. An instinctual, embarrassing whine escapes me. “Sorry, kid, complain all you want but you’re overnighting it.” 

Even though Billy and Stu are literally right here, I pout. “That’s so unfair! When you had complications after getting your appendix out, you signed yourself out even though everyone thought it was a bad idea.” 

“Totally different situations and you know it.” I glare at her. “Look, I know I’ve made a point of not doing this too often, but I’m pulling the mom card.” She ignores my frown, “Wells is already making calls and seeing what he can do--and do not roll your eyes, he is not some ‘monster that’s trying to ruin your life’.” 

“I only called him that once,” I mumble petulantly. “And you’re in my dress.” It’s a stupid thing to point out, but she’s being completely unreasonable. 

“You left home this morning in my skirt.” Ugh, why does she always have to have some kind of point? “I’m going to tell Wells that we’re staying.” 

Leaving no room for argument, my mom turns on her heels and leaves the room. Once it’s just the three of us again, an unfamiliar shyness rises up my chest. I know feeling awkward is such a small thing compared to everything else, but Billy and Stu are definitely thinking and analyzing that entire interaction. Their silence is starting to unease me. 

“Okay guys,” I say, eyes focused on the hands in my lap, “Let it out. I know you’ve got some kinda rea—“

“Your mom is hot!” These kinds of reactions aren’t unfamiliar to me, but from Stu, it kind of bugs me more than I thought it would. I don’t know why--I mean, he’s the exact kind of person to react like that. “I totally see where you get it from, babe. Amazing genes.” 

My eyes widen, “Stu, I get your sense of humor, but my mom doesn’t.” I drop my voice as I whisper, “Cool it with the nicknames as long as she’s in the same building.” 

“So now you’re embarrassed of me? I’m not good enough to bring home to mom?” 

I might kill him. “I’m serious--try anything and I. Will. End. You.” 

“You threatening me is really getting me going.” 

Rolling my eyes, I don’t even bother replying to that comment. I then turn towards Billy, who seems a little too amused by all of this. “I feel a little better about you, but same rules apply.” 

Stu gives me a particularly hurt look. “Him you trust?” 

“He’s met her before!”

With a sigh, I sink further into the hospital bed. They’re both being quiet. Stu made a comment about my mom, but I honestly expected more. I was mentally preparing myself for jokes about me being a mama’s girl or a little kid. Stu’s expression is something I don’t understand and Billy isn’t looking at me. He’s staring ahead, face stoic. He’s somewhere else now. 

“Billy?” My voice is soft, hesitant.

He blinks, the corner of his mouth pulling downwards as his head turns. “Yeah?” His voice reveals nothing. 

I didn’t think ahead enough to have a question to ask him. He doesn’t seem like the type to want anyone noting his feelings. “You okay?” I regret my awkward phrasing instantly. “You um...for a second looked kinda,” my noise wrinkles as I struggle to think of the right word that won’t offend him, “Wistful almost?” 

He side eyes me and I can’t even blame him. “I look wistful?” 

Billy nearly smiles at the look on my face. That alone makes my embarrassment worth it. “I said looked--past tense.” 

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes a little darker than before. I don’t break his stare until the sound of footsteps entering the room becomes impossible to ignore. A nurse has entered the room, likely due to my mother’s insistence. “It looks like you’re going to be busy, Stu and I should go.” 

Oh. I don’t know why that makes my heart sink the way it does. It’s logical--my mom’s here now and she’s going to force them to scan me with every single machine in this hospital. Maybe it’s because they calmed me down or maybe it’s because they’re the first familiar faces I saw, but the thought of them leaving bothers me. 

Stu squeezes my shoulder, his fingers lingering as he pulls away. “Yeah, babe, you don’t need us around while they poke and prod you.” 

The description of what I’m going to be doing makes me frown. They’re approaching the doorway. “Guys,” my voice surprises me. They both turn to look at me, and once again, I don’t know what I want to say. Do I want to ask them to stay? There’s no way that’s normal. My mom’s here--it wouldn’t work out anyways. “Thank you,” I mumble, “Thanks for coming and staying with me and making sure I didn’t have a complete meltdown. I appreciate it.” 

Billy’s looking at me in that way that makes me want to shrink into myself. Not that there’s anything particularly wrong or uncomfortable about the way he’s staring, it just feels so sharp and analytical. “Anytime, angel.” 

“Yeah, couldn’t leave you here all alone,” Stu says, “Call me when you get out, okay?” 

I nod, smiling a bit. “Duh--don’t think I’m going to forget about the movie promise you made me, and you can’t back out because hospital bed promises are like way more serious than regular promises.”

Billy throws me a look I can only think to describe as ‘bitchy’ and Stu rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” Stu mumbles, “Take advantage.” 

They manage to leave me grinning as they disappear out of the doorway. I don’t know what it is about them, but they always manage to make me feel...safe, I guess. I can’t remember the last time anyone made me feel like that. 

#scream #scream x reader #scream 1996 #scream imagine #ghostface #ghostface x reader #poly!ghostface #poly! ghostface x reader #stu macher #stu macher x reader #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader

[harley-sunday]

Feels Like Home [01]

Summary: When an unexpected three-week break between Monza and Singapore finds Daniel back on his farm in Perth he’s desperate to use this time to clear his mind, figure out his future in Formula One, and find his way back. He didn’t expect a new neighbour, a sassy two-year old, and three alpacas would make him realise that sometimes, what you’re looking for is right in front of you.

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Yes. Hi. Hello. Believe it or not but I started writing this fic because I desperately needed some good guy!Daniel being cute with kids in my life. The idea was just a short one shot. Ha. Who was I kidding? Because here we are, six months and nine chapters later... I really hope you like it, please come yell at me in the comments, on anon, or in my DMs about any and all things about this story you want to yell at me about. I probably deserve it. ♥

Masterlist

There’s something about being here, on his farm outside of Perth, that he doesn’t experience anywhere else in the world. Not in Monaco, not in Los Angeles, not even in Austin, or Montana. 

Because here- Here, he doesn’t have to be Daniel Ricciardo, Danny Ric, DR, or the Honey Badger. He doesn’t have to be a Formula One driver, an eight-time race winner, the most beloved driver on the grid, and the fan favourite. He doesn’t have to be Red Bull’s wild card, Renault’s saviour, or, most recently, McLaren’s scapegoat. Here, he is Daniel. And it’s enough. 

Or, at least, it used to be.

Lately, there's been a yearning in his heart that he's unfamiliar with. Or he pretends to be anyway because he’s not ready to put it into words yet, not ready to speak into existence what he really wants from life. Afraid he'll jinx it if he does. 

And so he keeps it to himself and lets his heart ache for something more in silence while the life he does know slowly keeps on falling apart around him.

***

Daniel rests his wrists on the handlebar of his dirt bike and lets out a breath he seems to have been holding in ever since he retired on lap forty-five of the Monza Grand Prix four days ago. Looking out over the valley below, he feels more grounded than he has in a long time and he hopes that the next two weeks will give him the peace he so desperately needs after the shitshow that has been his season so far. 

The sun’s already low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the somewhat still barren trees and shrubs even though he can tell winter is slowly coming to an end from the sprouts of green that have started to grace the landscape with their presence. There’s a kookaburra laughing somewhere in the distance and he takes it as his cue to fire up his engine again for one last run around his dirt track before it gets too dark. 

He knows technically he isn’t supposed to ride his bike during the season, knows technically McLaren could issue him a hefty fine for breaching his contract, but if they ever were to find out he figures they can just take it out of the settlement they’re due to pay him at the end of the year. He’s promised Zak he’ll do whatever it takes to score as many points as possible in the last six races but he also decided early on that he’s no longer going to let the team dictate what he can or cannot do in his time away from the track. 

There’s a meeting tomorrow, with Blake and Michael, where they’ll try to figure out his future in Formula One. There have been a few offers, both from teams who want him as their second driver and from teams who want him to become their reserve driver, but he’s still undecided, not sure if he wants to settle for another midfield team or stay in Formula One without really being in Formula One. 

By the time he completes his lap his head is somewhat empty, too busy instead to focus on keeping his bike under control and not ending up in the dirt. It’s almost dark now and so he opens the throttle wide and guns it home, a race against an invisible clock that, unlike this past season in Formula One, he wins every single time.

Once his bike is safely back in the shed he makes his way over to the house, hosing his boots down before he takes them off at the back door and leaves them to dry on the shoe rack his Dad made for him when he bought the farm. He changes out of his gear in the mud room, making a face when he takes his socks off and catches a whiff of the smell but laughing then because he remembers them smelling so much worse after a race in, oh let’s say, Singapore. With nothing but his boxer shorts on he steps into the kitchen and heads straight for the fridge, taking out an ice cold bottle of water. The sigh of relief when he rolls it against the back of his neck almost obscene. It might be winter but temperatures in western Australia are still as high as a beautiful spring day in Monaco.

It’s then the intercom rings and for a moment he debates ignoring it, not sure if he’s up for telling yet another local journo looking to make it big by trying to get an interview with ‘shunned McLaren driver Daniel Ricciardo’ that now really isn’t a good time  and that any requests for interviews should be made through Blake anyway.  

Plus, he gave his family and friends the access code to the gate when it was first installed, so he doubts any of them are waiting for him to open it, not in the least because they know better than to just show up without a text or call in advance.  

In the end, his curiosity gets the better of him and so he walks over to where the control panel of his alarm system hangs in the living room and pushes the button needed to connect to whoever’s at the gate, “Hello?”

“Hi,” the screen comes on then, the black and white image showing a woman wearing a Stetson hat. She’s staring somewhere into the distance, her face obscured by the shadows the brim of her hat casts under the streetlight, but her voice comes through loud and clear, “Sorry to bother you this late-”

“It’s seven thirty,” he shoots back almost effortlessly.

“-but I wondered if I could maybe ask you to keep it down with the dirt biking a little?” 

“I’m sorry, what?”

She looks up and into the camera then, pushing her hat a little higher so he can finally see her eyes, “It’s just- We’ve got a flock of alpacas over in Eagle's Nest and they tend to get a little jittery from all the noise. Especially when they try to settle in for the night and-”

“I’m sorry,“ he can’t help but grin, running a hand through his hair, “but I’m going to need a little more context here.”

She laughs and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and so he’s a little distracted but then he sees her taking her hat off, revealing her face and- Fuck. She’s gorgeous. He watches her as she shakes her head, a smile tugging on the corners of her lips, “Shit, sorry. I probably should have given you a bit more to go on.” Putting her hat back on she straightens up and points to somewhere over her shoulder, “Your neighbour on that side, Oscar Linton? He’s my granddad. I think you know him, right?”

“Old man Linton!” He smiles and nods, “Of course I do.” When he first bought the farm he made sure to introduce himself to his neighbours and while he likes to think he has a good relationship with all three of them he’s always had a soft spot for the elderly man further up the road. So much so that he always makes sure to drop by for a chat whenever he finds himself back in Perth. It’s then he connects the dots and recognises her from some of the pictures Oscar has up in his living room. All of a sudden he feels guilty for not going to see his neighbour yet even though he has been home for two days already but maybe he can do that tomorrow or-

“He fell a few days ago-” her voice pulls him out of his thoughts unintentionally and his guilt triples in a matter of seconds. There’s a sad smile tugging on her lips which makes him prepare for the worst. 

Surely they would have let him know if- He remembers the pile of unopened letters waiting for him on the kitchen counter then and curses quietly, “Shit.”

“He’s ok,” she’s quick to reassure him, as if she knows what he was thinking. “He spent a couple of nights in hospital and still has a long way to go but at least he’s home again.” She takes a deep breath, “They had to replace his hip and he’s got a broken wrist but,” she shrugs, “it could have been worse.” 

It’s then the absurdity of the situation hits him, with him in his boxers in his living room and her on the other end of his kilometre-long driveway, talking into a metallic box. He shakes his head and pushes the button that opens the gate automatically, “I think maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation over an intercom. I could make you a cup of coffee if you want? Or something stronger? I make a mean-”

She bites her lip and seems to hesitate.

“Just a quick cuppa. It’s the neighbourly thing to do, right?”

He sees her nod, “Yeah, ok.”

He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, “Happy days.” 

***

The house is not at all how you expect it to be, much more modern and open-planned than any of the other farm houses in the area. The west-facing wall has been completely redone in glass panels, offering a stunning view of the valley and surrounding paddocks and you can’t help but admire the interior design of both the kitchen and the living room, which is masculine but still inviting. You wonder if he decorated the place himself or if he hired some interior designer to do it for him.

“Here you go,” Daniel, who told you ‘You can call me Dan’ when he greeted you at the door with a bright smile and an outstretched hand- offers you a cup of steaming hot coffee and motions for you to join him at the kitchen table. He’s wearing white sweatpants and a matching white sweater that look incredibly comfy and that make you want to wrap yourself around him and hang onto him like a koala bear. Wait. What? 

You take your hat off to try and keep from ogling him, placing  it on the chair next to you before you sit down and smile at him, “You know, all these years I thought you were called Danny Ric because that’s what Granddad keeps calling you. I’m not sure I can get used to Daniel.” 

Daniel laughs, the laughter lines in the corners of his eyes even more prominent now, “Trust the old man to keep that gag going.” He shakes his head then, “I can’t believe he fell though.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, blowing into your coffee. “We’re lucky Mrs Mackenzie found him when she did or-” You let out a ragged breath and see him nod, his eyes kind, and it makes you continue, “His hip was completely shattered and his wrist is broken in three places so it’s going to take a while before he’s up and running again- I mean, if his new hip ever heals completely- He’s already seventy-eight so-” You hear yourself starting to ramble and so you fold your hands around your cup and try to calm down a little. You’re not even sure why you’re even telling him all of this, but he’s a friend of your granddad and so you figure he’s good people. “Mum and Dad wanted to come back from New Zealand to help out but-” you look up at Daniel and shrug, “I spent a lot of time on the farm as a kid, right until I left for uni, so it made much more sense for me to move in with him for the time being.” 

“That’s a pretty big thing to do,” Daniel says with a kind smile, a warmth to his brown eyes that you can feel yourself get lost in. “You sure your family can miss you that long?”

You don’t really know what he’s getting at, whether he’s talking about your Mum and Dad or the husband and kids he thinks you might have left behind to come back to Mundaring, and you don’t really know you want to tell him your truth either, after all you’ve just met him, so in the end you shake your head and settle on an honest, “I’ve got everything I need right here.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t push it and instead he says, “If you’d have me I’d love to come over to see him some time. I’m still here for almost another two weeks  and-” 

“I’m sure he’d like that,” you offer with a smile. “He always tells me what a nice bloke you are.”

Daniel leans back in his chair and grins, spreading his arms, “Can’t say I blame him. I’m the best.” 

“He says the same thing about the postie,” you tease with a casual shrug, “so don’t get too excited.” 

“Ouch,” Daniel brings a hand to his chest, “that hurts.” 

You pout, “So sad.” 

“Very,” Daniel agrees quietly, trying his best to keep a straight face. He puts his arms on the table then and leans forward, “Before you stomp on my ego some more, why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re here. What’s up with that eagle’s nest over in some paddock?”

“Oof,” you pull a face and shake your head, “you were so close.” You can’t help but laugh when you see him pretend to be hurt at your comment. You take a sip of coffee before you explain, pointing in the general direction of your paddock, “Your dirt track borders Eagle's Nest, the paddock Granddad uses for the alpacas in September and October, and I guess normally it isn’t a problem because you usually aren’t home during this time of year but I heard you yesterday and today and-”

“Yeah, we had an unexpected three-week break this year so I figured-” Daniel waves his hand around for you to continue then.

“It’s just, we have three pregnant females this year and- I don’t know if you’re at all familiar with alpacas?”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t even know you guys had alpacas. Your granddad and I just tend to talk shit about Mrs Mackenzie and them over a cuppa but I've never really asked him about the farm to be honest."

You throw him a look, knowing all too well your granddad doesn’t drink coffee.

He quickly backs down, “Fine, I drink coffee, he drinks tea.” 

“There you go,” you mouth with a wink. “Anyway, alpacas are basically scared of everything, even their own shadow, so you know, someone riding a dirt bike close by doesn’t really help with keeping them nice and calm during these last few weeks of their pregnancy.” 

“Gotcha.”

“They’re usually out on the other side of the paddock during the day, so anything until five in the afternoon is fine” you offer, not wanting to deprive him of his hobby completely, “but we have their feeders and the shed they can hide in during the night out over in your corner, so-”

“You’re giving me a five pm curfew, basically,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Just until the end of October.” You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“Nah, no worries,” Daniel puts his hand on your forearm and gives it a squeeze to let you know he means it. “I’d do anything for old Oscar.” Then, with a grin he adds, “And his girls.” 

You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks and try to hide it with a smile, “Thank you.”

He squeezes your arm again, “He’s gonna be fine by the way. He’s tough, that one.”

“Speaking of Granddad,” you risk a quick glance at your watch, letting you know it’s almost eight fifteen, “I should probably head back.” You push your chair back and grab your hat, putting it on as you tell Daniel, “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Anytime,” he says with a grin as he stands up as well, following you to the front door. “Tell him I’ll come by soon, ok?”

“Will do.” You turn around then and smile again, something about not getting your hopes up but doing so anyway when you ask, “I’ll see you around then?”

Daniel tips his imaginary hat, “Yes ma’am.” 

#Daniel Ricciardo #F1 Fanfic #Daniel Ricciardo x reader #DR3 #F1 Imagine #Harley Sunday x Daniel Ricciardo #Feels Like Home

[wsdanon]

i wrote something for this vampire!pac/vampire hunter!fit au \o/ in my mind this is placed kind of around the middle of the plot? perhaps closer to the start? this is just a wip! for my peace of mind i have no intentions of picking up another multi-chapter fic, i just wanted to write something for the au since it was on the mind

hope you guys enjoy \o/ reblogs are appreciated!

Mike has a tight grip on his arm, and is dragging him through the castle. Fit had—unfortunately—been forced to leave all his weapons at the door, but he was allowed to keep his rosary for self-defence. 

“He’s eating.” Mike says, and Fit still doesn’t know what the fuck he’s actually doing here. He just wanted to attempt another duel, and then Mike was telling him Pac wanted to talk to him. “Just wait, okay? He will be done soon.” 

Mike opens a door to a room and shoves him inside. The vampiric strength means he actually stumbles, but he manages to reel back in time to keep the door from closing while he surveys the room.

And he’s glad he did because Pac is—Well, Pac is—He’s certainly occupied. To say the least. 

He’s lying on top of someone—and, sure, he could just be feeding, in which case Fit should probably do something about that—but, well… they’re on a bed. And the other person’s hand is curled into Pac’s hair, carding through it. 

He backs himself out of the room quickly, closing the door as he goes. He turns to Mike. Who is staring at him unimpressed with his arms crossed. 

“I think—I think he’s, uh… busy.” Fit says.

And his face is annoyingly warm. 

“I told you, bro.” Mike tries to open the door again. “He’s just eating.” 

Unfortunately, Fit’s hand had already slipped off of the door handle. Mike bullies his way past him easily enough, and opens the door again. Shoves Fit inside again. Stupid vampiric strength. Fit could technically fight against it, but he is not in the position to start a fight right now. 

“I’m just outside.” Mike warns him. “So don’t try anything.” 

“What can I try?” Fit hisses back. On the bed, Pac is pushing himself to sit up. “You took all my weapons.”

Mike shrugs, and closes the door. Great. 

“Hi, Fit!” Pac calls out, now sitting next to the person on the bed—who hasn’t gotten up. 

Fit should really go check on them. But all he has is a stupid fucking rosary, so he doesn’t want to provoke Pac. 

“Uh… hey, Pac.” Fit nods over at the body. “Are they dead?”

“What? No!” Pac laughs, teeth gleaming white—a stark contrast to the red splattered on his lips and around his mouth. It’s… eerie. Definitely eerie and nothing else. “This is Felps.”

Felps reaches a hand up, and Pac helps him sit up. He drapes himself against Pac’s side, letting his chin rest on Pac’s shoulder. 

“Hi.” Felps offers him a small wave. “It’s nice to meet you finally.” 

“Uh… hi.” Fit takes a stuttering step closer. What the fuck is he supposed to do here? “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

“Me?” Felps points at himself, his eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah.” 

This isn’t really what he had planned. But then again, his plan went out the window the second Mike answered the door and told him Pac wanted to talk. 

Felps pouts, and wraps his arms around Pac’s waist. Pac laughs, and twists his head to press a kiss to Felps’ cheek. It leaves behind a bloody smear. 

“It’s okay.” Pac says, patting Felps’ arms. Felps reluctantly lets go of him. “I need to go clean up, right?“

Pac crawls off the bed, and goes through a different door—into a bathroom, Fit assumes. The door clicks closed, and Fit hurries over to the bed. 

“Okay, so, are you, like… alright?” 

“Huh? I’m fine?” Felps tilts his head, confused. But before Fit can clarify, Felps’ eyes light up in understanding and he clicks his fingers. “Oh! Because of the—“ he waves a hand around his neck. “I’m fine, but… I don’t know, tired? It’s like getting blood taken.”  

Fit doesn’t really know what that means. He hasn’t ever had blood taken. It felt too weird with his line of work. 

“Okay, but… are they keeping you here?” Fit continues. “Do you—Do you need help?”

Now Felps just looks amused. Which… fair. Fit feels like he’s misjudging this situation immensely, but he has to make sure. 

“I live here.” Felps holds his hands up like he’s marking off a list. “Pac’s my boyfriend. I let him do this because I know he won’t hurt me.”

“Okay.” Fit scans over Felps’ face. It seems true. “I just had to make sure, you know?”

“I get it.” Felps nods solemnly. Then he lights up, and points at Fit’s rosary. “Can I see that?”

“What? No.” Fit clutches a hand around it protectively. “I need it.”

“It’s okay, I’m a saint.” Felps holds his hands out, insistent. “I can make it work.” 

“You’re—What? No, no, I—“ Fit takes a step back. “It already works. I can’t really afford you fucking stealing it, you know?”

“Okay.” Felps says, dragging the word out like he believes Fit’s making a bad decision.

“And, hey, what do you mean, make it work? Isn’t Pac your boyfriend? Why do you wanna help me kill him?” Then something clicks, and his face goes warm. “Wait, wait, hold on a second. Pac’s your boyfriend? Do you—Do you know the, uh… the kinds of things he says to m—to people?”

“Oh, yeah.” Felps forms his pointer fingers and thumbs into a triangle. “Me, Pac, and Mike are all dating.” Felps separates a pointer finger out, and wiggles it. “Mike has his wife.” And then he does the same with the other. “And Pac likes to flirt, right?” Felps shrugs and drops his hands back into his lap. “I can, too. But I don’t know… I don’t really care about that right now?“

“Uh… okay.” 

Right, that’s—Good for them. The happiness Fit is feeling is just because he’s glad he’s not caught up in a cheating scandal. Because that would be awkward. 

“But it’s okay.” Felps smiles. “You and Pac.” 

“Me and—? Excuse me! There—There is no me and Pac, okay?” If his face was warm before, it’s on fire now. It definitely does not help that Felps just raises an eyebrow. “You have—You both have, uh… have the wrong idea, okay? I’m just trying to do my fucking job, it’s Pac that—that keeps flirting.” 

“Uh huh.” Felps nods along, and it feels patronising. 

But Fit is pretty sure if he keeps talking he’s just going to dig himself a bigger hole. So, he sighs. Wipes a hand over his face in a vain attempt at getting rid of his blush. 

“Listen,” he sighs again, “if you’re happy to be here then—Well, that’s all I wanted to know, okay?” 

“You don’t care about the rosary?” Felps asks. 

“The—?” He sighs. Again. “Pac!”

Pac immediately opens the door, and pops into view. He’s cleaned up nicely. If it wasn’t for some drops of red on his collar, you wouldn’t be able to tell he was just sucking someone’s blood. 

“Yes?” 

“Can you come here?” 

Pac grins, and bounces over. He’s got a wet cloth in his hand—probably for Felps, because there is still blood on his neck. He throws himself onto the bed next to Felps, and leans into him. 

“What’s happening?” 

Fit fiddles with the rosary for a moment. Then holds it out. 

“Can you touch this?” 

Pac’s eyes go wide as he stares at it. 

“Excuse me?”

“Well, Felps doesn’t think it works.” Fit huffs out. “I wanted to test it.” 

Pac’s eyes flicker to Felps’, and Felps grabs his hand and squeezes it. 

“Trust me?” Felps murmurs.

“I—I dunno, that’s…” Pac sucks in a breath. Then detangles his hand from Felps’, and reaches it out shakily towards the rosary. He gets about a centimetre away before he pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “Oh—Wait, what—?” 

Pac makes contact with it. 

And nothing happens. 

Fit’s blood turns to ice in his veins. 

Pac stares up at him with wide eyes. Fit quickly twists to hold the rosary out to Felps. 

“Hey, so, can you—“

Before he can even finish, Felps grabs it and mutters something under his breath. For a brief moment, it goes hot under Fit’s touch, and Pac honest to god hisses—recoiling back. 

“Uh… thanks.” 

What the fuck?

“Wh-Why did you do that?” Pac wails. “Felps!”

“He was nice to me.” Felps says with a shrug. 

Fit just stares at him. 

“I’m… I’m trying to kill your boyfriends.” Fit reminds him. 

“You can’t kill them with a rosary.” Felps says with a laugh. 

“Yeah, but it’ll still hurt.”

Wait, why the fuck is he defending Pac? This whole situation is just—it’s way too confusing. Forget what Pac wants to talk to him about, he needs to leave now.

“I can just fix it.” Felps is saying as Fit starts backing away towards the door. 

“Wait, Fit!” 

Pac gets off the bed, trailing after him. Fit’s back hits the door, and he scrambles for the door handle, and—Shit. Locked. Fucking Mike. 

Pac is now in front of him—leaning into him. He’s not quite touching. He’s just standing there. On the tips of toes to even out their height difference, sure, but Fit isn’t being pinned to the door, or trapped with Pac’s arms on either side of him, or anything. 

And yet Fit is frozen in place. 

This close, Fit can see every little detail on Pac’s face. He finds his brain categorising that, instead of trying to figure out a way out of this weird not-pin. 

It’s not even like this is the first time they’ve been this close. But all those other times they were fighting. Now, Pac’s just smiling up at him—his bottom lip creasing a little where the fangs press into it. 

“What?” Fit chokes out. They’ve been staring at each other for way too long. “What do you want?”

Dangerous question. Dangerous fucking question. Pac’s eyes dip down to his lips—further even: down to his neck. 

“I want…” Pac’s eyes flick back up to meet his. “To talk.” 

Before he can respond, Pac takes a step back. Fit lets himself breathe. 

“Agh, see!” Pac hurries back over to Felps. “This is why I had to feed b-before.”

“Yeah.” Felps says as he tilts his head to expose his neck, and Pac starts wiping it down with the cloth. “Wow.” 

Fit feels distinctly lightheaded. He stays leant up against the door and tries to regain his composure. 

At least Pac seems pretty focused on his task. When he’s finished mopping up the—mostly dried by now—blood, he presses a kiss to what Fit assumes is the bite marks. Then he cleans the smear on Felps’ cheek. 

“Obrigado.” Felps says with a soft smile, before leaning in to kiss Pac. 

It’s not exactly chaste, but they’re not really making out in front of Fit, either. When Felps pulls away, Pac chases his lips to press another quick kiss to them. 

Then he climbs off the bed, and directs his attention towards Fit again. Luckily, Fit can once again stand up without the door’s support. 

“Okay, Fit—I made, uh… food. Human food.” Pac reaches past him to knock on the door. “You like food, right?”

“I… yeah?” 

“Okay, good!” Pac turns back to Felps. “Bye, Felps! You’ll be okay?”

“Sim.” Felps shuffles backwards so he can get under the covers. “Diga ao Mike para trazer o Cellbit aqui.”

“Tá.” Pac opens the door, and gestures for him to walk through first. “Okay, Fit, let’s go!” 

Mike immediately recoils from him. 

“What happened?” Mike asks, pointing at the rosary. “That’s strong.”

The door closes behind them. 

“Felps did it.” Fit says. Then he turns to Pac. “You’re not mad at him for that, are you?”

“Oh, no.” Pac shrugs. “It’s good that he did that. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other vampire, you know?” 

“Right.”

Sweet sentiment, but… 

Pac grins, and it’s all teeth. 

“That’s for me to do, you know?” 

There it is. 

Of course. Fit sighs. 

Well, he supposes it’s fair. He’s trying to kill Pac, too.

“Okay.”

Pac leans towards Mike, and whispers something to him. Fit doesn’t bother trying to overhear it—they’re probably speaking in Portuguese, anyway. 

Mike nods. Casts one long, last look at Fit, before disappearing into the maze of hallways. Pac grabs his wrist—a lot lighter than Mike’s grip on his arm from before—and drags him off into a different direction.

---

and then they go talk. honestly, i'm not really sure what about and i don't want to make something up in case i want to pick this up later when i have a better idea of the details (that being said please keep in mind what i said above…). apologies for any bad portuguese

final note: cellbit is only mentioned once and that's because they're trying to keep his existence hidden from fit. felps just figured he wouldn't be able to tell "cellbit" was a name if he spoke in portuguese (and he was correct)

hope you guys enjoyed \o/ comments in the tags are very appreciated too!

#wsd/w.ips #wsd/v.ampireau #wsd/f.ics

[smiting-finger]

[Director’s Commentary] a harmony between qin and se

As promised (to like two interested people lol), here’s my commentary to accompany a harmony between qin and se, some of which has been retrieved from discussions in the AO3 comments section.

CHAPTER 1

This being Wei Ying’s story, the first chapter is entirely an introduction to her. I’ll let the text mostly speak for itself, but some additional thoughts:

She is, first and foremost, a very unreliable narrator when it comes to  herself.

Despite what she says, as a direct equivalent to “number 4 most eligible bachelor in the Jianghu”, she is actually considered to be a solid choice for a daughter-in-law (mostly because of how well she’s managed to hide all her quirks from the public eye). She also has more than one young male admirer because she is, in fact, an attractive lady The main thing working against her is the circumstances of her birth and the related lack of connections/assets.

Auntie Yu and Uncle Jiang have received a few overtures from interested parties already, but they’re still using the excuse of “Eldest daughter must be married out first” while they figure out the quality of offer they can settle for (which admittedly does include consideration of the potential benefits to the Jiang family).

Her embroidery is fine, if you ignore the fact that she’s constantly embroidering unconventional patterns: Jiang Cheng has most certainly received more than one troll hebao, and there have also been many an embroidered flower or cloud pattern that bears a suspicious resemblance to something outrageous (no penises because Wei Ying is a Proper and Good Girl and has never seen one until the bedroom books, but almost certainly an unflattering caricature of Jin Zixuan’s face, and the occasional rude Chinese character - always with plausible deniability, of course).

Broadmindedness is for women who have become disillusioned with the mortal coil. Which is to say: Nuns. She takes another bite of meat: I’m not sure if I was right in assuming that it was common knowledge that Buddhist nuns are vegetarian, but if I wasn’t - Wei Ying is definitely Making a Statement here. (And also making a secondary reference to the Chinese use of "vegetarian" to mean someone who is easily bullied/taken advantage of, which Wei Ying is most certainly not.)

Girls of the era were sometimes educated at home by private tutors, and were also often educated by their older brothers.

We know that Wei Ying had a private tutor (whom she shared with Nie Huaisang), but I also think Jiang Cheng would have had an influence on her too, despite technically being younger.

Being afforded a much more formal and comprehensive education (despite being perhaps less suited for it), he would have shared all of his books and learnings with Wei Ying, and that is why she so often references martial arts/military writings and ideas (much more so than the Jiang Yanli of this universe would, being older) - a reflection of Jiang Cheng’s interests and their relationship as more-or-less-same-age-peers within a gendered family hierarchy.

On Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue, it bears saying that their upbringing and situation in life here is just as unconventional as Wei Ying’s, if not more so.

Whereas in the earlier Tang Dynasty, women often openly ran their own businesses, Song Dynasty society had become more restrictive in relation to women’s freedoms, so that had become a much rarer occurrence.

My rationale for Nie Mingjue bucking the trend is that her mother was a capable woman with no tolerance for harem politics, and so ruled the Nie household with an iron fist. When her health begins to decline, instead of risking the wellbeing of her household and single di daughter on the goodwill of the next-ranked concubine, she simply starts passing responsibilities directly to Nie Mingjue, who proves capable enough that her father starts giving her business-related tasks as well.

By the time Madam Nie dies, Nie Mingjue is acting mistress of the house and there is no room to argue that any of the responsibilities should be taken from her.

Nie Mingjue being the only child in the entire household, her father also thinks it makes sense to involve her in the family business, and he starts preparing to find a man to ru zhui (入贅) marry into their family, thanks to the (universal?) principle that wealthy people can largely afford to do whatever they want.

Then Nie Huaisang is born and her concubine mother dies in childbirth. Nie Mingjue, having inherited her mother’s distaste for harem politics and distrust for her father’s concubines, simply takes Nie Huaisang into her own courtyard and sees to her upbringing herself.

And then their father dies, Lan Xichen takes the opportunity to propose marriage to Nie Mingjue (ostensibly as an elegant way to lend her a man’s countenance and legal authority to run her business, but the successive pregnancies speak for themselves), Nie Mingjue accepts and then decides that the new Nie family heir will be Nie Huaisang and there is no one around to stop her.

There’s definitely social disapproval (e.g. Madam Jin’s “I know she’s always done things differently” in Ch 3), but not enough to matter. Because wealthy people can afford to do whatever they want..

Enter Lan Zhan (in spirit):

Some of the original professions I considered for him were physician and herbalist, but the thought of doing period-accurate traditional Chinese medicine research ended that dream within 2.5 seconds.

In today’s terms I see him as demisexual, but in Song Dynasty mindset, there is no “sexuality”; there is “stuff that I like” and “stuff that I gotta do”. So he’s fully committed to making it work for the sake of his duty to the family, but also his responsibility to provide his wife with a decent quality of life. (And he is particularly sensitive to the latter, having witnessed his mother’s experience.)

While he'd initially hoped to follow in his Uncle's footsteps and stay single for life, now that marriage is unavoidable, his attitude towards it is very similar to Wei Ying’s, in being “That's life, we gotta make the best of it.”

He doesn’t fully appreciate the extent of the problem, but:

To-date, he has had very minimal interaction with any sort of same-age friend or peer.

His brother does most if not all of his emotional processing for him, mostly by talking him through his thoughts and feelings. This started as the very-Chinese “explain to your child after every situation how courtesy and social mores preserve everyone’s feelings and Face”, and just … never stopped. Probably because Lan Zhan didn’t have peer-interaction to do the rest of the emotional educating.

CHAPTER 2

Again, while Wei Ying speaks for herself, some general notes:

The grip of his hand in hers is strong, if a little damp. Which means that her husband is either nervous or also sweating a river in three layers of robes: He is not nervous, only dutiful. It is 100% due to the layers of robes and the hot, hot sun.

Red wedding banners … which are disappointingly standard, with nary a tea pun in sight: When their sons get married in the distant future, there are SO MANY tea puns.

Her groom, she notes, has wiped his hand at some point. Which means that he’s either a thoughtful man, or a fastidious one. Or a man who has thoughtful and fastidious servants: Lan Zhan is absolutely the thoughtful and fastidious one.

“Why does the groom look so grim?” someone asks from somewhere to her right. “Maybe he’s been forced into the marriage,” comes the answer: That is just Lan Zhan’s face, he bears no particular resentment towards the arrangement of the marriage. He trusts that his uncle has made the best decision possible under the circumstances and certainly he thinks that it’s better than either of the other options.

Lan Zhan has never had wine before, so despite knowing that the Lan family doesn’t drink, he doesn’t actually know why. This is part of the reason why he drinks the toast (the other part being the social pressure that Wei Ying successfully employs).

When they have children, there are some that inherit the Lan constitution, and others who can drink two whole cups before also succumbing to the Lan constitution. Wei Ying is very sad about this, but concedes that they do come by it honestly.

Lan Zhan’s wedding night thoughts:

Not sure if it A) was a real thing, B) is a modern-sensibilities thing (like many Cdrama leads being committed to one wife), or C) is a "Complying with TV Codes Thing", but I've seen/read quite a few stories now where the husband chooses not to push for wedding night consummation because his new wife will be scared, stressed, tired, etc. This means that the couple spends a bit of time co-sleeping and getting used to each other before doing anything. I see Lan Zhan starting out along those lines, and his consideration would have been much appreciated if his wife had been someone like Jiang Yanli. Unfortunately it is 100% wasted on Wei Ying.

So he walks into the room with the noblest of intentions, is confronted with the shock of Wei Ying, and PANICS:

First there are the Lan vs Jiang family cultural differences, i.e.

The "We Are Always Decorous" Lan family vs the "Decorum when in public, at-home manners very different" Jiang family

Lan "I will only very gently try to negotiate your boundaries" Xichen vs ...Jiang Cheng/Yanli/Auntie Yu/Uncle Jiang, who are personal-boundary-chaotics in very different ways

Second, in terms of Lan Zhan’s general social experience:

He has one (1) friend, who is his brother and who is very emotionally considerate.

He has not interacted with a woman in an intimate/domestic setting since the death of his mother (excluding servants, but that’s different). His experience with women is probably limited to the branch family aunties, and maybe daughters of their social circle who he sees for two seconds from across the room, when everyone is on their best behaviour, and they never speak.

He has never interacted with any person alive like Wei Ying in any setting. She called him PRETTY and TO HIS FACE, she chases people, she has contraband goods, she has POCKETS-

Third, there is the additional layer of shock provided by the expectations Lan Zhan had of what “a new wife” would be like, which Wei Ying is … not.

She was going to be a shy, retiring maiden (I think the “unkidnappable” fact just did not compute and he just mentally shelved it).

And unlike Wei Ying, who had the whole breadth of her human experience as “possible range for how much of a fucking weirdo my husband might be”, it never occurs to Lan Zhan to be curious about her because his image of his future wife is pretty much a dress wearing a face and it hasn’t really occurred to him that she might have any personality - or UNREPRESSED personality -  beyond her role and his obligations towards her.

He had this idea of how he was going to be a Dutiful Husband (making sure his wife doesn't go hungry on the wedding night, making sure that her maidenly sensibilities are respected in negotiating bedroom activities, making sure that she maintains a comfortable position in the household, making sure that she gets the dishes she likes to eat even if he doesn't eat them).

Then they were gonna treat each other "with the respect accorded to honoured guests" (another Ye Olde Chinese Thing), and eventually become a peaceful, comfortable couple.

Almost none of it is going in the way that he'd planned and he doesn't have a Plan B because he DIDN'T KNOW PEOPLE COULD BE LIKE THIS.

And now HIS MAIDENLY SENSIBILITIES ARE BEING OFFENDED-

In regards to Lan Zhan’s Filial Procreative Duty:

It's not that he's unaware of it, but there's not as much urgency for him. He doesn't need a son to solidify his position in the household, his own brother has two sons already so the line isn't in danger and he can always adopt the second nephew as his heir, he knows that WY is only 17 whereas the average age of marriage at the time (according to the english-language internet) was 18-20 for women.

He does intend to try for a child with her eventually (for her sake), but HE JUST REALLY WANTS TO START BY BEING FRIENDS FIRST (*/ω＼*)

CHAPTER 3

On Lan Zhan’s side:

It goes without saying that after Lan Zhan flees his bedroom on the morning after the wedding, he heads straight to his brother for his regular dose of emotional processing.

Lan Xichen spends the entire conversation highly amused and trying to keep it hidden under a suitably sympathetic expression.

And then he gently-but-firmly forces Lan Zhan to go home, which Lan Zhan does mutinously

Upon their arrival home, Lan Zhan only stops briefly in his study before heading straight back out on business (or, as Wei Ying half-suspects: “business”): It is most certainly “business”. Lan Zhan is finding any excuse to avoid her because he does not know how to deal with her and he’s a little bit afraid of her (and the danger she poses to his chastity).

Lan Zhan says nothing to Lan Qiren because it is all too mortifying.

Lan Qiren, who still seems to vaguely disapprove of her, despite being the one to agree to this marriage in the first place: While he hears no specifics, Lan Qiren’s propriety-related spidey-senses are tingling nevertheless, and so he starts to observe Wei Ying with extreme suspicion.

Lan Xichen also finds this highly amusing.

Hence Wei Ying noticing that “There’s something about the curve of his eyes that means he always looks mildly amused…Wei Ying is not sure whether this is how Lan Xichen presents generally, or if it is something specific to her.“

(It’s definitely specific to her. He thinks she’s great for his brother and therefore great in general)

Otherwise, Lan Zhan actually does like Wei Ying, despite all of the shocking things about her (He just doesn’t know that this is what he’s feeling, since he’s never felt this way before :’D).

Also maybe he’s used to the people he likes expressing their affection for him via some level of teasing (his mother, to a lesser level his brother).

Lan Zhan is watching Wei Ying as closely as she’s watching him (or even more so) - enough to know that she’s smart, and that there’s more to her than the incompetent wife image she’s projecting (which is why he’s not interfering … beyond a certain extent).

Other notes:

Wei Ying herself is so fully focused on the branch family aunties and how far she needs to escalate to get them to make a move that she probably hasn't given two thoughts to thing else. So there's almost certainly a parallel Mianmian POV to this story that's filled with constant nail-biting about what everyone else thinks of her mistress and the possibility of Wei Ying escalating so hard that they won't be able to fully reverse the damage afterwards.

Secret tunnel + secret storage room: Wei Ying absolutely finds 193847548495 future uses for these after this story is done.

Babymaking is 100% a genuinely high-key concern for Wei Ying, since producing Lan Zhan’s heir is how she secures lifetime economic/social/etc security for herself (that said it is not the MOST urgent issue at this stage, since she first needs to ensure that there is a safe environment to bring the baby into).

(I am high-key channelling "The Promotion Record of a Crown Princess" and "Greetings Ninth Uncle", here. Dowager is very much the life goal for All Women - when it's not Revenge - as far as my own shameful background in consuming Chinese historical romances is concerned.)

In terms of inheritance (keeping in mind that I am far from an expert, and my main source is a lot of historical Cdramas and Cnovels):

There was some amount of flexibility in when to formally split a family and therefore its shared resources:

If there are enough resources to support a split, then a patriarch dying is a good opportunity for brothers to go their own ways without any negative social implications.

If there's a big enough falling out between brothers or between fathers and sons, then it might happen even while Dad's still around.

If you're collectively funding a scholar to get into government and bring a valuable political connection to the family, then maybe you stay together even after Dad is gone.

And the division of property (including property in common) wasn't automatically an "eldest son takes all" situation either.

For the Lan brothers in this story:

The formal economic rational for them not splitting the business yet is that they need the business to fund a government career (Lan Qiren and Lan-papa were intending to maintain a similar arrangement before Lan-papa prematurely died)

But the actual reason is probably Lan brotherly love :'>

The branch families inherited other things, or maybe a different branch of the business when Great-grandpapa Lan died, but then they fucked it! and had to come crawling back to Lan-papa for a lifeline.

Wei Ying knows enough going in (from Nie Huaisang and general gossip) that whenever the brothers finally split (maybe after proxy-dad Lan Qiren dies), Lan Zhan is walking away with a handsome part of the business. Now that she's seen them in close quarters, she knows that Lan Xichen might even cede all of it, at the end of a soppy and embarrassing "no, you!"-"no, you!" fight between the brothers

Rivalled only by the parallel fight between the Nie sisters about whose kids inherit the restaurant empire, and then Nie Huaisang declares her intention to stay a spinster and adopt Nie Mingjue's second son as the Nie heir and then it's chaos.

Or maybe they can grow a tea empire and someone’s children can stay in Lin An and someone else’s children can go establish dominance over a different city.

CHAPTER 4

Lan Zhan’s side of things is coming through more clearly in the text now (I hope), but some notes nevertheless:

Then, she sends some to her husband’s study to serve him as a mid-afternoon snack, and to remind him of her continued existence: By this point, Lan Zhan has realised that he like-likes Wei Ying, so he’s very much aware of her continued existence already.

This gesture on her part seeds a hope that she might at least be receptive to his overtures, if she doesn’t yet feel the same way about him, and the pork-and-ginger-with-extra-ginger dumplings are him trying to take what he thinks is their courtship forward (“In thanks for the pastries … They were delicious.”).

Growing up with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen and no other friends, it never occurs to him that Wei Ying might not be fluent in the Lan communication method of “indirect statements from which the audience correctly infers implied meanings”.

That the pastries turn out to be for a plot is a small bump in the road that is overcome by all of the “just for you” foods Wei Ying overcompensates with when he finds out.

“Do you…Never mind”: Lan Zhan would never say ‘DO U LIKE ME’, but this is him starting an overture that is (slightly) more direct and then not knowing how to continue and fleeing the scene.

Wei Ying modestly yields to her husband’s leadership, and that is why they spend the evening stopping in front of every opera singer, acrobat or other street performer who crosses their path: Young Master Lan Zhan conducting a thorough study on “what my wife likes”.

The direct consequence of this outing (as mentioned in Ch 5) that Wei Ying is Seen to have Lan Zhan’s esteem is also very much intentional on his part, because Lan Zhan is also thoughtful and efficient like that.

Other notes:

Since making lotus seed paste is a tedious, thankless task that normal families pay other people to do: My love-hate letter to lotus seed paste. I mostly know about the process for making it because I briefly considered making it myself during the first COVID lockdown. This desire lasted approximately 20 seconds into the first instructional youtube video I watched. But it is still delicious.

They pass yet another group of burly, scruffy men - all of whom are carrying an array of mismatched, chipped and obviously-scavenged weapons: foreshadowing for Wei Ying’s realisation in Ch 8, lol.

CHAPTER 5

Notes on Lan Xichen’s Moon-Viewing Party:

She can at least cow them into submission with Auntie Yu's beady-eyed stare: This is far from the only thing that Wei Ying has picked up from Auntie Yu. If anyone were ever to mention how like a real mother-and-daughter pair they can be sometimes, they would both be extremely appalled.

Lan Zhan has been watching Wei Ying since their arrival at his brother’s house to make sure that no one wrongs his wife (though with a credible amount of discretion, so no one else has picked up on anything beyond the boundaries of what is socially acceptable for a besotted husband). So while she has been busy noticing things going wrong, he has noticed her noticing things going wrong, and as soon as she starts taking action, he moves in to support her.

“Xiao Ping can go.” is the result of Lan Zhan finally finding an opportunity to step in after an extended period of patient waiting.

“Guanren,” she gasps in surprise: The possessive part of Lan Zhan (which is most of him) very much likes it when Wei Ying calls him that.

Lan Zhan discovers this night that he has a massive “bae helping other people” kink, and an equally massive competence kink.

At some point, Lan Zhan goes to his brother for advice on how to court his wife beyond his current “giving her things she likes” strategy, and receives the suggestion that maybe he should show her the things he’s good at too.

This births the “chrysanthemum wine + qin-playing” plan.

Continuing so late into the night that they fall asleep together is not an original part of this plan, but Wei Ying doesn’t seem upset by it and Lan Zhan is not one to retreat when he can advance, so it’s big wins all around.

Worth noting that while Lan Zhan does like his early bedtime in general, his particular insistence on xu shi (as noted by Wei Ying in re: “Her husband has revealed himself to be surprisingly fastidious about the strangest things as of late”) is not actually for health/moral habit reasons.

It also births the “Wei Ying [stumbling] across him in mid-song at an unusually high frequency” plan (which slightly predates the “chrysanthemum wine + qin-playing” plan).

And it is also why ultimate wingman Lan Xichen makes sure to mention poetry and Lan Zhan’s proficiency at it when he visits. It is very much not the only time he does something like this.

Other notes:

Which makes it even funnier that Lan Qiren so very obviously dislikes her: He does not, in fact, dislike her.

But he is experiencing trauma flashbacks from his interactions with Wei Ying’s mother back in ye day (/touches his beard protectively).

He is also burning with the passionate drive created by finally meeting a worthy challenge.

Every time one of his texts comes back annotated, he probably does the Tom-Hanks-Laptop meme of rubbing his hands and wiggling his fingers in preparation for writing his rebuttal. Except instead of "happy", his expression is "happily seething".

It bodes well for her ability to educate his nephew's children before they begin their formal education - if only he can get her to learn restraint and reform her character first!

So he is determined to succeed in fixing this one, this time! (He won’t).

Lan Xichen notices his uncle putting almost more energy into educating Wei Ying than his actual students and is highly amused.

Over time, Lan Qiren notices that verbally sparring with Wei Ying on various topics has improved the quality of his corresponding Academy lessons, and that he sometimes even discusses her takes on texts. This mildly infuriates him, especially when he receives expressions of admiration from students and parents for the depth of his scholarship and teaching.

Sometimes the result is that Lan Zhan gets a sudden and unexpected lecture on controlling/educating his wife and neither he nor Wei Ying can identify what she’s done to deserve it.

(Sometimes this is further complicated by the fact that she has committed too many potential affronts to pick just one.)

Uncoded notes have already been conclusively proven to be a terrible idea, and Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang do not already have an established code (Wei Ying cannot believe that they do not already have an established code; in reflection, it truly is an unforgivable oversight): They establish a code after everything in this story is finished, but they use it so infrequently that they keep forgetting it.

She would have loved to have used the opportunity to discuss Meng Yao instead, but when Wei Ying had mentioned her name, Nie Huaisang had simply hummed noncommittally and made no move to add anything further: Nie Huaisang’s initial reason for not involving Wei Ying in her own counterscheming against Meng Yao/Jin Guangshan is that Wei Ying has enough to deal with in re: the branch aunties and much fewer resources to draw on. This turns into “Wei Ying had better save her energy to focus on growing some emotional understanding of herself and her husband”, because that situation is dire. And then Meng Yao and Jin Guangshan escalate so far that it turns into “this is my personal grievance and requires my personal vengeance, and I will not risk having my bloodthirst restrained”.

Uncle Jiang had stopped him in the street and expressed his wife and daughter’s desire to see Wei Ying: A brief apology to Jiang Yanli who features very minimally in this story because while Wei Ying visits her a lot, she is also taking pains to stop her beloved sister from unnecessarily worrying about her by not mentioning anything serious at all and painting a very rosy picture of her married life where she “only has your run-of-the-mill teething problems, hardly worth talking about, except could you do me this one favour and send this wad of joss paper over to my residence in your name?”.

Jiang Yanli politely keeps up her end of the social fiction but is, in fact, still worrying. She deals with this by making and sending over a lot of nourishing food.

Wei Ying pulls the bundle out from a drawer and is struck by a sudden and completely uncharacteristic wave of self-doubt. This is odd and completely inexplicable - she’d been so confident in the quality of her gift only a shichen prior; she has no idea why she feels so nervous about it now: This is the point at which any other person might notice that their feelings for their husband run deeper than they’d previously thought (if they hadn’t already realised at many points before this), but Wei Ying is special. Lan Zhan, unfortunately, manages to pick up on the “any other person” part, but not the “Wei Ying is special” part.

There’s a sudden clatter, followed by Xiao Ping swearing and they startle apart: This is deliberate on Xiao Ping’s part. There are branch spies watching!

On Scheming Abilities:

Nie Mingjue, as the eldest di-daughter of a wealthy household who has only ever been second to her parents in terms of authority, has never needed to scheme in her life, and is used to dealing with everything straightforwardly. After she marries, Lan Xichen doesn’t have concubines and Nie Mingjue is too wealthy/powerful for the Lan relatives to otherwise interfere with her, so she never has to change (and is therefore completely unprepared for Meng Yao).

Similarly, Lan Xichen has zero scheming skills (although he will need to acquire some to survive in government, probably)

Lan Zhan has acquired more skills than his brother, by way of greater involvement in the family business and having to deal with the branch families. His involvement with Wei Ying, however, is fast teaching him that he is also very much a novice.

Nie Huaisang, a shu-daughter (although I never managed to explicitly say that anywhere in the text) and Wei Ying, a servant-born foster daughter, have acquired scheming skills due to the precariousness of those positions in life. These include:

Being targeted by and winning power games against people within the household

For Nie Huaisang, perhaps her father’s concubines or the servants loyal to them - either as a way to get to Nie Mingjue, or just directly.

For Wei Ying, maybe some of Madam Yu’s close maids feel aggrieved on their mistress’s behalf, maybe some of the servants resent Wei Ying for having a better position despite being equal to them in terms of birth.

Winning power games against people in their social circles who look down on them (Nie Huaisang for being a shu daughter, Wei Ying for being servant-born).

Needing to scheme their way out of feminine hooligan-related scrapes from their youth, of which there were many.

CHAPTER 6

Can’t find much to say about this chapter. Just that:

Treating Wei Ying to almost half a shichen of her own lecture on the importance of rewarding loyalty to old servants: Wei Ying remembers this with great clarity during the confrontation and associated fall-out (“Loyal people are difficult to come by; I would hate to deprive them of such a precious resource.”).

Miss Cang had been diligently using those accomplishments to slowly and subtly appeal to the similarly-accomplished Lan Zhan not one year ago: On the other hand, Lan Zhan could not pick her out of a lineup if his life depended on it. Wei Ying asks him after the first time she and Miss Cang have a run-in and receives a very genuine response of “???” “????????????” She chooses not to mention that to Miss Cang either.

CHAPTER 7

Lan Zhan received a bit of abuse in the comments of this chapter (:’D), which came as a bit of a surprise to me. I suppose I have the benefit of clearly plotting out my son’s perspective for my own understanding of the story, and Wei Ying’s perspective limits the ways in which his side of the story can be conveyed, so that’s what I’ll address.

Lan Zhan is not angry, his feelings are hurt.

He's invested 110% in this relationship and he'd thought Wei Ying felt the same until she hit him with the joke about divorce, and now it's like "she's built herself an exit strategy, is standing with one foot out the door and none of my feelings or actions-to-date have mattered enough to outweigh that".

For any Legend of Minglan viewers, the parallel with Gu Tingye’s “You’re leaving yourself an escape route!!” is very much intentional.

You can see a bit of this hinted at in Lan Zhan’s “You don’t even know”, which indicates that all of Wei Ying’s theories on what she has done are wrong.

While Lan Zhan is particularly sensitive about divorce for some understandable mother-related reasons (which means that there's an additional "how could she think that of me? does she know me at all?" in there), he has an additional contextual defence: most women would not joke about divorce, at least before the marital relationship is solid enough that everyone knows it’s obviously a joke.

Meanwhile, Wei Ying has thrown the joke out there on the back of some solid evidence that she has some real viable alternatives for supporting herself, so for all Lan Zhan knows, she might actually go.

Given his limited emotional-management tools, Lan Zhan is working it out in the best way he knows how:

Firstly going to see his brother

Secondly by hiding away and nursing his wounds while he awkwardly tries to process his feelings, calms down, takes stock of the situation and decides what he wants to do about it.

He can't actually come out and say "I'M UPSET BECAUSE YOU DON'T LOVE ME!", hence: making his brother promise not to tell her, and his brother agreeing because lol yes that's quite embarrassing.

So we can see in: “But her efforts are only met with her brother-in-law - while smiling in a way that seems as if he’s laughing at her even more than usual - simply telling her not to worry, and that his brother’s anger will doubtlessly burn itself out any day now“ that:

Firstly, the problem is something that Lan Xichen can be amused about. We’ve already mentioned the embarrassment factor, but beyond that, the nature of the problem is not that serious. Lan Zhan in the throes of heartbreak is melodramatically thinking “SHE DOESN’T LOVE ME”, but Lan Xichen is astute enough to suspect that Wei Ying is maybe a bit emotionally dense, and is probably not as unmoved as all that.

Secondly, Lan Xichen recognises that the problem is something that Lan Zhan needs space to work through himself, and that there’s nothing to be done on Wei Ying’s side.

Mianmian’s “refusal to tell Wei Ying” is explained in Ch 8, but it’s worth noting here that loyal maidservant Mianmian would never refuse to tell Wei Ying something important. What actually happens of course is that Mianmian keeps insisting that Lan Zhan is in love with Wei Ying, and Wei Ying keeps refusing to believe it and then she finally says “Fine! Don’t tell me then!” and Mianmian is like /o\

Susu genuinely doesn’t know though, lol. She’s a bit younger, not as emotionally mature.

Nie Mingjue also genuinely doesn’t know (Lan Xichen hasn’t told her because he knows she’d just call Lan Zhan an idiot to his face).

Nie Huaisang does know, but after hearing about Mianmian’s valiant attempts, she decides it would be better to take a more slowly-slowly angle and show Wei Ying how much Lan Zhan likes her instead. With mixed results.

Even given all the above, Lan Zhan is very much invested in protecting Wei Ying’s public standing and reputation:

We can see this in his insistence that she stays at home, so she doesn’t become a convenient target or sacrificial fall-guy  during the family proceedings.

Nie Mingjue further explains his fears in her conversation with Wei Ying about the Lan elders and their treatment of Lan Zhan’s mother vs herself.

We can also see it in “While he does not ignore her, precisely, Lan Zhan also never lingers in her company a moment longer than strict decorum would require”: Lan Zhan is still demonstrating to the servants and the public that, at the very least, her position as his wife should be respected and all related benefits afforded to her.

And of course he’s still sleeping in their bedroom.

Both the Lan brothers underestimate the emotional impact that this will have on Wei Ying, because neither of them has correctly understood how emotionally invested she is or how emotionally invested she realises she is. (In their defence: neither has she.)

This assumption is shored up by the way that she stays pretty upbeat and flippant, especially in the way she goes about trying to make amends. Not yet understanding her, they take this to mean that she’s feeling sorry and a little awkward, but otherwise is unaffected.

Lan Zhan’s points of realisation that he's hurt her are "Forgive me anyway - I can't bear it" and finding her curled up in bed. “I have an engagement” is true, but it is also him needing some space to process this new knowledge. At this point he:

half-caves to the decision that he'll just love her anyway and not give her any excuse to leave, and

half-comes to the realisation that actually, maybe Wei Ying really doesn't know about his feelings or her own, so he's going to need to recalibrate.

There were a few comments along the lines of “this could have been resolved through direct communication”, and while that’s true to some extent, I feel like direct communication in the context of relationships and feelings is a very modern-Western value that doesn’t necessarily have the same application here.

I do fully accept that despite its setting, this is a modern story, for a modern audience. But even so I think the non-modern setting and context (in addition to Lan Zhan’s particular personal situation) make it a little unfair to blame Lan Zhan for not starting a heart-to-heart outpouring of feelings. (Though of course this is my personal opinion.)

Even in my modern-but-still-Asian family, there’s a much stronger culture of being expected to read unspoken meaning from social situations, and in turn being able to expect that other people do the same. The cultural conflict is, as Jay Chou once sang in the song “Cliff of Love” (lololololol): You say that I am like a child, delighting in always leaving you guessing. I say that you’re the one who is like a child, always needing me to spell things out for you.

Semi-relatedly, I think there’s a “child of asian parents” meme about your parents apologising by bringing sliced fruit to you instead of saying anything with words. I have imputed this to Wei Ying and Lan Zhan.

In very general terms, I would also say that we as a Chinese family have a much weaker culture of “you did this thing that violates my boundaries, I will tell you and expect you to change your behaviour” and a much stronger culture of “you did this thing to violate my boundaries, I must manage myself so that unacceptable boundary violations do not happen in future”. I have on some level imputed this to Lan Zhan.

There is also a much stronger culture of avoiding things that are embarrassing (as the person who might be embarrassed, as the person who might cause someone else to be embarrassed, and as a bystander who might worsen the embarrassment by bearing witness). There’s a lot of “not mentioning and just moving past these things by unspoken agreement”. I have on some level imputed this to … everyone in this story. 

The entire story, but this sex scene in particular, have been my manifesto on My Beef with Historical CNovels (which I recognise is sometimes about censorship and not the authors’ artistic vision). In terms of the sex scene this includes, but is not limited to:

Only the dudes or top dudes being horny or up for it (or being the 80 in an 80/20 split in who is horny/up for it)!

The relative passivity of ladies/bottom dudes in bed!

JADE STICKS (didn’t manage to get a reference to CHERRY NIPPLES in, but THOSE TOO)!

Lack of preparation and the resultant pain!

The lady/bottom “not being able to get out of bed for 3 days afterwards”!

The fun relationship tension/dynamics disappearing after a pivotal point where the couple variously gets together/gets married/has sex!

CHAPTER 8

Without guidance from questions in the comments, some general notes:

“It matters not,” he murmurs when they break apart: This is Lan Zhan both recognising that Wei Ying is not mentally/emotionally ready to believe the actual answer, and also genuinely meaning that it doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s also probably quite obvious right now that this Lan Zhan knows he’s not very verbally demonstrative and so he compensates with physical affection instead.

This also means that he’s very cuddly with their children when they’re born, and 100% takes A-Yuan everywhere with him, including on business.

While Lan Zhan directs her from his place behind her, seated with his chest pressed flush against her back: Lan Zhan would have been one of those children who is independent and standoffish in public, but a total cuddlebug with his mum in private. And so in addition to the above, the result of being touch-starved for over a decade following his mother’s death means that he fuses himself to Wei Ying at every (private) opportunity. It’s not that he doesn’t touch her in public, but it’s all very hand-on-elbow proper and decorous - until the moment they cross into a place with any amount of privacy and then FWOOM.

Wei Ying has wondered more than once whether she might one day bully Lan Zhan into sitting in the circle of her arm, while she appreciates fine wine as the ancestors intended: It definitely happens, and takes minimal-to-none bullying.

If her friend is suspicious enough of Meng Yao to interfere in her sister’s household, limit Meng Yao’s access to Nie Mingjue and attack Meng Yao’s father, then why has she done nothing to Meng Yao herself?: Nie Huaisang started out leaving Meng Yao every opportunity to come clean about what Jin Guangshan wanted her to do. If Meng Yao had had a change of heart and done this at any point while her disruptions to the household were still minor, Nie Huaisang would have happily worked with her to get her due from the Jin family (and then relocated her to somewhere suitably removed from Lan Xichen). But then Meng Yao proves that she is willing to completely sell Nie Mingjue out for her own gain, and now Nie Huaisang is giving her enough rope to hang herself.

And so Wei Ying spends the latter part of the evening half-lying on Lan Zhan’s bare chest: This behaviour begins as the result of Wei Ying misunderstanding something she hears (probably from Uncle Jiang’s men) about post-nut clarity. But it is in Lan Zhan’s interests to encourage it, and it doesn’t actually impede the thought process, so it continues.

“I didn’t mean to,” Nie Huaisang says in a small voice, to no one in particular: Going to leave this open as to whether Nie Huaisang is telling the truth or not.

The coroner’s report will attribute the cause to a combination of the incense burning in the room and the herbal tonic that he has been taking to replenish his yang qi for the past year: Meng Yao’s last gift to a father she has known all along was using her too.

#CQL #The Untamed #mo dao zu shi #Wangxian #陈情令 #魔道祖师 #fic #not-fic

[captaindamianos]

Hi! Can you recommend some good Captive Prince fics? I just finished the series and I loved Laurent so much

Hi anon!! Welcome to the fandom 🤗

I've considered doing a fic rec post for a long time so this is a perfect opportunity for me. Please forgive me for the delay. It was Eurovision week when you sent this and it was (and still is) incredibly distracting for me.

Here are some of my favorites, I'm going to offer a variety of things, because I absolutely love AUs, all variations of them, but I know that's not everyone's cup of tea and immediately after finishing the series people tend to like canon and canon-divergent the most, so I'll try to focus on those:

Canon Divergence:

Ransomed Prince by Turtletotem

I started reading this fic back when I still was in the fandom and I absolutely loved it. When I rejoined in 2021, the last few chapters got posted and I've reread it like 10 times already. Please heed the warnings but I just really enjoy the development of their relationship in this fanfic.

Winged Cupid Painted Blind by Kittendiamore

A lot of scheming from Laurent, which is always a good time in my book. It's been a bit since I've read it, but I always enjoyed it.

No Rush by blacktofade

One of my favorite things are Auguste lives AUs were they meet under different circumstances. This is one of my absolute favorites of those and I've read it again and again.

When the sun is on again by thickenmyblood

I've read this story once and it absolutely destroyed me. I was not okay for a few days haha. It's still one of the most amazing things I've ever read. So I would still recommend it, but be careful.

An Arranged Marriage by Josselin

The slow build of this one, I absolutely love rereading it every few months.

Bright as lightning by blacktofade

Another arranged marriage AU haha. Please trust me on this, this is such a good story.

sanguinary poultice, love charm by Lapin

God this is so good, nothing really to say besides do yourself a favor and read it.

How To Not Court A Veretian Prince by Entity_Sylvir

It's been a while with this one as well but I know it was one of my favorites.

Canon Compliant:

The Consummation by Josselin

I have to admit it's been a while since I've read this one. But I know that I really enjoyed it, and it's a very real depiction on how this could go and how the unification will likely have its hurdles.

Wicked Game by onekingdomonce

An anmesia fic, that I've read at least twice. It's painful, but it's worth it. I can recommend everything by that author that is Damen/Laurent. I've not really read any of the other pairings, because i don't multiship Damen and Laurent.

Alternative Universe:

four sevens and a ten by fahye

I know people tend to recommend Fahye's everything (their ´Lines On Palms' series and their tumblr ficlets (link 1 link 2) in particular). But I've grown up absolutely adoring the Swan princess movie, so this one sticks out to me personally. It's a lot darker than the movie, and it has it's very own narrative and development. But god do I love and recommend it.

The Veretian Flytrap by Just_Another_Day

Technically this feels very very canon divergent to me, but since the whole story is Omegaverse I'm putting it here. I know a lot of people don't enjoy Omegaverse fanfics, which is totally valid. But this fanfiction is one of my favorites in this fandom of all time. The world building, the character development, the culmination of it all. I adore it, I reread it every few months and I can't recommend it enough.

A Touch of Heavenly Light by forthelongesttime

I would recommend reading everything by this author. I am absolutely in love with their writing. I like how realistic they write and how they don't shy away from facing ugly things as well. This story in particular is dark and I urge you to check the warnings. It's not for everyone, which is why I recommend checking out their entire list of fics. But if the warnings don't scare you, please check it out!

Alternative Universe - Modern:

between the motion and the act by fahye

And to be contrary once more, I'm also recommending another one of fahye's AUs haha. I really liked this show, and I think it's an amazing fit for a modern AU for Damen & Laurent. Fahye just has an absolute talent for putting them into alternate universes and make them believable to me.

Fear not the thorns by relenafanel

Back then written by one of my favorite Stucky writers, I still absolutely adored it when I reread it in 2021. I definetely recommend checking it out if modern AUs are your thing.

A few authors I'd like to recommend in general:

idratherhaveyou (lots of different AUs, all of them a pleasure to read)

PenguinMerchant (again a lot of different AUs and settings. The worldbuilding is immaculate and always leaves me in awe. All of those AUs also fit them so well.)

Holly_Golightly (one of my favorite unfinished wips in this fandom, I'm still holding out hope haha but everything else they've written was absolutely amazing as well. Very spicey usually. Can't recommend them enough.)

elesary (Can you tell I love AUs yet?? Some are canon compliant or canon divergent, but I especially adore their modern AUs.)

ahdriking (another one of my favorite wips - hardest of hearts - and also just a lot of really spicey stuff, but god, so good.)

#captive prince #fic recs #good god i failed so hard at recommending canon compliant or canon divergence #i will try again but i think i need to reread a lot #this doesn't even cover the tiniest bit #i think i need to do more and put them into categories #i tried to focus on longer fics for this