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heavymetalover · 5 years ago

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Call Me Daddy (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

{i imagined scruffy sojourn michael w this one but i left the description kind of open so yall can imagine whichever teehee}

Summary: Michael is about to become your step dad and the two of you have an unusual relationship…

Warnings: DADDY KINK DUH, smut, dirty talk, fingering, vaginal sex, dom!michael, hickies, rough sex.

WC: 5.5k

A/N: ive done the unforgiven… omg.

this is a different format from my other stuff. i didnt see anyone doing this and yall know me and my daddy issues I HAD TO. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE anon me, message me, whatever, if you want more parts cuz im down.

~~~~

You had an average run-of-the-mill life with your mom. The two of you lived in a sizable suburban Los Angeles estate; your mom worked for most of her waking hours to keep you comfortable and you worked your ass off to stay in your top college. You had a few friends that would pop into your life when your mom left town, a few boyfriends here and there, even your mom dated around. Everything felt normal until Michael came into the picture.

Your mom has been dating Michael for a few months now, but every time he’s around he brings an eerie feeling along with him. Despite being nearly half her age, he has the soul of somebody from the eighteen hundreds. The way he composes himself, how he speaks with the utmost confidence and how his stares linger too long; his glacial blue eyes always watch you like he can see right through your clothes.

You’ve been skeptical of him since the day you met him. When you shook his hand and accidentally removed one of his large rings, he nonchalantly told you to keep it. You decided to sell the huge diamond-encrusted Cartier ring and use the twenty thousand dollars to help pay for college.

Since then you’ve avoided the two of them in protest of their relationship. You knew it was juvenile to evade them, but the man turned you on more than you’d like to admit. His soft-waved blonde hair, fluffy lips, jawline for days, prominent cheekbones, and how can you forget the eyes… Everything about him looked planned, like he was designed to be flawless.

On a mundane weekend morning, your mom calls you from downstairs. “Y/n!” her voice echoes through the halls.

You stop reading your favourite book and take out an earbud. “Yeah?!” you yell back, looking up from the pages for a moment and waiting for her to say something else, but the house is silent. You pretend to ignore her call and go back to the story.

“Y/n!” your mom yells again.

You sigh and drop your book, rolling off of your bed and skipping down the stairs to see what fresh hell awaits. As you approach your mom, who’s opening her mouth to call you again, you smell something unusual. Something you haven’t smelt since your dad left. Cologne.

“Honey, he’s here,” your mom whispers to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. You try turning away to run back to your room, but your mom stops you. “Can you be nice for once, please?” she begs, squeezing your shoulder.

“Whatever, let’s get this over with,” you groan and shimmy her hand off of your shoulder.

Michael works at the dining table, setting up three plates and utensils. You’re planted to the ground in awe, you’ve never had to eat dinner with the two of them before. It crosses your mind that they must be confronting you about bypassing them these past few months, your fight or flight response is already kicking in.

Michael looks up at you, finally acknowledging you and capturing you in his ocean blue eyes with a nanosecond of contact. Your mom moves in between the two of you and takes some food out of a paper bag. “Michael and I wanted all of us to eat dinner together,” she skips to stand beside him. You widen your eyes at her and cross your arms in objection. She widens her eyes back, you can practically hear her nagging you to be polite.

Michael puts his arm around your mom. “Your mother and I thought it best for us to… start acting like a family,” he says.

Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t hold back your smile. “A family?” you laugh. You purse your lips and start walking backwards, aching to escape Michael’s spell. “Mmm, I think I’ll pass,” you turn around to start walking away.

“Y/n,” your mom snaps. You stop in the middle of a step and twist back towards them, taking small, reluctant steps to approach their little function. “We have something to tell you,” she says and immediately after, vaults her hand out to you.

You take it hesitantly and look at her, still trying to figure them out and failing. “What?” you ask.

“No, honey, look at it,” she rolls her eyes, “look at my hand.”

You gawk at her hand, her third finger is dressed in a huge diamond ring. It looks big enough to pay off your whole house. You unintentionally let out a dramatic gasp and drop her hand, she continues to hold it up for you. “It’s the bloodiest diamond he could find in the LA area,” she explains, “We’re in love.” She smiles and places her hand on Michael’s chest, looking up at him with hearts in her eyes. He gifts a small kiss on her lips.

You scoff and shake your head. Any tension that you felt from Michael has dissolved. He’s been dating your mom for five months, five fucking months. Who does he think he is? Are they both nuts? “You’re joking, right?” you ask, completely stunned by how brash the whole situation is. “Are you guys pranking me?”

Michael grins at you, it makes you melt and you hate yourself for it. “Call me daddy,” he sneers.

----

It’s a quaint Wednesday evening when you decide to take a break from studying and grab a snack. You’re scrolling through Tumblr when you walk out of your room and smash your face against a sturdy chest. “Jesus!” you gasp, looking up at Michael standing in front of your door; one of his hands is in a fist, ready to knock on your door, while the other is behind his back. “You scared the shit out of me!” You playfully push his chest away from you, trying to shake off the sudden rush of adrenaline.

He drops his fist as he stumbles back slightly. It’s the first time you’ve talked to him since they announced their engagement. Michael moved in about a month ago and it’s been hard to ignore him since he sits, day in day out, typing away on his laptop in your living room.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “But I have to admit it’s nice to hear your voice again.”

You lean against your doorframe, trying to act casual as if he hadn’t just knocked the wind out of you completely. “Did my mom come home from work or something? She send you here?” you ask, declining his attempts to meet your eyes, instead you stare at his lapel.

“No, I got you something,” he explains, wiggling the surprise behind his back.

“Another Cartier ring?” you joke. “Oh, or is it a new girlfriend? Because that would be even better.” His eyes find the ceiling in annoyance and it feels rewarding, you were starting to think he couldn’t be cracked. “Did you get me an apartment, so I don’t have to live with another failed marriage?”

“No,” he snaps back, starting to sound impatient with your infantile attitude. You straighten up at his belligerent tone. He slides into your room, keeping the gift hidden behind his back. “It’s thoughtful, something I know you’d like, but… if you’re hellbent on loathing my existence, why should I be so kind?” he asks. He somehow manages to speak reserved, yet impossibly intimidating. Every word that leaves his lips demands to be heard, it sends chills down your spine. “Right?” he prompts.

You take in a breath. “Right,” you force yourself to agree, mostly because you’re curious to see what the present is. Another part of you is getting bored of acting like a hermit and going days without social interaction. “Obviously it feels weird; I barely know you and you’re becoming my dad and you moved in, everything just seems so fast,” you explain yourself. You saunter back into your room to meet him. “I’ve been a bitch. I’m sorry, Michael. Seriously.”

He takes a step closer to you, you’re only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his body and fight the urge to wrap your arms around him. “We’ll work on ‘Michael’ later,” he replies. You’re about to question what he means by that when he takes the present out from behind his back. He holds a black bag in between the two of you and you immediately recognize the store. “I heard you on the phone with your friend about something red, lacey, with a bow. I think I found it…”

You take the Victoria’s Secret bag from him without saying a word. You have no words to say. You don’t know if you should thank him or refuse the gift or slap him for listening to your personal conversations. Your mind races wondering if you’d gossiped about his good looks on the phone with your friend.

You silently pry open the bag and paw through the lingerie, mountains of cute panties and bras, digging through things you were never able to afford but always wanted. And, of course, Michael bought the red, lacey one piece you were talking about with your friend. There’s a stillness in the room as you look through the bag. “You bought all of this for me?”

“Yeah, I can’t see how your mom would fit into any of those.”

All of the pieces are just your size, it’s the perfect gift… just not from your stepdad. “How did you even know my size?” you stop looking at the bag and make the mistake of falling into his eyes.

“I went through your clothes,” he carelessly shrugs.

You drop the present by your side. “You went through my clothes, like, my lingerie?”

He slowly nods his head, acting as if it isn’t strange for him to invade your privacy how he did. You huff and he begins looking agitated with you again. “Would you like if I returned all this stuff? I thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” you mutter and kick the bag away from him, you’re not jeopardizing this gift with your uncontrollable sass.

“Good,” he spits back.

“Just… don’t think you can just buy yourself into the family,” you mock. You catch yourself subconsciously crossing your arms over your chest to give yourself a breast lift, but you don’t stop.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smirks. He looks down at your cleavage and it feels like all the air is sucked out of the room. “You have quite the collection of lingerie you keep hidden at the bottom of your drawers,” he observes, “like a dirty guilty pleasure.” You peer up at him, again trying to read him, and again failing. He uses one of his fingers to hook onto the thin fabric of your shirt, your tits are practically pouring out and begging to be the center of attention. He tugs at the fabric, looking under your shirt and inspecting your boobs suffocated in one of your intimate Victoria’s Secret pickups. “Kitten’s all dressed up?” he whispers, his fingertips graze the embroidered details.

You bite your lip, anticipating the second he’ll rip the bra off your chest. “It’s all for you,” you tease, pushing your tits together even more, “I’m always dressed up for you, Michael.”

He breathes in, groaning under his breath. “I thought I told you,” his voice is low and intimidating, “call me daddy.”

You’re drinking in a breath of his cologne, shifting onto the tips of your toes to give his soft lips a rugged kiss, when the sound of keys rattling downstairs takes you out of it. Michael still stares at you, his fingers continue to linger over your clothed tits. “Michael!” your mom calls from downstairs.

You look up at him with fear in your puppy dog eyes and Michael grins. He shoots you one last, knowing, glance before leaving your room. He leaves you without saying two words. “Yeah, babe,” he answers your mom, closing your bedroom door behind him.

What the fuck just happened?

----

Holding back your gags, you grasp your friend’s hair as she projectile vomits peach schnapps into an expensive toilet bowl. Her phone rings in her pocket and you huff, digging through the pockets of the leather jacket you lent her and pulling out a vibrating iPhone. You pick up the phone with an ill “hello”, answering too late and looking down at the screen. She must’ve ordered an Uber a while ago, there’s a ton of notifications that the driver’s outside. “Oh shit,” you mutter under your breath. “Your ride is here!” you yell at her, trying to pull her onto her feet.

“What?!” she yells into the toilet bowl.

You roll your eyes and lean down beside her ear, “I said, your ride is here!” you yell over the thumping music.

Your friend stumbles around, trying to stand up in her six-inch heels. You pull her onto you and her head rests on your shoulder, she goes limp against you. “Stop, come on!” you shout over the music. “You have to g-”

You’re cut off by your friend puking onto an expensive mini dress you bought for tonight’s party. This shindig was supposed to be a fun little escape from your school life, your home life, Michael, all your stress. You expected to make new friends, meet hot guys, but instead you came an hour late and have been nursing your friend the whole night. You’re seriously going to kick her ass tomorrow.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, her breath reeking of throw up.

You toss her arm over your shoulder and start walking her out of the bathroom. “I’m going to kill you tomorrow, you know that?” you say in her ear and she lets out a small, apologetic whimper.

A cute guy who was talking you up earlier approaches the two of you. He holds two red cups in his hands and shrugs when he sees you. “What the fuck, y/n? You disappeared on me!” he talks to you over the bass-y music. “I got our drinks!” he shakes the cups in his hands and hands one over to you, as if completely ignoring your drunken friend hanging off of your side.

Your friend staggers, nearly bringing you down with her. The cute guy helps you pick her back up and you sigh, annoyed at how much of a disaster your night has turned into. He knits his eyebrows at your sour attitude, then finding the vomit on your dress, he looks back up at you. You see his doe eyes grow apologetic when he mouths a weak “sorry” to you, stepping out of your way. You shake your head as if telling him it’s fine; you just wish you had more time to get to know him.

You continue dragging your friend along your side and hear someone call out your name from behind you. You whip your head around; your hair irritatingly sticks to your lip-gloss. “Hope to see you again!” he calls after you. You nod in his direction and resume walking your friend, who is nearly passed out on your shoulder, to the front door. When you walk out of the house, you’re assaulted with the smell of salt water. Despite this night turning into one of the most frustrating nights of your life, at least you got to visit a Malibu beach house.

A big, black SUV is parked outside of the house and you rush her to the door. Opening the backseat and stuffing her inside the seats in the back. “The app says where you’re taking her, right?” you ask the Uber driver, your voice sounds muted from being struck by loud music all night.

He nods and reads out her address. “Y/n,” your friend slurs, gripping onto your arm with all her strength, “you’re a really nice… you’re a… you’re a really good friend, you know that? Like, seriously,” she pauses to hiccup, “thank you for taking care of me tonight.” Her words are so slurred that it’s nearly impossible to make out her compliment, but you just nod in hopes it’ll get her to let go. She drops your arm and hands you your pricey leather jacket, bunched up in a ball, before shutting the van door.

You throw on your jacket, protecting yourself from the ocean’s breeze, and watch the van drive away when you notice a familiar car parked across the street. The SUV blocked a four-seater Maserati parked on the other side of the road. Michael’s sedentary in the driver’s seat with a cigarette hanging from his lips. You balance yourself on your ridiculously tall heels and stomp over to his car. He doesn’t even see you coming, he’s leaned back in the driver’s seat reading a book.

You crouch down and knock on the glass of his window. His eyes meet yours for a second and he slowly rolls down the window. A mob of cigarette smoke escapes the car and he chucks the stick onto the pavement. You’re both quiet for a few moments, the crashing ocean waves fills up the silence. “How did you know I was here?” you ask.

He finally puts down his book and looks at you. “Just trying to be a good dad,” he responds.

“Ugh, ew,” you groan. “You’re my step dad.”

He adjusts his seat to start driving, his eyes looking you up and down as he does. “Looks like your night went a little… rough,” he jokes and nods towards the puke on your dress. “You need a ride?”

You look back at the party. As much as you wanted to live up the night, you’re already in too much of a bad mood to go back in there. It doesn’t help that your new dress is covered in puke, too. You turn back around to Michael, he awaits your answer with a cocked brow. “You can’t tell mom,” you sigh, walking around the car to get into the passenger’s seat. The luxury car’s butterfly doors obnoxiously open up for your entry. “Not a word,” you assure him as you slide into the leather seat.

He starts up the car and one of his Led Zeppelin albums begins to play. “I picked you up at the library,” he quips.

He starts driving along the empty coast and you decide to skip the seatbelt, you don’t want to dirty his car with your friend’s retch. His eyes glance over to your seat for a moment, he notices you second guessing the seatbelt and puts a hand on your thigh. You look up at him and intuitively try to tempt him, biting your bottom lip and batting your lashes. “I’ll protect you if we crash,” he whispers, his fingers lightly caress your thighs.

You put your hand on his and slide him further up your leg. He keeps one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, but when his eyes do meet yours, it makes all the nerves in your core feel like a wave pool. Your dress is short enough for him to reach your panties without any hassle. Your hand is on his when his fingers begin to rub your pussy, still dressed in a pair of panties he bought you. “Baby’s already wet for daddy,” he says under his breath, kneading your clit in small circles.

You feel your stomach erupt with butterflies, you’ve never felt a nervousness so intense before. A rush of thoughts suddenly violates your mind, you try to shut them up but they keep coming. This is wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re disgusting for enjoying this. His fingers have been in your mom before.

You dig your nails into his skin and pull his hand away from you; bending over in your seat and clutching onto your stomach. You only had one drink tonight, you shouldn’t be feeling this sick.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, “are you okay?”

“I think I need air,” you grumble through the sudden sickness. “Can you pull over?”

Michael only takes a minute to find an empty parking lot on the beach and pull into it. You get out of the car without saying a word to him and take off your heels, throwing them into the backseat of his car. You’re already starting to feel your anxiety subside as you shuffle through the cool sand and pace towards the erratic waves crashing on shore. This is one of the reasons you loved LA, the tons of tiny, empty beaches. The ocean at night, and how it constantly smelt like salt water, how it relaxed you.

The breeze blew through your hair, a part of you felt like running into the crashing waves, but a voice took you out of it. “Y/n!” Michael called behind you, over the sound of the whistling wind. He trudges in the sand to get to you; you faintly snicker at his dedication. “Are you okay?” he asks once he’s closer to you.

When you see him, face glowing in the moon light, golden locks blowing in the ocean breeze, face twisted with concern, it all settles. Everything feels like it’s in the right place. Your stomach, although still turning with butterflies, no longer feels sick.

There’s a pause between the two of you; both of you deciding to admire each other instead of the beautiful ocean view beside you. Then, it feels like everything clicks. Like the two of you mentally communicate your longing for each other, your desire. Both shutting your eyes and diving in for a kiss at the same time.

His lips smash against yours, sucking your face, and his tongue quickly invades your mouth. He kisses you like he’s craved your lips for years, passionately cleaning up your mouth with his eager tongue.

Michael works your jacket off of your shoulders and you shimmy it to the ground. He unzips your dress, the zip running along your naked back sends a shiver crawling down your spine. He abandons your lips for a moment to pull down your dress, exposing your bare chest and expensive panties. You’re too lost in lust to even realize you’re half naked on a public beach.

You’re both panting and releasing all of the built-up sexual tension. He stands back up and kisses you again, his hands cup your ass and he gives an echoed smack; his fingers creep down your legs. He grabs onto the back of your thighs and hoists you up, you lightly yelp into his mouth and wrap your legs around him. His large hands hold you up and he leans down, resting you onto the jacket you’ve thrown onto the sand.

Once you’re laid down, he begins rubbing your pussy again. His cold rings adding a different sense of pleasure as he rubs you into entropy. He slides your feeble panties to the side and spits down on your cunt, shoving his finger inside you. You moan at the sudden intrusion, taking in a breath of the salt-scented air. “That’s it, baby girl,” he whispers, adding in another finger, “I want to hear you moan for daddy.”

You take in a breath and whimper as he curves his fingers inside of you, slowly pulsing against your g-spot. He touches you as if he already knows which parts make you crumble. “Ooh yeah, daddy,” you cry and grind on his fingers, pushing him deeper inside you, “right there.”

“You’re my dirty little slut, huh?” he asks, gliding in another finger. Your eyes roll back in pleasure. “Little girl likes to get fucked by her daddy?” He adds another finger, completely stretching you out. Your breath gets caught in your throat and you can’t reply. “I asked you a question.”

You meet his cold eyes for a second, before you throw your head back in pleasure. “Yes!” you breathe out, feeling the heat rise in your body. Your sensitive cunt throbs under his gluttonous fingers, persistently fucking you and begging for more. “Yes, oh, keep fucking me just like that, daddy!”

His fingers find a rhythm inside of you, constantly bringing you to the brink of climax and slowing down. “Such a dirty little girl,” he teases and spits on your soaking cunt. He pulls out his fingers and holds them to your lips. You grab his hand and suck on his long fingers, tasting the cool metal rings mixed with the sweet taste of your pussy.

You sit up and lock your lips with his again. Both, you and Michael, unbutton his shirt; you want to feel his flesh against yours as soon as possible. When you get to the bottom, you slide your hands up his body and square the shirt off of his shoulders. His perfect, porcelain skin shines in the moonlight. You want to appreciate it for a moment, but he’s already unbuckling his belt.

He’s propped on his knees, unzipping his black pants and bringing them down to pull his erection out of his briefs. It springs out when you start grabbing for it, he moves back and clicks his tongue. “My greedy little girl,” he mocks, “you don’t get a taste until daddy says you do.”

He pushes you down with one of his hands. His touch is so delicate, yet so commanding. Everything he does is done with conviction and a power that only you could dream of, he is inherently dominant over you. He strokes his long, girthy length over you, you’re practically drooling at the sight. He spits on himself and rubs it into the head. “Spit on it,” he orders.

You sit up and weakly spit on the tip of his cock; it’s too late when you notice your mouth is dry from nervousness. He shakes his head. “You’re so pathetic, you can’t even spit on me right,” he sneers, divorced from the nasty words leaving his lips. He presses his dick against your folds and your fingers curl into your jacket, awaiting the moment he plunges into you. “Say the word, baby girl, say you want me,” he’s lingering at your entrance.

“Please,” you whine, your pussy is beating against his hard cock, “please dad.”

He pushes his head inside you and you grab his arms for support, digging your nails into his skin. He’s so thick, you’ve never felt something so large obtruding your tight cunt. He moves in slowly, reading your stunned facial expressions to see if he should continue stuffing himself inside of you. You let out tiny weeps as he digs deeper into your hole, but you can’t manage much more.

Michael thrusts himself into you until he’s balls deep, even he can’t help but groan. “My little girl is so fucking tight,” he grunts under his breath. He starts to hammer himself into you, going so deep that you feel like pushing him back, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. His cock is so thick that it hits every nerve you could imagine; it’s hard to gather a single word.

He lets out a small chuckle at your reticence. “My innocent baby’s never felt a real cock before, huh?” he taunts, still pounding his length into you. You open your mouth to speak, but settle on shaking your head. One distinct tear runs down the side of your face while stifled cries pass your trembling lips with each time his balls smack into your ass. “You’re taking me like a good fucking girl,” he admires, “my good little slut.”

He lifts up your leg and rests your foot on his shoulder. You’re twisted onto your side, trying to look over your shoulder to see how vigorously he pounds into your cunt. Michael’s new positioning hits exactly in your g-spot, you feel your leg shaking under his grip. “H-holy shit,” your voice trembles, you let out a built-up breath. “Keep going, daddy! Right there, right there, I’m so close,” you’re begging, voice is flooded with desperation. You don’t care how childish you sound, you want nothing more than to come all over Michael’s big dick. “Don’t move, please, please,” you grab onto his arm again.

Tears overflow your eyes when you look into his. Just seeing his determined light blue eyes peering back at you makes you unravel even more. He has no remorse for how weak he’s making you, how vulnerable you’ve become, his unmistakable dominion turns you on.

He listens to your wails, finally granting you the satisfaction you’ve been begging for and plows into your g-spot. Your grip on him gets tighter as he thrusts harder, you’re almost certain he’s going to leave some swelling deep inside your cunt. “Your dick is so, fucking, good,” you breathe in between thrusts.

Michael doesn’t give up, keeping up the same pace and fucking you exactly how you want him to. You’re about to praise his long cock some more when you’re thrown into climax. You try looking back up at him, but you can’t say a word; your mouth hangs wide open with nothing but small chokes croaking out. He can see how dazed he’s made you and shoves your face into the ground, pushing your nose against the leather of your jacket. “You’re going to take daddy’s cock like a good little girl,” he seethes, suffocating your head into your jacket. “Don’t come,” he demands.

He continues punching your g-spot with his huge cock, you feel your pussy spasming under his rough thrusts. He holds both of your arms back, shifting you into doggy-style. His balls slap against your sore clit and you feel yourself starting to ejaculate. “Fuck!” you scream into the breeze of the empty beach. Your cunt twitches and gushes its balmy juices all over Michael’s hard cock.

He slows down his pace and pulls your arms up towards him, you feel his heaving chest against your back. “What did I just fucking say?” he fumes, tugging your arms even closer to him. “Answer me.”

“You told me not to come,” you answer in a syrupy, naïve voice.

He grabs both of your tits to push you flush against him, maintaining his rough thrusts into your cunt. “That’s right,” he whispers in your ear, “baby didn’t fucking listen.” He smacks your tits with both of his hands, striking you hard. You jump at how ruthless he hits you, it makes your stomach flutter again. His full lips lug along your neck. “Remember who you belong to,” he speaks into your neck, sending an iciness throughout your entire body.

Michael digs his teeth into your skin, sucking up your flesh while he continues massaging your breasts, pinching at the hard peaks your nipples have formed. He sucks so hard it stings, you wonder how that would feel on your pussy. His love bite begins to hurt and you shift your head away from him, he snickers. “Who do you belong to?” he whispers, lips chafing the shell of your ear.

He pinches your nipples even harder and you sob in pleasure. “Mmm, you,” you respond, looking over your shoulder to give his lips a frail kiss. “I belong to you, daddy.”

He takes in a deep breath as if shaking off your spell and regaining his confidence. He pushes you onto the ground again and goes back to fucking you like a ragdoll. “You better remember that,” he breathes, mercilessly pummeling himself into you again.

He holds both of your arms back once more, driving himself into you so hard that you’re concerned about cervix bruising. His pace slows down a bit and you look back at him, his mouth drapes open and he stares down at the back of your head. He pushes you away as he orgasms, savagely shoving your face back into the ground, as you feel his warm seed spilling inside your wet cunt. Michael groans from deep within his chest, letting out a long sigh when he’s done. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, “fuck, you sexy bitch.”

You let out a little giggle at this and he joins. He hauls himself out of you and you feel all of your muscles relax. You shift onto your back, looking up at Michael in disbelief. You’re too caught up in euphoria to comprehend what just happened. All you can think of in this moment is how fucking good he was. Even Michael has a dumbfounded look on his face.

He shakes his head and liberates a nervous laugh, “We’re so fucked up.”

You can say that again.

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deathbyvalentine · 4 years ago

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Regency Werewolves, Chapter One

The first matter was, of course, finding a property with a plot of land large enough to meet their not insignificant needs. Simple acres of meadow and field would not do, nor would the carefully manicured gardens that so many of their station opted for. No, there needed to be an air of wilderness about the place, a whisper of nature overtaking, civilisation needing cultivation rather than the other way around.

Therefore Basil Hall was perfect. It had once belonged to a great aunt and when she had died, the bank had held it until the complex matter of inheritance had been settled. In truth, many of them had forgotten about the old place until their solicitor called, his voice every inch the brisk professional. Everything else had happened rather quickly - the signing of deeds, the appraisal and a letter or two to the parish church, informing them of their new congregation members. And so, just as spring was creeping over the fields, the Williamsons moved in.

If a gossip column had published an official profile of them, it might have went like this;

Lord Gordon Williamson - the patriarch of the family. Man with many affairs and many interests, though previous to the move, they had mainly been rooted in Scotland. He is known for a somewhat stern manner. However,the centering of his family was admirable and one many more husbands could stand to learn from. He liked cigars, port and hunting, all good strong masculine pursuits.

Lady Elise Williamson - the wife of Lord Gordon. While she could not be described as a great beauty, there was something attractive about her nevertheless, be it in a smile or in her conversation. She was a keen naturist and often took long trips to the Lakes or even into the Yorkshire Moors. As such, she was stout and of fine disposition, never taking to a sick bed a day in her life.

The Widow Selene Daviton - the sister of Lady Elise. Once married, once widowed, she relied on the company of her darling sister to keep her in society. They were inseparable and Selene ended up bringing up the children as much as her sister and indeed, her sister’s nursemaid.

Master Kingsley Williamson - the eldest son of Lady Elise and Lord Gordon. A scholar at heart, much to the pride of his parents. He showed little interest in the follies and pursuits of other boys his age, generally preferring to learn of his father’s business matters and responsibilities. He took the burden of heirship gracefully and without complaint.

Miss Alice Williamson - the eldest daughter of his Lord and Ladyship. While her brother was retiring, Miss Alice tended towards the wild. There was no new scientific endeavour she didn’t want to witness, no novel she didn’t insist on reading. Her chief joy in life however was riding. She would come home drenched in sweat and whatever weather was currently occurring outside, smile wide and body aching.

Miss Sybil, the youngest daughter of the family took great strides to distance herself from such unladylike behaviour. As Kingsley learnt from their father, she learnt from their mother. She knew the order of every utensil at a dinner table, how to make a wonderful bouquet and how to shoot a rifle perfectly without getting a smidge of ash on one’s dress.

Now, of course other cousins, aunts, uncles, godfathers, godmothers, long lost grandparents, very recently lost grandparents, devoted nannies, nephews and nieces appeared often (to speak nothing of the servants) but it is this five that kept a permanent residence at Basil Hall and so it is this five with which we will occupy ourselves.

On the day the pack arrived at Basil Hall the servants had already done an exceptional job. Paintings and statues had been uncovered, the dust sheets put away until the next season, beauty restored. The main bedrooms had been aired out and furnished with aplomb, fires set in each to chase away the spring chill. The bags had been sent on ahead and unpacked so every wardrobe hung heavy with fabric and all the small trinkets that provided comfort were laid out, ready to be used once more. There was still much to do - the guest rooms were still coated in a fine layer of dust and many of the bathtubs needed a good scrub with some iron wool, but it was more than enough to be starting with.

The only discontentment came from the groundskeepers. They had been instructed not to trim, chop or uproot a single plant until the family had arrived and given their appraisal. They had been given specific permission to pull ivy from the windows and algae from the boating lake, but no more. They were not pleased at the rather scruffy look this left the manor in, but what could they do? Perhaps back in Scotland, they liked their gardens resembling jungles. There was no accounting for taste, that was for sure.

The society surrounding --shire wasted no time in speculating about the Williamson family and what exactly their fortunes were. It seemed there was no haberdashery that wasn’t alight with whispers, no coffee house where there was a low grumble of voices. This was, of course, spurred on furiously by the fact that for the first month of their occupancy, they were entirely invisible. They left no calling cards, visited no homes and did not attend a single social event. If it wasn’t for the fact the manor had a chapel on its grounds, it might have been assumed they did not go to church. Their servants were extraordinarily tight lipped and seemed to be very occupied by errands which were always done in a rush. All in all, it was deeply unsatisfying.

But to everything a time. A few days into the new month and a rumour spread like fire through --shire. A rumour was soon confirmed as fact by a scullery maid talking to a stable lad who had paused to exchange words as she had ducked into the bakery. The Williamsons had finally made themselves comfortable, had finally moved in completely and so it followed that they would be attending their first function the following week. All but Sybil would be attending, who was deemed rather too young to attend such an event. The event in question was the Lady Robins’s ball. She tried to pass off her excitement at the accepted invitation with a cool demeanour but a certain glitter in her eyes betrayed her. There would not be no missing invitees, no pointed denials. Everyone would be there.

In the manor, the family had no idea of the effect they had caused. They had been occupied by rather more pleasurable occupations than gossip. Alice had spent a great deal of time in the gardens, inspecting wild flowers, daydreaming with the clouds and following butterflies. There was something of the bohemian about her as she wandered through long grass, and what’s more, she knew it and it pleased her. Kingsley had principally been occupied with the library and irritating one of the butlers by being completely unable to settle on a organising system for the books. Only Sybil was restless, eager to meet the new neighbours and size them up - after all, if they were to remain here for a little while, would a new pack member be amongst these new faces? Alice had to marry some time and Sybil fully intended to vet and nose about in the affairs of every eligible man who so much as blinked in her direction. Accordingly, pestering her parents about when they were to take the bold new steps into society was her chief pleasure.

Her lady mother had held firm - there would be no parties, dinners or tea until after the first full moon. After all, they had to see if the grounds were indeed suitable. If they weren’t, well, they wouldn’t be staying. Plus, she added, it was better to meet the neighbours on a full stomach. Just in case. Nobody wanted a repeat of the Bristol incident, especially not the residents of Bristol. Sybil took to not only pestering her parents, but looking meaningfully at calendars and the date of the newspaper that was delivered every morning. Her mother ignored her. Just as meaningfully.

The day came with an air of expectation, even more so than usual. It was no longer just the day they changed, it was the day that once done with, would open all the doors of polite society to them of which they had been deprived for some time. The servants were sent home to visit their mothers or into the village to spend some of their generous wages. The gate to the long, winding drive was locked tight. The moon rose as gloriously as the sun, silver rays reflecting off the lake until it looked like a path one could walk up to meet her. Everything, even the most familiar things became unreal and strange in this light. Like one had stepped through into a book. In the cultivated gardens, the moon flowers bloomed, their pollen giving the air a perfume no apothecary had ever been able to replicate.

The family gathered on the steps. The girls wore nothing but their shifts, bare feet squirming against the cool stone of the stairs. The son wore his undergarments too, the parents opting for housecoats that could easily be shrugged off the shoulders. All was quiet. Birds called to one another, occasionally there would be the rippling noise as one moved upon the water. Only Selene spoke, the sharp edge of her accent softening here, as if the moon was a lover who could only be whispered to. Perhaps Selene, like her namesake, had a little more to say to the night sky. The moon crested, clearing the dark silhouette of the trees. For a moment it hung there, nothing moving, nothing breathing.

Then the first howl ripped through the night.

Selene had started shifting first, as usual. It was not a beautiful process. It was not fluid or gentle. It was claws and fur and the sound of bones breaking, reforming. Claws scraped across stone, fabric ripped and where there once was a woman, there was a monstrous wolf. It didn’t just sit, it hulked, dominating every gaze that caught it. Bright, intelligent yellow eyes sat above a mouth that seemed to be all teeth. It was not long before more wolf-language joined the first, the girls following Selene’s example, then the boy. The lady and lord of the house were looking at each other fondly, playing their usual game of who could hold out the longest. As always, Mrs Williamson won. When she did allow herself to change, it was with a sigh of relief as well as a cry of pain.

Before the moon had moved another inch in the sky, a wolf pack sat beneath it. Their colours were primarily shades of grey with splashes of white, except for Sibyl and Selene who were white with splashes of grey, just to be contrary. The smallest, if the brain could comprehend one of these beasts being the smallest, was Kingsley. There was something of the scout about him, his fur the darkest so he may dash in and out of the night almost entirely unseen. Alice was the strongest, her youth and wildness barely being able to be contained within the human flourished here, blooming along with the moon flowers. She had often lamented the fact she had to be a human at all and Mrs Williamson woke up frequently in the night, plagued by nightmares where her daughter finally abandoned the trappings of society and ran into a forest, never to return. She would have to check on her sleeping child to make sure that the dream hadn’t come true.

It was Alice that first broke, nipping at Kingsley’s tail so he turned around with a snarl. She immediately sprinted off, challenging him to a race. He would win, as he always did, but the point was the running, not the winning. The feeling of joy too big to name, the joy of having four paws and being a part of nature rather than just an observer of it. The joy of muscles burning and breath catching and the hundreds of scents that made up a tapestry of the grounds. So many things to see, bite, taste, fight.

Sibyl did not partake in the race, her snout pointed up slightly in the air as if implying that all of this was below her. But even she was not immune to the intoxicating magic that transformed them all. All the poetry she wrote at her desk, painfully slowly, trying to capture the beauty of the natural world like her much admired famous poets, she did not realise it but it was here, now, where the inspiration came from. Where the love of beauty and art came from, like a spring flowing into a river. She investigated flowers, lakes, gardens with inhuman eyes and found the experience almost revelatory. When you were a wolf, everything was more.

Selene wasted no time in hunting. She had been starving all month and here was her opportunity to satisfy the hunger that went beyond a mere need for food. She needed to taste the copper tang of blood, to shake off the shackles that constrained her for thirty days a month. No lacing, no dresses, no polite tinkling laughter in a ball room. Her mind would clear and her instincts would rush in to fill the gap, like the sea refilling tidal pools. The poor hare did not stand a chance, but it died well.

As for the Lord and Lady? Here their bodies did not ache or creak. They had no schedule, no work to be done. They could focus on feeling the ties that bound their family to one another, the subtle lines that shimmered like spiders gossamer in the mind's eye. There were no manners, no script on how to act. Usually a distance was constructed between them all. There was no such distance now. So they nipped and howled and nuzzled, keeping their pack together and keeping their pride deep in their canine hearts. Tomorrow, they would have to be people again. But here, they were just a family.

#werewolves #regency era #regency #prose #fiction

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pontmercyingtil · 7 years ago

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So, this Courfius week drabble turned into... a lot more. Rated PG, feels abound, enjoy!

Courfeyrac did not look up as Marius entered their apartment. He knew it was Marius, because his friend, and now roommate, was the only person who not only took off his shoes at the door, but also apologized.

Perhaps to the floor? Or to the shoes? Surely not to Courfeyrac himself, as he’d told the Linguistics major multiple times he didn’t give a damn if Marius wore shoes inside.

After all, his parents paid for the off-campus apartment, not him.

“All done apologizing to the thin air?” he teased, still looking at his phone.

“I just… sorry.” Marius mumbled, coming to sit on the other side of the couch, always seemingly trying to leave room for eight other people, which was ridiculous, because the Amis met at Combeferre’s house these days, as Joli had decided he was allergic to cats.

“Marius, you know, you can spread out on this couch. Oddly enough, our cat has decided she only likes sitting on it if you are already quite comfortably arranged, so don’t save space on her account.

Courfeyrac was perched on the arm of the old thing, which had once been a sort of mauve but now was rather grey with cat hair. Perhaps he should get a vacuum.

But then Joli would claim to have won the debate over the cleanliness of the apartment. No. better to leave it as is.

“Sorry,” Marius said again. He did not move.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Courfeyrac replied, his thumb swiping across the screen quickly. “No, no, definitely no, hmmm. No.” His commentary made Marius lean over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“I am sadly not doing anyone, hence my need for this app.” He slid the phone into his pocket, and laughed, because Marius’s face had turned a lovely shade of pink. “It’s called tinder, dearest roomie of mine.” “I’m your only roomie. Unless you count Madam Gris.”

“His name is Smaug.”

“You can’t name a kitten after a dragon, Courfeyrac.”

“Have you seen her fangs?” he replied. “She is vicious. I shall raise her to be my attack cat! She shall defend us from all who might wish to break into our fine abode and abscond with our property.”

“Your property,” Marius muttered, glumly.

Ah, damn. Just like that, Marius’s good humor vanished. In the weeks they’d lived together, Courfeyrac had tried multiple tactics to keep that goofy smile on the young man’s face, loved the way it light up his face and made his eyes sparkle.

But between heartbreak, homework, and complicated familial relationships, keeping a smile on Marius Pontmercy’s seemed a nearly impossible task. Luckily, Courfeyrac thrived on doing the impossible.

“Come now. Someone might want to steal that nice backpack of yours. You know, the one with your name appliqued on it.” he elbowed his friend, trying to get him to laugh. “I’ve heard the name Marius is very trendy now. Everyone would want to have an item that granted them that wonderful name.”

“Do you really think my name is wonderful?” Marius looked up at him with such hope in his eyes it practically glowed. It was as if he was a plant that someone had forgotten to water for weeks, and survived only on the tiniest bit of rainfall. Who had given this handsome young man so few compliments in his life?

“I think you’re wonderful,” Courfeyrac blurted out, and hastened to add “at being my roommate. You’re quite good at it. Most aren’t, I’ll have you know.”

“I can’t imagine why…” Marius said, but lightly, as he surveyed the disaster of an apartment. There were an assortment of abandoned coffee mugs on the table, wine bottles of dubious origin waiting for next week’s party in a row, a pile of dirty laundry Courfeyrac had meant to get to… yesterday.

It wasn’t that he meant to be messy, and in fact, he quite liked when his apartment was spotless. It was just… lately he’d been distracted. Unable to focus. He found himself staring aimlessly at the wall in class, or meandering down hallways he had no reason to go down, or worse yet, forgetting to go to the gym, and instead sitting home, watching Great British Bakeoff.

Courfeyrac, in short, was due for a romantic entanglement.

It was either that or run off to England to try and impress Mary Berry with his only functionally recipe: Rice Krispie Treats, but made with Lucky Charms, for extra marshmallow action.

No, surely, a rendezvous with an amorous person was a far better idea, and not just because he’d burned through the only mixing bowl they had when he’d tried to make pancakes for himself and Marius last sunday.

Which was why he’d skipped class to perch on the couch and swipe through candidates on Tinder. A task he should get back to.

A task he needed to get back to, instead of watching as Marius sang to the cat-with-the-disputed-name as he poured her a helping of kibble. The one thing more pathetic than him had been that bedraggled cat he’d brought home last week, tucked safe in his soaked-beyond-repair coat.

But the little scamp had blossomed into queen of the home, happy, healthy, and quite delighted to take up space anywhere she chose.

Maybe Marius could learn a thing or two from that cat.

The next day, Marius came back from class to find Courfeyrac sitting in one of his usual positions on the couch, legs up in the air, back against the place most people sat. He’d never quite figured out why the russet haired man preferred to sit in a thousand unusual ways, but he found it rather charming. But also, like so much about Courf, baffling.

And then, he sniffed the air.

“You cleaned!”

The apartment was now spotless. All coffee mugs had vanished, the carpet appeared a few shades lighter, and even Madame Gris, where she sat on the window, watching birds outside, looked rather cleaner. Though, seeing as she washed her paws more than either of her roommates washed the dishes, that was probably her doing.

“Ah, yes. I did.” Courfeyrac said. “Does it look nice? And smell nice? There’s this new lavender spray I found.”

“It does.” Marius said. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve got a date. Or rather, I have five dates, and I just have to make up my mind which fine person I shall bring back here.”

“Five dates? In a day?” Marius found himself staggering backward. “How?”

“It’s called tinder!” Courfeyrac neatly tumbled off the couch, and bounced over to Marius. “Check it out. You see people’s faces, and you swipe them right if you like them?”

“Swipe. Them?” Marius stared down at the screen. A rather familiar young man stared up at him, his chiseled jaw seemingly made out of marble. “Oh, I’m in French 201 with him.”

“Ah, no! That won’t do.” Courfeyrac quickly swiped his thumb to the left on the screen. “I banish thee, friend of Marius! I shall never match with you as surely, we shall kiss, and you shall pine for me forever, ruining your friendship with dear Marius.”

“I don’t think he’s the pining type…” Marius started, but he felt a smile pulling at his face. Courf’s antics always had a way of making him forget his courseload, his own lack of love, and well, everything that made him, according to Grantaire, a bit of an Eeyore. (when, really, it was rather hypocritical for that scruffy six-year-senior to be calling out anyone else’s lovelorn moping around.) “and um, we’re not friends, I mean, if you did want to kiss him…”

“Nonsense. I shall not impinge upon your friendship with the golden haired Hercules of Corinth College.”

Madame Gris bounded over to Marius, mewing, and he picked up the young kitten, scratching her under her chin just like she liked. “So, this Tinder. You can use it to… meet people?”

“Well, yes, meeting is sometimes an end game. Me? I find it fun! It’s like... “ Courfeyrac threw out his hands. “It’s like making a collection! Of people! Who are attracted to me, and I to them! What could be better?”

Marius thought perhaps a long walk on the beach under a moonlight sky with just one person might be a little better.

He also thought Courfeyrac might not appreciate it. “Well, good luck, um, finding your soulmate.”

“Soul mate? Pffft.” Courfeyrac leaned in to pet Madame Gris’s back. Unlike most cats, she seemed to thrive on the attention, and started to purr.

“You don’t believe in soul mates?”

“I don’t believe they’re found on Tinder, that’s for sure.” Courfeyrac replied. “Isn’t that right, Smaug?”

“Madame Gris.”

“Smaug.”

Courfeyrac looked directly at Marius, challenging him to a staring contest. And Marius stared back, finding those green eyes unexpectedly deep, with little flecks of gold in them that sparkled like summer sun. Courfeyrac’s smile grew. “You’ve blinked a bunch, my dear monk-like roommate.”

“I… have?” he wet his lips, finding them suddenly dry. “Um. Teach me to use Tinder?”

Anything to distract from how those eyes made him feel.

Courfeyrac was delighted to share with his roommate, who usually asked so little of him, even though Courfeyrac had much to spare. In fact, Marius’s own phone was Courfeyrac’s own. He’d claimed that he was due for an upgrade, and no longer needed it, but that wasn’t… exactly true.

But it only had cost seventy dollars to break his contract, and Marius didn’t need to know that. It was more important that his friend had a way of being reached that wasn’t the ancient flip phone he’d bought with the last of his work study pay check. Marius’s work as a tutor was dependent on just how many students needed translating help, which seemed to rise and fall with the proximity to midterms and finals.

Other than that, Marius had nothing.

Courfeyrac had noticed cards marked “return to sender,” that were certainly that oblong rectangle shape of the weirdly-specific gift cards that older folks used to mail checks in. But whoever sent the money, Marius did not like.

And not dislike in the way Courfeyrac felt terribly embarrassed by his own fathers, who decided to “embrace the old country” by adding some obscure participle back onto their name. Courf was quite sure that the participle was utterly made up, and therefore utterly embarrassing. As embarrassing as those “google your own family crest” things, or socks with sandals or Hawaiian print shirts worn unironically… or any other fashion his fathers sported.

Two dads meant twice as many pairs of Dad Jeans in the house.

Which was why he rebelled with carefully selected outfits. Tailored trousers, perfectly fitting jackets, crisp shirts, and soft sweaters in just the right shade of green. Even his workout clothes were ensembles, with tees carefully selected to match various pairs of tennis shoes.

Marius had, as far as he could tell, three shirts, one pair of black jeans, and one pair of blue. Not that he’d cataloged what his roommate wore, of course.

Not that he’d notice how sharp Marius looked in that white tee that clung to surprisingly well-sculpted shoulders, before he’d pull on an ancient green sweater that Courfeyrac had insisted he take to not freeze in the November air.

“Have you taken a selfie yet? You know you can add more. It’s not supposed to be a work of art” Courfeyrac leaned over Marius’s shoulder, feeling his roommate's stubble brush against his own smooth cheek. He cleared his throat, unexpectedly “I mean. Unless you want it to be. You could be a work of art, you know.”

“Why? Because this sweater is old enough to be in a museum?”

“Hah. Hah.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, but blushed, glad Marius hadn’t heard the compliment that slipped out. “Right. So you’ve got your selfies, you've got--- goodness, Pontmercy, did you have to write a textbook for your bio?”

“I wanted to share my political beliefs.”

“It begins “Live, Laugh, Love.”

“Those are very political things! The pursuit of happiness!”

“Yes, sure.” He tousled Mariu’s hair, feeling the soft inky curls glid over his fingers. It was more an excuse to play with his hair than anything else. “Now, all you have to do is this: swipe left on the people you don’t like, and right on the people you do.”

“Then what?”

Then, he’d met some new love of his life, some shiny new soulmate, and never shut up about her, probably. Courfeyrac used the generic people, but he’d never heard of Marius being interested in anyone other than Cosette, who dumped him for his friend Eponine

Maybe this was a terrible idea.

Oh, why did he never think before he did things?

“Um, well, you can’t message them unless they’ve already swiped right on you too.”

“Ah. So we have to mutually like each other before we can speak.”

“Yup. have fun!” Courfeyrac said, and even to his own ears, he sounded false cheerful. He sprang up from the couch, scooped up Smaug, and headed to the other side of the room, intent on studying so he didn’t have to watch the roommate-he-was-certainly-not-crushing-on pursue a new soulmate.

PART TWO COMING SOON!

#courfius #courfiusweek #amis fanfic #courfeyrac #courf #fanfic #my fanfic #Of Roommates Fanfic #oh gosh how did i end up writing multi part fics

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rhina988 · 7 years ago

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Indecent Proposal - Chapter 19

Read from the beginning

Chapter 18

Melody’s POV

“You love me?” I smiled like a little girl, not taking my eyes off Jared.

“I do, Melody. I didn’t think it would ever happen for me again, but I’m so grateful that it did. I really do love you. Even though sometimes I may act otherwise, or I may not be as good a guy as you’d want me to be, you just need to know that you mean the world to me,” Jared said caressing my cheek and leaning in to kiss me.

“I love you too, Jared,” I said breaking the kiss and taking his hand into mine. “I never thought I could love someone who’d force me to marry him, and pay me for it too,” I chuckled and Jared followed with a giggle too, waving his head in disbelief, “but here we are. On a carriage ride in the middle of this beautiful park, and I couldn’t be happier.”

Just as Jared wanted to kiss me again, his phone buzzed and interrupted us. Reading the message he has got, suddenly his face changed a couple of colors and it seemed as if he was a little bit frightened. He pressed his lips together, as if he wanted to curse or just throw the phone away, but instead he just replied and put the phone back in his pocket.

“Is everything OK?” I asked worryingly.

“Mhm... nothing to worry about.” He wasn’t very convincing, but I didn’t want to push him any further.

We’ve spent the next hour riding around the park and just enjoying each other. From time to time, I could feel Jared tense up a little, but I figured it must be because of that surprise he was talking about. Jared was a perfectionist, and unless everything turned out to be exactly as he had planned it, he would be anxious. The preparations were probably just hitting a few rough patches and he didn’t want to ruin our magical date with phone calls and organization.

We were going back to the hotel, when a couple of girls approached us wanting to take a picture with Jared. He was hesitant at first, looking around to make sure it’s not a bigger crowd, because he would hate to let anyone down, but on the other hand he wasn’t really in the mood for taking a dozen of selfies.

“It’s OK, I’ll wait,” I said when Jared looked at me.

Just after I’ve said it, my phone rang, and it was Jamie, I walked inside an alley to get away from the rambling, and looked over my shoulder to make sure Jared saw where I had left. It was pretty dark, and New York wasn’t the safest place on earth. Especially its narrow gloomy passages.

“Hello?” I said but the reception was weird and I could barely hear him speak, “I’ll call you back in a few minutes from the hotel, I can’t hear a thing,” I said and hung up.

“Aren’t you a sweet little thing walking all by yourself, in this big dark city,” a deep male voice said and I immediately flinched, turning to him. He was dark, tall and wearing some old leather jacket with washed out jeans. Scruffy face, a tattoo reaching from his shoulder to the neck and his eyes filled with evil.

“Umm... I was just..” I tried to walk by him but he stood in front of me blocking my way. Then he took me by a forearm, turned me in one rapid motion, and pinned me to the wall. I was petrified. I wanted to scream Jared’s name but I was out of voice. It was just like when you’re having a nightmare, and you want to shout but you can’t. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out of them. This was that moment, only I wasn’t dreaming, it was real.

“J...” a whisper came out instead of a cry, when I felt a guy’s hand covering my mouth, and his other hand lifting the seam of my jumpsuit.

“Shhh.... not a word, and we’ll be done soon,” he groaned at me, when the tears started running down my cheeks. I wanted to move my legs and stump my feet or do anything that would alert Jared, who was only a few feet away in the next street, but I was petrified. All I could hope for was that he’ll come to look for me any minute, before it’s too late.

I could feel a man’s hand going under my jumpsuit and my body started to shiver. I tried to yell, but all I could make was an “MMMMMM” sound instead of a scream, since my mouth was still covered. My entire body was under the man’s weight, and when I realized he wasn’t rushing with his harassment, I just lifted my right leg hoping to step on his feet with my heel and disable him in any way possible. When I heard him scream and curse, I finally managed to yell.

“Jared, help!!!”

“You little bitch!” the guy looked at me furious when I turned to face him all terrified. He was bent over, due to the pain. He stood up straight and slapped me across the face, making me collapse on the ground. While I was holding my cheek, feeling an excruciating burn on my face I heard a thumping sound and when I turned, I witnessed Jared beating the hell out of the guy. He was telling him something while punching him, but I couldn’t hear well over the buzzing in my ear after the slap.

“Melody!” at one point Jared stopped punching a man, and looked at me, which the guy saw as an opportunity to escape.

“Jared...” I was sobbing and looking at him horrified to the bone, just wanting him to hold me.

He ran to me and took me into his arms, pressing me tight to his chest. I never wanted to be away from him again. My body was so trembling that Jared couldn’t stop to rub my back and pull me closer to him, as if he wanted me to become a part of his own body.

“Shhhh, it’s over, baby. You’re safe now,” Jared said patting my head and kissing it right after, holding me tight against his chest. I wrapped my arms around him and couldn’t stop crying. I was never this much afraid in my entire life. We just sat on the ground for a while until I was able to calm down a little and walk. My body failed to move for a little while, the shock overwhelming my entire being.

When I had finally managed to function, Jared lifted me off the ground and carried me inside the hotel. As we had walked into our room, I went straight to bed. Fully dressed, I just curled up under the sheets and waved Jared to come spoon me and hold me closer to him. I just needed him not to leave me alone tonight.

“Everything will be OK, my little birdy. I’ll be next to you for as long as you need me,” kissing my temple, Jared pulled me close to his body, wrapped his arms around me and I offered my hand to intertwine our fingers. My little birdy - that sounded so sweet and lovely. It was the first time he had called me that, and quite unexpected I have to say. But it felt good. I did actually feel like a tiny fragile bird, unable to fly. His warmth kept me safe, comfortable, and protected. I could barely shut my eyes for a second. All I could see was that horrifying man coming towards me, and pinning me against the wall.

Jared’s POV

Never have I ever seen anyone so frightened in my entire life. What’s more, I can’t remember the last time I was so worried for someone else, and felt so guilty. I could have stopped it if only I had remembered to... ugh I hate myself for being such a low life... What was I even thinking? How could I have even... ugh I’ll never forgive myself if Melody stays traumatized after this. Sometimes I just wish I thought things through before making any decision. My own desire for revenge had almost cost me my beloved Melody, and for what? A little misunderstanding that we have managed to overcome soon, anyway. Watching her lay in my arms, still shaking even an hour after the guy assaulted her, made my heart ache. Instead of being the one who helps her wash away all the pain, I’ve caused her more misery than anyone. And when I thought that we could finally move past all the troubles, this happens. Why haven’t I listened to Shannon and just let it all go? This guilt will offer me more than just countless sleepless nights, that’s for sure.

Chapter 20

Feel free to comment and leave feedback.

Let me know if you’d like me to tag you in the next chapters.

Hope you enjoyed it.

You can read the story on Wattpad too

https://www.wattpad.com/story/106715450-indecent-proposal

@legolasothranduilion @chris-evans-whaaat @woohooargentina-blog @nikkitasevoli @wolfgirl1074 @iraniq @snewsome756 @leto-madness @iamthejaredleto @notjanelle @spaceshipteam44 @sanellv @lanfear619 @iridescxntsolitude @bradlea23 @msroxyblog @hiddelston-88 @maulapaulawaula

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this-ginger-has-no-soul · 8 years ago

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Sam's heaven

(A/N): So I really miss writing supernatural and I had just watched the dark side of the moon and I wanted to write a lil something about it

Summary: Sam and Dean are trapped in heaven, forced to relive their memories but what they both see is not what they expected

Warnings: angst? Swearing, that's it :)

Dean and Sam were trapped in heaven; no big deal, they just had to avoid any and all angels, traverse through their best moments, and make it back home. That wasn't too hard, was it?

Dean's memories had all been of family, of a time much happier than the one now. Even Sam couldn't help the small smile that remained on his face as he watched Dean interact with people from his past; Like their own mother Watching Dean with his mom pulled at Sam's heart strings; he wondered if they had lived a normal life if maybe he would've been dressed up in small flannel and horrendously ugly t-shirts, maybe he'd have had the crusts cut off of his pb&j, maybe he would have actually had a nice, functioning family. But that's not the way it played out and he was stupid to hope for such a thing anyways.

Everything had been smooth until they reached sam's memories; his best moments. There was one with his dog, only weeks after he left John and Dean, there was another on thanksgiving with a family that had been much kinder to him than his own, but the ones that really stuck with him were the ones with (Y/N). They had been his significant other since the day he left John, not really, but that was the day he met them. He'd gone to a diner, plopped down and ordered himself the most expensive burger he could, he deserved to celebrate after all.

"Looks like something's got Mr. Sasquatch down," His waiter- (Y/N)- smiled at him softly. "You okay?" Sam's nose crinkled a bit as he looked at the menu. Did they- had they just asked if he was okay? No one ever cared enough about him to ask if he was okay. This person had even noticed that he wasn't feeling okay and they asked him about it.

"Uh yeah- just a bit of a hard day really," (Y/N) smiled as they set their little notepad down, instead taking a seat right across from Sam.

"Wanna tell me about it? I'll even buy your food for you," No one had ever been that kind to Sam, no one but (Y/N). It felt nice to finally have someone care, even if it was just a stranger. So that day Sam poured his heart and soul into his conversation with (Y/N), telling them all about his shitty childhood, about his father, about dean. For hours he talked with them and during some point the conversation had drifted from his past to other things, things like law school, art, nature, even animals. Not once in his life had Sam felt so comfortable around someone, (Y/N) was different like that and Sam absolutely loved it. But for now that wasn't the memory he was reliving, in fact, it was a memory from months after they first met.

"Who the hell is that?" Dean whispered as he watched the memory unfold.

It dark outside, but the stars above seemed to illuminate everything splendidly. It was a large field, much like the one from Dean's memory and in the middle of it was (Y/N). Sam's throat choked up a bit as he looked at them, at their curious eyes, and beautiful smile.

"Sam, the hell is this?" But Sam wasn't listening, he was too focused on (Y/N). "Sam- Sammy, the hell are you doing?" Dean whispered as Sam walked forward, completely ignoring his brother. He was almost dazed really to see (Y/N) after all this time, even if it was just his own memory.

"Sorry I'm late," Sam breathes out as he sits down beside (Y/N), still in awe over how beautiful they looked. "I got lost on the way here," (Y/N) smiled and laughed softly, their nose crinkling in a way that had his heart aching.

"It's okay, you're actually right on time," (Y/N) pointed to the sky, directing Sam's gaze upwards. Above them millions of stars shined brightly, creating a sight too beautiful for words.

It was their annual date night (every Friday to be exact) but rather than stay inside and watch some shitty tv shows (as per they usually did. They were poor college students after all) (Y/N) had hauled Sam along to watch the stars; They had always been a bit of an astronomy geek so they were more than excited to show Sam the starry sky.

"Isn't it beautiful?" (Y/N) asked softly as they looked to the sky in awe, their eyes twinkling so brightly that Sam wanted to cry.

"Yeah," Sam nodded as he stared at them. "It sure is,"

"Who the hell was that?" Dean asked as they traveled along, coming to Sam's next memory.

"I dated them in college," Sam Shrugs a bit. "Just a fling really,"

"That sure as hell didn't look like a fling," Dean scrutinized as he glared at Sam, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. "We're you in love?"

"Dean-" Sam sighed as he smiled just a bit. "I'm telling you, it was nothing,"

"Uh huh," Dean clicked his tongue as they walked along. "I'm sure,"

"I promise you, it was nothing-"

"Sam!" Sam was interrupted by yet another memory and by no surprise it was another one involving (Y/N).

They pounced upon him like cat, pulling him into a nearly bonecrushing hug.

"I was so worried, where have you been?" Sam had gone away for a day or two, just for a little getaway from Stamford. He hadn't told anyone where he was going and he stupidly left his phone at home. He wouldn't need to contact anyone, he knew how to fend for himself after all. It was such a peaceful trip that Sam honestly didn't even think about the consequences that was until (Y/N) was cupping his cheeks and staring at him with tear filled eyes.

"I'm sorry (Y/N)," Sam whispers, his heart clenching as he stared at (Y/N). Even after all these years seeing their expression still hurt him, seeing their worried face and pained eyes still had the same reaction as it did years ago. "I was jus out on a trip, I didn't think to tell anyone,"

"You fucking idiot," (Y/N) chides although their watery chuckled completely betrayed their words. "I was so fucking scared, I was damn near close to calling the police. God- fuck you you fucking prick." Without any warning (Y/N) leaned in, connecting their lips to Sam's. It was their first kiss and god it had been amazing. (Y/N)'s lips felt absolutely perfect against Sam's and if he could he'd have let them linger there all day but there was something pulling him away, forcing their lips apart.

"I love you (Y/N)," Sam spews, like word vomit that he simply could not control. "I love you so much," It was the first time he'd ever admitted to loving someone. He hadn't even ever told his father or brother that he directly loved them, (Y/N) was a first. Sam's breath was shaky as he looked at (Y/N), his heart pounding wildly just as it had the day he said those three words to them for real.

"I love you too Sammy," (Y/N) sobbed happily as they threw their arms around his neck (or at least the best they could). "I love you so fucking much," Sam sighed again as he wrapped his arms around their waist, tugging them impossibly closer to him. His scruffy face nuzzled into their neck and he couldn't help it when his own soft little cry fell from his lips. God- he missed (Y/N) so much, more than anyone ever; he'd give anything to be back there, back in their arms, safe and happy, oblivious to the evil around him-

"Sam." Sean's voice is softer now than it was the first time. "Sam c'mon on, we gotta go," Sam didnt want to leave, he couldn't leave (Y/N) a second time but he knew he had to. So with the utmost reluctancy Sam let go, letting Dean drag him away from the best thing to ever happen to him.

Now they were walking down a lonely stretch of road, different from either one of their memories. The air felt heavy, depressed really, so much so that it was nearly impossible for Sam to breathe, or perhaps those were the tears building behind his eyes that were making functioning so hard.

"So what happened to them?" Dean asks softly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Sam sighs as he walks on, heart heavier than it had been in a long time.

"After a run in with a ghost I decided that it was too dangerous, the whole together thing."

"So you left them?"

"Yep, left them heartbroken too."

"I'd imagine so, seems like you two were really close."

"Yeah," Sam sighs as he looks behind him, back at his happiest memories, or at least where they used to be, for now it was just the same never ending stretch of road.

"So- did you really love them?" Dean knew he was treading on thin ice but he was curious, mighty curious.

"Yes," Sam nods, looking down at the water covered asphalt to avoid looking at anything else. "More than anything in this world,"

"Y'know...if we ever get out of here you should give them call, get some closure." Sam chuckles dryly, a harsh sound that hurt his throat.

"They probably hate me now or some shit."

"Never too late to try," Dean smiled softly as he walked on, down the endless stretch of highway that only seemed to get longer as they walked. Yeah...maybe Sam would give them a call if he ever got out. That was his motivation now, a phone call to (Y/N) if he survived.

Sam sighed as he picked up his phone, eyeing the small thing warily.

"Come on man," Dean said trough a mouth of food. "You promised yourself,"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam dials in their number, or the number they had previously used years ago. "I know," He stared at the numbers hesitantly, his heart racing uncontrollably. This was it. If no one answered that would be it, that's the last time he'd ever try to contact (Y/N).

So with a shaking hand Sam pressed call, waiting for some message stating that the number was now disconnected or something but to Sam's surprise the thing actually began to ring. The number was still up and running, that meant either (Y/N) hadn't ever changed their number or someone else was now using it.

Sam gulped as it continued to ring again and again and again, it was almost to the last ring when it suddenly stopped, meaning that someone had finally picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, uh (Y/N)? This is Sam Winchester-"

#sam winchester x reader #Sam winchester imagine #sam winchester #jared padalecki imagine #jared padalecki #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural angst #god knows what season this was #i wrote this months ago #Dean winchester #Dean winchester imagine #dark side of the moon

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