bi-writes · 3 days ago
Note
ok simon and his mail order bride live rent-free in my head now and, like, what i wanna know is what their anniversaries look like? not just their one year anniversary, but also their fifth or tenth? how does it change as they settle into that deep comfortability that comes with being with someone a long time? -391780
this piece i still consider canon mail-order bride, but i see it almost as an extra than a continuation of the current story since it is very much in the future of that timeline. <3
mail-order bride
it's difficult to see the potential of something so mangled. sometimes things are so worn out and so used that they don't reflect what their purpose was. instead of function, they see flaw. instead of value, they see waste.
sometimes you wonder if that's what they saw in you. sometimes you wonder if that's why you were given to him.
that's what they made him. simon was a tortured dog they let loose. they saw value, but only what was left, and perhaps they thought something like you might help them squeeze just that little bit more out of him. one more year. one more op.
the sunlight wakes you up. you forgot to pull the blinds, but when you see simon sleeping peacefully next to you, it's worth it to be up so early. you know as soon as you move, he will wake, so you keep still for just a few more minutes.
today marks ten. he doesn't look much older. he seems to have stopped aging ever since you asked him to put in his papers.
like always, as soon as you sit up, simon blinks awake. he's bleary, but conscious, and when your eyes meet, you smile at him. he lifts his big hand and rubs your back gently. you don't speak any words so early in the morning, but you don't have to. there isn't much to say when the love of your life loves you, and you love them back.
you push the blankets off, giggling when you reveal the black and orange balls of fur that blink up at you. they almost seem irritated that you interrupted their sleep, snuggled in the heat that simon radiated. they'll just have to deal with it.
you drag your hand down simon's leg wordlessly. you hear his deep breaths from behind, and you reach into your bedside table to press a little balm into your hand before spreading the ointment across his knee and under it. you work it into the muscles nice and slow; any faster, and simon will hitch his breath in pain, and you'll have to start over.
you kiss his knee before laying back down, settling into his side, and you lift up your left hand, wiggling your fingers knowingly at him before looking up towards his face. he smiles down at you sleepily, raising his hand to cup your fingers.
"still love me?" you ask softly, and simon pretends to think about.
"mmm..." he rumbles. "still love ya."
"but do you still like me?"
"more everyday."
the first few years were spent trying to play catch-up. fancy dinners, expensive gifts, handwritten letters that could've been novels to try and stuff the love you have for each other all in one night. they were all wonderful; you think about those nights all the time, and you cherish the gifts he's given you like they are a part of you, but today feels different.
today might not be just another day, but it's just as special as yesterday. and the day before that. and the day before that.
when it's time to really wake up, you let simon guide you. he walks easy, barely a limp, and he sits you down at your vanity to help you do your hair as you add your serums and moisturizers. he's good with that brush, running it through gently, parting your hair the way you like so he can tie it up. he'd braid your hair if you asked him to (he said it wasn't unlike all the knots he knows how to tie--and he meant it, no one dutch braids like him), but you know your show came out last night, and you want to watch them with the scones you have proofing in the fridge.
he makes the coffee and tea while you set the scones in the oven. you fill the cat's bowls while he cleans out the water fountain. it's wordless, the morning routine, but you like the times when you brush by him. when your arm runs against his. when your hands bump going for the same cabinet. when he leans down as he passes you, kissing along your jaw before he keeps walking.
bliss. fucking bliss.
he's waiting for you in the living room once you pull the scones out of the oven. your coffee sits on the table on its coaster, in your favorite mug, and he's under your blanket as he flips through the tv. he already knows what you'll want to watch, and you bite back your smile when you notice him typing it into the search bar because he didn't see it when he scrolled past (you keep telling him to wear his glasses, but he'll never listen).
you take a seat next to him, thumbing at his cheek, and he takes a scone off the plate before biting into it. he smiles when he tastes chocolate, looking at you knowingly, and you reach for his hand as you settle against his chest.
you used to be mangled, too. a mess. pretty on the outside, dying on the inside. all fried wires, a traumatized animal, learned behavior of relieve and appease that kept you out of trouble and out of sight.
you have never seen simon this way. and simon has never seen you this way. no hopeless potential. no wasted space. no diminishing value.
i matter because you matter. you matter because i matter.
hidden, not broken. disguised, not incomplete. you did not have jagged edges, only armor that you tried to put up to protect yourself.
you tip your head back to look up at him, and when he cups your jaw to stare back at you, you're relieved by what you see in his eyes.
ten years. it will be nothing like forever. it will be nothing like your next life, nor like the life after that. it's comforting to know what home looks like. maybe you will recognize it the way you recognized it in this life.
no, that can't be it.
you recognized it because it had already happened. in some other time, in some other place, you were sitting where you sit now, looking at simon the way you look at him now.
you knew who he was before you even met him, and you will know who he is when you meet him again.
712 notes · View notes
straylightdream · 2 days ago
Text
king of my heart
Tumblr media
𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: jeon wonwoo x f.reader
↳ I'm perfectly fine, I live on my own. I made up my mind, I'm better off being alone. We met a few weeks ago. Now you try on callin' me "baby" like tryin' on clothes
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: soulmates au?, non idol au
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.2k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: so much fluff, they’re both so incredibly down bad for each other, wonwoo rides a motorcycle (I don’t know if that’s a warning), smut warning below the cut
𝐚𝐧: my next story for SVT inspired by reputation songs by taylor swift. This is part of a loosely connecting series called “all for you” you can absolutely just read this as one shot. Vernon’s story is coming soon about him and his girl that’s mentions.
if you would like to be tagged please fill out this form.
𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!
Tumblr media
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, big dick wonwoo, breeding kink, cum play, cum eating, body worship, breast play (wonwoo is boob obsessed), praise kink, glasses kink?(mc gets really turned on by wonwoo glasses), nicknames: baby (both)
Tumblr media
It all felt like a whirlwind meeting him. You had lived your life mostly alone. You had moved to the city after college away from your family. You were heavily focused on your career. You had lived alone for the last two years and never even tried dating.
You met Wonwoo on a Friday night when a couple of coworkers convinced you to go out with them. You couldn’t say no to Mingyu when he practically begged you to join him and his friends. You and Mingyu worked for a publishing house.
Something tells you Mingyu wanted to set you up with Wonwoo all along. The moment you were introduced you were drawn to him. He’s so handsome and charming. You shared an instant connection with him you had never shared with anyone before.
Since that first night you met you couldn’t stop thinking about the boy with glasses. You went on your first date after only knowing each other for two days. He took you on a sunset picnic by the river. You instantly realized you had a lot in common but you were also quite different, but in a good way. That night was the first night you rode on his motorcycle. You never knew you could be so attracted to a man who rode a motorcycle before him. He took you home walking you up to your apartment. You had no issues with sleeping together on your first date, but Wonwoo said he wanted to wait a little. He said the anticipation of what’s to come will make it worth it. So that night with you pressed up against your front door you shared a heated kiss goodbye.
It’s only been two months and you can’t get enough of him. He still gives you butterflies and his touch feels electric. You spend almost every day with him one way or another.
His body is plastered behind yours as you lay on your side. His hand grips your soft stomach as he slowly thrust into you. This has been a normal way you’ve been waking up with him. You found out very early on that Wonwoo is quite fond of morning sex. Waking up with Wonwoo erection poking your stomach gave you an idea of how your morning was going to go. It didn’t take him long for him to slip off your underwear and push your oversized shirt up. You can’t help but question why you even try to sleep wearing clothes when Wonwoo is in your bed.
Pushing your hips back you can’t help but gasp at how deep he’s hitting. This is one of your favorite positions with him. He’s so big that when he’s behind you he feels like he’s going extra deep.
“Baby,” he moans your latest nickname he’s started calling you.
Everything about Wonwoo is perfect. Even his body is perfect. His wide shoulders and slim waist, and his dick is the biggest you’ve ever had. You don’t know how you’ll repay Mingyu for basically setting you up.
Wonwoo falls apart filling you to the brim. You learned early on that Wonwoo loves fucking you raw and has a fascination with coming inside you. Sometimes you wonder if he's trying to get you pregnant.
Sitting on his knees between your legs he watches intently as his cum drips out of you. His finger slowly scoops some up before pushing it back inside of you.
“You know you're the first man I have been with who seems obsessed with coming inside me,” you tease.
“Does it make me territorial!?” He smiles.
“Possibly, but you don’t try to dom me while you do it.” Your hand glides down your stomach and slowly dips through your fold smearing around his release.
“Do you want me dom you?” He asked, arching his eyebrow.
“Not really. I like the way things are with us.”
“That’s good because this is about as kinky as I get,” he laughs crawling off the bed. He disappears into your bathroom that’s connected to your room. He comes back holding a warm washcloth. Gently he wipes away the mess that you’ve both made.
“I think you’re kinkier than you give yourself credit for. You definitely like to overstimulate me. You also are definitely obsessed with my boobs.”
He walks over to the nightstand putting on his glasses. Shaking his head, “and you’re obsessed with me fucking you while I have my glasses on.”
“Who can blame a girl?” You slowly sit up. He presses his lips to yours for a soft kiss. “Oh we can’t forget the time you thought it would be fun to edge me.”
-
“Has Wonwoo convinced you to go to Seungcheol's birthday tonight yet?” Mingyu says sitting a cup of coffee down in front of you.
Going to events with Wonwoo’s friend group still felt odd to you. You weren’t used to a man proudly wanting to take you to things.
Before you started dating the man who has been stealing your heart, you didn’t realize you have a few mutual friends. Before your first meeting you had Mingyu mention Wonwoo’s name a few times. It turns out you and Wonwoo had a few mutual friends. One of them is your coworker Mingyu and the other two are friends from college Vernon and Sweetie. The latter who is now dating another friend from the boys’ friend group Soonyoung.
“Has my boyfriend recruited you to help convince me?” You take a sip of your iced coffee. Seungcheol birthday party has been a conversation with your boyfriend for over a week.
“He mentioned a couple times that you felt awkward going,” he sits down in the chair in front of your desk.
“I’m awkward in social settings. Hell I never went out with anyone from work until that night a couple months ago when you convinced me.” You we’re quite the homebody before you started working with Mingyu. Back in college you really only had two friends: your roommate at the time, sweetie and her best friend Vernon.
“And look what happened you went out and I got you a boyfriend,” he smiles. Mingyu is never going to stop bragging about the fact that he successfully set up you and Wonwoo.
“I guess I don’t need to go out again since I got myself a boyfriend. I only need one. I don't need to go try to find a second one.”
The eye roll he gives you makes you feel like you’re winning this conversation. “Very funny. (YN) just go to the party. It’s just a get together on the rooftop of Seungcheol and Shau’s place. We’re not going clubbing or anything.”
“Why do you and Wonwoo want me to go so badly?”
“Because your boyfriend wants to be able to show you off. Wonwoo wasn’t really a relationship guy before you. Let him be the doting boyfriend he loves to be with you.” It seems like both you and Wonwoo we’re fine on your own before you met.
“Are you going to bring any one?” You attempt to change the subject.
Leaning back in his chair he suddenly seems shy. “I have a friend who might come with me.”
“Is this certain friend a girl who works at your favorite coffee place.”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” you smile before taking a drink of your coffee. “Has she ridden on your motorcycle yet?”
A smile pulls at his lips, “maybe.”
-
You’ve been home from work for about an hour before Wonwoo lets himself into your apartment. He finds you sitting on your couch with your laptop looking at a book manuscript.
He looks extremely hot with little effort. He’s wearing jeans, a tight fitting white shirt and a leather jacket. It’s clear by the helmet in hand he rode his motorcycle over.
“Hi,” you close your laptop.
He doesn’t say anything, he walks over and presses his lips to yours for a heated kiss.
“I thought I would stop by before heading to Cheol’s birthday.”
“Did you miss me already,” you tease.
“I always miss you.” He pulls away sitting his helmet on the coffee table.
“You just saw me this morning.”
“Maybe that’s too long ago for me,” he sits down next to you.
“How can I get you to go to Cheol’s party with me?” With the amount of times he’s brought up this party it’s clear it's important to him. You’re starting to feel selfish for giving him such a hard time about it. When it comes to being in a relationship with him you know you both need to compromise sometimes.
“You really want me to go, huh?”
“It would be the first time most of the group is together and I would like to introduce you to more people.” He pushes his fingers through his hair. “Also a few of the guys Soonyoung, Jihoon, and Shau’s girlfriends will all be there.”
“I'm already friends with Soonyoung and his girlfriend. Are we forgetting she was my college roommate?”
“Just humor me and come. Please.”
“Do you have a second helmet or are we taking a cab to Cheol’s?”
“Let’s take cab so you can wear one of your cute little dresses.”
-
Parties and get together we’re never your favorite situation to be in. Things don’t feel as overwhelming when Wonwoo is holding your hand through it all.
All of Wonwoo’s friends are nice and they all seem very excited to get to know you.
Jeonghan went on a rant telling you how Wonwoo talks about you all the time at work. You feel your cheeks burn as you hear about all the kind things your boyfriend says about you.
Mingyu arrives at the party with a pretty girl. You assume it’s the girl you’ve heard him talk about. Anytime he’s ever mentioned her he sounds absolutely smitten.
“I think that girl with Mingyu might actually make him change his ways,” Wonwoo whispers in your ear. You’ve through working with Mingyu, and from dating his best friend/roommate that Mingyu isn’t normally the dating type. He likes to love and leave them. Most of his relationships seem to be only sexual.
“He looks happy,” you say.
“He is. Maybe he’ll find what we have,” he kisses your temple. “I’m going to get a drink. Why don’t you talk Vernon?”
Your boyfriend heads off to the table that is set up as a makeshift bar. Walking over to the edge that looks out onto the city. Vernon is standing there with a red cup in his hand. He seems lost in thought.
“What are you thinking about?” Vernon looks up at you before taking a sip of his drink.
“Do you ever think that you’re destined to be with someone?”
You’ve been thinking about this a lot recently. Your opinions on it now are drastically different then they would have been at the beginning of the year. “You know if you would have asked me this three months ago I would have said no. But since meeting Wonwoo I feel like a part of me has always been missing before him. He makes me feel whole in a way I didn’t even know was possible.”
He leans back against the rail, “sounds like you’re in love.”
“I’ve been in love before, but nothing has ever felt like this.”
Vernon gives you a smile before taking another drink. “Sounds to me like maybe Wonwoo is your soulmate.”
That word has been floating around in your head for over a month. At the rate you fell in love with Wonwoo it didn’t feel real. Before him you were perfectly fine being alone. But somehow he changed everything.”
“Maybe he is,” looking over at the bar area you find him smiling while he’s listening to Joshua and Jun tell him something. You love when he smiles and makes your heart flutter. “I think I need to tell him I love him.”
“Have you guys not said the big L word?”
“Not yet. I think I will tonight.”
Vernon has always been someone special to you. He always seemed to understand more than any of your friends. “Why did you ask about being destined to be with someone?”
“It’s nothing,” he looks down at his feet.
“Vernon, just tell me.”
He lets out a heavy sigh, “I used to think I was destined to be with Sweetie back in college. But like clearly that didn’t work out and it’s a good thing it didn’t because her and Soonyoung are so happy,” he looks off into the corner where Soonyoung and his girlfriend are clearly having an intimate conversation. “I always cared about her and I definitely loved her back then, but there is someone else now.”
“The neighbor girl?” You’ve heard him mention the girl who lived across from him, Chan, and Seokmin. He just nods. “Is she still with that guy?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s cheating on her,” he sighs. “I found her crying outside her apartment again yesterday.”
“Have you guys gotten closer?”
“Yeah. I can’t really keep my feelings out of it either.”
“Have you thought about telling her? Maybe it would give her a reason to leave him.”
“It’s crossed my mind.”
Wonwoo walks up behind pressing his lips to the top of your head. “Hey Vernon.” He reaches over patting Vernon on the shoulder.
“Hey Wonwoo. I’m gonna give you guys a minute.” Vernon instantly excuses himself.
“Is he okay?” Wonwoo asked.
“I think he will be.” You can’t help but be sad for Vernon. He hasn’t exactly been the luckiest when it comes to the dating department.
Wonwoo hands you a red cup with what looks like beer in it. Staring at him watching as he takes a sip you feel like a college girl drinking beer out of plastic cups with the boy she’s fascinated with.
“Wonwoo?”
“Yeah baby?” He gives you that same smile that melts you every time.
“I love you.” Normally you would be terrified to say those words first, but with Wonwoo you’re anything but scared.
“That’s good, because I’m head over heels for you,” he steps closer to you. Leaning down presses his lips to yours for a heated kiss.
“Does that mean you love me?” You want to hear him say those three little words.
“I absolutely love you.”
You lean forward and kiss him again. You won’t ever get enough of the feeling of his lips on yours. Wrapping his arms around you he holds you close. There is something so warm and safe about being in his arms.
He releases you from his hold and leans down pressing his lips to your again.
“I need to use the restroom,” you want to get Wonwoo alone away from all his friends for a few moments.
“It’s downstairs in Cheol’s place.”
“I really need you to go with me,” you lace your fingers with his.
“Oh, I’m assuming you don’t need to pee?”
“Not at all.”
-
Bent over the sink he slowly thrust into you. Glancing up into the mirror, your eyes focus on Wonwoo reflection. The site of his hair a little messy and his glasses on as he fucks you turns you on even more. Strong hands grip your hip as he thrust into you quickly.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” he groans. Reaching around he takes one of your boobs in his hands. You learned very early on that Wonwoo has an obsession with your boobs. He loves playing with them while you fuck.
“You’re doing so good for me,” his praises do nothing but spur you on. “You take me so well.”
“Fuck- you feel so good,” you quitely whine.
His hips snap into yours at a quick pace. He’s normally not this quick or rough, but doing this in Seungcheol’s apartment bathroom while everyone is up on the rooftop means he can’t take his time with you.
“I love you,” you moan.
“Say it again,” he continues thrusting into you.
“I love you Wonwoo.”
Putting your hand over your mouth you desperately try to muffle your moans. Everyone might be up on the roof top but you don’t want to risk someone coming into the apartment and hearing what you and your boyfriend are doing. They don’t need to hear you screaming because he’s absolutely railing you in the bathroom.
“I love you,” he moans.
“Harder,” you moan.
He snaps his hips even harder than before. If you weren’t bent over the counter he might knock you over with how hard he’s thrusting into you. Grabbing your bicep he lifts you up so you’re flush against him as his hips thrust into you. His hand slides push the straps of your dress down to access your breast. He squeezes tightly playing with your taunt nipple.
“Baby,” you whimper.
“Fuck-“
You normally like to look at him during sex but he’s hitting inside you so incredibly deep you’re practically seeing stars.
Fall apart together moaning each other's name. He rolls his hips slowly helping you ride out your high while he paints your inside walls white.
“Maybe coming inside me wasn’t a good idea at a party.”
Slowly he pulls out leaving you feeling empty. Your hand reaches down to your core where his cum is already leaking out. He stands there blissed out staring at you. He dips his finger through your slit picking up some of his release. He holds it up to your mouth and without even thinking you lick it off his fingers.
“Fuck, you’re hot.”
“Maybe we should clean me up, so everyone doesn’t know fucked in the birthday boy’s bathroom.” You say earning a laugh from your boyfriend.
Going back up to the rooftop you try to act like nothing happened downstairs with you and Wonwoo. You let him hold your hand taking you around the party talking to all of his friends. Even though you don’t like parties or anything like that you realize you’ll go to any of them with Wonwoo because you know that makes him happy. You honestly will do anything for him if it will make him happy.
Laying in bed you look over at Wonwoo. He’s adjusting his glasses as he reads something on his phone.
“Wonwoo?”
“Baby?”
“I might sound crazy, but I think you’re my soulmate. I haven’t ever loved anyone like I love you.”
He sets his phone down and gives you a smile, “I thought I was crazy too. I definitely love you more then anyone I have ever loved before.”
“I feel like you have my heart, body, and soul,” you say.
“You have stolen every part of my existence,” he leans over, pressing his lips to yours for a heated kiss. The longer you’re with him the more you realize he is truly the king of your heart, body, and soul.
464 notes · View notes
hauntedfictionland · 3 days ago
Text
❝His dear princess❞
Tumblr media
☾︎✰❛❀ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader!
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.
𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Bastardphobia, mentions of death and grief, kissing, marrage of convenience and grumpy X sunshine trope, Jace is down bad, flirty!reader, guilt and anxiety and happy ending;)
🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: This is one of my first house of the dragon fics ever, so I truly hope it's not too bad. Jacaerys is one of my favourite characters in hotd after Alicent so I really wanted to get his characteristics and behaviour right. Also, I didn't like the way they showed his grief after Luke died, as if he just moved on after two or three days. But overall, I enjoyed writing this:)
Tumblr media
Jacaerys was infuriated with you.
You—his betrothed, acted like you owned the castle as soon as you strutted in. Speaking with no formality and a sharpness in your tongue that only infuriated him further. And especially when you did not seem to care for his heritage, who he was. The heir to the iron throne. Yet you acted as if he didn't exist to you. As if he meant nothing to you.
A marriage pact with the martells was only one of convenience. You, a princess of dorne, he, the firstborn son of queen Rhaenyra. Yet, they were stuck in dragonstone, and needed support to match the strength of the green armies. His mother needed this arrangement more than the martells did, and you made that very clear by acting carelessly and so freely, like you were in your own home. By taunting him, sitting at the great council table with your legs on them, a coin in your fingertips and a smirk in your lips. He hated it, he hated especially how good you looked.
He hated being betrothed to you already.
Rhaenyra had told him martells were rather, open and modern people. They took part in adultery even after being married, especially with the consent of their own partner. He did not know how anyone could be okay with such acts. He did not know what to expect when he met you, but it certainly wasn't how you commented on his face, calling him one of a beauty. It was inappropriate, calling a prince by such bold remarks on the first meeting, yet you did not seem to care.
But what edged him to his limit was the day you called him a bastard.
Jacaerys had been worried, he couldn't find you anywhere. Not that he cared, he was just stressed you would create another ruckus. He looked around everywhere, the garden, the great council, the dining hall, your room, even his room, but you were nowhere to be found. His chest tightened, a restlessness growing in his stomach. It seemed he always felt that way without being with you for too long. Not because he missed you—of course, but because he wanted to ensure everything was going smoothly.
He was going around circles, head spinning with a feeling that made him uncomfortable. Where were you? did you flee the castle? or were so bored of him you went to the city to a brothel in search of another man to keep you company. Anger and jealousy filled in his chest at the mere thought of that.
Jacaerys did not seem where he was going, many thoughts inside his head, before he harshly opened a door to the library. And to his surprise, there you were, a book in your hand. ‘Adventures of Aegon the conqueror’, he could read the name of the book by how you were holding it. He felt he could breathe again. By the loud sound of the door opening your head flitted towards him. Your usual smirk growing up your lips. Something that made his heart flutter in a way he didn't want it to. He clenched his jaw, holding his fists in a tight ball.
“Where have you been?” he asks, desperate tone in his voice.
“Ah, Prince Jacaerys.” you smile, closing the book and turning your attention towards him. He hated how your eye lashes fluttered, your hair falling down in just the perfect way. “I've been gaining some Targaryen knowledge, as you can see. Since we are to be married, I thought I should know my husband's family. Don't you think?”
Husband.
That word rose heat to his cheeks, quickly clearing his throat.
“I'm not your husband.” he spoke, in a tone harsher than he intended, “At least not yet anyway.”
You smile wider, making his heart race. He was always a bit stubborn, and uptight. Yet you were always so carefree and light, always so kind with his demise. He didn't know what to make of it all. A curious look grazed upon your face, eyebrows furrowing. You sat up, walking onwards another shelf of books, lips pursued. Before looking at him.
“I have always wondered, hmm,” you say, your finger coming up to your lips, “do tell me prince Jacaerys, is it true that you were born out of wedlock?”
His eyes widened, “What did you say to me?”
You either did not notice the offend and defensiveness in his tone, or simply pretend not to. Turning to look at him, “I mean, all Targaryen children have white hair. Do they not? Even if they did not, none of your formal parents have black, dark hair like yours.”
His breath hitches, all of the insecurities he had contained in a jar of fireflies fled out the second you brought out his hair. A wall rising inside him. You were acting as if you just did not ask the most dangerous question ever. As if it did not matter to you.
“How dare you insinuate such filthy claims?!” his voice rises, almost shouting. Your eyes flicker surprise for a moment, before turning back to the usual stoic look.
“Ah, you are offended.” you state, as if he shouldn't be, “I meant no harm, my prince. I have no problem with you being a bastard. In fact, it only makes you more interesting. The thing I don't like is your distaste for the truth. One should own up to who they are.”
Bastard.
You, called him a bastard. He isn't able to speak for a moment, too tongue—tied. You....think of him this way too? you? he can't hear as you speak further, a ringing in his head. It only intensifies. Only when you start talking about dorne is when he snaps back from his haze.
“And I have thousands of brothers and sisters back in dorne, no one cares ther—”
“I don't care, what you dornish do back there, but here you don't speak to me with filths of a claim.” he grits, his voice cold, “I am the queen's son. And if I hear you say one word about that again, I will see you hanged.” his words held so much malice in them, one would believe it to be true.
Of course, he could never actually do that, the blacks needed martells armies more than ever. His mother couldn't afford them raging war at her and joining the green's side. And, he could never harm you either. It was just a baseless threat, one he said out of anger and insecurity. He immediately regretted it when he saw the look on your face; hurt. But even worse, fear. Before he could even begin to take them back, it was too late. Your spot, where you stood, was already empty.
You had seen him less and less after that. Of course, you were your usual self. Taunting and teasing him, but something was off. Something distant. He hated it. He hated how much he missed it. Your remarks, your witty replies, your cockiness. He wanted it back. He wanted you back.
Next time he sees you, it's in a completely unexpected place. Dragon—pit. He was about to ride on Vermax to patrol the skies, when he stops. There you were, sat on the hard rock, legs swinging at the edge of it and his dragon's head in your hands. You..you were feeding him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” he shouts, eye wide.
You turn your head to him, a smirk on your lips grows. You enjoyed the fact he was on his nerves, furious.
“What does it look like? I'm feeding this cute little angel right here.” you coo, talking to his dragon in a baby voice. Vermax was known for her temper, yet with you it magically dis—appears? a little bit inside him was flustered, heart beating faster than ever that you and his dragon, a very important part of his life, bonded flawlessly. But he shrugs it off, he has to. Flushing over you isn't his duty.
Protecting you is.
As much as he would like to deny it, you're his now. Lawfully so. And he wouldn't let anything happen to you. Especially Vermax. He wouldn't know how to live with himself if his own dragon were to be the cause of, of.. your demise. His throat burns, even the mere thought of harm coming to you feels as if he's being drowned to death. After Luke, he cannot lose anyone. Jacaerys cannot lose you. Even if that was the first thing he tried to do after meeting you. You were the most part of his frustrations yet the only thought when he's in his bed at night.
“Have you lost your mind?” he asks, his voice harsh, as if you were his child and he was scolding you for doing something childish.
“Have you had no fear? you could have died what were you even thinking?!” you falter for a moment, upon seeing the trembling of his hands and the tightness in his voice.
“Jacaerys—”
“No!” he interrupts you, “You, you could have been...do you even realise..”
Your eyes widened as he struggled to even breath, huffing for air anxiously. You quickly get up, walking towards him. He's so much inside his head that he doesn't notice your hands coming up his face, slinging through his dark curly hair. An act that slowed and claimed his beating heart down. Your soft palms make contact with both his cheeks, a peaceful shush in your voice and he finally breathes. Properly. He sighed, eyes closing as his hands came up to hold yours.
This, you, him? this felt oddly peaceful. This felt like home. Vermax watches the whole interaction with a quiet huff, turning away back to the pits. You nudge closer towards him, resting your forehead against his. Love. This felt like love. “Promise me” he starts out, his voice low and timid, “promise you will never do that again.” Instead of putting on a fight like you usually do, you nod, gently caressing his cheek. His head leaned further into your touch, putty in your hands.
“I promise.”
That, gives him great relief. “Good.”
Time seems to slow down, Jacaerys could count every freckle on your nose to cheeks, every small cut in between your knuckles or lips, every curve of smile you put on. And all the scents coming from your body that drove him crazy. You notice his lips still trembling, and above your judgement, you decide to kiss it better. He inhales a sharp breath as your lips touch his, but makes no movement to push you away. It's gentle, barely brushing against his. Jacaerys realised how they fit perfectly amidst his, and how much he was craving it all these months until he finally tasted them.
You slowly pull away, hesitantly. His eyes are still closed. Hands crawling up your waist. He speaks again, a whisper almost.
“I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
He's talking about the library, and you smiled softly, shaking your head.
“It's okay. You can't get rid of me that easily, Jace. Should have known that when you got betrothed to a dornish princess.”
You had already forgiven him. But he didn't want you to. He didn't want to be at your mercy this easily, not when he wasn't able to forgive himself. You, you had crept your way into his heart when he didn't want you to, and now he never wanted to let you go. It was all your fault.
“No I...” he shakes his head, “I never should have said that. Not only because it was so wrong but also because it was completely untrue.” Jacaerys swallows his breath, every bit of him wanted to turn away and never look back, but he couldn't do that. “I have been called names, about my heritage. Ever since I was a child. About my parenting and what not. And it's very...when anyone talks about it, it's like a bandage ripping off a new and fresh wound. No matter how many years pass by, it's still like that for me.”
You nod your head slowly, in understanding. This was raw. He had finally told you one of his darkest parts, his worst fears, and you hadn't run away.
“I understand. I should have never said that. I did not know it was like this for you.” He feels relief in your words.
But there was still something he needed to let out.
“But I...” he didn't know how hard this was for him until he started to actually say it, “I really could never mean it. What I said. Even if you have committed the worst treason or crime, even if you had taken my heart and carved it out, I still wouldn't be able to do one thing that might be even close to harming you. Believe me I have tried. And I have failed.”
He looks away from you, cheeks closing red. Jacaerys had just poured his heart out and gave it to you. But the chances of you, and feeling the same? were very dim. He sees stars when he sees you, what do you see? just him? or even worse? a filth in the name of a true born prince. A gasp leaves his lips as your fingers trace the outlines of his jaw, trailing down to his neck to his chest. You stopped at the red and black three dragons symbol made on the polish cloth he wore.
“Why do you think I agreed to this marriage? not because of this.” you point to the very symbol engraved on his chest, of the house targaryen, “If it was just for this, I certainly would have never.”
He turns his head back to you, confusion in his face. He also feels a bit of guilt in him. At first, he only agreed to this pact because his mother had no choice. Because of your house. Nothing else. And you're saying that his house didn't even matter to you when you agreed to this betrothal? then why? you did not even know what he looked like, and you simply agreed?
“Why then?”
That's the question that's now left in him. Why, if his house and title didn't matter?
“Well,” your lips curl up, a glint in your eyes, as a blush arose your cheeks, “From years I had heard stories of Targaryen princes. How arrogant and unkind they were, your cousins, Aegon and Aemond, well I certainly didn't hear anything good about them. And then you came. The velaryon prince, the son of the realm's delight, born with a kind heart and a fierceness to protect. I knew I had to marry someday, but I only agreed to marry you because I knew—you wouldn't mistreat me. Because I fell in love with the stories of the dark haired prince who had the most beautiful brown eyes ever, who protected his brother when he was a child himself, who stole my heart before he even claimed it.”
Jacaerys doesn't know what to say, his throat falls dry. It doesn't feel real, when he's wanted something so dearly and someone just gives it to him freely; it does not feel real. You do not feel real. But you are. He knows you are when your hands tug at his collar, his face close to you as you pull him towards you and your breath fanning on his cheeks. He knows this is real, and it's better than any dream he's ever had.
“I do not want our marriage to be an unhappy one.”
You say, a plea in your voice.
He smiles, wide. And he doesn't even have to make an effort this time, “For me, the words unhappy and you? well they don't go in the same sentence.”
That seals it for you, he can see that. As you kiss his words, an unspoken understanding and passion in it. Jacaerys realises he could get used to this. Kisses, hugs, reading each other books, waking by the warmth of your body besides his; in fact, there's no one else he'd rather do it by. And nothing he would want more.
Tumblr media
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒.
777 notes · View notes
dollfacefantasy · 2 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
PRETTY AS A PRINCESS ♡
pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader
summary: you and logan have to work on halloween, but on the bright side, that means you get to dress up. and even better, you get to give him a little preview of the costume you've chosen.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, ddlg, slight dumbification
wc: 3.2k
a/n: reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <33
kinktober slot: day 29 - ddlg
Tumblr media
"You sure you don't need my help in there?" Logan calls to you.
"I got it. Just gimme a second," your voice responds, slightly muffled from the walk-in closet door separating the two of you, "So impatient."
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a smile rising to his lips. Normally, that comment would get you a small swat on the ass, but he decides to let it go for now.  You were in a particularly good mood today. The two of you had been assigned a mission next week that fell on Halloween. At first, you'd been unhappy about that, but then the professor informed you that it meant you were going undercover at a Halloween party - which meant you got to dress up.
For the past couple weeks, you'd been thinking about this costume choice as if it was the most important decision you'll ever make in your life. There were just so many options as you'd put it. So many colors and cuts. 
He knew you, so he knew it'd be something cute. But thus far, you hadn't actually shown him what you picked. Today it arrived in the mail, which is why tonight, you made a big deal of revealing it to him.
"Are you ready?" you finally ask.
"I've been ready. Let's see it."
The closet door creaks open. Before you exit, you peak your head out, flashing him a quick smile. Your excitement oozes from every pore on your body, flooding the room as you finally step out from behind the mahogany.
His prediction had been right - you look very cute. You strut out to him in what seems to be a princess costume. A tight corset wraps around your waist while frills and lace compliments your bust. The skirt goes down to your mid thigh, flowy and sweet while teasing enough flesh to be seductive. A sparkling tiara rests atop your head, and long, smooth gloves cover you fingertip to elbow. 
Skipping over, you stop in front of him. "So... what do you think?" you ask with a coy cock of your head.
His eyes scan you up and down, but of course, his mind has been made.
"Do you really have to ask?" he teases, "You look beautiful."
A bright smile spreads over your face when the inevitable answer hits your ears.
He chuckles at the reaction and reaches out to grab your waist. He really does adore this little get-up. It suits you just right, and on top of that, he can already tell how it makes you feel.
From the beginning of your relationship, Logan had a suspicion you'd be into this kind of thing. The whole princess thing. And along with that, the whole daddy thing. 
While you could be fierce in the field, sharp and quick, there was another side to you. A side that liked things soft and gentle, that yearned to be taken care of. It was the same part of you that came out when he sat you on his lap, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. The part that made your head go fuzzy and your eyes glossy when he'd speak in a lower tone or call you a sweet name.
Over the course of knowing you, he'd found there were more triggers than delicate touches and tender words though. It was easier for you to slip into this dreamier headspace when you were tired or sad. You also liked when he took over simple tasks for you. But another one was definitely when you felt pretty. That always seemed to bring the d-word out from between those plush lips.
He found it a little odd at first, but he loved you. He could roll with you calling him daddy if that's what you wanted. And after a while, it didn't seem so strange anymore. He found himself craving your voice ringing out those two syllables, calling for only him when you felt your most vulnerable.
He spins you around between his thighs and kisses the warm back of your neck. The zipper on your dress hadn't been pulled all the way up. His fingers find the small metal piece to tug, pulling on it a little to tease before fixing the garment.
"Were you gonna wear it like this to the party, babydoll?" he asks, voice slipping into that lovingly condescending tone, "Give everybody there a nice show?"
A giggle bursts from you. Vibrates up your sternum through your throat and from your mouth. With how close he is to you, he can feel each bit.
"No," you say as if it's obvious. From your cadence alone, he can tell his set of suspicions was correct. You're starting to slip.
"So you need daddy's help then?" he mocks, dropping his voice. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, tugging a little and beckoning more laughter from you.
"I guess..."
"You could've just said that then. I know my little girl can't be expected to do everything on her own."
You hum with petulant agreement. Your head tilts back to rest on his shoulder at the same time the back of your dress closes up. He kisses up your spine, the metal teeth chasing his lips.
"There we go," he says with a small pat to your hip.
You turn around to face him again. The fabric of your skirt flies up a little with the mini twirl. He smooths it back down for you before gazing at those eyes glimmering with admiration.
"Could you help me with my socks and shoes too? I accidentally forgot them out here."
"Did you now?" he smirks. He knows your games. If he doesn't offer to do things for you, then you make sure to create a situation in which the chances of that happening increase.
"Mhm," you say, nodding up and down in big bobs.
"Well go get them, and bring 'em here."
Obeying the command like it's a second nature, you pad over to the chair by the closet and dig inside the package to get the matching pieces to this outfit. He watches you pull out ivory thigh highs with little bows at the meshy hems and a pair of dainty heels. 
The items swing back and forth at your sides as you waltz to him. He takes them from you and sets them on the mattress. Standing up, his form rises above your own. He guides you so that your positions are reversed. Your thighs press against the blankets before he guides you down to sit.
"Be a good girl and sit still for me now. We'll get you all dolled up," he directs.
In a move no one else besides you ever sees, he crouches down before you. He gets on his knee and grabs one of the socks off the bed. The material stretches under his careful fingers as he prepares it for you. One of his hands takes your ankle, boosting your leg up.
The thin, white fabric slides over your foot first. Just as he did with the zipper, he kisses your ankle, then your calve, your knee and then your thigh. He feels your pupils lock on him. He doesn't even have to look up. His mind knows the way they’re dilating while set upon him.
He shimmies the sleeve around your leg, making sure the little bow sits at the front. "That look right?" Now his eyes look up at your own.
The two small spheres look as he'd imagined, blown-out and ultra-focused on him. Your bottom lip is between your teeth too. "Mhm. Thank you, daddy," you answer softly.
"No problem, baby."
Now, he moves to your other limb. He repeats the process. Smooches land on your skin, flowing along the path the sock follows. That one gets put in the proper place too. He pushes your legs together, looking at the pair next to each other. The bows sit there staring back at him. He didn't know how he was supposed to focus on whatever you were actually going to this halloween party for when you looked like this.
"Cute, huh?" he asks.
You nod and smile.
After seeing your legs closed, the only natural next move would be to spread them apart. His thumbs hook against your inner thighs, the rest of his digits curling over the rest of the doughy flesh. He pushes them away from each other. The growing distance causes the silky skirt to ride up and allows him to see what you wear beneath your pretty dress.
Matching panties. The same kind of lace that framed your collar fans across your pelvis. It's fashioned in the same style and color as the rest of what you're wearing. He can feel heat pooling between his legs just from a quick glance.
"Are these new too?" he asks, tugging you to the edge of the mattress and pushing your skirt away.
"Yeah... Do you like them?" you check.
"You're smarter than that, baby," he says. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cunt over the fabric. The gesture's so chaste, but you feel your tummy flutter with the first beat of arousal.
"I just wanna make sure since I got them for you," you tell him.
"All for me? Never knew you could be so thoughtful, sweetheart."
You scoff and pout at him from above. "Yes you did."
He laughs softly at that and pecks your inner thigh a few times as penance. "Maybe. I guess you can be sweet when you wanna."
His tongue flicks out to lick back up to the new panties. The scent of your desire grows more prevalent. He knows you're getting wet for him. Bringing one finger up, he traces over the cloth, from where your slit is to your cute little clit. He does that a few times before hooking around the entire section and pulling it aside. Like he expected, your folds glisten for him.
"Poor baby. Is daddy getting you all messy?" he coos with a smug look.
"Yeah," you whimper. The shudder you'd been repressing washes over your body.
"It's only right I clean my pretty princess up then, hm?" he asks, still mocking you with his eyes.
You nod again, your confirmation wordless this time.
He brings his face to your center and lays a more passionate kiss upon the slick skin. His lips engulf your sex, his tongue dancing against your clit teasingly. Instantly, you whine and dig your gloved fingers into the sheets. Your legs find their places on his shoulders, convincing him to lean deeper into the junction of your thighs.
His tongue flattens, lapping your pussy with a nearly feral lust. It's no secret that Logan loves your taste. Not a drop of you goes to waste if he can spare it. He feels your thighs quivering against each side of his head and brings his free hand to rest on top of one. The security of him holding you there settles you slightly. But the position also gives him leverage to keep you close.
He sucks on your clit and then fucks his tongue into you. You try to writhe. Your hips buck at the onslaught of pleasure flaring up at your core, but he has an inhumane grip on you. You haven't cum yet, but you're gushing onto his face all the same.
"Daddy," you mewl, barely able to get the word out, "You're gonna ruin the underwear."
He's rock hard now at the whiny sound of your voice. You always get that way when you're near the edge. Your lip starts to wobble. Your voice gets pitchy as your demands grow needy. The look in your eyes just makes everything you say sound like begging.
Not one to normally be interrupted, he twirls the tip of his tongue around your bundle of nerves. But the words you spoke begin to register in his brain, and he reluctantly pulls back. His eyelids droop down with lust. Your fluids coat his chin and make some of his facial hair shimmer from the wetness.
"That's true, baby. Can't get these all soaked and destroyed before the party."
He rises to his feet again, pulling your panties all the way off simultaneously. Then his hands drop to his pants. He rids himself of his belt and undoes his fly.
"Plus, I think I have another way I can show you how much I like this new dress."
Taking his cock out, he tugs on it a few times. A few pearls of precum bead at the tip. His favorite part about getting his dick out is watching your reaction to it. No matter how many times you've seen it, you still seem so in awe. You marvel at the size and the way it flushes. Your eyes track the veins sprawling over it and sneak a glance at the heavy set of balls hanging below his shaft. He doesn't think you could look any more longing if you tried.
You're already soaked, so all he has to do is line up and slide in. Whining as he pounds himself into the hilt, your eyes start to go starry. He gets a firm grip on the swell of your hips in order to drag himself back and then pump himself forward again.
"Daddy... slow down," you pout, "s'too big."
He chuckles at your performance and slams in again just as hard. "No, no. C'mon, baby. Daddy needs this. He's gotta show you what you do to him in this little dress. And I know you can take it."
His hips continue to bump your ass as he thrusts back and forth. It's easy for him to find the rhythm you like. He settles into it and rocks in and out of your tight cunt. It feels like pure, concentrated bliss for him; always does. Your velvety walls, spasming and sucking on his cock. Silently crying 'more more more.'
"Pretty girl... we're gonna be doing this at the party too if you're not careful," he grunts.
You babble and squirm on the bed, lazily nodding at the sound of his voice. It's so cute, he thinks. The way you go dumb so quick and easy.
"Mhm. You're gonna drive me crazy. Might have to pull you into one of the bathrooms and bend you over the counter. See how cute this outfit looks from the back," he continues.
Your back arches off the plush surface. A physical stamp of approval on his plan.
"Gonna have you screaming so loud everyone there hears and knows what a good girl you are for your daddy," he breathes.
Leaning down, he removes a hand from your hip and brings it to cup your jaw. The pads of his fingers dig into your fleshy cheeks. Your lips puff out a little, begging for a kiss. He gives you a quick peck but never stops the ricocheting of his pelvis.
"You're so precious," he murmurs against your skin.
Meanwhile, his hips seem like their mission is to obliterate you down below. They ram forward and back, jostling your body on the bed. You can barely find the will to choke out "Daddy, daddy, daddy. Can I cum? Please."
Your voice is wrecked, even pitchier than before. He bobbles your head into a little nod with his hand. Your glassy eyes stay on him the whole time though. 
"Yeah, you can," he agrees.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you babble and fling your arms around him to keep him close. Not that he was going anywhere. He stays balls deep in you through the sensation of you tightening up and gushing all over him. Your walls flutter and squeeze. You writhe like you're possessed, and your eyes give that same impression as they roll back. Half-words spill from your lips begging, "Da- Plea- oh fuck-"
"Language, baby," he chides mockingly, his own tone growing strained.
You respond with total sincerity though. "'m sorry, daddy. Just- hnnngh- just feels so good."
"I know it does. Too much for you to handle, hm?"
You shake your head but the motion is so wild, it barely comes across as a declaration of disagreement.
"Use your big girl words, sweetheart," he coos. His desire tightens between his hips. He feels the familiar pressure and the way his balls draw up with the need to spill inside you.
"I can do it- ah!" you squeal, "I can take it. Just want daddy to finish inside."
His face falls down to rest in the crook of your neck. "If that's what you want, princess."
They're the last words he gets out before a groan rumbles in his chest. His release fires out with fervor. Spills into you in strong ropes. You sigh, eyes rolling back as warm satisfaction fizzles in your belly. The sensation melts you down from the whiny mess you had been into a boneless, whimpering puddle.
He pants against your skin. Hot puffs of air hit your neck as he starts coming down. Slowly, his cock slides out of you, popping out with a squelch. Two thick fingers find your hole and fuck the cum that was leaking out of you back in. You whimper at the intrusion to your sensitive cunt, but he smirks at you.
"Shh, shh, shh. It's ok, baby. We don't want any of this getting on your pretty dress, do we? Can't make a mess of it yet."
Your head bobbles in lazy agreement. He continues pumping his fingers into your soaked entrance while placing gentle kisses all over your face. 
When he finishes, he pulls your panties and his pants back up and then recedes to his knees again. He takes the heels from the bed and slides your feet into them. Taking care to make sure the strap is in place, he fastens the buckle on each and then lets them fall to the floor.
"Think you can walk in those still? Or did daddy get you too dizzy?" he asks.
"I can," you huff.
Pushing yourself off the bed, your legs wobble like those of a baby deer. You move across the bedroom, swaying a little but not enough to topple over and crash to the ground. He can tell you're waddling slightly, probably from the cum slowly seeping out of you again.
The costume looks gorgeous as ever with all the pieces put together. You readjust the tiara on your head and do a little spin for him before heading back over to the chair you initially pulled this dress from. You fish out what seems to be a basic wolf mask and show it to him.
"I got this for you," you beam.
His eyebrows raise incredulously. "I'm not wearing that."
You give him a look of your own, seconds away from stamping your foot. "Yes you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes you are."
"Am not."
"Are too! You have to dress up, Charles already said!" you insist and bring the mask to him, "Plus don't you wanna match? It's like beauty and the beast."
He barks out a laugh. "Is that what I am to you? A beast?" he teases, pulling you close again.
"Well yeah, but in a good way," you grin.
"Hm. We'll see. I'll think about it," he says.
You're about to whine out a please, but he stops you with a kiss. He knows he'll be hearing tons of that for the next few weeks.
843 notes · View notes
lucysarah-c · 2 days ago
Text
Mounting Spring Ch. 2
Tumblr media
Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21.Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another. Masterlist to the previous parts! Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!
Teeth sank into the reddening pulp, grimacing as she swallowed its overly sweet pulp. She’d had more than her fill of them by now. Her hands gripped her hips as her mother tugged at the back of her dress, tightening it with relentless precision. 
“How many more of these do I have to eat?” she muttered, her mouth half-full. 
“Do not touch the dress,” her mother insisted, exasperated. “Figs stain like crazy.” 
Her grandmother, seated by the intricately decorated vanity, glanced up. “As many as it takes. Don’t you want your chest to be pump for the wedding?” 
With shallow, uneven breaths, she turned to face herself in the triple-panelled mirror with its gilded frame. The multiple angles revealed the full grandeur of the white dress she wore. She, somehow, seemed tiny compared to the size of the grown. “Isn’t it... perhaps, a little much?” 
Doubt settled into her mind as a servant pinned her hair in an elaborate updo. This was the third fitting, just three days before the big day; any change now would be nearly impossible. 
“Nonsense!” her mother chided, fussing with the train to ensure it cascaded perfectly. “You only marry once.” Noticing the way her daughter’s leg tapped nervously, she gave her a sharp slap on the arm. “Stop it. Calm yourself, or you’ll faint before you even reach the cathedral.” 
“Ouch!” she pouted. “I can’t help it—I’m so nervous. I want him to think I’m beautiful. I want him to think I’m... perfect.” 
“He should count himself lucky,” her grandmother muttered with a groan, “You could do so much better than some Military Police officer, high-ranking or not.” 
“Grandma,” she replied, weary of the topic, “Dietrich is an angel... he even worked extra hours so we could have the wedding at the main cathedral, just like I dreamed.” 
Her voice softened, eyes shining with a blush on her cheeks, visibly lovestruck. Her little sister, tugging at her own flower girl dress, looked up and grinned, “You’re getting married where princesses do!” 
“Yes,” Y/N beamed, crouching with a rustle of fabric, “and we’ll both look like princesses.” 
“What if... what if my heat comes early? Or late?” Her breathing turned shallow. “We’ve been planning this for years—” 
“Goodness, calm down!” her mother scolded, sounding weary. “You’ll get it next week as planned, and by then, you’ll already be bonded.” 
Her grandmother sat at the table, grumbling to herself. The room around them was awash in white and gold, with intricate floral patterns adorning the walls and hidden doors blending with the decor. The house was full of energy as five children dashed about, all at different ages. The two eldest—a pair of identical teenage boys—moved with a synchronized mischief, while the remaining three, two boys and a girl, looked close enough in age to practically be triplets. The girl, rapidly growing taller than the other two. The three of them in that state of childhood that they can’t kept still. 
But the simplest conclusion was that she was the oldest. “Oh, say what you like, Grandma, but without Dietrich and father’s connections, we’d all still be waiting at the military tower, just like after the uprising.” 
She turned, smiling warmly at another woman standing quietly in the corner. That woman’s facial features had no resemblance to the rest of the people in the room. “And thanks to Mrs. Irma, who’s so generously taken us in,” she said, offering a small bow of respect. 
“Oh, think nothing of it,” Mrs. Irma replied. “In times like these, traditional families need to stand together.” Her expression darkened as she glanced at the clock. “It’s absurd that they’re keeping Anthony at the board this late. Can you imagine? These are family hours! 
One of the older boys, recently old enough to entertain more adult conversations, muttered, “Well... it’s not like the Scouts have any family to go back to.” 
“Arthur,” Y/N snapped, her voice severe, “don’t say that.” He shrugged, but she held his gaze firmly. “What if someone hears you? Don’t be foolish, especially while Father is still imprisoned.” 
Unfazed, the boy rolled his eyes. “You’re not my mother,” he muttered, looking toward their actual mother for backup. 
“Listen to your sister,” she replied, more out of habit than strictness. 
She smirked at Arthur, satisfied. Despite him recently presenting as an alpha, she remained firmly in charge. 
Just then, the front door swung open so loudly it echoed through the house, drawing everyone’s attention. 
Her head snapped up, her nose catching a familiar scent. Gathering the skirts of her dress, she hurried down the hall. Two older men stood in the entryway, and her heart leaped. “Dad!” she cried with excitement, 
Her exclamation raised the family that quickly moved behind her. “I knew they’d let you out for the wedding,” she said, her voice shaking with joy as her father lifted her off the ground in a tight embrace. 
When she withdrew her arms around her father’s neck and he set her down, he looked at her with an unfamiliar intensity, almost prideful. “Oh, darling, aren’t you a blessing?” 
She blinked, caught off guard by the expression. But before she could question it, the rest of the family surrounded him, eagerly pulling him into their midst. The owner of the house still cladded in his military uniform moved to his wife, Irma, and whispered something in her ear. Whatever he had said made the colours from her face drain and her eyes flicked toward Y/N, filled with an unsettling mix of shock and pity. 
‘...What is going on?’ The bride-to-be began to sense the tension in the air. Her confused eyes moved to her father, who was still talking to the children. Her confusion was only slightly veiled as she heard him declare, “We are going back to the house!” 
“To the country manor and all?” one of the teens asked excitedly. 
“Yes, all of it. The Crown is returning the territories.” 
Y/N smiled, but a shadow of confusion crossed her face. The news seemed almost too good. Had her fiancé put in a word with the military board? But then, ‘One thing is him being free, another is having our lands returned.’ 
None of her friends with family under military trial had gotten their properties back after the uprising. Most nobles still waiting for military trail at the tower, begging to not be executed. As she mulled this over, the scene repeated in front of her eyes. Her father bent down to whisper something to her mother, and both turned to glance at her. 
The younger children ran around, cheering, the teens celebrating the prospect of leaving the borrowed home. Y/N, however, watched the four adults as they slipped into the study. 
The sound of the double doors sliding shut with a finality that stirred her nerves was hard to forget. She could swear she felt the wind of air that the action produced slamming against her face. Just like her, her grandmother didn’t share the enthusiasm. Perhaps, Y/N was no longer a little girl to be easily tricked as her siblings.  
While they conferred in private, she changed out of her dress into something more comfortable, scooped up her large white Persian cat, and settled in with her grandmother for tea. But neither took a sip. It felt like the eye of the hurricane, with a silence that gnawed sanity.  
‘Calm down... it’s just nerves,’ she reminded herself, clinging to her mother’s earlier words. 
But minutes passed like hours, and hours passed like days.  When the adults finally emerged, she stood quickly, meeting her father with a hopeful smile. “Dad, you’ll be able to walk me down the aisle!” 
But the man placed both hands on her forearms, giving them a gentle squeeze before he spoke. As he did, her smile slowly faded, replaced by a torrent of messy tears. She couldn’t quite recall how he delivered the news, having dissociated in the moment. 
“No...” she whispered as tears ran down her cheeks, her head shaking slowly in disbelief. “Don’t do this to me...” 
“Dad,” she cried, her voice like a frightened child’s, pleading against the monsters of the night. 
He simply cupped her head with one hand, lowered it gently to plant a kiss on her crown, and said softly, “Make him happy, alright?” 
— 
Perhaps it wasn’t the time or place to think about it, but his mind kept drifting back. Maybe it was the season—spring—that stirred his body’s instincts with an eager pull toward mating. There was no rut, no nearby omega to trigger one, yet his body reacted to the shift in weather, sensing that if he wasn’t so stubborn, it might be the perfect timing for breeding. 
Maybe it was because he’d been informed that everything was settled and that the wedding was set to happen as soon as possible. He had no say in it; within three days, it had been arranged. He absentmindedly spun a small red velvet box with a single ring on the wooden table. He had asked for the most common ring size and bought the only one he could afford—the cheapest, hoping blindly that it would fit her. 
Or maybe it was Hange’s idea of ‘lifting his spirits’ with a bachelorette party, despite his protests. But his mind kept circling back to one persistent question: ‘Have I ever... actually slept with an omega in heat?’ 
The answer was clear: no. In his days in the Underground, he’d had encounters with a few omegas, but they were rare, and none had been in heat. Omegas hid during their heat. Understandably so, since an omega in heat risked being claimed by any alpha nearby.  Any decent alpha in rut would do the same, locking themselves away to avoid the instinct to claim someone they didn’t even know. 
‘The closest... was that time her roommate went into heat. and she smelled faintly like an omega in heat,’ Levi mused, trying to dig up memories.  ‘I remember thinking it was the best fuck I ever had...’ And it had only been a faint trace of pheromones, not even the real thing. Neither of them was a ‘high-bred omega’ or anything like that, yet the curiosity of what it might truly feel like lingered in his mind. 
Especially after they’d informed him two days ago that his fiancée—his future wife—was expected to go into heat by the end of the week. The wedding had been fast-tracked to ensure he could claim her once they were married. 
‘I shouldn’t be thinking about this—it’s creepy, to say the least,’ he reprimanded himself, ‘It’s just because it’s spring,’ he reasoned. 
The season was clearly affecting him, sparking memories of times he’d been with betas or even alpha women. He’d never cared much about it, aside from the frustration of having to squeeze his own knot. He’d always assumed there was no difference, though he had no experience to confirm it. Attempting to knot a beta or alpha wasn’t just difficult; it was painful for them. All these thoughts spun around in his head, mirroring the ring box as it spun under his fingers on the polished table. 
The day was annoyingly warm; his jacket hung on the back of his chair. The previous day, he hadn’t brought it and nearly froze; now he had, and it felt like he was boiling. ‘Damn spring,’ Levi cursed, clicking his tongue and glancing from the open door to the end of the hall, where Zackly had left the meeting for an emergency. The cadet he’d been grumbling to looked visibly nervous, though his expression read, ‘It’s not my fault, don’t yell at me.’ 
Then he saw Zackly returning, visibly tense, trying to mask his irritation. ‘What’s got him so riled up now?’ 
The three men sat down across from Levi, one slapping a stack of papers onto the table. The gray-haired man rolled up his sleeves, pushed his glasses up, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then looked straight into Levi’s dead-set eyes. 
“There’s been a last-minute issue,” he grunted. “Would you consider choosing another girl?” 
“What?” Levi scowled. “Hell no. We already agreed on this.” 
“I know, but—” 
“No.” Levi crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. “What’s the problem?” 
“Lady Y/N is feeling unwell—” began the youngest cadet timidly on Zackly left side, only to be interrupted by a brash MP on the other side of the higher in rank. “She’s bleeding. The chick missed her heat.” 
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, and Levi raised an eyebrow, grunting, “Huh?” 
“Her heat’s gone. Her mother said it was stress-related. Doesn’t matter; the point is, she won’t go into heat this spring,” Zackly clarified, clearly annoyed. “So, pick someone who can still be bred this season.” 
Levi didn’t respond right away, sitting in silence and letting his annoyance simmer as he waited, half-hoping that a sliver of humanity might surface among these men. “What’s the problem? Everything’s set—let’s carry on.” 
“Didn’t you hear me?” Zackly insisted, his patience thin. “She won’t be fertile—possibly for an entire year.” 
“Yeah, I heard you. I’m not an idiot. And?” Levi replied, his tone making it clear he found their point absurd. “There’s a chance of omegas going into heat in autumn too,” he added dismissively. 
“The odds are too low, and a year’s too long. Who knows what fate this island faces in that time? We need a child now,” Zackly jabbed a fat finger against the table for emphasis. “Choose another.” 
Levi snorted, letting out a mocking chuckle. “The arrangement was marriage, and I agreed to that. The rest of this is your own twisted, old-man wet dreams. Whether I knock her up next week or next year—that’s my problem.” 
Zackly sighed in frustration, resting his face in his hand. Levi, unbothered, shrugged. “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. I’ll get the chance to learn her name before I’m a father.” 
The MP, that Levi could tell he was an alpha by the scent, sneered under his breath, muttering, “She had one job and couldn’t handle it—the little hysterical chick. What’s she stressed about, eating cake? And omegas wonder why we call them the weaker sex.” 
Levi’s sharp gaze pinned the soldier, who straightened in defiance. In the standoff that followed, it became clear: the first to look away would concede dominance. “Watch your mouth,” Levi warned, “or pray I don’t hear that crap again—ever.” 
Scoffing, the soldier held his ground, teeth slightly bared as if it would grant him authority. “You don’t even know her,” 
 But Levi, humanity’s strongest, didn’t need to bare teeth. “I don’t care. If she’s an inconvenience and a pain in the ass, she’s my pain in the ass now. So, the rest of you better shut up.” 
The room grew tense, and the youngest cadet shrank in his seat, barely fifteen and newly presented, terrified of being caught up in an alpha standoff. At last, the MP turned away in frustration, shifting into a submissive posture, acknowledging defeat. 
Levi snorted, settling back into a relaxed stance. It was typical alpha posturing—territorial nonsense. Or perhaps, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my ally,’ he mused, because whether they liked it or not, she had managed to annoy them all. Levi took that as a personal win. 
‘See...we already have something in common,’ he mused, a bittersweet smile flickering across his face at the thought. 
— 
“You! Last night as a single man! How do you feel?” Hange shouted, downing an entire pint. 
Levi sat with his drink clutched between his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. “Like shit,” he muttered. 
“Nah, that’s just your usual mood,” Hange joked. “Thought bachelor parties were supposed to be fun? Where’s everyone else?” 
Levi glanced up; his gaze heavy. “Dead.” 
Hange’s smile faded; their lips pressed together as the realization sank in. They were the only ones left. The night shifted from bittersweet to just bitter. 
“If eyebrows were here… he’d put a stop to all this nonsense,” Levi added, sounding defeated, like he’d grown addicted to ‘if onlys’ as the days passed. Hange raised an eyebrow, eyes scanning Levi’s words as if trying to make them fit, but only managed a grimace, like someone watching a mismatched eulogy at a funeral. 
“Who am I kidding? That jerk would’ve planned everything behind my back and dragged me to church without explaining why,” Levi muttered, chuckling softly. 
Hange burst into laughter. “Honestly! We miss Erwin, but let’s not kid ourselves,” they said, refilling Levi’s glass before slumping back into the couch. “Come on, you’ve got to face marriage like an alpha!” 
Levi looked at them, puzzled. “Heavily drunk?” 
Reluctantly, Levi raised the glass to his lips. Just then, a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by the rumble of thunder. 
— 
‘It’ll stop eventually.’ 
But it didn’t. The storm only worsened. By midday, it was as dark as night inside the chapel. 
“Can I leave?” the priest asked, breaking the silence. The small-town chapel was empty—not just because it was a workday, but because the Church had lost much of its influence under the new government. But, to Levi’s annoyance, they still upheld the entire marriage ritual as if nothing had changed. 
“You’re a priest. What else have you got to do but wait with us?” Hange replied, leaning back in the uncomfortable wooden pew. Turning to Levi, they whispered, “Are you sure she said today?” 
At first, both had sat upright, coats adjusted for the formality of the occasion. But after four hours of waiting, with no sign of the bride, both Scouts had slouched against the benches, waiting for a miracle or release from this silent punishment. 
Levi, resting his head back, hands in his pockets as the storm turned colder, shrugged “Maybe I read it wrong,” he said, his eyes fixed on the chapel floor, utterly devoid of expression. 
“What?!” Hange exclaimed. “Does that mean I got drunk last night for nothing?” 
“Nobody forced you to.” 
“Well, what kind of bachelor party would it be if someone didn’t get drunk?” It was obvious Hange was trying to lighten the mood with a joke or two. 
Levi, though, was too wrapped up in his thoughts to appreciate it. “It wasn’t a bachelor party, Hange. It was just you and me.” 
“Sorry for annoying you with my friendship,” Hange replied, feigning offense. After a moment of silence, they continued, “Maybe she ran away…” 
“Maybe she threw herself from the Walls, as I should have.” 
Hange chuckled. “You’re being a bit overdramatic.” They could tell Levi was beyond stressed; his leg bounced restlessly, pacing each second with the beat of his boot against the floor. 
As the storm worsened and time dragged on, Levi turned to Hange. “Go back to the Scouts.” 
“What?” the newly appointed Commander asked, visibly confused. “No way, I’m staying! My baby is getting married!” they joked, earning an eye roll from Levi. 
“I’m older than you, idiot.” 
Hange slung an arm around Levi, grinning. “Yeah, but you’re shorter, so age doesn’t count.” 
“Tch. Just go. We left the brats alone, and the sky’s falling. They’ll need help with the horses, and someone has to check on the coastal supplies. Without proper squad leaders, someone’s got to be there giving orders.” 
Though Hange had taken up the Commander’s role, Levi’s support had often provided the final push they needed to take full responsibility. Most of the time, the captain could tell that the brunette felt like the role was too big for them. Levi seemed to feel that push was necessary now, especially in the storm’s chaos. 
Hange, however, hesitated, reluctant to leave a friend who’d seen better days. “But—” 
“Go,” Levi said, resigned but not angry. “I’m a big boy, Four-Eyes. I’ll be fine.” 
Using their old teasing nicknames was the closest they came to camaraderie now. “Who’s going to sign as your witness, then?” Hange asked, rising reluctantly. 
“If” —Levi stressed the word— “if she shows up, we’ll improvise. Now go. The cadets need you.” 
Levi shifted uncomfortably, glancing once more toward the doors, his patience worn thin as the storm outside seemed only to grow angrier. The priest fidgeted, muttering under his breath while Hange’s retreating footsteps had already faded, leaving Levi alone with his swirling thoughts. 
The hours dragged on; the storm’s fury unrelenting. Levi, alone now in the dim chapel, had nearly let go of the thought that she would show at all. His head rested against the back of the pew, eyes half-closed, the rhythmic pounding of the rain on the roof above almost hypnotic. 
He felt himself drifting off, exhaustion creeping in after he didn’t sleep a wink the previous night. He couldn’t decide which he preferred—her not showing up at all or going through with it. If she didn’t come, he’d have to endure this ordeal all over again. If she did, it would finally bring this chapter to a close, forcing him to confront a new way of life. 
For a split second, he found himself comparing it to waiting for an execution. ‘No... let’s not turn into those bitter old men who think of marriage as a prison; the poor kid’s done nothing wrong.’ 
And just when Levi resigned to leave, a loud creak of the chapel doors shattered the stillness. Levi sat up abruptly, and two soldiers, rifles in hand and soaked through, marched into the aisle, flanking a lone figure in a drenched, greyish-white cloak. The hood hung low, obscuring her face entirely. Her face was obscured beneath the soaked hood, and the dress beneath the cloak—if it could be called a wedding gown at all—was stained with mud up to her knees. It looked far more like an ordinary dress than something intended for marriage, its hem torn and splattered with the earth she’d trudged through. 
The two soldiers from Zackly’s meeting earlier that week were here, and Levi quickly understood why—they must be trusted to carry out the job of escorting her. When she finally stepped into the chapel, an unexpected aroma hit him like a punch. He couldn’t tell if it was the lingering aroma from the lost heat, adjusting to the sudden shift in plans and hormones. But she smelled— 
‘Divine, for fuck’s sake,’ he thought, feeling ashamed at how quickly his own body reacted. 
The soldiers stepped forward, both offering quick, sharp salutes. One spoke in a low, weary voice. “Captain, apologies for the delay. The main road’s flooded out. We lost the cart about a mile back—it’s stuck deep. We had to finish the journey on foot.” 
Levi gave a curt nod, his gaze fixed on the figure between them. Levi could only see her hands—pale, trembling slightly. She didn’t move, her posture utterly still, almost as if she were an apparition more than a bride. The cloak’s edges trembled with each tremor from the cold. Levi had to fight the urge to bend lower and see if he could catch a glimpse of her face. 
The priest, seizing the moment, gestured toward the altar. “Well, no use delaying further. Let us proceed.” 
Levi remained still for a beat. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, his boots echoing on the stone floor as he approached the altar. But before he could locate her fully, the priest’s voice rang out, “Bring her forward.” 
He glanced over his shoulder. 
The same MP from before took hold of her arm, pushing her forward with an irritating smirk. “Come on, sweetheart. We don’t have all day.” 
Levi almost stepped in to object; there was no need to shove her around like a rag doll. He shot a deadly glare at the soldier. ‘That’s strike two, asshole.’ 
Perhaps he was too focused on expressing his disapproval to notice at first, but she raised her head slightly, her delicate fingers reaching up to push back her hood, finally revealing her face as she turned toward him. 
Levi froze. ‘Holy shit... maybe I should start choosing blindly.’ His reaction must have been obvious, as he could hear the two soldiers chuckling behind him. 
“Look at how the bastard’s face changed,” one MP muttered, his companion nudging him in an attempt to avoid further reprimand. 
Her hair was styled in a simple half-up, half-down braid, woven with white laces in an attempt to add a touch of glamour. Perhaps it had looked better when it was first done; now, it clung to her head, and the small, loose locks meant to lend an ethereal appearance were now plastered to her damp face. Her eyelashes, soaked from the rain, mimicked the look of mascara—though most of it had already smudged around her eyes. Despite it all, Levi thought she looked gorgeous. 
As the ceremony began, the priest asked, “Are both of you here of your own free will?” It was standard procedure.  
Levi, completely fed up with the situation, glanced at the man in the black robe, ‘You gotta be kidding me,’ he thought. 
“Yeah,” he bit out. 
On the other hand, she muttered as quietly as a mouse, “... yes.” 
As the ceremony resumed, the priest’s voice echoed softly in the empty chapel, only slightly drowned by the relentless rain. Levi stood with his hands stiffly at his sides, listening to the murmured words without taking them in fully, his gaze repeatedly drifting to the shivering figure beside him. 
When the priest finally motioned for the rings, Levi reached into his pocket and pulled out the plain, golden band. His hands were steady as he took hers, but he felt her flinch slightly, the coldness of her skin seeping through his fingers as he held her trembling hand. Her fingers, nearly numb from the chill, barely closed around his. He slipped the ring onto her finger, only to notice it was too large; the band slid loosely over her knuckle. 
If it weren’t for Levi’s ability to keep his composure, he swore anyone else would have either cursed in the middle of this holy place or broken down in tears. It was just one more detail that seemed off-kilter, and he felt his jaw clench. 
‘Come on, just one damn thing has to turn out right.’ 
A brief pause followed, broken only by the priest’s voice. “And now, the witness,” he announced, glancing around the empty space and catching Levi’s eye. Levi cursed inwardly, remembering that Hange had left at his urging. 
‘For fucks sake.’ 
One of the soldiers caught on quickly. With a muttered, “I’ll find someone,” he strode down the aisle, pushing open the chapel doors and stepping into the storm. The silence grew heavy as they waited, the soldier’s footsteps echoing away and leaving only the rain in their place. 
After a few tense moments, the soldier returned, ushering in a grizzled farmer who looked every bit as baffled as he was drenched. The MP walked the man to the altar and said confidently, “Problem solve," 
Second hand embarrassment run through his body as the farmer approached the altar with a respectful nod, casting Levi and the bride a curious look before taking the pen offered to him. With a swift scratch of ink on the paper, the witness line was signed. 
Levi took a quick check on the bride and she seemed completely dissociated. The priest completed the ceremony with a "By the power vested in me by law I, now, pronounce you man and wife." 
He took a loud sigh of relief, at least it was over. Turning to his right to look at her and perhaps attempt to say something for the first time. He even tried to force himself to do a subtle side smile to ease out the situation, much unlike him but he wished with all his heart that he knew how to be outgoing enough to bring some easiness into the situation. 
—A soft, broken sniffle. She lifted her hand to her face, half-covering her expression and lowered her head. Her shoulders trembled just a little, the strands of damp hair falling forward, hiding her face. Her cries began to echo in the chapel. 
Levi’s throat tightened, and he swallowed, a pang of guilt pressing on him. He glanced at the priest, who seemed as serene as ever, his hands hidden inside the long sleeves of his gown. 
With a peaceful smile, the priest offered Levi a reassuring look, seeing his obvious discomfort. “Tears of happiness, I’m sure,” he replied softly. 
Before Levi could even shoot him a deadpan glance, the situation had become so awkward that the youngest cadet tried to lighten the mood by tossing a handful of rice at them. 
“Congrats…” he muttered with the least enthusiasm possible. 
But as the rice landed on her, she began to wipe her face, where most of the grains had stuck to her wet skin. Spitting a little as the water made them cling to her, she cried, “It’s in my eyes,” a small sob escaping her. 
The two cadets froze, glancing at each other before mumbling, “We should get going.” “Yeah,” they muttered, then made a hasty exit. 
Seeing her struggling, Levi quickly realized the problem and pulled out a handkerchief. “Here, wait,” he said, brushing the cloth over her face, then patting her shoulders and hair to clear away the grains of rice. 
When she finally opened her eyes—red either from the tears or the rice—she looked at him. ‘Say something,’ he thought, clenching his teeth against the uncomfortable silence. 
“We should get going; you’re soaked,” Levi finally broke the tension, noticing they were completely alone in the chapel. “Maybe you can take a shower or something.” 
“Is your house close by, sir?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. 
Levi hesitated, feeling strangely at a loss. He lived at headquarters, of course, not in a proper household, but something about her question held an unspoken hope. “Not exactly. I stay at the Scout facility… it’s inside the forest. I was going to rent a cart, but in this weather, it wouldn’t make it through,” he explained. 
She didn’t respond, just stared out at the heavy rain pouring beyond the chapel doors. Her expression made her thoughts clear. ‘Nothing could make this day worse,’ Levi thought with a quiet huff, scratching the back of his head. “Tch.” 
She absently fiddled with the loose ring on her finger, holding it with her other hand to keep it from slipping off. Disappointment and resignation were etched across her face—until she straightened up, surprised, as something heavy draped over her shoulders. 
“There,” Levi said, pulling the green military trench coat snugly over her head. “It’s not much, but at least it’s waterproof. The last thing I need is you catching the flu less than a week into this arrangement.” 
A subtle blush rose to her cheeks, bringing a hint of colour back to her pallid face. She lifted the coat’s collar to her nose, breathing in his scent, which sent an unexpected shiver through her. She pressed her lips together, feeling strangely affected. ‘So strong,’ she thought. Though the arrangement itself felt far from ideal, her body seemed to be very glad. 
“Thank you, sir,” she murmured. 
“Levi,” he corrected her, sounding tired. 
“Huh?” 
“My name is Levi,” he repeated. “If we’re going to do this, let’s at least start by using our names.” 
“Y/N, then.” 
Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!
238 notes · View notes
violetwolfraven · 2 days ago
Text
Wait wait wait remember that post about how Team Starkid/the Lang brothers are going to be comparable to Shakespeare 500 years from now and it was mostly played for laughs like yeah lol you’ll need a paragraph of footnotes to explain the zefron poster but like
I don’t think that’s actually far off from how Starkid’s place in theatre history might play out and here’s why. Just hear me out
Why is Shakespeare so popular today when he definitely wasn’t the only playwright from that era? When he’s not even the only playwright from that era from England that we have surviving works from?
Two main reasons:
1) Shakespeare’s work is (relatively) universally relatable. The characters do things that are so fundamentally human. They make jokes at their friends’ expense. They complain about being awkward in front of their crush. They have daddy issues. The plot lines of the plays aren’t too complicated. The dick jokes land whether you’re watching in 1611 or 2024, and they probably still will in 2637. Shakespeare’s works are timeless because he didn’t try to outsmart his audience. He wrote about things everyone could relate to rather than trying too hard to peacock his intellect in front of the nobility. This is not true of every playwright.
2) Shakespeare was really popular right around the time England started colonizing everything in sight. Copies of his work got shipped all around the world, translated into dozens of languages, performed probably thousands of times. Setting aside the moral implications of this, the important thing to note is that Shakespeare was about the most easily accessible English playwright during a time of rapid, intense globalization.
Meanwhile, Starkid:
1) Invests hard in meaningful, relatable character arcs instead of spectacle and expensive sets or costumes. Also, lowbrow, immature humor and dick jokes that make A Very Potter Sequel funny and enjoyable regardless of if you’ve ever seen any other Harry Potter media in your life.
2) Posts professional recordings of their musicals to YouTube FOR FREE, making their shows about the easiest, best quality musical theatre you can get pretty much anywhere in the world, regardless of if your area has an active theatre scene. Proshots from other companies are rare and usually not free. Bootlegs are all well and good, but even if the video quality is alright (and that’s a big if) the audio is usually garbage. Starkid has been posting the best quality free recordings they can afford since 2009, shortly after the birth of social media, another time of rapid, intense globalization.
In short, I’m not saying that theatre historians in 500 years won’t remember any our current Broadway faves, but I am saying that in my opinion, Team Starkid is probably going to be more accessible for the general public. If you’re a 26th century English teacher trying to teach your class about narrative structure in 21st century theatre, what are you going to show your students? A bootleg of Hadestown with blurry video and garbage audio? Or the professional recording of Twisted, parts of which they will probably even enjoy, because even long after no one remembers Disney’s Aladdin anymore, your class of 26th century 16-year-olds are still going to laugh at “No One Remembers Achmed.”
221 notes · View notes
yanderefarm · 2 days ago
Note
Arguing with ares (ares seems like the type of wife to always get his way)
the makeup sex is the best part though. even though you are going to have to stay cuddling him and reassuring him you love him for so much longer than normal.
Tumblr media
arguing with ares is a bad idea for so many reasons. least of which is his bad temper.
"oh so now I'm not allowed to go to work? hey guess what babe for some reason we're really short staffed right now!"
"oh don't you dare take that tone with me! im doing what I have to!!"
"so you had to kill my coworker. right right of course. my mistake i forgot she committed the unforgivable crime of looking at me for too long!"
"you!!! you know i-!!"
he'll flip over the table and stomp his foot and get so red in the face. but that's just the start.
"you can't control yourself? what are you a child having a temper tantrum?"
"you are being a big dumb butt head!!"
"don't act all cute! you're a fucking psychopath!!"
"no I'm not! I'm not crazy!"
the water works will start the longer the fight goes on. if those don't immediately break your resolve they certainly will wear it down.
"sometimes i wonder why I stay with you. maybe I'm just too scared of you!"
"stop it! you're so- you're so me-mean! i hate you!"
"i hate you!"
just as you're about to storm out he'll be on the ground sobbing. his voice so small and pathetic compared to the angry words you had been sharing a minute ago.
"please... please don't leave me... please-"
you can't leave him like that can you? in the end he'll always get what he wants. happy wife happy life.
179 notes · View notes
heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 3 days ago
Note
Hey, congrats on your achievement, glad to get in the celebration 🤍
"No one has ever loved me too"
Thank you 🤍
~800 words
You like Jason Todd a lot. Like a lot, a lot. The word love sits at the tip of your tongue, waiting for the right moment to be heard. You’re trying to work up the courage to say it, trying to find a moment that’s as all-encompassing as he is.
This moment isn’t big. But it feels perfect anyway. Jason's head is on your lap, and he’s reading his book of the week while your fingers card lazily through his hair. Rain patters on the window of your apartment, your hot drink sits steaming on the coffee table, and you’ve never been more in love with him than right now.
Jason Todd. Your best friend. The boy you grew up with. The man that’s permanently engraved in every part of your soul. The person you want to spend the rest of your life with.
You will yourself to open your mouth, to finally confess how much he really means to you, when he starts to talk first, “We’ve been together for a while.”
You blink, fingers stilling in his hair for a moment. You’re not completely sure where he’s going with this, so all you offer is a hum of acknowledgment before you go back to playing with his hair.
“Do you ever regret it,” he asks softly, lowering his book to his stomach as he looks up at you.
You quirk your eyebrow at him and give his hair a gentle tug, “No. Never. Do you?”
“No,” he echoes, a smile spreading across his face, “Never.”
“Why do you ask,” you question, idly twisting the strands of his hair between your fingers.
He shrugs a little, as much as he can without jostling his spot on your lap, “Just in my book, there’s this character,” his voice trails off, “They don’t actually like who they’re with.”
You tut, peeking over at the cover of his book, “Then they should talk to their partner. Or save them both the trouble and break up.”
“You would think,” he mumbles, eyes falling shut at the feeling of your hand in his hair, “But there wouldn’t be much of a plot if they did.”
“Guess not,” You agree idly, making a note to read the book yourself when he’s done. You both fall quiet, enjoying the peace and the sound of rain and the presence of each other.
Your gaze falls back to his face, he looks peaceful, content to be resting against you. It makes your heart swell, and your throat tighten.
You know there would be better times to say it, much better times, in fact. But he’s so pretty, so warm and so good, and all you want to do is tell how he makes your life feel brighter and special and worth it.
And suddenly, it feels so easy to say the words, and you wonder why you ever struggled with them before, “I’m in love with you.”
His eyes snap open, gaze immediately locking on yours. You smile down at him, fond and happy. You don’t need him to say it back, the awe on his face is enough, every kiss and touch and sweet word has always been enough.
He blinks at you, and carefully reaches up to brush his knuckles over your cheek, reverent and slow, almost like he’s checking if you’re real. “No one’s ever loved me too,” he breathes out, surprise lacing his tone and features.
The devotion on his face almost makes you giggle, and your smile grows as you lean into his touch, “Too?”
It’s only then he realizes he hasn’t quite said it back yet. “I love you,” he says, like it’s an unchangeable truth as he pushes himself to kiss you. It's chaste and sweet and cut short all too soon by the awkward angle.
You do laugh this time, when he eagerly sits up, and pulls you to straddle his legs. “I’m in love with you,” he tells you, and he presses a long, but no less sweet kiss to your mouth. It leaves you both gasping for air, when you eventually pull away.
“I love you,” you say, just to feel the words between your teeth, to revel in the way he melts against you at the sound of them. He laughs with you, eyes sparkling when he litters your face with kisses.
He cups your face with both hands and when he tells you he loves you again, and the hardest decision you have to make is kissing him or repeating the words until both of your voices are raw with laughter and adoration.
(You’re quick to attempt both, doting words whispered against skin and murmured between gasping breaths until the rain has long since stopped and his voice repeats like a record in your mind)
312 notes · View notes
dark-moonlust · 1 day ago
Note
Heyyy so im so weak for bear hybrids and i just saw the one you posted, (LOVE IT btw), and i was wondering if you could do a sequal where reader decides to stay and lives a happy cozy life, with like cozy fires and all the bestest fur blankets and coziest bed and BIG FLUFFY BEAR MAN CUDDLES, but also like yk mad crazy sex where he likes to show off his strength and just like tosses her around, like up against walls, that thing where u like hold a girl on ur shoulders to eat her n stuff, if not thats ok i love all ur work sm 🙏🧎‍♀️🤍
Hello anon!!! Thank you for all the lovely words and the smutty idea!! I love bear hybrids, too. I'm sorry I took so long to complete. I have a lot of requests and I've been so busy lately. I'm trying to catch up on them slowly. Anyway, I hope this is to your liking!
Happy reading everyone!
Check out the first part of my bear hybrid oneshot here.
Cozy Life with your Bear Hybrid
Pairing: bear hybrid x fem reader Summary: you live a cozy life with your giant bear of a man. And you love it. Warnings: minors-ageless accounts don't interact, 18+, smut, size kink, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), huge 🍆, p in v sex, lots of 💦.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The wind screamed outside, rolling through the trees, yet it was only a whisper in the warmth of your cave. The fire crackled in the hearth and you were wrapped up in your mate's thick, muscled arms—the big bear of a beast who smelled like woodsmoke earthy perfume. He was warm and super cuddly, his big frame spooning you from behind.
Thick furs were heaped high on the bed their softness wrapping around you like a cocoon. Your bear hybrid always ensured you were warm and cozy, and took great pleasure in cuddling and loving you for hours on end. That night, he had a fond deep look in his eyes that spoke of his desire to keep you close and shield you from the outer world.
His mate. Forever.
Yes, you loved your life as his other half.
Shifting slightly, he moved, drawing you even closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his furred bear face scratchy but exquisite against your skin. His fingers, strong and calloused, trailed carefully down your belly, over your thighs, making sure his sharp nails were sheathed. Humming in satisfaction, you sunk deeper into him.
There was nowhere else you'd rather be, nothing else you'd rather do than spend every day surrounded by the warmth of your giant, soft bear, who was just as possessive and tender toward you.
"Hmmm, I could stay like this forever," he drawled in a low voice that vibrated through your chest. “But I’m also thinking about all the things I want to do to you.”
“Like?” you challenged, hands caressing his furry arm.
“Taste your sweet honey for one,” he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that sent goosebumps all over your skin.
“You just love to use this reference!”
He cocked a brow. “Why not?” His voice deepened. “Your cunt leaks the sweetest honey there is. I can vouch for that.”
“You are a horny bear beast.”
Chuckling, his hand moved down your thigh, fingers pressing just hard enough to cause you to open. “Hmm, and as the bear beast I am, I should taste again. Make sure your lovely cunny is as delicious as before. I love honey. Your honey.”
“You are insatiable.” Your face felt warm at the memory of him eating you out just hours ago. Your pussy had no issue whatsoever; it clenched and pooled with your juices.
Damn… You were both insatiable.
He grinned, that familiar, smoldering look blazing in his eyes. “Sleep, cuddle, eat you out, fuck. Then repeat. That’s our schedule. Now come, mate,” he playfully tapped your thighs. “Time to let me taste your pussy.”
His tone was straightforward. As if what you did every day was perfectly normal. You touched each other, rolled around in bed, kissed, made out (a lot), and couldn't keep your hands away from each other.
And you weren't a coward or an idiot to turn away from such joy.
In a playful mood, you smacked his hands playfully and scooted off the bed. You were in the mood to tease him. He growled and you hardly had time to move when he lifted you effortlessly, as if you were weightless in his massive arms, whisking you off the ground. You hugged him firmly and moaned as he hoisted you again, slamming you against the wall.
Strong hands maneuvered you so that your legs were draped over his shoulders, your pussy exposed and dripping in front of his eager mouth. You clutched his head and peered down at him, seeing the passion in his eyes as he licked up your mound, manipulating your folds with his long thick tongue. Your head tipped back, spine arching as he sucked you in, savoring your juices as if he were eating his favorite meal—which he was.
You were his favorite delicacy.
It went on and on, his tongue playing with your tender clit, circling the tender nub. You went wild, buried your fingers in his silky fur, and tugged violently as you shattered, your body coming alive with energy. He kept going, his big hands clutching your ass, his tongue thrusting inside to taste your honey. He growled primitively, his breaths vibrating over your clit.
He could go on for hours if you let him, feasting on your cunt and doing incredible tongue tricks just to see you lose yourself in pleasure.
“Pl—ease…ha~” you trembled, your voice strained from the toe-curling orgasm he’d given you.
With a husky moan, he gently flung you back into bed, onto that sea of fur covers, his large bulk crushing you with this delicious, heavy warmth and scent. You sighed with happiness and stretched your legs wider. He leaned over you, his cock thrusting up from between his broad thighs, already dripping seed.
His hands robed over your body, caressing your legs, belly and your breasts. You arched against him, whining when his leaky cock pressed against your entrance. He toyed with your nipples and leisurely rubbed his cock across your slit, his massive shaft appearing inhumanly large in comparison to your little human hole.
“Want my big bear to fuck me,” you whispered, fingers reaching down to open the outer lips of your pussy. “Pretty please?”
He whined and pushed the blunt cockhead a tiny bit inside. “How can I deny you, love?”
“Yessss,” you moaned, wiggling your waist. You were half-dazed with pleasure and you craved every inch of him inside you.
The spark in his eyes told you he was barely holding back. He was always so gentle despite his raw desire for you.
“Easy. Look at you,” he drawled, eyes on your pretty cunt, spread by his cockhead. “Every inch of you… mine, open and soft for me.”
“Come on, no more looking,” you warned. “Inside. Need you inside. All of you.”
A gentle roll of his hip, a little wiggling from you and he was inside, every inch of him buried in your depths. He was so deep you could feel him throbbing in your bellybutton, his balls crushed against your bum. You clutched his biceps, let out a gentle pants at the thick girth spreading your hole. You felt full, but not uncomfortably so. You’d learned to take him, to accommodate his hybrid cock.
“Good girl,” he drawled, his tongue plunging into your mouth.
Tongue down your throat, he fucked you, pounded into you in deep, unhurried thrusts. He kissed you as if he was starving, as if you were the only precious person he’d spent his entire life searching for. Which was entirely true. His hands cupped and kneaded your tits, his breath warm on your mouth.
Pleasure hit you again, and you sobbed mutely, your fingers tangling in his furred shoulders as he continued to claim you, his magnificent cock pumping in and out of your slick cunt. You heard his feral grunts and the squelching sounds of your bodies colliding. Two more thrusts and he exploded, loads of cum filling you up. He spurted for several minutes, your cunt overflowing with hot seed.
“Pretty, so damn pretty,” he roared. “Good mate, taking my cock and my seed. It drips so beautifully down your thighs.”
“Too much! It always is,“ you whined, feeling the final spurts of his release.
“Oh, that’s nothing.” His eyes had that dark hungry gleam, one that told you he wasn’t done with you. “Let’s see just how much more you can take, mate, ‘cause I’m not stopping anytime soon.”
Did you enjoy?! Like, comment or reblog! It would make me so happy!
105 notes · View notes
igotfatter · 1 day ago
Text
Here’s a series im starting called “ real life stories about my fat ass ex” due to popular demand.
Please note: I am not a writer and I am severely dyslexic, I am trying my best to give you guys a cohesive story with no spelling errors . ALSO we are no longer together. It was an awful break up. but I would want the stories too if I saw the transformation and I owe you all something, so I’m gonna give you what I got periodically. I’ll try to attach a few photos.
A big 410lbs
There are a few pretty hot stories I haven’t really shared before. One of the best examples of his narcissism (he’s my ex, and no matter what, he’s always going to be a narcissist to me) is when our scale didn’t go past 400 pounds. He never weighed himself regularly, but I could tell even he was starting to get nervous about his weight. He was clearly outgrowing his clothes, yet he stuck to the same brand every day. I couldn’t tell at first that he was going up in size because he kept replacing his shirts with bigger ones. However, he couldn’t replace his work shirt, and eventually, his belly got so big that he had to wear his own personal shirt underneath. That’s when I started really noticing how much weight he was gaining.
The best part, I swear, was like something straight out of fate. I’d never noticed it before, but in the building next to ours, there was this industrial scale just sitting there. It ended up being the building’s recycling scale, but it was there for anyone to use. (It was as random as im making it sound). At first, I didn’t go down there with him, but he was so excited when he weighed 410 pounds. I thought, “Really, babe? You sure about that?” It had been a while since our home scale broke, but the only joy I got from his weight sexually was observing and enabling, (in our four year relationship we had sex one time that’s where we were at ) so if he wasn’t concerned, I wasn’t going to be concerned.
What I later realized was that his “weight loss journey” was just keeping the scale from going up. As long as the number didn’t change, he could keep ordering Uber Eats while never leaving his recliner. I absolutely loved this man 80% of the time , but if I brought up his eating habits or simply walking downstairs or to the door because I was busy doing something, he became a different person if I was not serving him. And all honestly in a messed up way, I kind of got off on the domination. I accepted that his life choices were his to make, and I wasn’t going to trying to save him from himself. That’s when I decided to just love him for who he was, even if he claimed he wasn’t gaining any weight… fine.
Over the next six weeks, he went from kind of trying to limit his Uber Eats orders and making “butter dogs” (packs of hot dogs fried in lard that he snacked on throughout the day) to back to ordering Uber Eats four times a day, constantly eating in total gluttony. I noticed his clothes were fitting even worse, and he started having trouble with basic hygiene in the bathroom. I thought, “Either I’m losing my mind or something’s up.” So, after a particularly bad hygiene issue, I went down with him to the recycling scale.
This guy, who is truly brilliant when it comes to book smarts, didn’t realize that when the dial on the scale stopped at 410 pounds, it was because the scale didn’t go any higher. He had long blown past 410, That’s when we finally got a bigger scale for the house. And he was just over 500lbs
(Photo of him, making the butter dog with the shirt underneath the work)
Tumblr media
78 notes · View notes
kisses4lao · 22 hours ago
Note
omg uhhhh…
curly giving/receiving head headcanons??…
it’s so generic but I’m on the floor sobbing I’m desperate for more of this man, you’re an incredible writer and I love what you’ve written abt curly so far!!
I want to give this man the most world shattering head he's ever had in his whole life, like soiled sheets and fucking mind boggling orgasms. RIGHT NOW
Tw/cw; Afab!reader, cunnilingus AND filatio!!!! that's all I think
Not proofread
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Receiving
He whimpers.
No but like seriously, he does whimper. He'd be so caught up in the feeling that just slips out, along with him saying your name ofc 🤭
He'd be more of a sheet gripper than a hair gripper. Like I said in my marriage hcs, Curly tries his best to not be rough with you; and in his eyes, gripping onto your hair is being rough.
He mainly thinks that way because he's under the assumption that it hurts you, which he wants no part of. So, he sticks to what he thinks is best for you.
But sometimes he just can't help himself, the pleasure he's feeling overrules his own morals, and he breaks.
So every once in a while, he'll grab a hold of your hair and just.. push you down a little further and hold you there. It isn't his fault, he doesn't mean to! But he feels awful about it in the moment
Once he's finished, he's an incoherent mess. He's so fucked out he can't even form words properly, but after a few minutes he can say "thank you". Why does he thank you? He thinks it's nice; a gentlemanly thing to do.
He'll eventually apologize, just give him a few more minutes to compose himself.
Giving
Curly would be the type of man to constantly want you sitting on his face. And I mean CONSTANTLY.
He'd definitely use it as foreplay all the time. Even if you don't need it, he'll still insist. He probably gets more pleasure from it than you do.
Even though he doesn't want to hurt you, that rule for him doesn't apply when he's eating you out. His hands leave actual MARKS from how hard he's pulling your thighs down while trying to keep you still.
Do you guys remember what doja cat said about big noses? Curly would DEFINITELY position your waist in a way that your clit is resting on his nose. And then he'd use his grip on your thighs to rock you back and forth, as if you're riding it
As you can imagine it doesn't take long to cum after he starts doing that, and he's not letting a single drop go to waste. It's his favorite snack actually, he likes working for what he deserves 🤭
More often than not he'd ask to do it again, but it takes so much energy out of you that you physically can't sit up. It's like he's sucking the life out of you, both literally and metaphorically.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/n: Got me holding my breath I've been dreaming of this all night, thinking all the time about you hope that's alright
99 notes · View notes
izudeeilo · 2 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You can study me
Sero hanta smau
volley-ball player sero x art student fem!reader, no quirks au, college au.
a/n it's been a while since I've written something like this...I'm nervous
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Senior year is finally here! You thought that this time, the teachers would be more lenient with you and your classmates, but not at all. In fact, they even got stricter... They assigned you a half year-long work, which would be worth 30% of your final grade. What does the work consist of, you ask? Making a complete study of the life of a student you need to pick and paint it.
But... you can't pick a friend.
Profiles • Part .2
Part 1
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You sat outside, pen in one hand, the other on your lap. Scribbling on the piece of paper quick doodles of a random animal. A rooster...a chicken…why was this one that popped in your mind, you don’t know.
A sight escapes your mouth as you look up at the sky. “This is going to be a nightmare” you mutter.
You would’ve been more ok with all of this if you could’ve chosen someone close to you instead. So much easier, simpler. But in the art course? nothing was easy.
You sometimes thought of quitting, completely. But the love you had for art kept you here and perhaps your supportive friends too. Seriously they meant everything to you, they’ve been here through thick and thin. They could be…themselves but you’d do anything for them, the other way around as well.
Taking your phone from your pocket, you check the time — 12:40 pm. “I should already be on my way to the cafeteria.” You get up slowly, grab your bag from the ground and shove the paper and pen inside.
As you enter the building, you greet with a wave of your hand some classmates you had met in your morning class. When you enter the cafeteria, you grab the tray from the pile and pick up a sandwich, a fruit salad and you pay for a soda can at the vending machine.
You weren’t particularly hungry today.
Scanning the room you make eye contact with your friends a bit further away. You march over to them and install yourself next to Himiko, Izuku in front.
”I’ve missed you guys so bad.” you say hugging Himiko’s arm. She hugs you back with a big smile. “Us as well!” she chuckles. “It’s only the first day of the week and I’m already tired.” adds Izuku with a slight smile before taking a bite from his sandwich.
You begin eating as well. “Can you guys believe it's the last year we’ll be together..” you say to them. “Oh don’t start already or I’m going to cry.” says Himiko, turning her head.
“ I know we’ll definitely be busy after but ain’t no way we’re getting separated, you better believe me, you ain’t getting rid of us” she taps her finger on your cheek in a teasing way.
”Oh that I already know” you chuckle.
Izuku suddenly perks up and says “By the way y/n I talked to some of my classmates and I’m sorry most of them don’t feel comfortable with that…” “Oh right mine as well…they say they don't want to meet new people or whatever” himiko adds.
”Oh well I did expect that honestly” you cross your arms and straighten yourself. “Guess the whole art course is going to struggle with finding someone” you sigh and begin to wonder how else are you going to find a student willing to participate in that. Ochaco may try with her classmates but you already have an idea of how it’s going to end.
You’d like someone with personality as well and there’s plenty of people like that here but—
You were cut off by a cheerful voice.
”Izuku you’re here!” A girl with pretty pink hair stopped in front of the table with her tray in hand. You all turned your head at her.
”Oh I didn’t know you were with friends my bad you guys!” she smiles.
”No it’s alright, you wanted something?” he responds.
”The boys are over there and I wanted to know if you wanted to come sit with us! Your friends can come as well if they’d like” She smiles at the both of us.
“Yeah for sure! Does it bother you guys?” He says looking at us.
”Not at all” Himiko and you respond at the same time. You look at each other before chuckling slightly.
”Perfect, follow me!” the girl begins walking ahead. “The name’s Mina by the way!”
”I’m y/n!” you respond back.
”And I’m Himiko”
You all reach a long table with four people already sitting and talking.
Four boys to be exact, one had blond hair and was just staring at the other three with a raised eyebrow, another had red hair and was laughing at something another blond said next to him and the last one with longer black hair was holding his sandwich with a smirk on his face.
”I am here and brought companyyy” Mina chants at the boys.
They perk up at the sound of her voice and all turn their heads towards us. You and Himiko smile not knowing what to do next.
”Hey, these are my friends, Himiko Toga and Y/n L/n !” Izuku introduces us.
He turns to us and points at the boys one by one.
”This is Kacchan- I mean Katsuki Bakugo. You already know him.” he laughs pointing at the blond with red eyes.
Bakugo nods his head with an almost visible smile.
”This is Denki Kaminari” The other blond points finger guns at us.
”This is Eijiro Kirishima” the red haired boy waves at us with a smile.
“And last but not least Sero Hanta” the black haired boy throws a peace sign at us and winks.
They all greet us happily and urge us to sit with them. You began talking for what seemed like hours, they told you they were part of the school volleyball team.
”Oh that’s so cool, how long have y'all been playing for?” you ask.
”We pretty much have been since we were kids. We practically all met through that.” Kirishima responds cheerfully. “Yeah we’re all like a biggg family” Kaminari leans on his shoulder.
Bakugo turns his head at us before speaking “So y/n, art huh? How is it being an artist?”
I laugh “I’m not an artist, artist yet but—“ you were cut off by Izuku.
”Oh stop that you draw, you paint even if it's not professionally yet you’re still an artist.”
”Yeah, it doesn’t matter even if it was just a hobby, you still are an artist.” Hanta joins him before continuing. “And how is it going so far?”
”To be honest? Right now, horrible.” you chuckle.
They all seem taken back as their eyes slightly widen.
“It’s mostly because of an assignment our teacher already gave us.”
”Oh that's rough— On the first day?” Kirishima says.
”Yeah, I have like half of the school year to complete it? And it's worth 30% of my final grade too.” You lean your head on your hand. “I need to pick a student I don't know, to study their life? Like get to know them so I can make a painting of it—“
”You can study me?” Hanta suddenly says, catching you off guard. “We just met so that’ll be perfect and I get to spend time with a cute girl like you so it’s a win-win situation.” He smiles and leans back on his chair.
You stare at him. That’s...a good idea actually you think to yourself and it’s not a total stranger if it’s one of Izuku’s friends…right?
”Well Hanta you’ve got yourself a deal” I smile back at him.
”Call me Sero.”
a/n i hope you guys like this aaah i'm so nervous and excited to post this...🤧 see u guys in the next part! 💋
37 notes · View notes
junedenim · 3 days ago
Text
2009
Tumblr media
beneath the boardwalk, part 7 (series masterlist)
secret door
warnings: a tad angsty, a tad fluffy, a tad smutty, a sweet tooth, etc.
word count: 10.5k
Alex and I shared his childhood bed. I spent Christmas and New Year's with my family in Bath, but I made the trip up to Sheffield on the 4th of January for Alex's birthday on the 6th. It was a rather unremarkable birthday but it remains one of the coziest. Alex and I thought about going out to drink but his mum made him a cake. After we ate the cake, we were too tired so we played a game of Cluedo with his parents and went to bed.
After this birthday, I realized I enjoyed Alex's birthday more than my own. My birthdays have had the long tradition of ending in dramatics or sadness or just plain boring. The simplicity of Alex's birthdays has always brought me comfort, maybe because he doesn't want a party. He doesn't want to do anything. He just wants to relax and play Cluedo.
When we went to bed that night, we were practically stacked on top of each other. He offered to sleep on the floor because, although we had done the twin bed shuffle before, it never equalled the best sleep. I denied him and said I would. He denied me so I laid half my body on top of him to not fall off the bed.
I combed his hair back. It had grown out in the desert but was softer than ever. His mum made him get a trim, which tamed up the hair, making it fall perfectly as opposed to his faux sideburn days. "How's 23 feel?"
He shrugged and reached a hand up to push my curtain-like hair behind my ear. My hair was getting long too, which I was thankful for because I didn't want to resemble Alex too much. I had grown my fringe out in the desert. My hair looked shaggier than ever but I kind of liked the roughness of it. Maybe that was the part that resembled Alex's hair. "No different than 22," he said.
"I guess we've passed all the fun ages," I sighed. "We're truly adults now."
Alex smiled softly. "That feels weird. I know we've done all these adult things, but actually being referred to as one is still weird."
"I can always account for you being older than me. That's all that matters."
He shook his head, amused by me. "Those 3 months mean a lot to you."
"Yeah, they must have been the worst 3 months of your life."
"Why?"
"'Cause you were living in a world without me."
He kissed me and then said, "That would truly be." A kiss to the cheek. "Hell." A kiss to the neck. "On." A kiss to the right collarbone. "Earth." A kiss to the right breast.
*
In the latter half of January, the band went on a small Australian & New Zealandian tour. I went because what else would I do? The majority of the tour was for the Big Day Out Festival which was hosted in Sydney, Melbourne, Gold Coast, Adelaide, Perth, and Auckland.
Their first show back in Wellington came with the debut of some Humbug songs, which I had already known of through recording and rehearsals. But seeing "Pretty Visitors" live for the first time ever was life-changing, even if Alex did stand awkwardly with his hands in his jacket's pockets. Like Pinocchio came to life, still not adapted to his new body.
I used the label-comped airfare travel to explore rather than attend most of their concerts. The dates were compacted close together so I was the only one out of our crew that got to defrost from the British winter in the Australian sun.
In February, the band was due to return to California to finish the album. Late one night in Perth, Alex asked me, "Are you coming back?"
It had been a deflected point like most things. Pushed off until someone or something made the decision for me. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to go back to London alone. I didn't want to be in California alone. Ultimately, the business card from Opal stuck in my wallet tipped the scale.
"I think I want to finish it out," I told him.
Excitement flashed in his eyes but he stayed still. "Are you sure? I'll be back before you know it. Everything will be fast. You won't even miss me."
I tugged at him. "Of course, I'll miss you. And you'll be off on tour soon and I like the idea of going with you but you know I can't do a whole tour with you. I have to be independent."
The greatest accomplishment in my life might be Alex's pride in me. I don't know how I earned his belief in me. It was there right from the moment we met and it never dissipated, even when we broke up. His smile flashed with pride then, small, but always proud in the stances I made for myself.
"I know," he said. "And I love being with you but I like hearing what you get up to when I'm away. And it'll be more flexible this time since you're out of school."
"And, maybe, I could get some work out in LA. Just freelance or something. I feel like I just gave up last time and didn't bother with a job. You know, me and complaining."
"Shush, you're opinionated. It's how I like my women."
"Women?"
He corrected, "Woman."
I chuckled and slotted my head on his shoulder. "I think maybe I'll get in touch with Opal. Maybe one day write for the LA Times. Would that make me a traitor?"
"No," he laughed, "just maybe a red coat." The skin near his eyes crinkled up, pleased with his joke. I prayed to make those wrinkles become permanent, for him to live in a lifetime of laughter, specifically from my jokes but I do get a special funny feeling when he's laughing at his own humor. It's like he's patting himself on the back, something he does physically do.
There was a question of giving in too much to Alex. I was chasing a boyfriend through the world, which was okay because I was traveling and exploring too and I wanted to be with him but I always worried about my association with him—clinging too tightly, representing an image of somebody who lived off of him. At times (and eventually), it consumed me.
*
In our rented LA home there was a bay window, which didn't look out on much other than the road and the opposing house. While Alex was at the studio, I sat there and wrote. By that point, I had compiled my essays in a file I called "LA Times." My intention wasn't to submit the works to the LA Times—I had yet to hear back from Opal on any openings—but it was simply something in the works—a digital diary of those past few Californian months.
I had begun submitting work and didn't hear back. I thought of getting a part-time job or babysitting gig, but it felt like a waste of my degree, and Alex had plenty of funds to go around.
Opal and I went out for drinks and it was the first time I went out in LA, independent from Alex. It was fast fun. Opal talked in excessive sweetness but was snarky in response to any disparity toward her.
She seemed so worldly but had never lived anywhere outside of LA. She wasn't any form of a writer but she worked with writers all day and asked if she could look at my work. I was shyly reluctant but she tugged it out of me. Some small 500-word piece I liked.
She gushed about it (and still does) insisting on me giving her more of my writing. I slowly trickled more pieces to her before she accumulated enough to give to her friend, Jackson Ferrera.
Opal began coming over to our house. If Alex was out late, we'd have dinner together. We drink together most Friday nights. We smoked a joint together once and she laughed so much she peed herself.
Opal and Alex had an interesting relationship. Opal paid compliments to his appearance like she did with everyone but it never verged on sexual or romantic. She was an observer like all of us, but she didn't write about it.
She'd also mock him as most girls do together behind their boyfriend's back. All remaining affectionate and loving. The kind of way I talked about Stacey. She was my pestering little sister who was also my youthful partner-in-crime.
"I love your hair, hon!" She said once to Al after he returned home to us watching Glee on the couch.
"Oh." He patted down the sides of his hair as if he forgot it was on his head. "I guess."
He left the room and Opal turned to me and said, "That man can not take a compliment."
I laughed and shrugged. "I've tried my best. I think he thinks you're lying to him."
"Why?!" Opal's mouth lay agape. "I'm not a liar."
I stared at her speculatively. "Everyone's a liar."
"I'm not." She placed her hand on her chest, insisting to me, "My mom told me to never lie."
I don't know if Opal has ever lied, not expansively. Not even little white lies. If you asked her how her day was, she'd tell you honestly. Maybe she fibbed and told half-truths, but she'd never fake compliment you.
She was judgy. On the other side of her kindness was someone who would honestly tell you that you look ugly in that dress. Her job seemed like her destiny, paid to have an opinion because she wasn't designed for fake niceties. I appreciated and needed the quality. It was a confidence boost and a humbling force.
*
For my birthday, Alex took me to Big Sur. We flew up to San Jose and Alex drove us down to our lodge where I fell asleep and woke up 23.
In the early morning, we walked along Pfeiffer Beach where the water was too cold and dangerous to swim in and the wind blew so hard it blinded us. We abandoned the beach, had lunch, and walked Point Lobos, which felt like we'd walked into a dream. The water waved its blues and the wind waved through the trees just right to create the perfect breeze.
"You know," I said, "this is the first trip we've ever been on. Just you and me."
Alex bowed his head and said, "Suppose that's my fault. At least we've done Wicklow."
"I know, but it doesn't really count. We probably wouldn't have gone if we weren't in Dublin." We both walked with our hands in our pockets and it was easy to think of all those talks we'd had before with our hands stuffed into our jeans pockets.
Alex smiled, his eyes covered with sunglasses, and his hair framing his face. "I'm making up for it now. Best I can." He placed one of his hands on the small of my back; a reassuring touch. Alex often felt insufficient and I wasn't the best at combating that doubt. I know he's carried guilt for self-claimed selfishness. If we were both older I wouldn't have tolerated this in the manner I did at that age. I never cared that he wanted things because he wanted me to be a part of them. However, there was always a sense that Alex had to "make up" for what he had done. I don't know if that hurt me or pleased me.
When we finished the trail we had to go back to our lodge because Alex had slipped down a hill and cut a hole into his jeans. Believe me, very funny, I wish I had it to submit to Funniest Home Videos but alas...
Alex drove for the majority of the trip. I wasn't very good at driving in America. It confused my brain. I reached over, brushing a chunk of his hair behind his ear like he had done for me countless times. "You think you're going to keep it long?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Do you think I should?"
"If you like it," I permitted.
He glanced over and gave me a look. "Does that mean you don't like it?"
I hummed. I had never really thought about it. "No. I like it," I decided. "It makes you look older. I think if you had the same cut as college you'd still look like you were 17."
"You don't think I've aged at all?"
"It's hard to tell. I've never been away long enough to notice a difference. What about me? Do I look older?" I batted my eyelashes.
He chuckled at my brazen show. "You look 23 to me."
*
I got a call from Jackson Ferrera a week after my birthday. I didn't know who he was and almost didn't answer the call when it rang at 10:30 AM, still in bed. Alex had left an hour or two earlier, kissing my forehead and unintentionally waking me up. We mumbled, "Bye, baby" to one another before he left and I drifted back to sleep.
I was in the shower when Alex returned home. It was somewhere around 5 PM and a Wednesday and I hadn't left the house once. I was in the middle of washing my hair when I heard the bathroom door open and my worries about this becoming a scene from Psycho dissipated when Alex said, "Hey, honey." Isn't it cute? We call each other honey now. It originated from Opal. We imitated her calling everyone "honey" with one another until we actually just ended up calling each other "honey" all the time.
"Hey," I called out over the shower. Alex discarded his clothes and joined me in the shower. We had started doing that more often too. We didn't often have sex in the shower either. I mean, it did happen, but we decided to shower together more in a chaste quality. Alex has the ability to wash your hair in the same way it feels at a salon. It's complete bliss. "How was your day?"
He was my little dog with his long hair getting wet in the shower and sticking to his face. He let the water run over it completely before pushing it back and out of his face. "Good. Fine," he answered. "I feel like I've been hunched over all day." He pecked my lips, a domestic greeting.
I reached down for my conditioner and told him, "I'll rub your back before bed." We might as well be the old married couple with aching backs and a stay-at-home woman willing to soothe them. I don't like to view us as old-fashioned. We were unconventional. British desert Californians, who were a musician and a pretend writer.
Alex took the bottle out of my hand, taking the conditioner into his hands, acting his role of hair masseuse. "You're my savior. I'd have a humpback if it weren't for you."
I shrugged as I turned for him to rub the product in my hair. "I like taking care of you. Shall I have dinner on the table too?"
He scoffed, "God, no. I'd be dead of food poisoning if you did that."
I laughed because I wasn't offended by not having any cooking skills. Alex understood that and has never forced a change on that. "You can't blame me. My parents don't know how to cook either."
"Your parents don't know how to do a lot of things you can do. Excuses, excuses." He clicked his tongue and I giggled as he squeezed one of my butt cheeks. "What did you get up to while I was gone?"
I sighed, turning back around to face him, a big smile plastered on my face. "Okay, well, don't freak out because I don't know anything yet."
Alex immediately grabbed my hands, nearing a panic. "What?"
I pushed his hands down. "Calm down," I instructed. "It's not that big of a deal." He relaxed and awaited an answer. "So, I got this call from someone Opal knows. A guy named Jackson Ferrera—"
"Oh, god, Janie, you're leaving me, aren't you?" Alex joked, turning his head away in dramatics, pushing me away, unable to bear the sight of me. "I always knew it."
I slapped his arms away. "Will you shut up? Listen." He looked at me normally and nodded his head. "Opal gave him some of my writing and he's this literary agent and he wants to talk about maybe him representing me—"
I was interrupted by Alex's excitement. "Are you serious? Like a book or something?"
I was reluctant to say anything, not wanting to get his hopes up, my hopes up like speaking it aloud would cancel out any possibilities. "I don't know yet. I haven't even met the guy yet."
"But you're going to?" Alex clutched my waist, his grip filled with giddiness.
I nodded, trying to fight this big smile. "This Friday at noon. And I don't know what it would be yet. He could just recommend me for some stupid literary agent job."
Alex quickly shook his head. "No way, Janie. You're going to make a book."
"I'm not going to make a book," I insisted.
But he fought back, confident as always, "You're going to make a book."
"Don't jinx anything. He might just help me submit some of my pieces to some higher-up magazines. Who knows, by the end of the year, I could be in the New Yorker?"
He scoffed, "You're better than the New Yorker. They'll be begging for your work."
I bumped into him. "Don't say that. I'd love to write for the New Yorker. I'd be happy writing for Playboy at this point."
Alex wiggled his eyebrows. "They do have some really good articles."
I pinched his side and told him to shut it. He wrapped me up in a hug and a dramatic rain—well, shower—kiss. Everything felt like it was landing in place and California did really seem to be a place where dreams came true and all that nonsense that I'll make fun of for the rest of this book but for this one moment, I'll believe to be true. Then, Alex got shampoo in his eye.
"Ow! Fuck, fuck, fuck." He clutched his left eye and doubled over. The water and shampoo suds still pouring down his face.
I grabbed his shoulder and asked if he was okay. He insisted on being fine but his hand remained on his eye and he grinded his teeth down before I managed to pull him out of the shower without tripping.
I sat him on the toilet seat, dripping wet, and shampoo still a mess in his hair. "Let me see," I said, drying his face off.
He waved me off. "No, no, I'm fine." His hand remained on his eye with a refusal to remove it.
"Al," I said and tugged at his wrist. He dropped his hand and slowly opened his eye, bloodshot and pink. "Oh, Jesus."
"What? Did it fall out?" He joked.
I snorted a laugh and began searching for eye drops. "It's dried up, that's all."
Then came the struggle of actually getting the eye drops into Alex's eye because he refused to keep his eye open. He kept muttering, "Ow, ow, ow" as each eye drop flooded his eyeball.
Later that night, after I fell asleep in front of American Idol, Alex must have moved me to our bedroom or I slept-walked there. Alex said I did that a few times. When I woke, the red digital clock on my bedside read 2:32 AM. I dug my face into the pillow, pissed I had woken up in the middle of the night. I turned my head and came to the realization Alex was missing if he was ever in bed, to begin with.
I padded across our cold wooden floors barefoot in the dark before I saw the back patio light on and the faint shadow of Alex. I stepped one foot out and saw him, notebook in lap, cigarette in hand, gazing out onto the dark backyard, deep in thought.
"You shouldn't be smoking with your eye," I said hoarsely.
His head tilted back to look at me and he had a soft smirk on his face. "I'll live. Just needed something to relax."
"Take an edible then."
He vibrated off laughter and tapped the ash off his cigarette. "I'll find a different excuse."
I kept one foot outside and one inside, asking, "Do you want some company?"
He shook his head, insisting, "No, no. You sleep."
I was hesitant to move. "You sure?"
Alex nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Just finishing up some writing. I'll be in soon."
"Okay."
I returned to bed and fell asleep before Alex came back but when I woke up in the late morning he was asleep beside me. I wondered what Alex wrote. The beginning verses to "Stuck on the Puzzle" or if he never picked up his pen to begin with? Maybe I read too much into it but Alex never had qualms about me keeping him company while he wrote and our late-night smokes were ritualistic at that point. I believed he thought about something else. Me. Something too personal to share.
With both of us, those secrets that we kept from one another were exclusively worries. I can't help but think Alex knew what was eventually to come from my contact with Jackson. I can't help but think he worried. He always worried, suffering in silence. I screamed about everything and he sat with it, let it stir and brew for days, months, years. It was a habit of our 20s. But Alex always seemed to know, a habitual psychic and I was the palm in his hand.
*
It didn't end up being a book, not at first, but we did a trial period in which I submitted to Jackson who began shopping my pieces around to publishers. I was terrified and didn't tell anyone other than Alex and Opal for fear it would fall through and fail. Jackson felt confident and I supposed that helped, although I couldn't comprehend a world where I wrote a book, even though, for years, I had already written books in my notebook.
I tried not to think about it much. We were coming up on Alex going back on tour again and the question of whether to stay in LA rose, which was really just whether I would. I didn't like the thought of being in LA without Alex. I found the city rather unappealing but I didn't know where I'd return to. London was an option but I don't know how at home I would've felt there. It's cheesy to say Alex is my home because he's a person and I found that statement to be rather exaggerated. In those days, I just felt more comfortable wherever he was, maybe because I was so aimless myself, but I knew that I finally found a direction to go in.
One of my pieces did end up in The Village Voice. Alex paid to have a print copy sent, and he framed it. It embarrassed me so much that I stuffed it into drawers when we had guests over.
One night, we went to a party on some random Monday and sat on the uncomfortable fancy chairs, drinking cocktails. Alex had an Old Fashioned, I had a Cosmopolitan. It was an affair with some elegance, though I can't remember what it was actually for. We both vowed not to get drunk because we couldn't be hungover on a Tuesday.
I had my hand on Alex's knee and he had his arm around the back of my chair. I think the dinner they served was chicken but I don't remember. It wasn't very good either way.
"Do you think I should get my Master's?" I asked Alex.
He sipped his drink with his left hand and lightly tapped my shoulder with his right. "Why would you do that?"
I shrugged and picked up my Cosmo, trying to be Carrie Bradshaw in hopes it would get me a job as luxurious as hers. Or maybe just the clothes and the apartment. "Something to do. I like the idea of going to school here."
Alex's brows furrowed as he looked over at me. "But you hated school."
"That's not true."
He chuckled. "J, you complained about it all the time."
Maybe I did. I don't remember. It's like when people have babies and they forget how hard labour was so their bodies trick them into having more kids. "I liked the structure of it. Plus, a Master's would allow a more flexible schedule and you'll be away on tour soon so it'd be something to do."
Alex shook his head. "I don't think you'd like it."
I frowned. "Maybe I would."
"I mean..." Alex searched for what to say. "I just think you're getting somewhere with your writing and you're running away from it."
I rested my head on my hand. "Maybe."
Alex reached out and pushed my hair out of my face. "Whatever you do you'll be great at. Just do what you love, okay?"
His smirk put me on edge and I raised my eyebrow. "What? Like you?"
"Huh?" His face looked puzzled, worried that he had offended me somehow.
"I love you so you want me to do you?"
He threw his head back in laughter. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Janie."
*
The whole Master's idea felt foolish. So, I decided to do it, except it was March and way past the time for applications. In the meantime, I tried to figure out what I would do while Alex was away. I felt I should have wanted to leave Los Angeles after all my bitching and moaning, but something drew me to stay. There was a new friend in Opal but I didn't have any job prospects through her or Jackson. Freelance could fit but I didn't want it to fit. The idea of me writing a book burrowed more inwardly to my mind as Jackson stopped mentioning book deals and directed me more toward staff writing jobs to get my name out there.
But I felt that LA had wrapped its warmth around me and suffocated me long enough to want to stay. I liked America and I liked the city, but I also had a visa to worry about. I was over on a tourist Visa and since all work I had done was freelance, I was paid as if I was located in England still. I could fly back and stay for another 180 days or I could get a work visa, which meant getting a job.
That's when Condé Nast appeared. Jackson had unofficially become my unpaid job seeker, doing it solely for me as a favour. I suspected he felt bad for not achieving a book deal and decided to help me out. The Condé Nast position was for a product writer and reviewer. The issue was I had no history with a full-time writing job, but either Jackson had connections or they felt pity for me, too, so I got the job.
So, it wasn't LA, it would be New York.
Alex loved the idea and boasted about it to everyone, kissing my cheek after each statement, and squeezing me to his side. As for New York, he simply said, "It's your turn."
He would be away on tour anyway, so it didn't matter much other than that he would crash at whatever housing I picked in New York. We flew to New York in June. I had never been to New York in the summer. I had never been with Alex in New York.
Usually on our excursions, I dragged Alex around the town and up the hills. In New York, Alex dragged me to the Strand, Chelsea Hotel, the Mudd Club, the Transit Museum, and, most importantly, the turtle pond in Central Park.
Beside the box turtles and red-eared sliders, Alex and I rested against a rock as they padded their way shoreside. He wore a baby blue shirt and picked at his jeans, his mannerisms the same as when I spotted him across the room. "Do you remember when you used to have writing on your jeans?"
He looked up at me, smiling, pushing his hair behind his ears, pounds of fluff. "Yeah."
"What was written on them?" Those blurs of red markings and my wish to know those depths of his soul as if what he was really thinking was written on the knees of his jeans.
He shrugged and almost shamefully said, "Just song lyrics. Strokes and stuff."
"You wrote on them?"
"Yeah."
"I always figured that your mates had written on them. My Converses used to be covered in Joanie's handwriting and hearts." I hadn't thought of her for a long time. Nothing in America reminded me of Wakefield and so Joanie never came to mind.
Alex broke me out of my thoughts, asking, "Can I write on your trainers?"
I raised my eyebrows. "On my new shoes? Can I write on your jeans?"
"Sure." He pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it to me. His quickness made me hesitate but I pulled the pen from his fingers and thought of what to write. I could've drawn a penis but I wasn't that cruel. The black pen was faint against the dark blue denim but I repeated my sketching until the letter was clear enough. I wrote my name because I couldn't think of anything else. What's more beautiful than a person's name? Gross.
Alex seemed to like it, a grin upturning on his face, and an eyebrow raised against me. "Why don't you draw a heart around it?"
I rolled my eyes. "Do you want me to put an arrow through it too?"
He laughed but said, "Sure." I didn't add the heart or arrow. It would be too cheesy and ruin my beautiful cursive name. I returned the pen to him and he tapped his hand over the writing. "With me every step of the way."
I giggled, both embarrassed and charmed. "You gonna get it tattooed?"
I joked but he took it shockingly seriously. "Do you want me to?"
I bolded my eyes and tilted my head. "Stop," I chastised him. "I'm not trying to brand you. I won't even let you write on my shoes and you're willing to get me permanently on your body?"
"Those are nice shoes," he countered.
"You've got a nice body," I argued.
"It'll add to it."
Whether it was sweetness or idiocy, it did feel like love. I raised my legs and plopped my feet in his lap. "Alright. Write away on them then." They were just trainers anyway and his name in a heart with an arrow through it was worth much more.
Afterwards, we toured an apartment. Previous apartments we had toured had been far above my expected salary. Alex had this need to contribute to the apartment's rent despite not getting a break from touring until late October. I had a need to pay rent for myself. I never lived on my own and I felt this apartment should be my apartment, even though Alex's stuff would be there. 
Alex understood all of this, although still pushed to contribute some to the rent and, well, I'm never one to deny financial assistance so we made a deal that he would pay me for storing his stuff while he was gone and I would pay for the rest. This all meant those apartments next to Central Park were out of the question. So, we headed downtown, Petula Clark style. 
"You know, this area is called SoHo too?" I asked him as we walked down Thompson Street. He shook his head and I explained, "It's because it's south of Houston Street. So. Ho."
He chuckled and nodded. "It'll be like a little piece of home with you."
It turned out to be. I found a place on Prince Street for a reasonable amount. 1 bed. 1 bath. Windows that drenched the floors in sunlight, a big closet, and—the thing I was most excited for—a bathtub.
On our first night there, Alex and I attempted to do the romantic having-a-bath-together thing. I purchased a bubble bath solution from Target and Alex got a bottle of wine from Wine and Spirits. We felt very American in both stores. 
"I can't remember the last time I took a bath," Alex said as he sank into the warm oasis.
"They used to just spray you down with a hose, right?" I joked as I sipped on my wine.
Alex cupped his hand in the water and sent a splash my way. "Hey! You got water on the floor. And in my wine." I frowned at the bubbles resting on the surface of the wine.
"I'll get you another glass," he said as he stood.
I reached out and grabbed his leg. "Don't leave."
At my request, he sank back into the water. "Here. You can have mine." He stuck out his half-full glass. I leaned forward and kissed the back of the hand that was holding it. My version of thank you as I took the glass from his hand. 
He stretched his legs out and we kept poking each other until I took Alex's feet into my lap. I lightly rubbed on the left one, his big toe sticking out above the water. I felt sinking in myself and refused to look at him. I was becoming too soft. "I'm gonna miss you."
Alex sighed. I knew he hurt more than me. I missed him and we loved each other the same but I knew he had to deal with two kinds of pain. His and mine. We had to deal with missing each other and he had to deal with the guilt. I always told him it was ridiculous to feel guilty because I never held any resentment toward him for going away. But I guess we never properly addressed all that ugly stuff from the past, only in fights, and we never concluded properly, just in exhaustion.
But I think we both knew that communication would be the difference this time. The band was more established. I was more established. I think I would have hated being alone in our LA house without Alex but something about New York, feeling it was mine, made me feel a little freer.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I shook my head. "Don't apologize. I'm proud of you."
"Proud of you too." I looked up to see the big smile on his face. You know, it heals anything.
I slide deeper into the tub, the water covering my neck. I was bare-skinned and my insides were beginning to feel the same. "I'm nervous."
"We'll be fine," he assured.
I shook my head. "I know. I'm nervous for me. Being alone and the new job."
His hand found my leg in the water, stroking it. "You'll make friends in no time and you're a whiz."
"But what if I hate it?" I sounded wobbly like I was about to tip off the edge.
Alex, the calm force dragging me through life, said, "Then, on to the next thing."
I held a smile to him. One he returned. "My mother would say I'm being picky."
"Your mother who drinks for a living?"
I held offence when Alex spoke of my mother. The things he said were true but my whole life I’ll feel the need to protect her. At that age, I still felt destined to unknowingly become her. In that way, Alex was insulting future me. "Hey! She does other things. Probably."
Alex laughed and pulled his feet from me, curling his legs. "Alright. I'm cramping here." He rose from the tub, swishing the water around, peeking at the edges.
I gasped. "Even if the foot rub I gave you?"
We moved out of LA pretty quickly but yet again transporting all your belongings from one side of the country to another was a pain. We enlisted the help of friends but in New York, we were on our own for the most part, other than some hired movers. We weren't getting that couch up the stairs.
The band did a few festivals in Europe in July before returning for a New York show at the beginning of August. I was only a few weeks into my job and it was the fulfillment and structure I needed, although I wasn't doing much writing. I was fine with working my way up, setting an achievement, and moving forward. It was a mostly new idea for me.
After their concert, we did the ritual of bar hopping. I invited my new friend, Tasha, and her boyfriend to join us, however, her boyfriend ditched her after the show, which led her to get very drunk and weepy and therefore pulled me away from any time of catching up with the group. Although, they seemed very consumed by the drama.
"I don't mean to put this all on you," she cried to me. "But he said he was gonna buy me a drink tonight and I—" she was taking away into sobs.
"I'll buy you a drink," Matt offered.
"Really?" It was in fact her fifth drink. She had quickly consumed the first 2 from the rounds and pulled the other 2 from me. "I really liked him, you know. I love him, I think."
"We know, sweetie." I felt bad for her but all the crying was becoming quite tiresome, especially with a girl you had only known 2 weeks in the setting of an office space.
She sat up straight, wiping away that wetness on her face when Matt arrived back with a drink. For the time being, she calmed her waterworks with a gulp of liquor. "You wouldn't do this to Jane, would you Alex? Why can't I find a guy like that?"
I chuckled, "Alex ditches me all the time."
To the side of me, Alex's head snapped to me. "What?" His face was etched with a furrowed brow and a frown.
I turned to him wide-eyed and confused. "What?"
"I don't ditch you."
My mouth created a slight opening in bafflement. "Yeah, you do. Or did." I turned back to Tasha. "Either way, they're all assholes, you just have to find the asshole that fights you."
"Ha. Asshole." Jamie laughed.
While Jamie found humour in the situation and Tasha found slight comfort, Alex found offense. "You think I'm an asshole?"
I turned back to him. "Yeah. Don't you think I'm a bitch?"
His eyes were wide at the word like we were kids taught to put coins in the swear job. His response was quick. "No."
I tried my best to give it to him in an explanation that would placate him. "Okay. Well, I get on your nerves or whatever. Either way, you just have to find the guy that fits you. Now, I think we should get you a cab." Tasha nodded with a sniffle. 
After I stuck Tasha in a cab, I stayed outside to have a cigarette. I had a weird feeling in my stomach that I wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or something emotional. I had a rash on my left leg that I labelled as being from stress but I wasn't sure what it was stress from. I felt a pressure on my chest and the perfect solution was a cigarette.
It wasn't a smoke signal for Alex to join me although I should have thought that considering our history and the perfect view from our table out the window to the street. He came out halfway through the ash and walked with hair in his face and hands in his pockets.
When he stepped in front of me, I reached out and brushed his hair out of his face and wondered if he felt this way—this feeling of caring, uncovering someone for your gaze—every time he did it for me. I tucked it behind his ear and peeked the small smile underneath that shaggy head. It tickled me, exposing a silent laugh from my lips. 
"You really think I'm an asshole?" He asked. His tone was playful but I knew he was worried I considered him to be one of them. That breed of man who brushed women off after they got their goods as if he hadn't loved and cared for me since the moment we met.
I held my palm over his cheek, holding my hand over his fire, rubbing the lobe of his ear. I just wanted to hold him forever and I felt like crying at the thought I couldn't. I don't know where the sudden emotion came from but I suppose by this point it isn't shocking to find myself crying, especially after 3 drinks outside a bar. I couldn't speak so I shook my head and kept the overwhelming pathos at bay by the rhythmic stroking of his ear. 
"I missed you," he said.
I cut any further words he had off with a shake of my head, a dismissiveness I needed. "I don't want to talk about missing each other anymore." The gates fell and I dropped my arm away from his shoulder, picking at my nails as my voice quivered. "All I talk about is missing you."
"Jane."
Exasperated with myself, I shook my head and looked away not to cry. "I just want to enjoy the night." I looked at him, listening attentively, eyes trained on me. "I don't want to think about you leaving tomorrow night and I'm fine, trust me, but I feel this ache all the time and I don't want to feel this ache while you're here and I don't want to talk about this ache because I know it's mutual so let's stop talking about it and pretend that this is just any other night in our lives and we're in Sheffield, grabbing a pint with our mates or something." 
I laughed wetly. He reached out to me and brushed my hair behind my ear and it made everything feel alright. "This feels pretty Sheffield, doesn't it?"
"What?"
He shrugged and took out his pack of cigarettes, plucking one, and placing it in between his lips. "Light me up, Janie, would ya?"
A smile tugged my lips and I dug into my purse one-handed for my lighter. He leaned forward, the end of it so close to me I could take a bite of it. I lit the flame between us and then to his cigarette. He took a puff before stepping back to exhale, his eyes stuck with mine. 
"I love you. I feel like we don't say that enough," I told him. He stood away from me but I felt so close to him like we had wrapped ourselves up in a fort of blankets, not standing in the humid August streets. 
"You don't have to say it for me to know it. Hasn't that always been our MO?" In wordless whispers and those longing stares, we had always spoken with some underlying language that didn't even make perfect sense to us, it was just there. 
"Yeah. Still, I want to remind you."
He chuckled and stepped closer, hooking his arm around my neck, and pulled me beneath his chin with a long gaze down at me. "I love you too, Janie. And all the rest."
"The rest?" I questioned.
His Adam's apple bopped and he looked up at the sky for a moment as if God was giving him the all-clear. His eyes reintroduced themselves to me. "There's this weight of love inside me that I'll never be able to express to you. It's just there, a consuming being that flares up whenever you're near me or I think about you. It's this constant. I've had it since I thought your name was Jeanie and I still don't know how to talk about it or what to call it—all this unexpressed love."
"It seems like you did." I tried not to sob. I thought of Tasha, likely crying in a cab, and I know I've always been a fortunate girl and I've been called lucky since birth, but I never felt like I truly won anything other than meaningless games until I was brought to Alex. I thought of all those missteps I could have taken to have never met Alex about how many things had to go a certain way for me to be at that first gig. How—I guess—I have to thank Matt, although that part is reluctant for me to say (a fear it will go to his head). But I kept it all inside and didn't tell Alex this because I think this is part of that weight of love I still can't fully express. "Are you sure it's not a tumor?"
He laughed at me and kissed the top of my head. My cigarette had been scuffed out against his jeans so we shared the rest of his before Alex suggested, "I think we should head home." I had never confessed how romantic I thought the idea of going home with Alex was to me but I have a feeling he just knew because he always just knows.
He took me by the hand and took me back inside the bar where we said goodbye to our party of people and I smacked a kiss on the cheek to each of them. They've always felt like brothers-in-law to me but I found as we grew older and closer, they were my friends too.
We headed back to our apartment, taking the A train. Alex held my purse for me and we sat in a sweaty, non-air-conditioned subway car, and it felt as though we were in London on the tube, praying for a gust of wind to come in through the little window and provide momentary relief. 
It was too hot to touch each other's skin so we held a small space between us and knocked knees with one another. Alex sat hunched over, his hands sitting on the top knee of his crossed legs. I leaned back against the plastic orange chair. The train was mostly empty but we filled its quietness with laughter. Halfway through the ride, that sentimental fuzzy part of me took a picture of him. I still owned a flip phone for the sole purpose of having a slideout keyboard, not known for having a good camera, and the photo was mostly unrecognizable to anybody but me, which might be why I liked it so much. 
I’d take these photos often and flip through them occasionally when I was waiting for the subway. I printed some out and pinned them on the walls because I didn’t want to buy picture frames. I folded one up and put it in my wallet because I always loved that Alex had a photo of me in his wallet—a tiny crushed-up photo of my graduation portrait, ugly, but he had pride for it and me).
Without Alex, the apartment had succumbed to my mess. There were clothes tossed in the corner of the bedroom, the desk was covered in papers, books, and more clothes, and the kitchen was dealing with a major dishes problem.
The hour was late but we were both determined to soak up as much time with one another as possible. We undressed from the day and dressed for bed, but sat on the edge of our bed over the covers, talking, talking, talking. Two frogs croaking at one another from across the pond. All we needed was Charlton Brook and we'd be our old selves again. 
"I never thought I'd like work. I'm not in love with this job but I come home and my feet ache and I love it. I like feeling I worked for something," I told him. "I think I need firm direction in my life otherwise I turn into a mess."
Alex looked pleased but all-knowing. He knew all these parts of me before I did. "You were raised without it so you crave it in other aspects." He leaned back on the bed, putting his arms behind his head, so casual in every sense of the word.
"Who needs a therapist when I have you?" I asked. He laughed but I was serious (both good and bad). He's an observer, he just knows these things from one look at you. He reads you completely and then acts like it's nothing. I feel I know Alex well, better than anyone, but not like he knows me. I've always felt there was a piece of Alex that was off-limits to everyone, even himself sometimes. There's a corner of him I will never reach. For him, my thoughts have always been a nude model on full stark display.
Alex turned onto his side and reached a hand over to me, clasping it with a tight squeeze. "You happy?" It was a quick check-in, the reassurance he needed that he wouldn't leave me totally screwed up and alone. Alex often had the feeling of needing to "rescue me," which was partially true but he took too much on sometimes, bearing the weight of both our emotional states, an overwhelming thing that put so much consequence on the question he asked like I wasn't just answering for me, I was also answering for him.
I squeezed back to ease his anxieties. "Yeah. You?" He stayed silent and looked around the room once, startling my heart. He tugged on my arm once as a smirk spread on his face. "What?" 
He tugged again, this time harder. I stared at him quizzically until he pulled once again, yanking me down to lay on top of him. He communicated with his lips, both silent minus gasps. He turned us, hovering over me, flat on my back. We got under the covers.
*
The following night we stayed in and ordered a pizza before having sex on the couch. After, I laid on Alex's chest, our nude bodies up against each other and I do apologize to anybody who sat on the couch after, I swear it wasn't that dirty. His hands were solid on my back, studying the lower curve of my spine, hitting a spot that made me stretch like a cat after a nap.
I sighed as the tension released from my back and laid back down on his sternum. "We're awfully vanilla," I said.
Alex snorted this big ugly snort of laughter that I find so cute like a baby learning how to breathe. "What, like chains and whips?"
I laughed and raised my head up, my chin pressed on his skin, staring up at his tucked head, awkwardly propped up on the armrest. "No. Georgia just told me this story about doing it on the roof of her building."
An amused Alex asked, "You want to head up on our roof now?"
He motioned sitting up but I pushed him back down. "We have an exposed roof. I'm not getting the cops called on us."
"Where's the fun in that if there isn't a little risk of indecent exposure?" He joked.
I giggled and thought of making a joke about getting visas revoked for public nudity, instead, I told him, "We're hiding tonight. Besides, I don't need all that for sex to be fun with you."
He bucked his hips up against mine. "'Cause I'm so good in bed?" He raised an eyebrow and wore a taunting smirk that made me want to slap and kiss him. How infuriating to be so intoxicated by him.
"'Cause you love me," I teased, tapping his nose. I slobbered a kiss on his cheek, which made him groan in disgust like it was his mother doing it in front of all his friends. "And you're going to take me to get ice cream because I'm thinking about vanilla ice cream now."
"From Morgenstern's?" He asked me, even though he knew the answer.
I sat up from him, noting his eyes on my exposed breasts (sometimes, it's nice to know a man is still a boy), and hummed, "Yes, sir." Morgenstern's sat two blocks up on Houston and in the past few months, I had developed an addiction to their bourbon vanilla ice cream and considered it my special treat after a day of work. Alex was partial to salted chocolate, which I always thought was a good balance with mine, especially since he'd let me steal scoops off his cone and mix it with my cup of ice cream.
Alex went out in jeans, a T-shirt, and his Doctor Martens. I went out in sweatpants, a camisole, and my flip-flops. It was 11:40 and only 2 blocks away! 
I was charged up and kissed him behind his ear as he paid for the ice cream. We must have been foul to look at with our hair unbrushed and a careless woman hanging off her good-looking man. I often had little care about how I looked at night in New York. Everyone in New York, one way or another, was loathsome to watch at night so I had no problem with the idea the cashier might have hated us for coming in right before closing, dangling around as we waited. Besides, Alex left a tip.
My hands clawed around Alex's shoulders and I bounced on the balls of my feet as they scooped our ice cream. We ate our ice cream on the small bench they had outside the parlour. Alex ended up with smears of chocolate on the corners of his lips. It was pleasurable to see him so untidy, it would make you laugh and kiss his lips, transferring some of the residue onto you like lipstick.
Alex chased me up the stairs of our apartment building with the menace of pinching my ass to coerce squeals out of me. We caused a ruckus, loud off of our sugar high, but, at the very least, not stumbling drunk up the stairs like some of my other neighbors. Alex caught me at the apartment door. I had no escape, he had the keys. He cornered me and gave a hard pinch working his way up from my butt to my stomach where I was ticklish.
"Mercy! Mercy!" I surrendered. He called off his attack, ready to head inside for some explicitness. 
He put the key in, turned it, and then it snapped. He held the bow, the shaft lodged in the lock. "Fuck," he cursed.
Panic set in as Alex fiddled with the doorknob with no luck. "Fuck. Are we locked out?" I asked.
He picked at the lock, muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." 
It soon became clear that we were stuck. It was nearing 1 AM, I desperately had to pee, and Alex had to leave in 6 hours. "Can we kick the door in?"
"Are you suggesting either of us is strong enough to break the deadbolt?" Alex stood up straight, tossing his head back in exhaustion.
I shrugged. "I don't know. You're pretty fit." He was proper chuffed by this, a slight puff in his chest. "I could try."
"With your flip-flops?" They were the cheap kind. I bought them at 5 Below. "If we break the door the whole building can walk in."
Not knowing the number of any emergency locksmiths, I called 911 and waited at the bottom two steps of the staircase facing the front door. "I guess this is what I get for eating too much ice cream," I quipped.
"No such thing," Alex excused. 
Shrouded in quietness and a reputation of lacking patience, I laid my head on Alex's shoulder and would have fallen asleep if my bladder wasn't prepared to burst. Alex tapped a beat on the denim-covered knee and we didn't talk, just stayed close, two beings huddled together for survival and companionship.
Firefighters came and had no luck removing the broken key so they busted into the apartment. We couldn't lock it but we could at least close it. I rushed in for the bathroom. I laid down on our bed and waited for Alex while he used the bathroom. I fell asleep before he returned.
In the morning, Alex nudged me awake. He was fully dressed and by the light stumbling in through the window, I knew what it meant. "I fell asleep. Why'd you let me?"
"Figured if you fell asleep while I was in the bathroom you were pretty tired." Over the covers, flip flops kicked off the edge of the bed, in the two minutes he was away.
"'Kay." I was still fiddling out of sleep when Alex tapped my arm, an insisting action to make me stay in bed. "Let me walk you out."
"No, stay in bed, it's fine." He kneeled beside the bed, forcing my hand.
"You sure?"
He nodded. "I'll see you in a little. Yeah?" He kept it short. It was the easier way.
I rubbed my eye, knowing I wouldn't be going back to sleep as much as Alex hoped I would. "Yeah. I'll try to get off sometime in September."
"Don't feel pressured. I'll see you in Philly, right?" That would be over a month away, 30th of September.
I nodded because it was easier than speaking. "Call me when you get to Boston."
He donned an assuring smile, leaned down, and kissed me. He left and I made myself a cup of coffee and drank it and sat with silence.
*
On a Wednesday, after a day of work, I took the train down to Philadelphia. I had never been before and part of me wanted to enjoy all the tourist things about it but I had limited time between 30th Street Station and heading to the Electric Factory. 
However, I made a pit stop along the way, getting off the subway, and meeting Alex at the Reading Terminal Market for a late lunch/early dinner. It wasn't the Art Museum or Independence Hall but it allowed a cultural indulgence of the city. 
Alex wore a jean jacket and didn't look like a man about to front a sold-out show. We bumped shoulders with passersby as we made our way through the narrow passageways. Alex got a cheesesteak, which I found disgusting. I ate a soft pretzel and assorted candy from a Pennsylvania Dutch candy shoppe.
We managed to find a table wedged between dad with his two kids and a group of high schoolers. Safe to say, we had trouble hearing each other over the chaos but we communicated through shared observations, reacting with a stare at one another as the father began to yell at his son or a laugh at the high schoolers mocking one of their teachers.
We hadn't really spoken until we left the building, stepping out into the beginnings of a crisp autumn evening. Alex bought me ice cream from Bassetts (as if I needed more sugar) and gave the change to a group of busking drummers by the door. 
I grabbed Alex's attention at a stoplight as I dragged out, "So..." 
He chuckled at my solicitation, dragging out his own, "So..."
The light turned green and we stayed in step with one another. I initiated the conversation but I had no follow-up for my So-ing. Sometimes, I just wanted to look at him but walking and staring is a difficult practice. "One of my pieces is going to be in this magazine n+1. Something I wrote back in LA, Jackson submitted forever ago."
"Is it going to be printed?" He asked.
"Yeah, but I think you can read it online."
Quickly, he shook his head. "I want the physical thing."
I laughed. "Always one for physical media, Al." It was clear with the record collection I was storing in a small New York apartment. You had transferred this habit onto me as I went out to purchase the New York Times from a street kiosk instead of reading it online.
"It'll be easier. I can read it on a plane, on the bus, on the toilet."
I hit his shoulder light-heartedly. "Alright, I'll get you the print."
*
At the end of October, Alex returned from Tokyo for a small tour break. We fell into a cycle similar to that of our London days. I went to work, Alex stayed home. We went out to dinner sometimes, and we occasionally went out for drinks with my work friends, but more often, we just stayed home. It was a cocoon and I think we both preferred to stay still with one another after distant months apart.
I drank coffee in bed one morning, a Saturday or Sunday with no rush for any obligations, fine with retiring to a day in our shoebox. We were both still in our pajamas. Alex sat on the edge of the bed, facing me, strumming his guitar. I was on my laptop, scrolling through someone's blog, but mostly watching him.
These unguarded moments with his head slumped over his guitar. His hair covered his face almost completely, only able to distinguish his nose from the rest of him. The ends of his hair held these perfect curls that I envied. He's been perceived to be a cool, uncaring person but I've found Alex, especially during these early years, held such a concern about coming off a certain way, whether considered cold or cool. A long-held hatred for unwanted watching, even from me.
His muscles had suspended into relaxation finally. I found he acquired this rest most often with a guitar. He held a light strum, sometimes humming along, sometimes writing a note in his little notebook.
I thought I was catching an unaware Alex working away, much like our first year of knowing each other. Then, he looked up and said, "If you're going to stare at me, you might as well help me." He tossed me his notebook with dashes and scratches that to the untrained eye looked like a chicken scratch of nothing.
I read it and this time I could feel him watching me. I poured over the words as he had done with his writing and when I finished I said, "I feel so inadequate next to you."
"Shut up," he insisted, both through his support of me and his own insecurity.
"It's a beautiful song." I handed the notebook back to him. "A very beautiful love song." I crossed my arms, smiling at him.
"Well, you know."
"Yeah." Because I always did. This loving, hideous, unspoken language of ours.
 "Good inspiration. You gave me the title." Alex took months of crafting before giving something exposure, like formulating a fine wine. 
"Well, you wrote the rest of it," I reasoned. "Is it for the new album?"
He shrugged and examined his own work. "I don't think so. Maybe just for you and me."
*
a/n: this is pretty much for goblinontour. the next parts will come much sooner, we're approaching the thick of it... oh, and if you see any mistakes, no you didn’t.
34 notes · View notes
Text
Limelight Series - Chapter 7
Happy Monday! So the universe has worked in my favor for once! here it is! Chapter 7 of the Limelight Series! It is a bit long, but I think its worth it. This will be the last chapter for this series for a while, but it does end on a good note, so I think you all will be happy with it, and can draw your own conclusions of what happens after.
I want to thank you all for reading this story and going on this journey with me and a big thank you to @hobby27 for sending in the ask/message for this story.
All your likes, reblogs, comments and ask to be on the tag list are appreciated and helps my confidence grow as a writer.
If you haven't read chapter six, click here to read it and then come back to read chapter 7.
This series came way of a message/ask from @hobby27 she asked:
"I would love something with Jensen and reader. He sees her when he’s at a convention and he’s bonkers for her. She isn’t so interested in a relationship with him because of the fame. So he has to woo her. Make her understand that he’s not a typical movie/tv star. Slow burn."
So I give you the Limelight series- It's a Jensen x reader (plus size, curvy girl) story, Jensen meets the reader in a bar, he falls fist, she is reluctant of course, but secretly she fell for him the second he walked through the door. So can a small town girl and a celebrity make it work?
Warnings for the whole series: language, multi-pov and switching between the pov mid chapters (sorry I can't help it), Jensen coming off aggressive for a hot second but then cooling off. Some douche side characters and some lovable ones, body shaming, angst, fluff, swoon, Jared is there and Micha is mention.
This story takes place an AU where Jensen is not married but Jared is and has kids.
This chapter is 4K+. Feedback, likes and reblogs are always welcomed. Please don't post as your own work, this is my work. If you would like to be added to my tag list, just ask, I am always happy to add you.
Tumblr media
Six Month time jump from the end of Chapter 6
“Well look at what the cat dragged in! Is that the famous Y/N? The one that is dating that gorgeous actor from that one show…oh you know that one….” James sarcastically says, leaning his head back and pondering as if he is thinking long and hard for the answer.
“Yeah, Yeah, very funny” you quip back, making your way through the deserted bar and towards him. It being Sunday and all, the one day that he closes so he can give staff the night off, and him time to do inventory and payroll. You knew you would find him here, you need to see your friend. You take a seat on a barstool facing him.
He gives you a wicked smile. “Oh come on, Y/N, you know I'm only kidding. Besides, I know you can handle it.” He says tossing down a coaster and starts to grab the tequila without you asking for a margarita.
“But, I haven’t seen you around much, are you doing okay?” He asks, finishing up the drink and sitting it down in front of you. 
You take a moment to really think about his question, how are you doing? Really? Fine? Okay? I mean for the most part life hasn’t changed too much, your relationship with Jensen has been good, the long distance thing is not ideal, but…is it a relationship at all? 
Looking at James, you can tell he is waiting with anticipation to hear all the latest gossip. Leaning towards you, that smile plastered on his sunkiss face. God, how you wish you could give him something, anything. But you really have nothing. 
“I am fine, just busy at the studio is all. Had some great responses from my show a few months back so…how about you?” You ask, doing your best to push through. Giving James a smile, you take a much needed drink. Bypassing the subject of Jensen for now. 
You half listen to him talk about the staff turn over, the loss of the summer crowd, and how he can’t believe he is actually looking forward to the college kids coming back. It's not that James is self involved, per say, it's more that, get him talking about work, or about his stressors, and you can have him focus more on himself then you. Which in this monument, might be what you actually need. 
“That's Haven for you, out with the rich tourist, in with the drunk frat kids. Ugh, I am just happy not to have to deal with them if I am still going to be seeing Jensen.” Shaking your head at the thought of the girls that would give you grief and the guys that would act like ‘Dean’ just to get a free drink.
James gives you a curious look, “What do you mean, ‘if you're still dating Jensen.’ You two are not the happy couple I keep reading about on page 6 in the Haven Harold or online in People?”
Oh shit, didn’t think he would pick up on that. You give him a sheepish smile. Better get on the defense. 
“Okay first of all. Mrs. Hanson needs to get something new to print on page 6 besides the load of B.S. you supply her…” You throw back at him, finishing off your drink. Trying your best to come off as pissed off at the sweet kind small town local paper. 
“Hey! My info allows me free ad space! I am not giving that up!” James defensively says.
“And second, Jensen and I haven’t even been in the same area code for People magazine to even get a whiff of anything to write about so…we would actually have to see each other to create any real hot gossip.”
“But you guys are still together right? I mean you guys still talk, Facetime?”
“Yeah, of course, text constantly, Facetime a couple times a week. But he’s been swamped with work. He got back to Texas after the convention and was planning on coming back for a few weeks but his management had other ideas.” You passively say, your eyes focusing more on the condistation that is forming the glass then James.  
“That sounds cryptic.” Now wondering what kind of team was working for Jensen, and if they were holding him hostage against his will.
You give a short laugh at James' concerned look. You shake your head at this, not wanting to go back to those earlier months. Those months when… 
“No, I mean he got booked on some guest TV spots that I can’t really say what they are, and from there he has been booked with a few charity events.” You quickly explain away. 
Relief washes over James and he lets out a breath, putting a hand on his chest. 
“Oh thank god. I thought we were going to have to get the navy seals involved and rescue the poor man.” 
Letting out a laugh that shakes you out of your funk. God, James is always good at making you smile. 
“No sweetie, no need to call your ex, what was his name Ricky?” You smile, and give him a wink.
“Hey, for you I would call him, even if he left me with the tab that night for him and all his officers. That tab cost me two months rent!”
You giggle at this, remembering how pissed James was, when they skipped out on their tab. 
“I still don’t get it though, it's been six months, you guys couldn’t make something work? Even a long weekend?” He questions.
“I know, it’s stupid really, he left, I was getting ready for my show, and so I was focused on that. Then when that was over, he was off filming, out of the country. We kept trying, but it seemed like everytime one of us was going to meet the other somewhere, he got asked to do an appearance, or a charity function.” you explain, feeling yourself getting depressed all over again. 
Retelling the endless loop of the same conversation over and over just now to James has you sick of hearing it. God, it's stupid really.  
“I mean come on James I can’t be like, ‘no don’t go save the penguins. I have tickets to that music festival I had been talking about since we met and I want to go!’” 
Letting out an exhausted sigh, you lay your head down on the bar counter. Word vomiting it all out can take a lot out of you. Feeling the weight of just getting that off your check was enough to help you breathe a little easier that you didn’t realize you were struggling with until now.
“Oh sweetie…” James starts to say, leaning over and placing a hand on your back. “And you love penguins.”
“I know!” you cry out. “Fuck, I don’t know what I am doing James.” You mumble into the counter with your head still down.
“Can I ask you, did you tell him about your show? I was surprised he wasn’t there, or Jared….or Micha.”
You hesitate for a second. Your surprise this question didn’t come up earlier from him. Setting up, your fust with your hair for a second, and nervous habit of yours. 
“Ummm ... .I may have not invited him” you say sheepishly, bracing yourself for the onslaught of yelling that was sure to come from James.
He takes it in for a bet. “What? Why?” He questions, wondering what you were thinking. Crossing his arms around his torso, and slapping over his face, letting out an audible groan.
“Okay look hear me out.” you start to explain. 
“I was going to, fully prepared to. We were talking, he was back in Texas, I had asked what his plans were for that week, and he told me he would be filming…out of the country.” 
You stop seeing James peek out from behind his hands, and then gestures with the other giving you the universal sign to keep going.
“So I figure no point in telling him, and having us both disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to make it.” 
James let out an exhausted sigh, “Y/N! Come on! He still should have known, even if he couldn’t be there. He could have sent Jared and Gen, or Facetime in, or sent flowers.” 
Throwing the bar rag down in defeat, he leans up against the back bar. “You can’t keep this guy at arms length. You got to let him in.”
“I am not keeping him out! Okay. What good would it have done for me to tell him, if he couldn’t be there? Make him upset, and then he’s not focused on his job, he gets hurt or worse.” 
Getting up from the stool, with your back to the door.
“Besides, why should we even assume that Jared or anyone else famous that he knows would show up to my show or should for that matter. Just because he asked? They're not his lackeys, they're his friends. They don’t even know me!” Yelling back at him.
Frustration is taking over, the fact that he would throw that idea out there, what the hell. Where did that even come from?
“Did you think my new relationship with Jensen would somehow have me rubbing elbows with all his famous friends now?” you question, now wondering if James was hoping that fame would have a trickle down effect to his advantage.
“Well I mean…I thought by now, you would have had a few ‘celebrity sightings’ as they say, but it's also you, and you like your privacy so…no I shouldn’t be surprised by this at all.” James says slightly defeated and passive. 
Feeling defeated yourself, you let your arms fall to your side. You thought coming here would help get your mind off missing Jensen, and wishing like hell you could just tell him how you want to see him, standing right in front of you, not through a screen.
“Well I am sorry to disappoint another man in my life.” You yell, feeling yourself break. Everything was just falling apart, you couldn’t do anything right, everything you were touching was turning to shit!
You didn’t hear the door open and close behind you. Wanting to get off this topic of your dysfunctional relationship you just need to get some air. 
You're about to turn a go but James stops you. 
“Y/N, no stop! You are not a disappointment. Look, I am sorry, I shouldn’t be butting into your relationship, I just want you to be happy.” Coming around the bar, James wraps you in a hug. 
Holding you close, his embrace, is exactly what you need. Pulling you close he mumbles in your ear.
 “I know Jensen makes you happy. Hold onto that, I know you two will make it.”
“I hope you're right, James, I can’t lose him.” you whisper into his neck. Feeling the tears on the cusp of breaking from your eyes.
“I can’t lose you either.” You add.
“You will never lose me, kid.” Giving you a quick kiss on the side of your head, pulling you closer to him.  
Pulling back slightly from James you take a ragged breath. You breath in the sent of leather, and musk, Fuck, you miss Jensen so much your now imagining his smell. 
You give a small laugh at this. 
“What's so funny?” James asks, letting you out of his arms, but still holding onto your hands.
You shake off the laughs, “oh nothing…just…I am really losing it now, because I swear I can smell him….crazy right.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” Jensen’s deep sexy voice fills the air behind you. 
Making your heart stop for a beat, you take a second, before you notice the grin on James face, and you quick spin around to stand face to face with Jensen Fucking Ackles.
“Your here…” is all you whisper out before Jensen pulls you in his arms and his lips find yours and melt with yours. 
Your arms wrap around his shoulders while one of his holds your waist and the other roams your back. His lips fit perfectly with yours and you open your lips slightly to let his tongue slip in and dance with yours. 
You don’t even care that you're standing in front of your best friend, the only thing running through your mind is Jensen, that he is here with you, in your arms, and this is not some dream that you're going to wake up from.
Feeling the need to breathe, you pull aways ever slightly, but still stay in his arms. 
“You're here” you whisper out again.
“I am” he breathly says. 
“How? Why?” You breathly blurt out, your mind not really able to form real words. Jensen’s kisses had that effect on you.
“Drove. Missed you.” Jensen is still catching his breath.
“Why don’t I get you two something to drink and you two can catch up…you know with your words.” James interjects. Giving you both a smile and then turning on his heels and back to the bar.
You feel yourself start to blush, as you slightly care about the public display you just had with Jensen. You hide your face in his chest. 
“He’s never going to let me live this down.” you mumble.
Jensen chuckles at this, and gives the top of your head a quick kiss. 
“Come on, one drink, and then we can get out of here.” He promises. 
Making the short walk to the bar, James has a margarita waiting for you, and beer pulled for Jensen. Before you can even speak James jumps in.
“So Jensen, good to see ya man. What have you been up to? What are you doing in town? How's everyone…”
James is as subtle as a gun, you shake your head at his rambling questions and the obvious question regarding a certain cast member. You take a long drink and just let Jensen handle this one.
“I am good. Busy, the show is on a break right now, so everyone is doing their own thing…” Jensen looks over to you for some guidance for how much of a ‘fan’ James was with Micha and if he should be worried. You just give him a shrug and nothing else. 
“But I will let Micha know you said hi.” he adds, hoping that will suffice.
“Cool, cool.” James says with a smile, shaking his head in agreement. Leaning up against the back bar, not picking up that he should be anywhere but here.
“Umm…James…you think we could…” you passively say, hoping he will get the hint. 
He finally does. Giving you a knowing nod, “sure thing, yep, I got payroll in the back to do.” Pushing off the counter he heads for the office without looking back.
Once James is out of ear shot, you both snicker to each other, turning your chairs so you're facing each other, your knees bumping each other. 
“Oh, boy, James has it bad for Micha. I better give him the heads up.” Jensen says, with a smirk, and taking a drink.
“Oh James is harmless, it's just a crush. Besides, Micha brought it on, when he came to the bar that night, I heard he laid on the charm.” You counter, wanting to stand up for your friend, even though you know James is a total flirt.
“Well, he can be charming, I did teach him a thing or two.” He says, leaning in, draping an arm on the back of your chair to steddy it, and connecting his lips with yours.
Letting them dance for a bit you pull back with a satisfied smile. “You are a charmer Mr. Ackles.”
“Your not bad yourself Miss.Y/L/N”
“So what do I and the fine town of Haven owe the pleasure of your arrival here today, sir?” You question. Hoping that he is here just for you, but being ever the realist.
“Well, as you know, Detroit is the motor capital of the world…”
You cut him short “Yes, I have lived in this state my whole life, don’t need to mansplan or school me in my own state sir.” 
“Okay, sassy much, you're lucky, you're cute, and a good kisser.” He counters by stealing a quick kiss before continuing.
“As I was trying to say, there is a motor city charity function in Detroit this weekend, and they ask for me to make a quick appearance, and we are auctioning off one of the ‘Baby’ from this season's production.”
“Oh, that's cool. So in town for just the weekend then?” You question, trying your best to keep a smile and hopefully your voice at a happy upbeat level. Of course he is here for work.
“Well, yes and no. See, Yes, I have to make an appearance at the action tomorrow night with the car, since I drove it here. But also no, since I told my management team that I need a break, like a real break before I go back to filming the next season.”
“Wow, how did they take that?” Jensen actually asked for time off? Really? Shock doesn’t begin to describe your feelings. Trying your best you're sure your face is failing, by the slight smirk Jensen is giving you. 
“Fine, I mean, they have to be fine with it, I am the one that pays them. They were running me ragged, I was getting so burned out. Our conversations were the only things keeping me from throwing in the towel. I am serious Y/N I was this close to quitting it all buying a lot of land out in the desert.” He says, holding up his thumb and index finger millimeters apart to show just how on the edge he was. 
You shake your head at this, knowing that he would never give up acting, he loves it too much, but still. You slap his hand down, but you keep it intertwined with yours.
“When this came up on the schedule It was like fate was giving me the perfect out. We can spend the next six months getting to really know each other. We can spend time here, go down to Texas. What do you think?” Jensen explains.
You're really taken aback now, he did this all for you, he’s putting his life on hold so he can get to know you. Your crazy if you don’t say something, fuck, say anything!
“I love you!” You blurt out, shocked that those words tumble from your lips, but no one has ever put you first this way. No one has ever put their life on hold for you. Oh fuck, you just said it, fuck, fuck, fuck….
Jensen can see you shocked by what you just said as well. He’s shocked that  you beat him to it. But no more appropriate place than where they first meet, where he first lay eyes on you, where he first knew he loved you. 
Before you can take it back, because he can tell you're so close to back tracking it he cuts you off.
“I love you.” Leaning in, he tenderly kisses you, to seal the deal, and to hopefully chase away any doubts you have running around in that beautiful head of yours.
Pulling away and catching your breath, your doubts about saying that you love him first are washed away. Giving him a mischievous smile you ask.
“So when exactly do you have to get Baby to the Motor City Charity function thing?” getting up from your stool and filling the small space between you two. 
His green eyes, looking up at yours with the same mischief twinkle, he knows where this is going. 
“Last time I asked a certain girl in this bar if she wanted a ride, she turned me down so fast my head was spinning.” He jokes, getting up, and pressing his body against yours. 
“Maybe, you should ask her again, but this time ask Jensen, not Dean.” You break eye contact with him to look down at his hard chest, in a simple gray t-shirt, you let your finger run down the v neckline. 
“Do you want to go for a ride?” His voice is deep and low, but distinctively him, with just a slight Texas drawn that you think he purposefully slipped in for you.
You wrap your arm around his neck and bring his face to you, holding him just inches from you, your breath mixes with his. “Yes…take me home…please.” Your voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes ma'am” his texas drawn fully on now. He gives you a chase kiss before stepping out in front of you and taking your hand, leading you out of the bar and towards the side alley. 
You're thankful for the short walk to the car, but Jensen doesn't want to let go of you. Peppering you with kisses with the passenger car door open, he finally concedes and races around to get into the driver side to get his hand into yours again for the short drive to your house. 
You try to take it in that you're riding in Baby right now, next to Jensen Ackles, but for some reason your brain is not letting you process it. You want to look at every inch of this car, but all you can keep your eyes on is the man sitting next to you, the feel of his hand in yours, and the butterflies in your stomach.
The sun is low, casting a beautiful mixture of pinks and oranges in the sky, reflecting off the water as you pass by, the windows down letting in the last of the summer wind. You lean over to flip on the radio to see what Jensen is listening to on the drive and no surprise there, classic rock blasted through the speakers, causing you to laugh out loud and making Jensen smile and hearing your laugh in person, it sounds so much better in person than over Facetime.  
Pulling into your driveway, Jensen shuts off the car, but you two don’t race out of the car yet. Taking in the quietness of the area, the advantage of living in a resort town, most of your neighbors are gone by September. 
There is something about him, Jensen, just makes you feel alive, makes you feel, almost whole again. He makes you comfortable with yourself, and your confidence overtakes you. That you slide over to him. Your lips find his neck and you start to kiss. His breath hitches, and he picks you up so you can straddle his lap.
Breaking from his lips for a second to explore his neck again, and start to leave marks up and down in. Jensen, breaks the silence. 
“You know, your house is right there, we don’t have to act like some horny school kids.” He jokes, but then leans in and starts to kiss your neck and chest to make his own marks to match the ones he knows you started to make on him.
“I know but…fuck…” You try to form a sentence but can only string a few words together before your mind is distracted by his lips.
He pulls back giving you a wink, “you started this.” he smirks back.
“No, you started this, six months ago, when you kissed me for the first time.” You counter, putting the blame back on him. Anding to torture by rocking agist him slightly.
Jensen lets out a small grown at this, his hands have found their way to the hem of your vintage concert t-shirt. It's soft between his finger tips, but he would rather have something else that soft between them. He quickly looks to the left and right of him, noticing that the houses on either side look abandoned, closed up for the summer season. It's almost dusk, but still light out enough that anyone passing by could see. He’s tempted, lord knows, seeing more of her, has never been an issue for him. But this is all new for Y/N, and it is her hometown.
“Fine, but just for the record, you started this. Six months and one week ago. Back in that bar. When you gave me that look and told me….what was it again…my Dean Winchester was showing?” He jokes. Giving her that thousand watt smile, then pulling her down for a searing kiss.     
Pulling back from him and letting your lungs fill with air, you reply, “God you're cute. Come on, let's get inside, before the neighbors start talking. We can order dinner.” Doing your best, but failing to gracefully get off his lap and onto the other side of the bench seat. You push open the passenger door, and get out.
*********
Dinner of pizza, classic movies, and popcorn were on the list of festivities for the night. Having Jensen in the same space was perfect, it was easy, there were no awkward fumbles of getting in each other's way, you seemed to move with ease. 
After the second movie you were both getting tired, You were tired from the emotional rollercoaster ride that you went on today, and Jensen was tired driving from Texas to Michigan. 
Letting out a yawn for the fourth time Jensen finally called you out. “Alright that's it.” Picking up the remote from the coffee table and shutting off the tv.
“Hey, come on, we can finish it, I am fine really.” You say, before another yawn hits.
This causes him to yawn as well. “No, come on. I am tired too.” Getting up from the couch, he grabs your hand and leads you to the bedroom.
Both dressed down in your comfy clothes after dinner, him in gray sweats and a white shirt, you in black leggings and purple tank top.
He gives you a kiss before turning towards the guest room, but you stop him. 
“Where are you going?” You question, still holding onto his hand.
Turning back to you he looks at your still interlocking hand, and then to you. “I just thought…well…I didn’t want to assume.”
He starts to explain, but you cut him off, pulling him back to you, bringing your one hand behind his head and pulling it towards you and wrapping your other around his waist. Crashing his lips into yours. You back into the doorframe, and he braces himself so he doesn’t put his full weight on you. 
Pulling out of the intense kiss, you take a second to breathe. 
“You're not staying in that spare room. I was stupid enough to have you sleep in there once before, but never again.” You say matter of fact. Walking back into the room, pulling him along. 
Jensen follows, kicking the door closed behind him, happy to follow wherever you go.
The End.....(for now)
Tag List:
@ladysparkles78 @smoothdogsgirl @n-o-p-e-never @stoneyggirl2 @lmhf1 @kr804573 @deansimpalababy @livingdeadblondequeen @winchesterwild78 @foxyjwls007
26 notes · View notes
nadas-dirthalen · 2 days ago
Text
I Saw Solas's Origin in an Achievement Icon and It Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore
— PART NINE: if you haven't read previous parts, do it now! —
[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 10 ]
Welcome, friends and travellers! I wanted to get some thoughts recorded before Veilguard's release so I could see if I am right about an absolute BOATLOAD of theories I have.
In short: I saw the achievement list when it was released. I have seen the backstory hints for Solas included in said list. AND MY MIND WAS BLOWN.
You have been warned: THIS COLLECTION OF THEORIES INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR EVERY DRAGON AGE GAME AND ALL PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL UP TO AND INCLUDING OCTOBER 18, 2024.
Come sit down with me. Make a nice cup of tea (and hide it from Solas). We've got a lot of unpacking to do.
Tumblr media
(no, this gif isn't the spoiler, I just like it.)
The Story of Solas: Him Solas Evanuris, Da'durgen'lin (2/3)
— The War That Made Him 'Sing Our End' —
If you're still here, I thank you, from the bottom of my tired heart.
From one single achievement icon, we've unearthed (hah) the workings of Thedas, its realms, its magic. We've come to understand the Evanuris, and we understand one of the youngest of them.
Now, we understand his title: the Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel. Walker of the in-between, as much Evanuris as he is Forgotten One. Da'durgen'lin, boy made from stone. The blight given to the Titan, Terror.
His existence opened the pathway to the end of all things. He and Mythal would fight to stop it. Mythal would lose the fight, and Solas would lose the rest of the world.
Let's keep going. Part 2 of 3, y'all.
Seriously, as ever, go read the other parts before this one. If you need to only read a few, then read 1, 3, 4, 5, and 7 (linked above). All of those matter for context here, you've been forewarned!
This post is going to be long. Let's dive right in. We've got:
The Beginning of the End, and the Rebellion that Tried to Prevent It
"The Wolf Chews Off Its Own Leg to Escape the Trap"
The Prison; the... Gangue?
Uthenera, and a Love of the Fade
Tumblr media
The Truth About Solas No One (in Thedas) Ever Found... but We All Heard
(screenshot from the June 11 gameplay reveal.)
There were little hints to Solas being from icy terror throughout Inquisition, and I want to make quick mention of them.
First is the fact that when you load up Inquisition's prologue, Solas does not have one point in Spirit talents, as one might expect. No: he has one singular point in Winter's Grasp. I never could figure out why. This would make sense.
But also, one more small thing I noticed? If you solve a puzzle in Trespasser (the one in the Shattered Library) and open up the Dread Wolf statue's chest, you get... Rime.
Tumblr media
An ice sword. The description says, "Etched into this blade: 'The way is full of tests and danger. Watch with the coolness of contemplation to stay safe.'"
Coolness. Contemplation—another word for wisdom, that was mentioned in the 'Callback' short story of Tevinter Nights as one of the potential spirits behind the big Regret demon. Both of those things being associated together: icy contemplation? Cold calculation?
Uh huh. UH HUH. OKAY MOVING ON. The next point I want to make is even more important, and I don't have time to hunt for every tiny mention of ice-Solas when we have a day and a half until Veilguard.
Take a breath in with me.
Solas has been singing to us this whole time. His song—the Hallelujah cadence—has been how he has told us of his past, the whole time. Every time he remembers his origins, his history, he is speaking in song. And the very first of those songs, that I can see?
"They're all singing. Coffers, coffins, corpses that aren't dead. A song crying out in the dark." — Cole dialogue, Trespasser
Cole is right, here. (and always.)
It is Mythal's lullaby to Solas, in the same cadence. Calling him into being, using the song he knows best.
His whole life has been a ballad. Not the ballad of his rebellion—though that was one piece of it.
The ballad of the Dread Wolf. The ballad of the blight.
Let's follow its story.
Tumblr media
The Beginning of the End, and the Rebellion that Tried to Prevent It
(screenshot specifically from this Kala Elizabeth video that I have seen before, i swear i am not going through youtube or looking at new content!)
Remember what we know so far: Terror was the first Titan gone wrong. Before that, the elves did not call them Forgotten Ones, because there was nothing dangerous enough to necessitate forgetting.
It was Andruil, stalker of the Void, who would hunt the Forgotten Ones AFTER they had been named such. Who would break rules, cross boundaries, and return blighted.
It was not Terror she hunted. It was Pestilence. The other Evanuris each had their own Titans that they mined, and the others were all fighting back.
Solas's rebellion—which I imagine Mythal was his ally during—aimed to stop the Evanuris. Who better, after all, right? Who better, than the one who had survived what they hoped to unleash? Who better, than the one that the People recognized as stronger than the blight?
But to just curb their usage of blight magic would never have been enough.
It does not matter what the Evanuris did with that blight, initially. It matters that the blight existed at all, and we know that every single one of the Evanuris did actions that caused every Titan to fight back. That's why they have the names they do: terror, malice, spite, pestilence.
The world was doomed either way, because when the Titans turned before the time of the Veil, that meant that the Fade, a part of them, was also doomed.
There was nothing the damage would not touch. The only possible thing would have been to somehow have the Evanuris make up for all their many, many horrors—and would you forgive them, if you were a Titan, knowing what they've done?
We don't know the exact details of his rebellion, yet, and so I cannot properly analyze the legends of Fen'Harel that would have taken place during this rebellion (such as the one with Andruil and Anaris). I also do not have the time to devote to researching them before finishing part 10 of this series.
But it could only end one way.
With the Veil going up, the Evanuris locked away, all the Titans sundered from all their conscious minds—to save the Titans from THEMSELVES.
Tumblr media
"The Wolf Chews Its Leg Off to Escape the Trap"
"He broke the dreams to stop the old dreams from waking. The wolf chews its leg off to escape the trap." — Cole dialogue, Trespasser
I never understood what that meant, before. Solas created the Veil, yes—but what about the Veil was his leg? Because "chews its leg off" implies that Solas has done personal harm to himself, specifically, in the creation of the Veil. What would be true for Solas that is not true of the other elvhen impacted by the Veil? Shouldn't all of their legs have been chewed off, too, in this analogy?
No: because there was one of the Evanuris alone who walked among both clans of gods, remember?
Fen'Harel. Evanuris and Forgotten One. Da'durgen'lin, who the Titans recognize as their own. We do not know what happened to Solas during his rebellion or how he communicated with the other Forgotten Ones (or, I do not know yet, and have no time to find out), but we do know that he walked among both, seen as a peer among both sets of gods.
That means that, for all he looked like an Evanuris, some part of Solas still was Titan-borne, in ways none of the Evanuris were. What might the distinguishing feature of one of the Titan-borne be?
The song. The one he continues to speak in, trying to hint what happened.
Forever calling for home.
In creating the Veil and sundering the Titans, Solas broke his own home, his own source of life. In sundering the Titans, he sundered a fundamental piece of himself.
Who among the audience remembers Solas's greatest fear, as seen in the Fade during Here Lies the Abyss?
Dying. Alone.
Not dying without Mythal. Not dying without Arlathan. Not the empire of old never being restored.
Dying.
Alone.
While you're reaching for the nearest tissues, let me pull up some Varric/Solas banter for you.
Solas: Do you ever miss life beneath the earth? The call of the Stone? Varric: Nah. Whatever the Stone - capital S - is, it was gone by the time my parents had me. Solas: But... do you miss it? Varric: How could I miss what I never had? Varric: But say I did have that sense, that connection to the Stone. What would it cost me? Varric: Would I lose my friends up here? Would I stop telling stories? Varric: I like who I am. If I want to hear songs, I'll go to a tavern. Solas: You are wiser than most.
Solas is afraid. He is afraid of being the only one to remember the call of the Stone. Do the other dwarves miss it? Will they ever fight to have it back?
Solas: Is there at least a movement to reunite Orzammar and Kal-Sharok? Varric: What is it with you, Chuckles? Why do you care so much about the dwarves? Solas: Once, in the Fade, I saw the memory of a man who lived alone on an island. Most of his tribe had fallen to beasts or disease. His wife had died in childbirth. He was the only one left. He could have struck out on his own to find a new land, new people. But he stayed. He spent every day catching fish in a little boat, every night drinking fermented fruit juice and watching the stars. Varric: I can think of worse lives. Solas: How can you be happy surrendering, knowing it will all end with you? How can you not fight? Varric: I suppose it depends on the quality of the fermented fruit juice. Solas: So it seems.
Most of his people fell to disease. He was the only one left.
Solas isn't talking about the blighted elves of ancient Arlathan. He is talking about the other beings of the Stone, all succumbing to the blight. The defence mechanisms of the Titans he was forced to sunder and put to eternal sleep.
Solas: I am sorry to have bothered you with my questions about your people Varric. I see so much of this world in dreams. Humans, my own people, even qunari. Dwarves alone were lost to me, save scattered fragments of memory where some spirit cared to watch. Now I know why I see so little. Varric: And why is that? Solas: Dwarves are the severed arm of a once mighty hero, lying in a pool of blood. Undirected. Whatever skill of arms it had, gone forever. Although it might twitch to give the appearance of life, it will never dream. Varric: I'd avoid mentioning that to any Carta, Chuckles. They might not take it the right way.
Because the Titans are all gone, as far as Solas is concerned. They are gone, because it was necessary to sunder the waking world from the dreaming one. The Titans needed to be disarmed—and the Evanuris needed to be so caught off guard, they would be vulnerable. He only needed to successfully complete one ritual.
One we already know exists.
Tumblr media
The Prison; the... Gangue?
(screenshots from Kala Elizabeth's video. i know her channel is spoiler-free!)
Solas did not intend to cause worldwide destruction with the Veil; it was what he had to do. He put the Titans to sleep so they would not—could not—fight back, and imprisoned the Evanuris so there would be no one left alive to manipulate the blight.
"Solas doesn't want to hurt people! He's not that kind of wolf! Qunari don't see." — Cole dialogue, Trespasser
But the Evanuris could not exist in any normal prison. Had they access to their bodies in any capacity, they would have killed each other, knowing they would soon come back through their archdemons.
Solas needed to take all access to their mobile bodies away. I wondered how, because we see him standing in "fade jail." But what I had not seen, or what I had not known to look for, were the statues all around Solas.
Tumblr media
We know, from Inquisition, what can be done with those statues. We see it in the Hissing Wastes, and the Tomb of Fairel questline.
Until further notice: Do not tamper with the torches! Lighting them in wrong order summons demons. The inscriptions on the pillars indicate the correct order, but wait until we have confirmed the accuracy of our translations before proceeding. I have made maps to the other tombs where there are similar structures. Let the same warning stay your hand there. - Magister Gallus Below this, someone else has written complicated formulas and scribbled many notes: - Demons bound into the rock! How did the ancient dwarves manage it without mages? (Binding runes? Subtle properties of stonework? Investigate!) - "Gangue" carved into walls. Could be translated from Old Dwarven as "Stone waste" or "Impure spirit-of-the-stone." Dwarven superstition, saw demons as "impure" spirits of rock? - Study impossible with dormant demons. Ask Sephus and Urathus for help with binding.
Demons can be bound into stone. But what is a demon? A demon is a twisted spirit.
And we know from not only the Chant of Light, but prior theorycrafting in this series (part 3), that everyone who is alive has a spirit for a soul. Spirits and souls are the same thing: the thoughts of Titans.
Those can be removed from bodies. They can be placed into bodies. We've seen the Evanuris do it, with Dirthamen "taking secrets away" from the animals he experimented on.
And once put into stone? There would be no way for the Evanuris to act except for the tenuous connection to the other pieces of themselves: the parts of their souls stored in their archdemons, who would begin to whisper to the priests of old Tevinter.
But what would happen, over four thousand years?
Tumblr media
"The prison in which I had trapped them had begun to crumble. I was moving them to another—"
This confirms, to me, that the Evanuris were trapped in those statues, AND that it was, in fact, a good plan!
Good job, Solas! Sorry we made fun of you for an entire franchise.
Still wish you would've asked any of your friends for help, ever, and maybe not murdered some of them.
But, no matter how good the plan, the result of Solas creating the Veil, sundering the Titans, breaking his own connection to the Titans, and imprisoning the Evanuris into stone took a massive toll on him. One he would not recover from for thousands of years.
Tumblr media
Uthenera, a Love of the Fade, and the Desire to Remake the World He Knew
This section, thank the gods, gets to be short.
We all know that Solas, weakened, went into Uthenera: the eternal waking sleep. What I want to discuss is why he loved it so much.
Think about it with me for a moment: what is the Fade, from all we have learned in these posts? It is the sleeping Titans' consciousness. The domain of all the Titans' thoughts, and the natural dwelling place of Fade spirits—which are also the Titans' thoughts.
You know what that sounds like to me?
The closest that Solas can get to the Isatunoll he once knew, before the Veil. The one mentioned when Mythal sang that lullaby to him.
Remember what I thought of the elvish word suledin?
sul: possibly short for sulahn, "sing" e: possibly used in place of e'var, as in "our (in Isatunoll)" or "the Titans'" din: death; the dead; the end
Solas could 'sing our end' in the Fade, with the other spirits.
He doesn't have to be the lone man on the island, in the Fade. Not as much, anyway. The realm of the Fade takes the shape of the thoughts and memories of the spirits and people inhabiting it at the time. Thoughts communicate with Fade and shape it.
Is it any wonder, then, that things were always easier for Solas in the Fade, by his own admission?
He was always telling us the truth. We just didn't know enough to see it.
Solas stayed in uthenera for four thousand years (give or take?), and in that time, entrenched in his beliefs. How could he not? He had just caused worldwide devastation out of necessity, and was mourning the loss of all he never stood a chance of saving. He broke the world to break the blight—and when he slept, he mourned it. His people, made of stone, all gone. His people, in their greed, the ones who destroyed it all.
Titans and Evanuris; he walked among them both. He betrayed both.
Both betrayed him first.
Of course he planned to wake, to move the Evanuris to a new prison, and then take down the Veil. It would be so much easier, moving their harmless spirits from statue to statue. And once it was over? The Titans could wake, see that their tormentors were all gone, and—perhaps—heal.
He seeks... regeneration.
But Corypheus heard whispers from Dirthamen, long before then. Corypheus would survive what Solas had intended to kill him with. The Veil would be in danger of coming crashing down—and bringing the horrors of the Evanuris and Titans both back with its disintegration.
Solas had intended to sacrifice a world he didn't know in pursuit of healing the one he wounded.
Corypheus, however, would force him into the Inquisition—and the Inquisition would change everything.
---
Also: I am essentially FULLY OFFLINE to try and avoid game spoilers! As these reviews have just gone live yesterday (10/28), I am not reading my notifications/replies, and am appearing here only to continue posting my theories. I have heard that the embargo has been broken at least once already and I refuse to risk it, so I will respond to messages and notifications once I have played Veilguard for a bit.
(Mutuals, if you need me, you may DM me, as long as you do not mention the reviews in any capacity.)
31 notes · View notes
astrosamara · 5 hours ago
Text
Astrology Observations #6
Tumblr media
Happy Halloween! 🎃🎃🎃
🧡 Sun square Saturn people feel like they need to work twice as hard to achieve success that appears to come more naturally for others. Incredibly hard on themselves if they feel like they're not being productive enough or doing enough, yet they work relentlessly towards their goals and overcoming obstacles. It's hard for them to recognize their achievements or to feel proud of themselves.
🧡 Unaspected planets in the birth chart tend to manifest as a very pure representation of that planet. For example, an unaspected moon can be very emotionally expressive and reactive. Emotions run freely here. An unaspected mars needs to be busy all the time, high stress and aggression can be hard to keep under control, and they can be very competitive.
🧡 The house Venus is in is crucial to understanding someone's values and what they need to feel loved and appreciated. For example, I know a 3rd house Venus who talks to me a lot about how much they can't stand miscommunication and liars. They really value open and honest communication. I plan on creating an in-depth Venus post in the future :)
🧡 This might be an unpopular opinion, but I found my Jupiter return to be pretty underwhelming. I experienced a lot of ease in my life and I feel like I was able to get out of difficult situations pretty quickly, but other than that it wasn't quite what I've seen it made out to be. I've had quite a few people in my life have Jupiter returns recently and it was underwhelming for them as well. It's possible my 12th house profection year and 12th house Saturn transit was overshadowing my Jupiter return though.
🧡When Venus transits my 3rd and 9th houses, I notice I have a stronger desire to travel during these periods. I just want to be out and about and exploring new places and new cities. I'm usually a big homebody, but during these transits I don't feel that as much.
🧡When Sun transits my 8th and 12th houses, this is always the most painful time for me every single year. I just feel a heaviness stronger than usual and a lot of my old wounds get brought up again. This can be a really helpful time to clear out negative energy that's been stagnant for so long and start fresh once the transit ends.
🧡Pisces is by far the most sensitive sign, while Cancer is the most emotional. I feel like a lot of people misinterpret the sensitivity of Pisces as just being sad, but overall they just feel and can pick up on all the energy around them and can even have periods of apathy as a way to cope. I've also known many Pisces that struggle with anger issues as an unhealthy expression of their sensitivity.
🧡With the people you're closest to, you might see them as being their moon sign more than their sun sign. This is because you've likely seen the deepest parts of them that other's don't usually get to see.
🧡The intensity of Aries and Scorpio synastry is next level. Their connections are filled with passion and sexual chemistry. Unfortunately, that lust tends to be all that's really there for them. All that mars energy is quick and hot, but the flame doesn't last forever, unless there's more harmonious synastry between them of course.
🧡I've found 9th house Jupiter people to be incredibly smart and wise beyond their years. They can have a very deep understanding of life and the world around them. Excellent teachers and role models.
🧡I think Saturn conjunct Moon is one of the most challenging aspects to have in a natal chart. There can be this lifelong feeling of being depressed or dissatisfied, like they're cold and empty inside. They can feel disconnected to their feelings and feel emotionally starved because of this. Their mother could have been very strict and unloving and played a huge role in these feelings. Constantly feeling like they're not good enough. Just an overall very harsh placement that I feel for a lot.
🧡I've noticed that water signs tend to be very naturally inclined to spirituality. It can just be something they feel drawn to and resonate with easily. They openly embrace ideas about the universe that most people are skeptical about.
🧡Leo mercuries have the most beautiful talking voices. Their emotions shine through their voices so effortlessly. So charismatic as well. They know how to keep conversations lively.
🧡I've known so many Aquarius risings and all of them have this "goofy" persona about them that's hard to even fully describe. They just love to be a little bit silly. They also pride themselves super strongly on being unique from others. It really bothers them to feel like they're in a box or a stereotype of any sorts.
30 notes · View notes