#i guess that is what happens to newlyweds

[kwondotcom]

finally, finally built the emotional capacity to annotate something in the orange. on bsk's birthday, i said "the best thing you can do for yourself today is to read this fic." over a week later, it still stands true. this is one of the best pieces of work you will find not only on svtblr, but on the internet as a whole. i believed it then; i believe it now. 🍊 spoilers under the cut.

an anonymous assumption that was made about viv some days ago was whether she has a background as a film major, and her answer was no; she's just recently read the past lives script (lol). could've fooled me. this was a stellar device used for getting into the characters' head and describing them, and the eventual payoff of it just makes the story all the more heart-wrenching. on a more personal note: as a communication major who spent four years writing movie scripts? this shit was good.

the mark of a good apocalypse fic. how deep does the lore go? naming the phenomenon 'the Blight' and establishing it throughout is insane work. the information is bread crumbed. enough to keep you guessing. but in this first paragraph alone— extinction, famine, inflation— the domino effect of everything feels ominous. having seungkwan and the MC discussing [shotgun] marriage afterwards feels like a smoke screen. 'look, the world may be ending, but there is a young couple asking hypothetical questions and falling in love.'

absolutely devastating, by the way. i'm a big believer of love in the small moments, and there's just. something distinctly tender in how this is navigated. the images of walks home, shaky confessions, button exchanges. and the hints of what's happening, what's to come: mild dust storms, a barren world. this is a masterclass in writing, and it is genuinely so insane to me that i am getting to read this for free.

there's much to love in this passage. MC being right about the wires being good for barter. the passages that explain how the camera came to be. and just— all the premise in the world for why their love is so beautiful, how their affection persists. MC being a 'former writer' prepared for the zombie apocalypse is a nice touch.

[CAR CRASH] [GLASS SHATTERING] [EXPLOSION] “OH MY GOD” [BABY CRYING] “WAAAHH WAHH” [YELLING] “HELP MEE” [POLICE SIRENS] WEE WOO WEE WOEOO [YELLING] [HELICOPTERS] ‘WE’RE REPORTING LIVE-‘ [EXPLOSION] ‘MY LEG... MY LEG!!’ [BABY CRYING] “AHFUCKK SOMEONE HELP US” [REPORTER REPORTING]

both of the translations i found absolutely wrecked me. the first translation offers a specific kind of pain. the thought of the newlywed; longing for someone; a crying heart; if he cannot come, i will send my heart instead— after knowing MC is referred to as 'my heart'? and the second translation gives us tears of farewell; the trace of someone; how can old wounds be renewed? i'm a believer that everything is intentional, that nothing is left up to chance, especially when it comes to writing, and viv just bowls you over with the sheer thoughtfulness of a detail like this. i can't even begin to discuss the juxtaposition of a beach ruined by things like plastic and trash vs. bullet shells and shrapnel. the couple then running to be in the water together; the footage, partially obscured? i can't help but wonder how much of this is intentional. we've been privy to their romance so far, but this moment— what might be considered A Last Good Day, even, since this is d-4— isn't even perceivable in its entirety. there is only so much that we can see about their relationship on-/off-screen, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. i compound a couple of later scenes here. direction to hold an image of joy, in a mokpo beach (my god, viv; you are vicious) that is untouched by tragedy; uncertainty of whether the filming was accidental or intentional.

anticipatory loss, only for the loss to be one so unexpected. once again, i'm amazed by the amount of detail in the world-building— how viv outlines the conscription and the emotional aspects of it. how do we even begin to prepare for loss? and how do we live with the knowledge of how much we're about to lose? isn't that just the entirety of life, really? knowing that we are always going to lose one thing or another. in response: we hold things tight. we look, and memorize, and catalogue. it reminds me of the popular quote: "everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it."

i was struck between the eyes by the violence of that act [cutting any scenes], because this very much feels like the crux of reconstruction/memory/narrative. seungkwan is in charge of what will be remembered; how the MC will be remembered. i adore the ambiguity of whether the scenes reflect a stitched-together film or whether we're following along seungkwan's review. equally, there's just something gutting about this playing out in some perverted version of what MC and seungkwan joked about i.e. a world with electricity, where seungkwan had free reign to do what he wanted with all the gathered clips.

not thieves, just travelers. expecting last words and getting the ghost of a kiss instead. your eyes, only ever kind. there is so much to love here, so much to adore in the stylistic, technical sense, but what comes to fore for me is this: viv's respect for the dead/dying. an honorable death in its own right. unjustified, still. devastating, always.

i will be honest. it's nearing 4 a.m. as i wrap this up (annotations were done in non-chronological order lmao), and i feel my coherency waning. i know enough to say that these were some lines that felt like a literal gut punch. the idea that our writer!MC and filmmaker!seungkwan can still nurture creativity. to love and be loved. the thought that MC always smiled at seungwkan over the camera. love. loss. a heart's a heavy burden. and you were seungkwan's heart, weren't you?

i think, in my initial read— struck by grief of the fic lol— i'd skipped over seungkwan's line here. twice as many stars as usual. let's look up together. this scene takes place in a corn field, presumably the night before the Incident. two-headed calves don't survive for very long; most pass away in less than 24 hours, their deformities taking a toll on their lifespan. the poem has always tugged at my heart, because at its core it talks about finding so much hope, and light, and love, in a short lifespan. and is that not the case of seungkwan and MC? twice as many stars. some beauty and peace despite being doomed from the beginning. all any of us have is however long we have.

ending this with two of my favorite poems on grief. a discussion i've had time and time again is whether a person can be complimented on their ability to write grief. is it a insult, to be told that you write about grief well, when it takes an acute understanding of loss to be able to pull it off? i haven't figured that out yet. and so i conclude, instead, with this. grief's familiar rooms and how it reminded me of the scenes wherein seungkwan is rewatching the clips (pulling at its buttons / that are not answers); poem and how, by and by, it reminds me of this gorgeous piece as a whole. i'm changed in inexplicable ways because of something in the orange, and i'm not exaggerating. how lucky are we to be in a time where writing like this is free to read; how grateful am i to exist in viv's orbit, under the same starry skies. the poem story ends, soft as it began, —

something in the orange

summary. remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love. pairing. boo seungkwan x gn!reader genre/tags. ANGST, (semi-graphic) major character death, interstellar au-ish (just the blight), non-linear narrative, blurred fiction and reality if you squint (sorry I reread goodbye eri while writing), unbeta’d (mistakes are my own) wc. 5k suggested listening. love wins all, iu // 消費期限, seventeen // triassic love song, paris paloma // eight, iu prod. & ft. suga // yawn, seventeen // something in the orange, zach bryan (or niall's cover)

notes. midnight in korea now; happy birthday kwannie! this is very experimental, and admittedly i'm not fully satisfied w it, but I didn't know how to change it atp. sorry boo, it's your birthday but i give you pain. as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

D-17 EXT. SEOUL TRAIN STATION – KOREA – DAWN The sun rises over the ruins of Seoul Station. The air is clear of smoke and fog. A shot of the sun peeking over the heap of steel, glass, and cement that once served as the station’s framing. The train tracks run to the far horizon, to the left and right of the frame. Pan to YOU (young-looking though age is ambiguous, former writer, love of SEUNGKWAN’S life) squinting at an old, battered map of Korea’s train lines, and a compass. You’re wearing battered jeans that are slightly too big, boots, and a sturdy leather jacket. Behind the camera, SEUNGKWAN (male, young-sounding though age is ambiguous, former video producer) narrates.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         BOO-log number 529. We’re now figuring out how to get to Mokpo. Neither of us are any good with directions, but my partner decided that we could try following train lines since the none of them are running anyway. You look up at the sound of his voice, noticing the camera.

                YOU             (exasperated, but fond)         Kwannie, are you filming again? We have 30 batteries, but not all of them might be working. You might need to save battery and memory if you want to video the view of Jeju Island.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         It’s okay, I really just wanted to record us before we start. Once we’re walking, I won’t use the camera as much. And I have twenty other SD Cards!                 YOU             (not surprised)         Okay, we’ll definitely figure something out for the batteries, then.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Now— Seungkwan’s voice changes to a more formal tone, as though he were imitating a newscaster.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         What are your thoughts as we start our newest adventure? The camera catches your grin. You follow along, changing your tone to an impression of those backpackers in TV documentaries.                  YOU         Um, I’m excited to see Jeju-do, even from afar, because it’s part of Seungkwannie, and we had our honeymoon there. As long as we’re careful, I know we can do it. If we’re lucky, we may even find someone who can bring us across. Beat. You look ever so slightly awkward in front of the camera.                 YOU (CONT’D) Wait, here, give me the camera. I’ll record you this time. The footage shakes, briefly showing a tiled floor, then train tracks, before panning to a blurry face. The camera shakes for a moment before the image comes into focus, revealing a beautiful young man with dark hair. Seungkwan does a better job at the “interviewer voice”, but you’re no slouch either.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         So, Seungkwan-ssi, what are your thoughts as we embark on a new adventure?                 SEUNGKWAN             (genuine)         I think it’s about to be wonderful.

D–2183

When the Blight started, both you and Seungkwan were in high school. Though only having known you since that start of your third year, you’ve quickly wormed his way into his life—visiting his house, having dinners with your family, and he even managed to force you into joining the badminton club with him.

Bees now officially extinct, the news proclaims, an effect of the ravaging of nearly all plant life. Asia in particular has suffered; the widespread rice shortages due to it becoming impossible to grow resulted in widespread famine. The extinction of plants used for feed, made food prices across the board skyrocket. Corn, it seems, is the only crop that can resist the Blight—and the rest of the world now has to adjust its staple food to mimic the old Americas.

“Seungkwan.” You prod his ribs.

“Mm?”

“What would you do if the world ends tomorrow?”

“Marry you.” You laugh, until you realize he isn’t joking.

“What?” Your voice pitches to an incredulous squeak.

“Marry you,” he repeats.

“Why, though?”

“I always wanted to get married,” Seungkwan replies, after a moment of pondering. “And if the world ends tomorrow, as of today you’d be my best candidate for marriage.” 

For a moment, you just look at him, eyes tracing over his features. Your steady gaze makes him shift, uncomfortable, wondering if he said something wrong. Eventually, you shrug, though there’s a twinkle in your eye as you quirk a smile at him.

“While I don’t support shotgun marriages, I’d make an exception for you and the end of the world.”

His breath catches, heart stuttering as he tries to parse your answer in his head. “Wha—you—”

“Come on, Seungkwan, don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” you groan, flopping sideways to plop your head against the armrest. Your legs tilt as you do, your foot brushing against his calf. He tries not to jolt at the contact.

“I’m sorry!” He pouts, trying to calm the uneven fluttering of his heart. You laugh, shifting your lean in the opposite direction, so your head lands on his lap. Despite having done it a thousand times before, he traces softly the way your hair falls, admiring the way its color contrasts with the color of his pants.

(Looking back, he’ll think about how that day changed things, even just by a little bit; how his gazes grew longer, noticing more how the sunsets glowed against your face as you walked home together every day, painting you golden. How you’d both gotten used to creative ways of shelter when mild dust storms come, thanking your luck each time that you had gotten home before it truly began.

He’ll think about how, a year from that day, he kissed you as he walked you home for the last time before you enter your separate colleges, swallowing the teasing took you long enough from your lips as he finished his shaky confession. 

He’ll think of how you exchanged second buttons like those characters from that anime you liked did, and the quiet promises to make things work even as the world seems to turn more barren than both of you can follow.

He’ll think of how three years from then, he gets on one knee, to your tearful yes and salty kisses. Your small marriage, with just your families, batchmates, and some professors, followed by a beautiful honeymoon in Jeju. Despite it all.

None of these decisions had anything to do with the end of the world, but you and Seungkwan made them, nonetheless.)

D-9 INT. A TENT – A TRAIN STATION SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SEOUL AND MOKPO – NIGHT The footage is grainy due to the lack of proper lighting; the camera shakes as Seungkwan seems to be trying to balance it on something. The tent is quite cramped; the inside is sparse, with only two sleeping bags and your knapsacks—Seungkwan’s with two camping pans attached with a carabiner.  The leather jacket you were wearing is now resting on one of the bags. You have both swapped your sturdy day pants for more comfortable, albeit worn, sweatpants. Out of context, it looks like a vlog filmed by two campers on a hike. The camera steadies as Seungkwan moves away. He moves to sit beside you. There is an easy intimacy as you thread your fingers together, almost mindlessly.                 SEUNGKWAN         BOO-log number 531. We passed by a sign that said Nonsan. That means we’re probably halfway there.                 YOU         We made progress better than expected, didn’t we? I estimated at least two weeks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (nodding, excited)         I thought the train tracks would have been ruined, since the stations are, but they’re surprisingly reliable.                 YOU         It’s true; of course there were times when we had to find our way around the tracks, or climb above anything that fell down over it, or go through some cornfields, but mostly, it seems we’ve been lucky.                 SEUNGKWAN         By the way—everyone, it looks like we’re in a tent in the middle of nowhere, doesn’t it? Don’t be fooled, we set this up in a convenience store.                 YOU             (laughing)         You ruined it! Now we can’t be funky backpackers with a tent on the train tracks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (playfully lecturing)         It’s good to be truthful, you know. What if kids watch this someday? We have to be good moral people.                 YOU             (with the remnants of a laugh)         Okay, okay. We set this up in the Seven Eleven inside one of the train stations. Abandoned, obviously. We made it in right before the dust storm hit.                 SEUNGKWAN         Another good news today is that we managed to barter something for food.                 YOU         Yeah. This one engineer or something—I think he’s a veteran? But we saw him tinkering on his porch and offered a trade, his corn for our cables, and now we have dinner.                 SEUNGKWAN             (joking)         It’s not jokbal, but it’ll do, I suppose.                 YOU             (groaning)         Oh my God, what I’d give for some jokbal right now. With bossam. And soju. SEUNGKWAN         I’ll be dreaming of that tonight.                 YOU         Anyway, everyone, we’ll end the log here, so we have enough batteries for a nice long BOO-log at Mokpo. Both you and Seungkwan wave your corn (dinner) at the camera. You reach forward, covering the lens with your palm. The clip ends.

D–20

Seungkwan walks around the house. He’s doing his last checks, checking between what’s in his bag and what’s in the rooms to parse if he’s missed anything—batteries, your wallets, matches, passports, birth certificates, first aid kit, water bottles, toothbrushes, all the canned food in the pantry, the sturdiest kitchen knife you both owned (wrapped in two layers of cloth), the Swiss knife he was gifted a few years back, flashlights, a whistle, and all the carabiners and hard cash you had were already packed.

He finds you in your shared bedroom. There are a bunch of wires there, evidently cut from various appliances. You’ve wrapped the cables as neatly as you could manage. On the bed, you’ve laid all your dry-fit shirts and the sturdiest pairs of pants you both have. Then, from the dresser, you’ve collected the most expensive jewelry the both of you own—well, all of them, but you separated the expensive ones in another pile. He points to the latter.

“What’s that for?”

“If cash fails, maybe gold won’t. I don’t know, just in case the currency collapses. But they’re worth bringing all the same.” Also, you hold out copies of both your health insurances. He opens his knapsack and quickly stuffs them in the same place as your other documents.

“Last resort kindling?” Seungkwan offers, showing the cluster of documents in his compartment. The remark draws a quick breath of a laugh from you.

“Probably.”

“How about the wires?”

“You never know when we’ll need some emergency engineer bullshit; plus, if it comes to it, the wires will probably be better barter material. Before you ask,” you hold up one hand, “I edited a zombie novel a few years back. But if that kid was pulling out of his ass, we’re fucked.”

Despite your disclaimer, the no-nonsense, matter-of-fact way you’re handling the situation makes something settle in him, as though all he needed was an anchor amid the chaos. He pulls you close, placing a kiss to your temple. The tension in your body melts as you press against him. For a moment, Seungkwan just holds you. A temporary anchor before you need to move.

Turning to him, you offer a quick peck to his lips before holding up his trusted camera bag, worn as it is. “Bring it,” you tell him firmly. “We need a little bit of happiness. Get all the SD cards you have, too. In case we just never leave Mokpo. It’s small enough to stuff in our pockets.”

Seungkwan can’t help it; he grabs your face and kisses you. The camera bag sits between you awkwardly, but he doesn’t care. He savors this, the familiar taste of it, the contours of your face that his hands have long since memorized. You pull away, but not before kissing his lips again, then his nose. He’ll never quite get used to the way you look at him, as though there is something new to love each time.

“We’re gonna be okay, my heart.”

D-4 EXT – A LONG STRETCH OF BEACH – MOKPO, SOUTH KOREA – SUNSET The camera captures a breathtaking sunset. The sky is a wash of oranges and pinks, the clouds purple yet lined in the light of the sun. Mokpo is on the southwest side of Korea; the view of the sunset is particularly beautiful, as the sun sinks down into the sea. There are faint silhouettes of islands both near and far from the shore. The waters are tranquil, and there are no sounds except for the steady wash of the waves on the shore.

The shot slowly pans to you. Your expression is tranquil, despite the dirt and tears across your clothes.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (soft, so soft you don’t hear)         Pretty.                 YOU             (clueless)         Hm?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Nothing. Can you see Jeju Island from here?

He already knows where it is.                 YOU             (laughing softly, a little sad)         To be honest, I don’t know which piece of land I’m seeing is Jeju. A finger appears at the edge of the screen.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         There, that’s Jeju. Right behind the blob that looks like a hat.                 YOU             (squinting)         Oh! Right, that’s what it looks like. Beat.                 YOU (CONT’D) The view is beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sea. Seungkwan hums the opening to Tears of Mokpo. You don’t recognize it until he softly begins to sing the opening lyrics.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (singing)         사공의 뱃노래 가물거리면…                 YOU             (laughing outright)         That doesn’t have anything to do with Jeju! He sings louder just to spite you. You playfully roll your eyes. Bending down, you unlace your boots and take off your socks, sinking your bare feet into the sand with barely-concealed relish. Seungkwan stops singing as he knows what you’re about to do.                 SEUNGKWAN         Careful; don’t step on anything sharp. As you move forward, the camera follows you. It is revealed that the beach is not so picturesque. The sea seems to have dried up some, and even here, bits and bobs of life float on the surface and linger in the sand.

There are the usual culprits: plastic bags, empty cans of alcohol and soda, and snack wrappers. Yet visible also on the camera are the following: bullet shells, shrapnel, a chair leg, a ragged pillow, and a cracked desktop monitor. As all this is visible, the camera centers on you laughing, splashing in the saltwater and enjoying the breeze in your hair.                 YOU             (calling; audio faint)         Kwannie! Come here! A beat. The camera zooms in on your face.                 YOU         Kwannie, come on! Hurry up!                 SEUNGKWAN             (proximity makes his voice loud)         Okay! A rustle. The camera is laid down, cloth (Seungkwan’s jacket) obscuring part of the footage. After a nudge, the cloth disappears from frame. Another figure, barefoot, joins you.

D–119

Jeju has officially been declared abandoned, lost for some other country to use as farmland. The radio announced the treaty ratification today. Seungkwan is a spectre around the house, listless and heartbroken. 

Months ago, when the conflict began to escalate in earnest, he began whatever arrangements he could to ensure his family was safe, moving them as near to the farming areas as he could manage and encouraging them to share whatever techniques they knew could help former cities now learning how to farm. The news does not make the sharp pang of grief dull any less.

He is at the age when he is to receive a conscription notice; Korea has since shifted its system to split soldiers into those who will either fight on the front lines of the Resource Wars, or serve by tilling the land and ensuring that there is enough corn for the population, however dwindling. There is no guarantee on which one he is to get, even if he did register himself as head of household (and should hypothetically be assigned the latter), but he is due to receive news in a few months’ time.

The promise of the notice hangs over both your heads. In the mornings, you spend ten more minutes just looking at him, as though you were memorizing the shapes and contours of his features. At night, he curls into you more tightly than before; once you’d have complained that it was too hot, now, you simply wrap your arms around him and let him sink his face into your hair.

“Hey, Seungkwannie.”

“Mm?”

“Let’s go on a trip.” The hand mindlessly running through your hair falters. 

He pulls away, looking at you with a furrowed brow. You keep your head low, pressed against his chest. “What?”

“Let’s go south. Yeosu, Mokpo, whatever, just near the beach, as close as possible to Jeju. Just…just see it, even from afar.” At his silence, you barrel on. “If we walk enough, we can make it in two weeks—a week if we can hitch a ride with one of those crop trucks or something—and then just another two weeks back, if we don’t settle in Mokpo outright.” 

“Food—”

“I can pack us as much as I can. We’ll need to ration, and possibly trade, but we can do it. The treaty is in place, and it’s most dangerous up north right now. Going south isn’t as big of a risk, and the weather has been looking good lately.” Finally looking up, you cup his cheek, tracing the skin with your thumb. He presses his lips to your wrist.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to Kwannie. I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

“I…” he falters. It’s tempting. Unbearably so, despite the nagging at the back of his head that it would be better to leave it at that, keep his memory limited to the days you spent there dodging dust storms and falling in love. He doesn’t know how much it’s changed. How much the ocean might have even dried up. He doesn’t know if he can stomach to see it. “Give me a few days to think about it?”

“Of course, Kwannie. All the time you need.”

D+29

Seungkwan’s life has been demarcated into two. Before, and after. He goes through the motions of the government-run fields: waking up, clocking in, eating breakfast, tilling the soil, weeding, lunch, the occasional drills in case they were still expected to fight, transporting corn from one warehouse to another, dinner, sleep. Repeat.

Not a lot of people are here; many prefer to till fields they own, or collectively own; for once, agrarian reform straightened itself out at the start of the Blight. Yet with the dwindling population—slowly withering family trees—those lands acquired by the government grew.

Sometimes, Seungkwan thinks of home. He was lucky enough that the head of the center, Seungcheol, was kind enough to register his name as part of the deployed cadets under his supervision, despite the incomplete paperwork he had when he stumbled into his field, frail and dehydrated from lack of food and water.

Home remains now only in his memory, and in every replay of the Christmases he captured on camera. The soil is more unforgiving than before; it distracts from the loneliness.

EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The wedding is humbly decorated with dried corn leaves fashioned into flowers, as there are no real ones anymore (none within the budget, anyway). Guests came as they are, though everyone has made an effort to clean up more than usual. It is currently the reception, and the speakers are playing a quick beat. The guests are dancing, laughing, and cheering, though their movements are blurry and almost smeared onscreen (step-printing effect). In the middle of it, you stand, the only still figure in the frame. You’re smiling softly to someone behind the camera, very clearly in love. Cut to Seungkwan, in a similar position, the guests around him dancing as but blurs. He is wearing a similar expression. He begins to walk forward.

You meet in the middle, still the only clear figures to the camera, and begin to dance.  As though the dance were a spell, the surroundings cut to: INT. A MEDIUM-SIZED LIVING ROOM – NIGHT EXT. SEOUL STATION, IN RUINS – DAY INT. YOUR TENT (MAGICALLY ENLARGED) – NIGHT EXT. LONG STRETCH OF BEACH (UNPOLLUTED) – MOKPO – SUNSET Hold this image for a moment. The sea laps at your ankles. The bottom of both your garments brushes against the saltwater, but neither of you seem to notice. Both you and Seungkwan close the gap to meet in a tender kiss. Suddenly, cheers. You part, and are back to: EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The newly-married couple smiles and waves. The bottom of their garments are damp.

D+167

It seems surreal to have all the batteries he wants, and even a computer where he can replay all his footage—more than 4000 hours’ worth of it. It took a few months of work to earn enough credits and rank to access it, but Seungkwan pursued the goal with single-minded purpose. There is enough electricity in this center to run a few computers, and Seungkwan is its most regular customer, painstakingly going through each clip on the dozens of SD cards he has.

For footage so far back, from when you had just been married, there are parts where he no longer remembers what happened after the clips end. They remain in his memory as but colored ghosts, warm-tinged with nostalgia. Cabinets that would never be opened again, now filled, in his dreams, with infinities.

The house of his memories blurs with the house of his oneirism. In both, he subsists on sleep and daydreams. But memory will betray; it won’t tell him if the house he remembers has been altered by each remembrance. So he watches his videos. He walks through his house, now only alive in video and reconstructed by memory. He sees himself and he sees you, in all the different iterations you both were. Wonders if he could stitch both into narrative. Wonders if he could even bear to cut any scenes. He’s never thought about the violence of that act until now.

Inventories do not just catalogue possession; they also measure the potential of loss. It was a quote from one of your writing workshops, discussed over a late dinner. You could still afford some meat then; Seungkwan had saved just enough for a small slab of cured pork, which you would cut tiny slabs from for both of you to enjoy before bed.

He has five minutes left of his designated slot with the computer.

Seungkwan watches, and he catalogues.

D=0

Seungkwan only remembers in flashes—a gunshot. A scream. It’s only when he replays that moment in his mind that he realizes it was his voice. Barely a thud as your body is cushioned by the corn leaves. Dark red liquid, somehow both grainy and slippery on his hands as he drags you into the thick of the field, away from the path, trying desperately to stem the blood while minimizing your trail. Until finally, he collapses, feet unable to bring him a step further.

More flashes—your eyes, only ever kind. Even at your last moments. The way you hold his hand and place it over the pocket you keep his SD cards, as though reminding him one last time. The way your eyes search his face, first desperate, and then resigned. The way he leaned in when you opened your mouth, to hear your final words, only to feel the ghost of chapped lips brush against his ear. The gush of blood that dribbles past your mouth that tells him you’re gone.

(The Resource Wars felt like more a backdrop than anything else; you had come this far without any altercation. Yet even as you screamed that you were not thieves, just travellers, the gunshot rang. 

The cornfields weep with him as he leaves you behind, SD cards clutched in his bloody hand.)

D–4

TIME CUT TO: It is twilight, now. The camera is trained on the horizon. The sun has fully set, and night is beginning to settle in the sky. Only the barest hints of orange remain. The footage has already become slightly grainy due to the lighting. Neither you nor Seungkwan are on the camera. Instead, voices are heard while the darkness arrives. It is not evident whether the footage was taken accidentally, or on purpose.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (softly)         I’m glad we came. Really, even if we couldn’t get to Jeju. I’m glad. I’m glad it’s with you.                 YOU (O.S.)             (just as softly)         I’m glad too, my heart. You filmed the whole sunset, didn’t you? Start to finish?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Yesterday and today. I have so much footage that I don’t know what to do with.

Breath.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         Actually, that goes for all the BOO-logs. Even the ones from high school and college.                 YOU (O.S.)             (surprised)         You never tried editing them?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         I have, but what then? There are hardly any theaters now. Nowhere else to post. And electricity is expensive.                 YOU (O.S.)         Okay, but if we both die, what do you think’s gonna happen to this camera? Seungkwan is many things; a prideful badminton player (before the Wars stopped sports events), a videographer, casual vlogger, and a corn field worker. You are also many things; an editor (before your company closed from too little employees), author, copywriter, and occasional tiller.

Both of you still enjoy nurturing sparks of creativity when they come.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm. someone picks it up and it gets immortalized in a post-war museum. And our videos will be a special feature.                 YOU (O.S.)         Oooh. And the war museum would be on a spaceship, with funky gravity and new plants and meat the astronauts domesticated from a different planet.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         And there’s a new jokbal. Call that out of this world delicious.                 YOU         Stop! Despite the terrible joke, you both laugh, then let the conversation drift into comfortable silence. The sun has fully set. Nothing much can be discerned visually from the footage.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         Hey, Seungkwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm?                 YOU (O.S.)         If you had the chance, like computers and steady electricity, would you edit all the BOO-logs into a short film?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (skeptical, but thinks about it seriously)         What would the plot even be? A married couple traveling to Mokpo, dodging dust storms and chasing each other through cornfields? Watching the stars at night?                 YOU (O.S.)             (earnest)         Yeah! Or, y’know, make it semi-autobiographic, like two lovers wanting to visit where they first had their honeymoon. Or maybe I’m sick and you want to take me to the sea one last time? The footage earlier could fit with that storyline.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Don’t even say that!                 YOU (O.S.)             (laughing softly, apologetic)         Sorry, sorry. But if you do make a short film, I want to be the first to see it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you work.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         What about you, then? Would you write a book about us?                 YOU (O.S.)         Oh, definitely. And you’d be the first to read it. The footage cuts.

D+182

Seungkwan replays the footage again. Beside him, Vernon fiddles with a pen.

“What do you think about making this a short film?” Seungkwan asks. 

Vernon stops. 

Seungkwan may be their newest addition, but the rest of the crew has grown protective. He brings light to their conversations, effortless in his ability to entertain and bring laughter. Mingyu asks him of his favorite foods, especially the ones he misses from Jeju, even if recreating them is near impossible. Seungcheol reprimands anyone who tries to bully him into giving up his share of rations. Junhui has begun to joke more, noticing how Seungkwan seems to be particularly into his humor. 

Yet everyone recognizes the sadness that still clings to his heels.

Vernon looks, for a long moment, at the monitor, frozen with a picture of a smiling face he’s never known—never personally, only ever through the screen and Seungkwan’s stories, always shared in quiet whispers in the privacy of his room.

He knows, though. Knows that this person was real. They loved, and were loved. It speaks in how the camera follows whoever is in the frame. The cuts of certain clips, as though either the person behind the camera joined their partner or had a moment that could not be captured in film. Most of all, it was the way whoever was in the frame would, without fail, smile at the person behind it. 

“I think,” he replies, choosing his words deliberately, “that you are in a unique position to dictate how someone is to be remembered by those who never knew them. And…” he hesitates, wondering if two months of these quiet conversations is still too little to be so candid with his friend, especially when talking of loss.

So, so much loss.

Seungkwan answers that question for him. “It’s okay, Vernon-ah.”

“…Well, I just wanted to say that it’s a burden to bear, is all.”

EXT – A CORNFIELD UNDER THE STARS – NIGHTTIME The stars have emerged, visible in all their glory. After the start of the Blight, when the population began to dwindle, electricity and many other resources became scarce. Much of the light pollution that was once a problem has disappeared. Brilliant dots twinkle overhead. To you and Seungkwan, it could pass for the Milky Way. The POV seems to be at a low point; stalks of corn are visible at the edges of the frame. Yet the stars are bright, captured exceedingly well.

You’re softly speaking aloud Laura Gilpin’s The Two-Headed Calf. It was one of the poems you memorized in college, as a creative writing major. YOU (O.S.)             (as though from far away)         Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother. It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual. Long beat.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Twice as many stars as usual…let’s look up together.                 YOU (O.S.)         I see the stars, my heart, but I’m tired…

A breath hangs in the air. Some rustle of cloth, as though someone had adjusted so you fit together. A soft sigh.                 YOU (O.S.) Good night, Kwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         …Good night, darling. End.

note. are the screenplay bits from the short film? the raw sd card clips? his memories? distorted memories? guess we'll never know. nonlinear bc grief is nonlinear. pls tell me your thoughts (even/esp if u didn't get the story lol) take care of yourselves always <3

[bestbuddybobby]

[cynical-ghost]

A VEGAS WEDDING

Paring: Charles Leclerc x bestfriend!reader

Genre: fluff, chaotic, social media-smau

Warning(s): translated French, language, use of Y/n, Mentions of drinking/being drunk? Vegas

Synopsis: you and Charles have been friends forever but one drunken night in Vegas shows there were other feelings other than friendship.

Inspired by @theemporium

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, Y/nforeal, charles_leclerc and 743,985 others

landonorris Congratulations are in order for the newlyweds @charles_leclerc @Y/nforeal🎉🎉

User1 WTF HAPPENED IN VEGAS LAST NIGHT???

User2 friends to lovers but they skipped a few chapters🤭

User3 They have been pining for each other for years it was bound to happen but I still did not expect this😭🍾

oscarpiastri 🥂🎉

Y/nforeal

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, lilymhe and 986,823 others

Y/nforeal Sooo I guess I’m a married woman now…what’s new with you lot?

@charles_leclerc

📸 @landonorris

charles_leclerc Funny story actually, I got married to this insane woman last night

Y/nforeal She must have been insane to marry you, what did she look like?🤔

charles_leclerc all I remember is that she was the most beautiful person I have ever met😉

Y/nforeal je t'aime beau🤭😊

charles_leclerc je t'aime encore plus chérie❤️

User12 OMG THIS IS SO CUTE

User7 I have been waiting for them to finally get together for years!!!

User10 I was hoping they would be a couple, yk bf gf, but them getting married? FUCK YEAH!

charles_leclerc

liked by Y/nforeal, carlossainz55, landonorris and 997,983 others

charles_leclerc I love you my darling❤️🎉🥂

@Y/nforeal

📸@landonorriss

Y/nforeal I love you to the moon and beyond Charlie ❤️🌙

[futfemfantasies]

A wedding to remember ~ Steph Catley x reader

Weddings in vineyards are always beautiful but it's something about the venue under the Australian sunset that makes it stand out. With fairy lights decorating the trees and rustic vibes from the wooden tables, Emily and Kat designed it perfectly. You watch the newlyweds have their first dance, a glass of champagne in hand, when you notice a familiar brunette join your other Matilda's teammates across the dance floor.

Steph has been in your life since you were teenagers. Growing closer when on camps together and sharing moments on and off the pitch. Between you both there has always been an unspoken connection that neither person wants to acknowledge. For many years now, there has been one complication for your friendship to progress further - Dean. You told yourself over and over again that there was no chance anything could happen. But Steph got engaged to Dean and you couldn't stand to see it so you move clubs to protect your feelings. Every camp for the national team you'd try to hide your feelings but many of your Matilda's teammates caught on quickly. Every time Steph glances your way, it becomes harder for you to keep those feelings settled.

The sun started to move behind the horizon and more people moved to the dance floor. You decided to stay back and watch, not really in a dancing mood. You heard heels click behind you and you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around and saw the woman taking over your thoughts since you arrived.

“Hey stranger,” She said softly.

“Hey,” you replied, trying not to appear nervous.

Steph smiled small, but warm. “You've been hiding over here all night.”

“Just enjoying the view.” you said, gesturing to the many trees in the vineyard.

Steph nodded, looking at the sunset and dimly lit trees before facing you again. “You've been radio silent lately, is everything okay?”

“Just a lot on my mind I guess.” you hesitated. Steph studied you, her expression unreadable.

“You know you can talk to me about anything?”

“I know.” you whisper before going to see your other Matilda's teammate.

Emily insisted that all the Matilda's are to go on the dance floor at least once during the night. Ellie dragged you on there, declaring you needed to ‘loosen up’. After pushing through the crowd, one of your favorite songs comes on. As you dance around with Ellie, she gives you a slight nod to look behind you. Steph was there with her hand outstretched, silently asking you to dance as the music got slower. You hesitate for a millisecond before taking Steph's hand. Time seemed to slow as Steph guided you to the middle of the dance floor. You placed your hand on her waist, trying to ignore all the feelings inside. Neither of you spoke for a while, just gently swaying with the soft melody, until Steph broke the silence.

“Dean and I broke up.” she said, voice quiet but steady.

You stopped in your tracks, looking Steph in the eyes. “what?”

“It's been coming for a while,” Steph admitted. “We both knew it wasn't working anymore,” Before you could respond she continued.

“I've been thinking a lot about what I want - about what makes me happy,” Her eyes met yours, hands tighten around your waist. “and it's you.”

Your breath hitched, as the weight of her words started to settle in. “Steph…”

“Follow me.”

Steph untangles from you and pushes her way through the crowd. You follow behind like a lost puppy until you get a little bit away from the reception. Steph pulls you in her arms and you search her face for any hint of doubt. There was only honesty and Hope.

“I've wanted to say this for so long,” you admit, as your voice trembled. “but I didn't think I could.”

Steph hold your face in one of her hands as she smiled, “well, now you can.”

With that, the distance between you became non-existent. the music Fading Into the background and all you can focus on is her. you both lean in and the wedding slowly forgotten as you two were caught up in each other.

The kiss under the stars changes everything. For the first time, the barriers between you and Steph crumble. As you pull back, your foreheads resting together, Steph smiles—a real, unforgettable smile that feels like home.

“We can’t keep this just for tonight,” she says softly.

You nod, your heart pounding. “I don’t want to.”

The rest of the wedding fades into a blur. You and Steph spend the next few days together, slipping away from the chaos to steal quiet moments just for yourselves. Long walks along the beach, lazy afternoons in the sun, and late-night conversations filled with laughter and shared memories remind you both of what you’ve always had—and what you could have.

As the offseason looms, you both return to Europe, reluctant to leave the bubble you’ve created but excited to see what the future holds. Steph heads back to London, while you return to Barcelona, the distance between you feeling more manageable now than ever before.

The transfer window is in full swing, and rumors are flying about player moves. You’ve kept your decision close to your chest, wanting to surprise Steph when the time is right. The deal with Arsenal has been finalised, and the announcement is just days away.

With the help of Caitlin and Katie, you arrange to meet Steph at one of your favorite coffee spots in London. She’s already seated at a corner table when you arrive, her face lighting up the moment she sees you.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she says, standing to hug you.

You grin, nerves bubbling under the surface. “I have a surprise.”

“Oh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as you both sit.

You slide an Arsenal scarf out of your bag and place it on the table between you. Steph stares at it for a moment, her eyes widening as realisation dawns.

“No way,” she says, her voice filled with disbelief and excitement.

“Way,” you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face. “The transfer is all finalised. I’m joining Arsenal next season.”

Steph laughs, leaning back in her chair as she takes it all in. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” you say. “Thought it was time for a change—and maybe time to be closer to you.”

Her smile softens, and she reaches across the table to take your hand. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

[michdoodles]

I scrolled and scrolled to find this post and my controller died while I was doing so BUT

Heeheehee, I unlocked this finally :)

Don’t listen to the steam sale announcement as I believe the game got delisted at the beginning of this month WOMP WOMP

everyone’s homework before Dec 20th, 2024 is to play Sonic Adventure 2

[strawberrystepmom]

bakugou x f!reader. part 2 of a mini series called by heart. part 1 can be found here. cw: mentions of alcohol, implied sexual content, weddings. | word count: 1.7k, reading time: ~10 minutes

The welcome dinner went off without a hitch. The bride and groom sat next to each other, glowing and in love and sneaking glances the entire evening. Several other bridal party members and assorted early arrivals joined the soon to be newlyweds, yourself, and a very frosty Katsuki. You pushed bangs belonging to a very drunk Shinsou Hitoshi off of his face to help him see and sent him off to the elevator safely. That call a member of the bridal party very nearly made to her ex while she was kind of drunk and missing him? Thwarted thanks to the communal pep talk she was given before you took her up to her room.

There will always be small dramas whenever the entirety of your group of friends is in one room, usually ones that everyone communally knows about. The issue is that nobody knows about what happened between you and Katsuki so the tension seems kind of out of nowhere.

“You were like all over him the last time, what happened?” Ashido asked you with a sigh while you waved her off and opted to remove the heat from yourself by asking her about her relationship status. 

If she’s noticed you know it’s going to become an unavoidable issue if the two of you cannot talk it out. The need to just get past it influenced your decision to invite him into the hotel bar with you to start with, as bad of an idea as it’s proving to be. Public is probably not the best venue to have a personal conversation but you know he doesn’t want you in his room and you definitely don’t want him back in yours and this bar is just intimate enough it’s unlikely anyone will overhear unless they’re trying very hard. 

“Are you going to actually talk or are we going to sit here and watch each other drink all night?”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his annoyance. It’s funny that he thinks he has the right to be at all when he’s the one who created this shitstorm to begin with. 

“If anyone should start us off, it should be you. You’re the one who left.”

Groaning, he opens his mouth to speak. You stop him, putting your hand out, suddenly feeling emboldened enough to make the first move despite the pit it creates in your gut.

“I never thought you were that type of person. Every other man, of course because that’s just how men behave. You, though?”

With a head shake, you lift your glass and tilt until the rim is almost fully touching your mouth to truly pull every last bit of vodka from the bottom of it. 

You won’t let him see how much what you’ve perceived as his rejection has affected you. It’s the mantra you’ve been repeating since boarding your flight this morning even though you did cry on the way to the airport, silently and alone.

It’s stupid to cry or be upset at all but it could be that a bit of you hoped that he saw you as special and still does to this day. Unfortunately him coming as close as he’s ever come to fucking you and subsequently running pretty much convinced you the opposite is true. So you’ve cried and asked your friend who is set to be a beautiful bride in two days what she thinks and she’s told you that you need to be the one to talk to him about it and you’ve been stubborn and she’s been irritated and now you’re here, using sheer will to keep yourself from crying and poorly attempting to lap up severely watered down vodka to make up for the courage you naturally lack.

Sliding your glass onto the bar, you place your elbow atop the counter as well and rest your chin against your balled fist. 

“Not you, Katsuki. And I guess it could really be that I never knew you at all so feel free to tell me I’ve always been wrong at any time – it just kind of feels like shit to uh, get played by the one guy you hope won’t do it.”

Averting your eyes, you keep them toward the back of the bar. You really don’t want to look at him right now, aware of what that pitiful look on his face that he keeps trying to hide with a grimace will do if you look at it for too long. You aren’t world class when it comes to being a boundary enforcer and it would take very, very, very little for him to get back into your good graces. 

Something like a tiny, little, so minute and small you can barely picture it…

“I’m sorry.”

Exhaling loudly through your nose when he says the very small words you’ve been hoping to hear, you now are left considering how to accept them gracefully. It would be a lie to tell him you haven’t been aching and lying is something you aren’t in the business of doing very often so you don’t want to let him off the hook that easily. 

You open your mouth to speak and he stops you this time, raising his free hand while he cradles his half drained glass in the other.

“This makes no sense and I’m not sure how to say it but I feel like I forget how to act when you’re around.”

Tilting your head to the side curiously, you look at his glass and then back at him but he only harrumphs at your insinuation. 

“I’m not drunk right now, this is barely even a drink to begin with,” he swings his crystal glass around with a frown. “Every time we’re together I feel like someone else. You keep me up all night talking and I never tell you to stop or that I don’t care because for some inexplicable reason, I do give a shit even if this is the only time we see each other. And my god you do this fucking thing…”

He trails off, setting his glass down on the bar beside yours to try and contort his face into the best version of yours that he can. There’s something uniquely hilarious about seeing such a stoic man forcefully widen his eyes, looking around the mostly empty bar coquettishly and blinking. Pressing your palm over your mouth to stifle a cackle, you shake your head and he throws his hands up and leans in, the tip of his nose shockingly close to yours while his expression falls back into its natural state.

“I don’t speak eye contact. What the hell does that mean? What do you want from me?”

Your head remains tilted but the lightness in your expression falls, your eyebrows furrowing.

“I mean, what I want from you is friendship? Someone to talk to and hang out with outside of these shitty, hectic wedding weekends?” Scoffing, you desperately look around the bar to locate the tender and order another drink. “God, is that really what you wanted to say to make this whole thing right?”

The man sighs, defeatedly.

“No and if you’d listen to me you would know it.”

All you do is shrug, blink wildly, and lean in his direction to emphasize how ridiculous you find what he’s saying. 

”Okay awesome, well I am listening and now all I know is that I make you late for bedtime when we hang out. That still doesn’t tell me why you left that night.” 

Pinned by his inability to say the find even a slightly right thing to say, he recalls why he didn’t want to have this conversation with you at all and originally planned to dodge and avoid as much as possible over the course of the weekend. Granted he has had over a year to come up with a decent lie and hasn’t. He could also pretend to be the asshole everyone seems to think he is and just brush it off. Something keeps him from veering into flippant behavior and it’s an urge to protect your feelings as a means to say thank you for the good memories even if the two of you do not make a single one to add to the scrapbook during your best friends’ shared wedding. 

Finally convinced that you’ve intimidated him enough, you lean back against the chair and cast a glance that screams ‘your move’ so loudly the childish version of him that still lingers in the back of his head on occasion wants to scream it right back. Blessedly, he’s more in control of himself and chooses instead to say what has been heavy on his heart since the early morning hours he left your side knowing he’d be hurting someone he cares about in the process.

“Because if I stayed we would have probably ended up going all the way and I didn’t want us to do that while we were drunk, alright?” Setting his glass down with a thud, he rises from the barstool. “You can believe me or not if you want to but I'm done talking about it. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. Have a good night.”

You watch his every move despite remaining practically stuck to your chair and inside your feelings, his thick fingers digging into his pocket for his wallet to slap a few paper bills down onto the bar in an effort to continue behaving like the man you used to assume he is. 

None of what he said explains why he jumped to the nuclear option of leaving yet there would be no reason for him to lie about something so significant when you’re already pissed off. Even your instincts are telling you that this is the honesty you’ve been hoping to eventually receive. 

“Katsuki.” He looks up from his hands when you say his name, eyebrows raised and mouth drawn into an unamused line. “I believe you.”

He nods though it doesn’t seem like he necessarily believes you and turns to exit, leaving you with little besides more questions.

For instance: has he thought about what it would be like to have sex with you sober before? 

It’s the most insufferably shallow thing to take away from what was said, barebones as it was and truthfully it’s less about what his words were and more about the uncharacteristically sheepish and hurried manner in which he spoke them - like he was making a confession and not an apology.

Shaking your head, you rise just as he did and toss your own cash down on the bar. At bare minimum you can say that the mutual axe sharpening appears to have ceased for now.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

fidds and reader newly wed headcanons?? maybe how the dynamic changes after being married, OwO im feral over that man I cant help myself (im so sorry emma-may 😔)

♡˚· fiddleford x reader newlyweds headcanons ·˚♡

a/n: a little bit nervous because ive never written him before, but he's such a sweetheart! i got some reqs for him, so expect more Fiddleford fics <3 (especially that ford x reader x fidds one ohh)

୨ৎ the first morning after the wedding you both wake up and realise you’re actually married now. it hits differently. you’re just lying tangled in sheets and he looks over at you all goofy-eyed, he’s not entirely sure how to start the day now that you’re his forever. so, naturally, he presses a kiss to your forehead and says something ridiculous like, “well, darlin’, guess we don’t gotta pretend anymore. you’re mine now.”

୨ৎ honestly, he thrives on the idea of being your husband. his heart beats faster whenever you call him “my husband,” and you’ll catch him grinning like a fool, no matter how much he tries to hide it

୨ৎ when he’s proud of you ohhh, boy he’ll tell everyone. “did I mention my partner just finished this big project? oh, you gotta see it, they’re a genius! ABSOLUTE genius! smarter than me, even!”

୨ৎ he's still awkward, so awkward. before, he had his own world of gadgets and mysteries, but now, you are the new mystery. his brain goes into overdrive at the simplest things, for example when you call him “honey” or leave him little notes around the house, doesn't matter how silly, it melts him. you might find him randomly fixing stuff around the house, but he's also sneaking glances at you, totally lost in his new reality of "oh, wow, this is MY person now." honestly, he gets all shy around you, still a little clumsy, but he loves you so much. when he tries to give you something he made, his hands shake a bit

୨ৎ he’s touchier after marriage. he was always affectionate, but now he does it ALWAYS. he’ll wrap his arms around your waist while you’re cooking, press his nose into your hair when you’re reading, fall asleep holding your hand. he’s yours now, and he wants to remind you of that every single second

୨ৎ after the wedding, Fidds is lowkey obsessed with documenting every little thing about married life (because he still can't believe he married such beautiful person like you). if you both take a walk through the woods, he’ll bring out his old camera, snap a photo, and get all sentimental about it. "i reckon this here’s the first time we’ve taken a walk together as a married couple. gotta remember this moment.” expect a scrapbook of your married life by next week

୨ৎ your wedding bands become a point of obsession for him. he’s constantly fiddling with his ring, twisting it around his finger and grinning every time he catches a glimpse of yours. “still can’t believe it,” he’ll say, holding your hand and running his thumb over the metal. “we’re really married. that's. . . wow.”

୨ৎ when you gently wipe grease off his cheek after he’s been tinkering for hours, he just stops, blinks at you. he’s trying not to cry. he fails

୨ৎ if you'll kiss him first (usually it happens when hes rambling about some invention), so you just kiss him mid-sentence, he freezes for a second, hovering his hands in the air, not knowing what to do, before melting into it, kissing you back with this little laugh. he loves the fact that you’re so open with your affection, he’s a big softie in disguise.

୨ৎ speaking of coffee, he steals sips of yours all the time, because “yours just tastes better, somehow”

୨ৎ your own inside jokes have blossomed since you married. Fidds can make a random reference about something that happened years ago and you’ll both burst into laughter

୨ৎ when you’re doing something productive, like working on a project or focusing on a task, Fidds likes to be near you. he can be just tinkering with his own creations, but he’ll make sure to peek at your work every now and then, and give you the most proud smile. “look at you, my little genius,” he’ll say, completely unaware that his compliments are giving you butterflies

୨ৎ shopping trips together!! he’s just so excited by the smallest things. he’ll find a weird gadget and be like, “hoo boy, look at this! can we get it? what if we used this for the house? or better yet, for our projects??” and just like that you’re leaving with random junk, this guy is obsessed with collecting anything that could possibly make your life together more fun

୨ৎ married life and science is a whole thing now. Fidds will tell you about new experiments, and instead of just nodding along, you end up helping out, usually in the form of holding things while he gets super excited. you’re his sounding board for crazy ideas. he looks at you as if you’ve just solved the world’s biggest mystery when you suggest something small, “hey Fidds what if we tried using duct tape for that?” you’re the reason his inventions have a chance at working

୨ৎ Fidds is an inventor, but he’s also a man who shows love in action. if you’re tired from work or a long day, he’s the one finding the blanket, making sure your feet are propped up and bringing you whatever snacks he can find in the fridge

୨ৎ one day, after a particularly frustrating project Fidds will come to you looking all defeated and will sit down on the couch, burying his face in his hands. and in that moment, you just get it. you sit beside him, silently handing him a cup of tea (you know he needs it) and just let him have a moment. sometimes that’s the thing he needs most. hes such a sad puppy though

୨ৎ also, spontaneous bursts of affection have become a thing. ehehehe he’ll walk in the door, glance at you, and before you know it, he’s spun you around for a hug like you’ve been apart for years. it’s never just “hey,” it’s always “there you are!!” you’ll be sitting on the couch watching TV, and suddenly he’ll kiss your temple without warning and murmur, “couldn’t imagine life without you, baby.” and then he goes back to his tools like it was nothing

୨ৎ arguments are rare, but when they do happen, he always apologizes first and his sincerity makes it impossible to stay mad at him for long

୨ৎ suddenly, every little thing becomes a team project. you’re cleaning up the attic, and Fidds already running to you, “hold on, hold on, we can make this a fun thing!”

୨ৎ dates with him be like: stargazing on the roof, a picnic under the tree in the yard or walking around the weirdest, most obscure spots in town just because they’re “interesting” (and because it’s funny to him). but more than all its because you’re his favorite person to explore the world with, no matter how strange

୨ৎ late-night talks about dreams and what the future holds when you both lay there, staring at the ceiling, he’ll start talking about the life you’re going to build.

“i wanna grow old with you, sugar. like, I don’t even care where we live, as long as I get to wake up next to you every day.”

୨ৎ you show him love too, of course. when you catch him fiddling with some new idea, you’ll pull him away for a break and give him the softest kiss on the cheek, telling him how amazing he is. “you’re brilliant, you know that?” and his whole face lights up because you’ve given him the biggest compliment ever

୨ৎ when you both get out of the shower, dripping wet, he’ll always catch you in a hug, pressing you against him. he’ll nuzzle into your damp hair and kiss your temple, feeling the droplets between you both. ahh this man is so tender

୨ৎ romantic dinners at home are perfect. its not some fancy restaurant, you prefer to eat home-cooked meal that Fiddleford probably messed up, but it still tastes amazing because he made it with you in mind

୨ৎ after a long day of work, Fidds doesn’t just greet you at the door with a kiss, no, he prefers to pick you up, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground for a second as he spins you around in a dizzying, loving hug

୨ৎ sometimes he’ll just stare at you while you’re doing the most mundane thing, washing dishes, tying your shoe, whatever and then blurt out something like, “y'know, marryin’ you was the smartest thing I ever did.”

୨ৎ he’s the kind of guy who’ll pull you into a sudden, twirling hug just because he missed you while you were in the other room

୨ৎ Fiddleford is the most affectionate husband ever. this man’s idea of waking you up is to just cling to you, half asleep, rubbing his face into your hair. if you're a heavy sleeper, he’ll just nuzzle you with an adorable grunt and whisper, “i love you,”. he’s a bit of a morning cuddler, okay, maybe A LOT of a cuddler. you can't get away without some snuggles, not with this man.

୨ৎ he still blushes like it's the first time when you compliment him. especially loves when you say stuff as “you’re so smart, Fidds,” and he’ll literally hide his face in his hands. ("aw, shucks, don’t go makin’ me all red now…")

“cmon, darlin’. . . just five more minutes” as he clings to you like a koala. when he eventually gets up, he grumbles, almost falls out of bed, but always kisses you first trying to prolong the moment

୨ৎ cooking together, absolutely. Fiddford’s idea of cooking is throwing random ingredients into a pot and seeing what happens. loves experiments!! he gets real excited when he’s got you by his side, though.

୨ৎ there's probably some moments where he's way too deep in his work and forgets to take care of himself, but you’re there to remind him to drink water and maybe throw in some playful teasing (sometimes gets embarrassed about it, but also secretly so happy)

୨ৎ he loves going on random road trips with you! he's packing up in the car and driving nowhere in particular. he usually turns on the radio, and it’s either some classic country or him singing at the top of his lungs to songs. he’s terrible at directions, so you end up lost, but it’s okay, because you end up having the best spontaneous adventures!

୨ৎ tries to teach you how to fix one of his machines, but you keep getting distracted by how cute he looks explaining everything. eventually, he catches on and starts teasing you about it

୨ৎ will always try to make you laugh, even if his humor is as chaotic as his brain, “why don’t skeletons fight each other? they don’t have the guts!”

[bbcphile]

Newlywed Room Meta

Well, this is horrifying. I just realized that the newlywed room Jiao Liqiao had planned to marry Di Feisheng in is the same room she had him kneel at her feet in after crippling him and trying to destroy his martial arts.

(CW/tw: threat of rape)

Here’s the room in ep. 34 when he’s forced to kneel in front of her (and is in tons of pain and dissociating).

Here’s the newly wed room in ep. 38:

Notice that the bed is now where the chaise longue was. This means that she was planning on forcing the consummation in EXACTLY the same place that she had humiliated him in front of her men earlier (forcing him to kneel and calling him “Furen”). The screen behind the bed is even the same pattern as the screen that was behind her chaise longue, which means she planned to surround him with the same decorations, so there would be nowhere he could look where he wouldn’t be reminded of the earlier trauma and of his powerlessness.

Here’s something even more disturbing: the wedding bed is actually her bed, since it was already in that room, just in an alcove off to the side in ep. 34. 

Here’s the bed in episode 34.

And here it is in the newly wed room.

That means she moved it from its normal, more private location, and put it front and center of the room where her surrogate throne was. It’s now the focal point of the room and very deliberately staged, as though she was expecting an audience for the forced consummation, just like she had an audience when she forced him to his knees in front of all her men.

And if that weren’t enough, here’s another disturbing detail: do you see the decorative frame she’s using to hold up the curtain?

Guess where that’s from? Di Feisheng’s BEDROOM.

We saw it once before: in the scene where Jiao Liqiao tried to undress Di Feisheng. He had let her help him with the outer robe and wrist guard and then stopped her, looking furious, when she starts to undo his belt while saying that she will help him shower and change his clothes. She doesn’t listen to his very clear and furious no, and she only stops after he threatens to fire her. The curtain holder is the biggest piece of scenery in the background of the shots where she is reacting to being turned down, so much so that it practically becomes associated with her rejection.

Given this, it’s very telling that she ripped it away from the rest of his bed (which it matched) and put it with her bed; she took something that she’d associated with his rejection of her and put it with her (non-matching) bed, which she turned into their wedding bed, to symbolically destroy that resistance and to be a stark reminder that, now, unlike back then, he’s helpless to stop her. 

Everything about that room was designed to (possibly publicly) mock him for his helplessness and to revel in her triumph over him. 

So it’s even more powerful (and even more of a relief) that instead of that future, what actually happens in the newly wed room is that Li Lianhua carefully places Di Feisheng in the spot where he had previously been publicly humiliated and was in danger of worse, and heals him instead. Li Lianhua gives him back his power and agency, and even shares the mental codes for Yangzhouman, turning what was supposed to be a symbol of his defeat and helplessness into a symbol of respect, care, of sacrifice for another (because LLH gives him Yangzhouman that he needs to keep himself alive), and the strength that true cooperation and union can bring. 

And I’m going to be crying about this forever.

[starshideurfics]

Off the deep end - part two

part one

Wet dreams are super common for both alphas and omegas in the months post-presentation. Omegas usually have it worse even though no one talks about it as much.

But Steve’s pretty sure he’s an outlier.

He only had a few bad nights at camp, but once he’s home it feels like every other night.

And the dreams he can remember are intense—blood and fire, teeth and claws, all turning soft and sweet, dark chocolate eyes and callused fingers. He wakes with soaked pajamas and sheets, his pussy aching to be filled.

He’ll use his fingers, try to find relief, but it’s never enough.

Usually, nights after he’s seen Eddie are less intense for Steve, like he’s sated the animal part of him that cries for its mate. At least a little bit.

A part of him—that same animal part—loves it, that his body knows what it wants and takes it. He wants to roll in his soiled sheets, make his scent as strong as possible, rub his slick into his skin to draw his alpha to him.

But a much bigger part of him is annoyed. His mother insists that he do his own laundry when it comes to this, that he keep his space neat and clean if he still wants to be allowed out of the house.

This has him washing his sheets constantly, defaulting only to his white sheets, the acidity of his slick bleaching the color from anything else.

Which leaves him with two sets that he rotates through, his laundry needs slowing down his mornings and often making him late to meet Eddie.

And when Eddie asks, Steve is honest. It earns him some *very* heavy petting and the closest to dry humping that Steve can feasibly manage. They remain fully clothed that afternoon.

It starts Eddie’s mind turning, searching for a solution, and he happens across it in a slightly racy fantasy novel. He presents it proudly to Steve in the week before school is set to begin again, placing soft, quilted cotton into his hands.

“Eddie, what is this?”

“A bed pad. I guess they make disposable ones now, but I figured a reusable one would be better for you.”

Steve flushes all the way to his ears. Bed pads aren’t talked about much, mostly gifted to newlyweds for use during heats. Which has him thinking about heats. About sharing his heat.

About Eddie sharing his heat.

Steve slicks so much that it overflows his pad, and Eddie’s nostrils flair.

“You got a rubber?” Steve asks, knuckles white as he grips the bed pad, nosing at Eddie’s neck.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, hands on Steve’s hips, holding him close.

“Good.” Steve drags Eddie to the nearest restroom, they fuck, and he changes his pad before they leave the stall.

💦💦💦

Steve’s first heat after he presents should be tolerable. Nice even. His mother says early heats are easier—less painful—to trick omegas into thinking pregnancy won’t be so bad.

Steve figures no matter how bad pregnancy is, he’d get a baby at the end. A pup of his own, his and Eddie’s.

Which he knows is stupid. He’s not even 16 yet, he doesn’t want a baby right now.

He just wants his boyfriend to knot him through his heat.

And he knows his parents would never let him, not if they can help it. That’s why he’s been making plans, talked with Eddie about saving up for a heat hotel.

Steve has his allowance, even though his father threatens to cut him off every time he catches Steve with Eddie upstairs.

And Eddie has a job, helping out at Thatcher Tire, so one of the cheaper rooms is perfectly within reach.

The only problem is early heats are unpredictable. It can take a few years for an omega to settle into a regular cycle. Some omegas go an entire year after presenting without a heat. Some will have a weak heat barely a month after presenting.

Steve’s doctor had warned him that his situation meant his heat was likely to come in the fall—having a compatible alpha around would help his hormones settle his cycle.

He just didn’t count on it hitting over Thanksgiving break.

His parents are home all week—no business meetings or holiday travel because his mother’s parents expect them on time for dinner on Thursday.

Too bad Steve would miss it.

Steve is tired on Wednesday, not having slept well the night before, so Eddie gives him a ride home from school, and instead of making out in his newly-acquired, but still old van, Steve nuzzles against Eddie’s hair and nearly falls asleep.

Eddie practically carries him to his front door.

Then he goes straight up to bed, falling asleep in his clothes, content to snuffle against the t-shirt he stole from Eddie’s room the last time he was over.

Steve sleeps for 13 hours.

When he wakes, his skin feels too tight, itchy and sticky as he struggles out of his clothes.

His panties cling to him, absolutely drenched with his slick. Only then does he feel the deep ache between his legs, how his blood must all be in his pussy, his labia puffy and sensitive.

A keening whine escapes his throat, crying out for help—for Eddie—but all he gets is his mother.

“I could smell it on you this morning, and I pulled the phone from your room, so don’t even think about calling him,” she says through the door, voice tight. “Without an alpha, you should be through it by tomorrow morning. I’ll bring you leftovers from Nona’s”

“You’re leaving?”

If they leave, he can call Eddie. It’s like she’s forgotten there are other phones in the house.

Steve forces himself to his feet and wobbles over to the door. His stiff fingers close around the knob, but he can’t get it to turn.

It won’t turn. He’s locked in.

“Mom?”

“Steven, you’re staying in your room. Dad is staying home, and I won’t be gone long. Kisses.” He can hear her on the stairs.

Steve tries the knob one last time before sobbing as he sinks to the floor, overwhelmed as he peels off his wet panties, and grinds against his hand, needing relief.

But relief doesn’t come.

His only relief is Eddie. He only wants Eddie. Instead, he pants and cries, aching and horny, fingers going pruney in his pussy, his floor covered in slick by the time his heat breaks 17 hours later.

His mother hires a steam cleaner to get it all out of the carpet.

💦💦💦

Eddie meets Rick at Thatcher. He drives like an idiot, needs things looked at regularly, but he’s easy-going. Friendly.

When he sees Eddie on a smoke break, he asks to bum one. It turns to casual banter, which turns to Rick asking why Eddie’s got this after school job, what with Al’s reputation.

Eddie bristles, but Rick laughs, says he’s impressed that Eddie bother’s with grunt work, that Wayne must be a really good influence, and how much does he make? $3.45 an hour isn’t anything to sneeze at, ‘specially not for Eddie, being so young.

“But you could make 10 times that, working for me.”

Rick ashes his cigarette and quirks his brow, waiting.

“Like hell I could,” Eddie scoffs.

“More even, if you put in the effort.”

And $3.45 an hour is more than minimum wage, more than Eddie expected when he was hired, but he only gets 10 hours a week.

He’s not stupid. He knows what Rick does. Knows what’s being offered. Wayne wants him focused on school, on doing better for himself than any other Munson has managed.

But Eddie already has. He’s got Steve, his scentmate. And he’s gonna take care of him.

Besides, even if Steve doesn’t care much about popularity, he still gets invited to Loch Nora parties. And by extension, so does Eddie. In one night, he could make months worth of his pay at Thatcher.

He could get Steve something real nice with that kind of money, go on a lavish date night with a little sexy something for after…

And he can still work at Thatcher…

He just can’t let Wayne know. Or Steve.

Steve was so proud when he got his job. Not that Steve would care, he and Steve have gotten high together, just once, and he’s been so sweet and floaty in Eddie’s arms. But Steve’s parents, if he knows, and they find out that he knows, they’ll flip.

Eddie drops his spent cigarette on the pavement and grinds it out with the toe of his work boot. “Okay, what do I need to do?”

“Swing by my place this weekend, I’ll get you set up.”

💦💦💦

The first Loch Nora party Eddie deals at is Alex Thompson’s Halloween party.

Steve does shots with the swim team, and again with the cheerleading squad, then grabs a solo cup of jungle juice. Eddie nurses a single Budweiser all night.

So, Steve is loose and distracted, dancing every time someone comes up to Eddie looking for weed or acid. He moves his customer to the corner, exchanges his goods for cash, and threatens each of them with being cut off by every dealer in town if they mention any of this to Steve.

Eddie leaves around midnight a few hundred dollars richer, with a cuddly, sleepy Steve hanging off his shoulder.

The cuddliness lasts until Eddie gets Steve home, the omega promptly puking in the driveway, multicolored liquid splashing on the pavement and over Steve’s shoes. Snots runs from his nose and he coughs, whining, “Eddie, never let me drink again!”

“Oh, Puppy, it’s okay,” Eddie soothes, rubbing his back. “Let’s get you some water and an aspirin.”

By the time he has Steve tucked into his bed, it’s after 1AM. Wayne expects him home, not trusting the shit teens get into on Halloween, wanting him safe. But Steve won’t let go of his hand.

He cries when Eddie stands up, and he’s too worried about Steve dehydrating himself more that he kicks off his jeans and crawls into the bed to spoon up behind him.

“I’m here, Puppy. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

💦💦💦

Wayne grounds Eddie for a week when he gets home in the morning.

Not that grounding him does much. Eddie still goes to school. He still goes to work. He’s allowed to go to Hellfire because he runs the game and that’s a responsibility. But he isn’t allowed at Steve’s house, or band practice.

And Steve shows up at the trailer after school, and Wayne isn’t trying to punish Steve. (He should be, in all honesty, if he knew how drunk Steve got, just to further drive home how stupid binge drinking is.) Wayne lets Steve come in, telling him he can stay until 8, but Eddie’s grounded, they can’t go anywhere or do anything or even watch tv.

Most importantly, they aren’t allowed to hang out in Eddie’s room.

Steve doesn’t care. He just wants to be with Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t really care either. It’s a pretty light punishment for breaking curfew, all things considered.

The following Friday, Eddie takes Steve on a date to the drive-in.

They see Creepshow, and Steve spends the movie half-hiding against Eddie’s shoulder, his sodden pad crinkling in his panties every time he shifts in his seat. Eddie focuses on the movie—he wanted to see it after all—and has an arm around Steve’s shoulder, hand playing with his tit.

The credits roll, and Steve climbs into Eddie’s lap, licking into his mouth. “Can we go to something with less death next time?”

“Of course, Baby.” Eddie slides his fingers into Steve’s hair, and pulls him into another kiss. “And I got you a little something, as a thank you for going to my horror movies.” Eddie reaches into his pocket, pulls out a box. A jewelry box, long and thin. “I’ve been saving up for a while.” Which is true; it’s just his new revenue stream moved up his timeline on affording it.

Steve opens the box, revealing a simple, gold bracelet, the chain links a bit more robust, a little gold heart near the clasp. “If you want something else, we can exchange it, but I thought I could add to it as we go, tell the story of us…”

Steve plasters their lips together, overcome with desire. He grinds down on Eddie’s lap, waking up his cock. “It’s perfect.”

Eddie carefully clasps the charm bracelet around Steve’s wrist, and kisses him tenderly.

Steve crawls out of his lap, whispers, “Take me home.”

He and Eddie fuck in his bed, then again in the shower, falling asleep with their hands clasped together over Steve’s heart.

💦💦💦

[supernovafics]

series masterlist | last part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k words

warnings: explicit language, fluff, a tiny hint of angst(?), smut (18+), unprotected piv sex

summary: the last morning of your summer trip with steve

EPILOGUE | ❝𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔❞

There was no one on the beach except for you. 

You were alone, but it didn’t feel lonely. The quietness was soothing; you only heard the sounds of the waves crashing, but even that was pretty soft. 

It was warm but comfortably so, and you walked along the shore for a bit before settling on a blanket. You let out a contented sigh as you simply looked out at the ocean, focusing on the blue water and the—

It was the sun that woke you up. Pouring through the window right next to your and Steve’s bed because you two had forgotten to close the curtains last night. 

The bright morning sun shining almost too perfectly in your eyes surprisingly didn’t even annoy you because you could feel the smallest smile on your face as you remembered your dream. And that immediately surprised you because you usually never remembered dreams that were so calm and simple like that one.

You pulled the blanket over your head to block out the sun because you couldn’t bear to get up and close the curtains but you wanted to try and go back to sleep. The abrupt action must have woken Steve up because you felt him shift behind you and drape an arm around your waist. 

“Sorry for waking you,” You whispered as you instinctively leaned into his touch. The feel of his warm hand almost mindlessly slipping beneath your t-shirt and touching your bare skin made you sigh softly. “How are you always so warm?”

“Don’t know,” He whispered back. “You want me to close the curtains?”

“No, it’s okay,” You told him, finding his hand and lacing it with yours. Things got quiet for a moment, and then you were pulling the blanket off of your head and shifting around to face him. “Hey, guess what.”

His eyes opened then and he gave you a curious look. “What?”

“I finally had a normal dream that I actually remember.”

He smiled at your words and was quickly reminded of your joking promise to tell him whenever you had normal dreams that you remembered. “Mm, tell me everything.”

“Okay, I was alone on a beach and laying on a blanket and it was really nice,” You quickly explained. “Very simple.” 

Steve nodded. “That is normal.”

“I know, I’m just like you now,” You told him and pressed a quick kiss against his nose. “Do you remember what you were just dreaming about?” 

“I was having a really good dream, actually,” He answered, shifting closer to you and it was then that you felt his hard length poking at your thigh. 

“Oh?” You said, pressing the softest kiss against his neck and then pulling back to meet his eyes. “Tell me everything.”

“You were there.” He kissed your forehead. “And I was there. And we were back at the hotel we stayed at in Venice.”

“Oh, I loved that place,” You jumped in, smiling. You two had lied and said that you were on your honeymoon and the front desk worker bumped you up to the newlywed suite; that was probably the best week of the trip. “Definitely my favorite place we stayed at.”

“Mine too,” Steve nodded in agreement. “So, in the dream, we were on the balcony and it was the middle of the night. I don’t know what the occasion was, but fireworks were happening in the distance. Oh, and you were all over me. Honestly, it was pretty similar to this moment.” 

You had just pushed your left hand under his t-shirt and started exploring pretty much everywhere. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his playfully said words. “Wow, dream me is so accurate to real me.”

“Very much so,” Steve said, finally leaning in to kiss you and then mumbling his next words against your mouth. “And then, in the dream, you begged me to fuck you against the railing of the balcony, so I did.”

His words sent something equivalent to a shiver down your spine as you gasped into the kiss. 

“Fuck, why didn’t we actually do that when we were there?” You asked when you pulled back and Steve’s mouth immediately found the underside of your jaw. 

“We should’ve,” He responded. His hand on your waist was suddenly pulling you even closer to him and you could feel his hard length pressing right against your underwear.

“Ah,” You moaned louder than intended. You wanted to say actual sentences and keep the banter going and prolong this moment for as long as possible, but your mind was quickly turning into mush. “I need you, Stevie.”

“Yeah?” It wasn’t hard to hear the smirk in his voice. 

You nodded quickly, eyes opening again and meeting his gaze. “Please.”

You could feel your arousal soaking through your underwear and practically dripping down your thigh at this point. 

“I need you inside of me,” You whispered, mouth right against his ear and he could only groan in response as he buried his face in your neck. 

You made quick work of slipping your underwear down your legs and Steve did the same with his boxers and then he hooked your leg over his hip. 

That was when the curtain should’ve been closed, but still, neither of you could bother to get up. Instead, he didn’t waste a second to slip inside of you, filling you completely and both of your moans took over the quietness within the room. 

You were reminded of other instances where something similar to this had happened before— him waking you with the softest kiss against your neck at a tiny hotel in Amsterdam and it leading to a moment like this, or you pressing kisses against his freckled shoulders and back, and that action also leading to you being on top of him minutes later, and you both learned just how thin the walls were at a bed and breakfast in a small town in Spain. 

Sometimes the sex was quick and rushed and other times you two acted like you had all the time in the world, which you kind of did, in most cases. 

This moment technically did have a set time limit because you two had to head to the airport sooner rather than later for your twelve o’clock flight back home, but everything was still slow and languid. You both were hitting your peaks fast, though, and you figured it was the pent-up neediness from what you two had been too exhausted to do last night since most of the day and night had been spent doing last-second touristy things in Paris. 

“I love you,” You had said to him when you two were sitting on a park bench close to the Eiffel Tower. It wasn’t the first time you said it to him or the first time he immediately said it back but it still always felt just as special. 

And you were saying it in this moment too; muttering it over and over like it was a prayer. Your hands landed in his hair at some point, finding home in his messy brown locks that you were making even messier with your soft tugs and pulls. 

Steve’s hand found your hip so he could push his cock deeper inside of you with every slow thrust, and that action pushed you over the edge faster than you had expected. Your eyes squeezed shut and you buried your face into his neck as you came, clenching around his cock, which beckoned his own release seconds later. 

“I love you so much,” He whispered as he spilled inside of you and you could only moan in response, still unable to form coherent sentences. 

Things became quiet and Steve’s arms circled around you entirely, hands pushing under your t-shirt that you were now realizing was actually his, and you returned the embrace immediately, letting out a soft hum into his neck as he started mindlessly tracing circles against your back. 

A lot of the time, this was your favorite part— the after. Steve still inside of you and bodies still entangled as your breathings steadied and heart rates returned to normal. 

These were the moments where you talked about everything and nothing and cooked up stupid little fantasies and dreams for the future that actually didn’t feel entirely stupid. It was in a post-sex pillow talk haze like this one where you learned about the kind of family Steve wanted later in life— a bunch of kids, a nice house, a dog or a cat or both. A family that actually felt like a family. 

It was the sweetest thing you had ever heard, and it somehow entirely made sense for him. You told him that you had hated being an only child growing up so you loved the thought of actually having something like that down the road too. You even shyly admitted that it had never felt possible before; you had never been able to see that with anyone else, but with him you did. 

It was more often than not that you found yourself yearning for that kind of life with him— whenever his arms circled around you from behind and he pressed a kiss against your cheek or whenever he laughed extra hard at a joke you made that wasn’t even all that funny or whenever he told you something that he had never told anyone else before. 

In a way, it felt so silly and even a little stupid to think so far ahead and long for something that would be years and years down the road because you two hadn’t even been together for six months yet, you were barely pushing three. 

There were a thousand things that could go wrong, and probably would go wrong, between now and then, but even that slightly cynical thought didn’t change how you felt in the moment. 

You loved Steve. You were in love with him. Every silly thought or random musing you had, you always immediately wanted to tell it to him and you always did, no matter how ridiculous it was, because you knew how much he loved hearing all the random thoughts swirling through your head. You knew how much he loved you. 

“We should’ve bought that Big Ben picture frame that that guy tried to sell us in London,” You said to Steve now. 

He let out a quiet laugh. “It’s been over a month. Why are you thinking about that now?” 

You pulled back from his neck so that you could meet his eyes. “I was just thinking about the picture that the sweet old lady took of us on the bridge last night, and how it’s really good and I think I wanna frame it.”

“You want to put a picture of us in Paris in a Big Ben frame?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, that doesn’t really make sense. We need to get a frame from here then.” 

“There will probably be one in the airport.” 

The mention of the airport finally made some logical thinking sink in on your side of things. 

As if reading your mind and sensing where it was going, Steve quickly shook his head. “No, no, forget I mentioned the airport.” 

“I should check the time,” You said, bypassing his previous words, and you started to shift so that you could turn and grab your phone off the nightstand. But, Steve’s arms only tightened around you, not letting you out of his embrace to grab your phone, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Steve.”

He didn’t say anything in response, not even when you playfully poked his side. Instead, he simply kept holding you.

“If we miss our flight, I can’t promise that Robin won’t murder you,” You said, trying to make your voice sound as serious as possible. 

“Good point,” He mumbled against your neck and finally loosened his hold. You shifted around then and reached for your phone. 

“It’s only eight,” You told him and then smiled at one of the notifications you saw taking over your screen. “And our flight’s delayed. It leaves at two instead of twelve now.” 

You smiled wider when you placed your phone on the nightstand again and turned back to see Steve also smiling at you. 

“Perfect,” He said as he pulled you back into his arms. 

You leaned into the embrace, returning it immediately and letting your eyes slip shut as your head fell against his chest. You decided against saying anything about how you two still had a ton of packing to do or mentioning that the thought of having one last Parisian croissant for breakfast sounded pretty nice to you. Instead, you let yourself enjoy the feeling of being close to Steve. It was a position that you two had been in what felt like a thousand times at this point, but it never got old to you, and you had a feeling it never would.

It was finally hitting you in this moment that the summer was coming to its end, and a sort of bittersweet feeling washed over you because of that realization. You already knew that you were going to miss all of this— lazy mornings in bed with your boyfriend, random and abrupt adventures in small towns that neither of you had heard of before, spending all of this uninterrupted time with him, etc. But, you also knew that it was really only just the beginning for you two, and you were excited to spend countless nights at his apartment; in his living room that finally had curtains. And you also couldn’t wait to force him to come over to your place for game nights and movie nights and whatever else was happening in the small shared apartment. 

“I’m really glad that I met you,” You abruptly told him, the thought of the future was making you feel extra sentimental in this moment. “And that I know you, and that we’re together and here right now. I can’t imagine this being any different.” 

“Really?” He asked softly, and you understood what he meant by the one-word question. Months ago, your mind had been in an entirely different place, and the reason that you had even met Steve at all was because your head had been in that completely different place.  

However, the shift and change were easy, and your feelings for Steve felt different from everything else; they were something that you couldn’t bury down or push away when you accepted them. They felt so fucking right and that never changed.

“Really, really,” You lifted your head from his chest to meet his eyes. “I promise. Nothing’s ever felt like this.” 

Steve nodded and was still speaking softly as he agreed and repeated your words, “Nothing’s ever felt like this.” When he smiled at you, it was probably the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. “I love you.”

You couldn’t help but shyly look away from him then, your own smile tugging at your lips. You put your head back on his chest and found his hand beneath the blanket to give it a light squeeze. “I love you too.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

a/n: holy shit i cant believe this series is finally done !!!! i’m genuinely gonna miss writing this but i’m also so happy that it’s completed (veryvery bittersweet). this is the longest and most ambitious thing i’ve ever written on here and i’m super happy with how it at all turned out. thanks to everyone who enjoyed and came back to read this every week. yall are the best<3333 okay let me shut up and stop rambling now! thank you again! bye!!  

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or taken off<333); @eddiernunson , @loulouloueh , @the-aster , @blckburd , @totally-bogus-timelady , @yujyujj , @irhdifartzamfyaa , @mochminnie , @munsonssweets , @blckbrrybasket , @xprloki , @definitionwanderlust , @dwcode , @sun-fiower-seed , @keerysfolklore , @damon-loves-pie , @lodeddiperrodrick , @bisexual-and-intellectual , @munsonburn3r , @negomi123 , @khena , @facexthexsunshine , @seatbacksandtraytables , @suckerfordylansstuff , @lilacccs , @thehairington86 , @welcometohellsock , @dreamerjj , @newyorkangelbaby

[dilemmaontwolegs]

If you need ideas for the Temptation snapshots, I've got one. It's Scotty's wedding, Daniel's Kitten is a bridesmaid. She looks stunning in a curves complimenting dress. Daniel can't take his eyes off of her but she doesn't have time for him. She's running around, helping everybody with everything till Daniel decides he can't wait anymore and drags her to the bedroom for a quickie only after that they realise that they've fucked in the newlyweds bed

Temptation Snapshot || DR3 {6}

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 1.4K F1 Masterlist Story: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven Snapshots: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

The Bachelor’s Party/Hen Night Vegas baby! That was the caption to the clip of Daniel arriving in Las Vegas for Scotty’s bachelor party - the two Australians 100 percent ready to unleash hell on Sin City with their close-knit group of friends. At just over 2000 kilometres away, you were boarding a private boat with Chloe in Vancouver as her hen night began far more sedately. While the next 24 hours with the bridal party was all about pampering and enjoying the beautiful views out on the water, the groomsmen were making promises to each other that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Come morning light everyone would start making their way to Venice where the big event was going down - for better or for worse. You had a feeling the boys would certainly be feeling worse.

You were utterly relaxed after a massage and a soak in the hot tub on the top deck with the girls, the stars glittering in the night sky. Chloe’s friends were an endless stream of gossip and it was hard to keep up with their exciting lives until your phone started to vibrate on your sunbed. 

“Excuse me,” you apologised as you stepped out of the warm water and saw a facetime call coming in from Danny. “Hey, I thought you would be too busy to call?”

“You should come here, kitten,” he slurred as the camera moved erratically and you heard Scotty’s laugh in the background. “Look,” he tried to pan the video around and you guessed he was somewhere on the strip from all the bright lights. “White Chapel! We could get married right now.”

You tilted your head so you could properly see what he was showing you. “You want me to come to Las Vegas and get married at a White Chapel?” you laughed with a shake of your head. “You know my dad would never forgive you if he didn’t get to give me away.”

“I just want you all to myself, as Mrs Ricciardo,” he whined as the camera turned back to his face and a chorus of whipping sounds erupted from the guys around him. “Fuck off! You’re whipped too.”

“So you admit you’re whipped,” Scotty shouted happily and the call was dropped as they started a little scuffle, more like brothers than friends.

“You have that man wrapped around your finger,” Chloe teased when you slipped back into the steaming water.

“Look who's talking,” you said with a wink and grabbed your drink, raising it up to clink it with hers. “You mastered the art first.”

“I suppose I did,” she giggled before toasting with the circle. “To our boys, and their peak golden retriever energy.”

The Wedding Day “Behave,” you warned Daniel when he tried to corner you in the hotel’s corridor. “I’m a woman on a mission so keep your hands to yourself.”

“You know I can’t help it when my kitten gets all bossy,” he chuckled as he pinned you to the wall with his body. “No one will notice if we slip away for a few minutes.”

“Chloe would, since I’m meant to be getting her shoes.”

Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a tiny book similar to what you would get when you bought a raffle. Licking the pad of his thumb he started to flick through the pages before humming and ripping a tab out. “Here,” he said as he tucked it into your cleavage. “That is contractually binding too, I might add.”

You fished the paper out and opened it to see it was a comical voucher for a quickie in the nearest room. “I’m sure my lawyer would agree with you,” you joked as you straightened his lapels. “Where did you even get this?”

“I may or may not have stolen it from Scotty’s presents, but I thought it would have been a waste to go to them. I know him and it would end up in the bin before they even went on their honeymoon. So?” His eyes darted to the door beside you and he wiggled his eyebrows. “You look ridiculously sexy in that dress, kitten, and it is doing all sorts of crazy things to me.”

“Well I would hate to get in trouble with the law, since this is contractually binding…”

His smile grew and he tested the door only to growl when it didn’t open, but the next one was left unlocked. “Better make it quick, baby, I have no idea who this room belongs to.”

The spike of adrenaline made you rush to lift your dress and Daniel’s belt snapped open as he shoved his trouser halfway down his tattooed thighs before pulling you onto his lap at the edge of the bed. Your bodies joined with a harmonious moan and you relished the full feeling when you hadn’t been prepared for him, something that rarely happened.

“Fuck, you feel so good, kitten,” he moaned, his hand reaching for your hair before you grabbed it.

“This took two hours, don’t mess it up.”

“Okay, okay,” he obeyed, settling his hands on your hips and using his strength to guide you up and down his cock. You didn’t have the same issue with his hair, the short curls still left untamed, so you dragged your fingers through them as you bounced on his lap.

“You look tired,” you commented before you lost all ability to think, noticing the dark bags under his brown eyes. “Did you conquer Vegas or did Vegas conquer you?”

A smirk played on his lips and he shook his head. “Sorry, kitten, the boys all made a promise. Scouts honour.”

Your head tilted to the side as you stopped riding him. “Is that how it is now?”

“Don’t stop, baby,” he begged as you started to climb off his lap. “Wait, wait, okay.”

“What happened in Vegas, Daniel?” you asked, neither pulling away nor lowering yourself back down him.

“Nothing like you’re thinking,” he muttered.

“Daniel…”

“I may have gotten a little bit shitfaced,” he admitted and you lifted an eyebrow that made him crumble. His head dropped into your cleavage as he confessed, “I was totally off my tit drunk and so was Scotty, and we may have crashed out on the same bed.”

You slipped back down his cock until you were saddled on his lap again. “That’s not bad, why were you trying to hide it?”

“Those assholes took photos of us cuddling and crying together because we missed out girls now can you please move before I start crying again.”

It was a quick jumble of words barely more than a whisper but you caught them, just, and they caught you off guard. In a split second your head was thrown back with a laugh and you cradled him to your chest.

“Fuck me, keep laughing, kitten,” Daniel moaned. “So fucking tight when you do that.”

It drove Daniel wild and he started bucking his hips as you rode him, hitting deeper with each change in the angle until your eyes screwed shut and your heart hammered. You wanted to kiss him like your life depended on it but the makeup hadn’t been set long enough and you weren’t willing to risk smearing the masterpiece.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy,” you whimpered as heat flushed your skin and you pushed through the ache in your legs from the position. Your orgasm ripped through you like a bolt of lightning.

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuuuuck,” Daniel groaned as your cunt gripped his dick like a vice and he filled you with the thick ropes of his cum. “Shit, kitten, you’re gonna kill me with that pretty pussy of yours,” he commented as you climbed off and rearranged your dress into place.

“I think you just need more self-control,” you teased as you looked around the room and froze. There on the table was the white Jimmy Choo box you had been sent to find, next to a plate of delicate handmade chocolates and a neatly written card dedicated to the newlyweds. “Oh shit.”

Daniel looked up from his belt he had rebuckled and saw you grab the shoes from the box, his eyes taking in everything as he came to the same conclusion. “Oh shit,” he laughed, biting his knuckle as the sound grew. He looked back at the bed and quickly swiped a hand across the blankets to smooth out the indents of his ass. “That bed is getting some action today.”

Taglist {1}: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19 @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @ohthemisssery @eviethetheatrefreak @kimi240302 @andydrysdalerogers @formula1mount @storyteller-le @dakotali @daddyslittlevillain @elijahslover

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   —   pairing: bachira x reader

♡   —   tags/warnings: gn reader + no pronouns, lots of heavy teasing and joking, suggestive themes, pro football player bachira, isagi chigiri and kuni are there too, established relationship, comedy, fluff, feel-good fic

♡   —   words: 1k

♡   —   a/n: hello tumblr i'm baaaaasck!!! and with a story of meguru my beloved of course. i'm happy to come back with a feel-good fic. i love soft readers with bachira but i need him with a freak!!! someone needs to match his freak and this reader is about to do just that hehe. mwah mwah kisses for u all

♡   —  masterlist

"If you had to pick someone for me to fuck, who would you choose?"

You hum, already used to Bachira's random questions. Tapping your fingers on the wheel, you enter the highway as you give yourself a moment to consider your answer under his expecting gaze.

"You know, that's actually a good question," you admit with a chuckle.

"It is, right?" he grins, taking a sip of his drink, a refresher he got at the coffee drive-through he asked you to stop by as soon as you picked him up from the airport. "I was wondering about it on the plane."

"Of course you were," you tease.

"Hey! It was a long flight. I had already watched a movie and the guys were asleep," he justified himself.

"Ah, gimme." At your request, Bachira holds his drink up, the straw next to your mouth so you can sip on it. "Thank you, baby."

Bachira presses a kiss on your cheek. "So?" he insists.

"Okay, okay, before I answer I must know this,” you say, loving how he shifts on the passenger seat, eagerly awaiting for your question. “Do I get to watch?"

"Of course,” he shrugs. “ Would be rude not to let you.”

"True, true," you hum. "So, I would go with…"

A pause, for the sake of dramatic effect.

"Kaiser."

"Kaiser!?" he almost shouts, almost dropping his drink. "That's so weird, baby."

"I know," you laugh. "That's why I wanna see it happen, it would be so damn weird. I mean, either him or Reo. Both of them are very pretty."

"True, true," he sings, putting his now empty drink on your car’s cup holder and then bending his arms behind his head.

"And you?” you continue. “Who would you want me to fuck?"

Bachira’s eyes flicker with mischief at your question, shooting you a teasing grin before you look back to the road again.

"I think you'd go for Chigirin. And just because of that, I'm not gonna choose him," he says, sticking his tongue out to you.

You cackle out loud and Bachira can't help but look at you warmly. "Damn, okay― fair, I guess. If not him, then who?"

"Isagi. Definitely,” he answered in a heartbeat.

"I think that's more for you than it is for me," you tease, sparing him a playful glance, to which he laughs like a little kid, making your heart jump. "It's okay, baby,” you egg him on. “I'd make sure to put on a good show for you. Maybe even―"

"Can you guys stop being fucking weird for one second?"

Bachira turned to the backseat while you chuckled to yourself, your eyes on the road. Chigiri looked back at his teammate with an irritated gaze in between a flustered Isagi and Kunigami, who was doing his best to stifle a laugh.

“Isagi is about to throw himself out of the window,” Chigiri continued, gesturing to his friend, who opted to look away with rose-tinted cheeks, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.

“I just never got used to them being so blunt about it.”

“See? He’s doing fine! You’re so dramatic,” you sigh in a playful tone. Turning to your boyfriend, you continue. “I think Chigiri's mad you didn't choose him for me.”

“What?! I’m not―”

“Fiiiine, you can have Chigirin,” Bachira said in an over-the-top dejected voice.

“I should've just taken a cab.”

“I’m sorry, we’ll stop,” you laugh, sparing a glance at Chigiri.

"I forgot how hanging out with you guys it's like having a double dose of Bachira," he sighed. Bachira turned to him and stuck out his tongue.

You chuckled. "Well, I mean, it is my new last name. Gotta play the part, right?"

"You truly don't look like newlyweds."

Your eyes flicker to the rearview mirror and find Kunigami's gaze on you.

"Ooh, harsh!" you whistle. "Didn't expect it from you."

His eyes widened slightly. "I mean it in a good way!" he assured you. "You look like you've been married for ten years or something."

A grin formed on your face and you turned to look at Bachira, who already had his eyes set on you. You put your hand on his thigh and squeezed gently.

"I mean, that's the goal right?" you asked, feeling your cheeks warm up. Bachira blew you a kiss before you looked back at the road once more.

"Man, only ten years? I was hoping for more."

"Nope, only ten, I'm throwing you out after that."

"Fine, I guess I'll move on with Isagi."

The car filled with the sound of both your laughter, paired with a couple of pained groans.

Maybe they had a point. You were well aware your relationship with Bachira was quite unusual. From the numerous trips abroad he had to make, plus the time he dedicated to football and the constant exposure to the media the both of you were under, perhaps the only traditional thing between you was your marriage― and even so, it could be labelled as an understatement. You did rent a theme park to host your wedding reception, after all.

Nevertheless, even with the endless teasing and scrutinising eyes of others, there was something rather simple in the way he made you feel. From the first moment he smiled at you, the thought that you were going to fall in love with him never left your mind. It was only proven right as the months and years followed and you found your heart still fluttering at each of his laughs.

He had a way of being, of existing , that made each day seem a little brighter. Loving and being loved by him was a gift you never took for granted and, given the way his fingers tenderly caressed your face when he thought you were asleep, it seemed he felt exactly the same.

As you continued driving, you listened to Bachira and the boys continue their chat, this time about one of their last matches. Just as you were trying to decide which route would be best to drop each of them at their places, your husband took the hand that was still on his thigh and rose it to his mouth, leaving a small kiss on it. Grinning, you blew him a kiss, already excited about reaching home and spending some quality time with him.

You truly hoped that, in ten years time, you were still this excited for ten years more.

[glazedsnail]

I finally typed the silly Shane x ♀Reader I had in my notebook for weeks.

It's an accidental voyeurism tale of what happens when you try to check in on newlyweds.

Warnings: NSFW/Accidental Voyeurism/Swearing

Small extract:

‘They’re still at it.’ ‘Abby, get down, we shouldn’t be watching.’ ‘You can stop watching, but I know you want me to narrate.’ She laughs, without being contradicted. Penny slowly joins her. ‘Aw, her wedding dress is on the floor.’ She says, as she sees your hastily discarded garment. Hopefully from where she is, she cannot see the tears, other snatched laces, and even teeth marks Shane left on your dress as you finally arrived in your now conjugal bed. 

Pretty tamed, and honestly? I wrote it back then especially for the lame joke at the end. A fun small read.

Ao3 version up here, and Tumblr version under the cut.

Picture of the incriminating notebook I write quick smuts in. You'd never guess.

‘The wedding was great, wasn’t it?’ Following an idea of Mayor Lewis, the entirety of Pelican Town is heading to the farm. Better than admitting that he forgot to give you their wedding gift, he pretends he had planned to give it as a group the next day. ‘Why did we have to be so early though.’ Most young adults are recovering from the reception. ‘She’s a farmer, they’ll be up.’ ‘Anyone saw them leave the reception last night?’ Asks Marnie, Jas trailing behind in her hand. ‘They just up and disappeared, did they not?’ Shrugs Gus, a bit saddened the newlyweds didn’t stay long enough to try his new deviled eggs recipe. ‘From their own wedding reception, how rude.’ ‘Right, Pierre’ Laughs Caroline ‘ Like you cared at all while slumped over the bar.’ ‘Open bar, may I add. Right?’ He shouts to the back of the cohort. ‘Ugh, don’t scream like that, dad.’ ‘My head…’ Moans Sam, holding Vincent with a limp arm. ‘Nobody forced you to drink that much.’ Snaps Jodi. ‘It’s a wedding, of course we’ll drink. Wasn’t expecting to have to wake up with the chickens the very next day.’ Groans Sebastian, head in his hood. ‘Speaking of, pleasantly surprised by Shane not having a single drink.’ ‘Well Marnie, you know he’s not had a drink for ages. Besides, he was too busy with the farmer…’ ‘Lewis!’ ‘Heh, perhaps this is why they left “early”...’ No other sounds are heard apart from the slow steps of everyone in the dirt path. ‘What do you mean, Elliott?’ ‘Oh, Penny, bless your heart.’ ‘You know what’s..expected after a wedding, right?’ ‘Alex, we have actual kids here, pipe down.’ Some throats are being audibly cleared. ‘Speaking of…Do you think it’s a sensible idea to…’ Too late, they’re at your farm. The sun shines on all the bountiful crops. Bleatings and mooings can be heard. ‘Oh the poor things, sound like they’re hungry.’ Pities Marnie. ‘That’s not possible, she’s nothing but diligent on all the feedings and tending!’ They walk to your house. The dry soil makes them realize you’ve not watered anything yet. Bizarre. They’re used to more assiduousness in your daily tasks. Your pet’s water bowl is even empty. The younger villagers start snickering. ‘What’s so funny?’ Snaps Lewis. ‘I mean…’ Abigail starts, in between laughs. A heavy “thump” is heard from the house. ‘Surely they can’t be fighting. Already?’ ‘If they’re fighting, Shane’s winning.’ ‘Vincent! Get down that crate this instant!’ Loudly whispers Jodi, snatching her son from the window from which she takes a peek. ‘Oh.’

She quickly retreats, signing to everyone else to do the same. ‘What?’ A collective ‘Ooh.’ erupts from the crowd as they eventually understand. They’re quickly gone from your property. However the younger ones have a better idea. ‘That’s uh, impressive.’ Gulps Maru, lending her window view to the next one. ‘Your mom built them a squeaky bed.’ Jokes Sam to Seb, joining him by the window. ‘The sound of the bed is what shocks you? Not Shane’s… stamina?’ He retaliates. ‘If that’s what beer and pizza gives you, why am I bothering with eggs and training?’ Laments Alex, looking away. 

‘They’re still at it.’ ‘Abby get down, we shouldn’t be watching.’ ‘You can stop watching, but I know you want me to narrate.’ She laughs, without being contradicted. Penny slowly joins her. ‘Aw, her wedding dress is on the floor.’ She says, as she sees your hastily discarded garment. Hopefully from where she is, she cannot see the tears, other snatched laces, and even teeth marks Shane left on your dress as you finally arrived in your now conjugal bed. The mere mention of you finally being his wife was enough to drive him crazy, and he was going to show you how great he would be at disrespecting you each time you’d walk the threshold of your bedroom. ‘Hey Emily, when she comes to you for mending don’t judge her too harshly.’ Abby is finding the whole ordeal very amusing, and cannot stop peeking at the window. ‘Do you think they just came home, got themselves naked and just went at it?? And…Are like that since last night?’ Emily says back. ‘That’s not physically possible.’ Haley scoffs, trying to look disinterested, on her toes from the porch. ‘I mean, with breaks. I see wrappers on the floor and’ ‘Oh, fuck Abby can you stop scanning the whole room?’ ‘Seb wants your focus on the bed.’ Sam laughs. ‘Hey, hands where I can see them!.’ ‘I’m grabbing a cigarette, you perv.’ ‘We’re all pervs.’ States Emily. ‘And I’m the oldest here. I should tell you all to stop this.’

But they don’t. They stop talking, but it only accentuates the sounds coming from the poorly sealed window. Shane is grunting as he makes you squeal, beg. Your voice only ever muffled by his wet kisses. The level of your moans growing as he groans ‘You love that huh? Come on, cum again for your husband.’. He feels your inside clenching at his voice, the sole allusion that Shane is your husband makes you quiver. Knowing that this is your husband’s cock hard at work against your plushy walls, and that it belongs to Shane, is more than efficient to make you see stars and leak all over him.

‘He’s…really making our farmer scream isn’t he.’ ‘They both sound like they’re having a good time.’ ‘We should stop watching. Aw they’re holding hands.’ ‘Penny, only you and Abs are watching right now.’ Seb points, smoke escaping from his smirk. ‘We should have stopped twenty minutes ago! As the oldest I take responsibility and’ Emily was about to grab Abigail and Penny but is stopped by the view. ‘Who knew Shane was this…potent.’ ‘Isn’t there something quite enticing?’ Laughs Abigail, welcoming Emily at the window. ‘No’ She shakes her head. ‘It’s so wrong!’ ‘I think it’s the tenderness and the…’ ‘Roughness?’ ‘Girls, can you PLEASE stop analyzing our friends’ love making?’  Sam, Seb, and Alex are down the porch, hands in their pockets, looking away. ‘Wait, wait.’ Abby says. ‘He’s…Oh Yobba he’s a healthy man! He’s falling on her chest, she’s shaking..’

She describes your arms wrapping around Shane, sweat falling on his back and forehead, resting on your bare chest as he gave you yet another orgasm. You’re both trying to find a steady breath, but cannot resist each other's lips. ‘I love you.’ You whisper to your husband, his head on your forehead, looking straight into your satisfied eyes. You feel his exhausted cock twitch inside of you, as if the words were enough to start him again. ‘I…love you’ Shane says back in between breaths. ‘I love you so much.’ he repeats, his sweaty hair finding the warm groove of your neck. You feel his hot breath on your chest, the fast thumping of his heart against your damp skin. His hand on your breast, his lips peppering kisses on the soft skin of your throat as if to apologize for the rough teeth marks he left all over, that you will carry for days. Showing off that you belong to him. 

‘Haley what the fuck are you doing??’ ‘The lighting is too good.’ She quickly whispers, snapping a picture of your intertwined bodies, falling into bliss. ‘Never going to look at Shane the same way now.’ Says Maru who joined the herd of men, clearing her throat. ‘Can’t believe he hid that from us, from me! His favorite coworker!’ They all laugh as they finally leave the window. ‘He belongs to the farmer now anyway.’ ‘Lucky lady…’ Whispers Penny ‘Hopefully that won’t affect the farm, right?’ 

They all look around your farm. One day of negligence won’t really be of any harm. But they need something to clean their mind. ‘We owe it to them.’ Ventures Alex. ‘Yeah, that’s the least we can do.’ Joins Seb. But they stay a long time standing without looking at each others. ‘So, do we start?’ ‘Give us a second, Penny.’ After a while the door swings open. ‘Aah!’ they scream. Shane, coffee in hand, an old pair of joggers on his worn out body, appears on the porch. ‘Good…Morning?’ He starts in a raspy voice, surprised to see such a crowd. They all get flustered, stammering one after the other. Emily takes a deep breath and starts. ‘How’s your coffee?’ She shouts clumsily. ‘I mean, enjoying yourself? I mean, enjoying your coffee? Outside? What a glorious day.’ Shane looks at all the faces one by one. ‘Erm’ he starts. ‘Can I help you?’ ‘We’re here to give you two your wedding gift.’ ‘But Mayor Lewis has it.’ ‘And he left.’ Shane’s confusion grows as their malaise expands. ‘Ok.’ He laughs, leaning on the door’s frame, pulling some of his wild sweaty hair falling away from his content face. ‘Thanks for coming to the wedding, actually.’ ‘You left before we could even say congrats, man.’ Says Sam, faking being hurt. ‘Surely had an itch to scratch.’ ‘Sebastian shut up.’ ‘Right.’ Shane chuckles. ‘Sorry ‘bout that. Needed to rest and all.’ He clears his throat, sipping on his coffee. They laugh awkwardly, in false understanding, knowing fully well what had happened. ‘We thought you might need some help around the farm, after last nigh…evening.’ Maru says, keeping them all on track. ‘Yes!’ Excitedly pipes Haley. ‘That’s why we’re here, cause we certainly didn’t hear or see anything and.’ Emily slaps the back of her head before whispering. ‘You’re staring at his crotch.’ ‘Is everything ok, Love. Oh.’ You appear at the door, a bathrobe tightly around your waist. You’re about to remove your hands from Shane but swiftly remembers that you’re married, and he’s yours. Despite his clear and usual abhorrence of public display of affection, he grabs you by the waist, bringing you to his warm embrace. After all, you’re his wife, and they are the intruders. It’d be rude not to show you how proud of his wife Shane truly is. ‘They’re here to…help around the farm? If I got it right?’ They quickly nod. ‘You must be exhausted.’ ‘You’ve been very busy.’ ‘Very very very busy.’ ‘Guys!’ Maru snaps, blushing heavily. ‘I’m not against it.’ You say, your hand secretly rubbing Shane’s back. ‘I wouldn’t mind just… resting with my husband.’ You add, grabbing his firm buttocks in your needy hand. ‘Thanks guys.’ Shane swiftly says, pushing you back in and closing the door, rebecoming the animal he was all night. They exhale, more or less proud of themselves for keeping a straight face. ‘So uh, where do we start?’ ‘Do you think they’re at it again?’ Abigail laughs. ‘Surely not!’ They pause, looking away or at their feet. ‘That’s not love at this point.’ Says Sebastian, lighting another cigarette. ‘That’s just lust.’ ‘No no, it’s definitely love.’ ‘Abby how the fuck are you back at the window?!’ ‘Oh yeah, she loves Shane’s assets alright.’ ‘Sam for Yoba’s sake don’t join her. Can’t you do like Maru and Penny? They’re already gone feeding the sheep.’ ‘Is that a euphemism?’ Haley laughs, walking towards the farm, not making Emily laugh one bit.

They watch you as you show Shane, your husband, how appreciative you are of all he’s done for your body all night. You’re kneeling in front of him sitting on the bed, his joggers barely down, his rough hand holding your hair, grabbing your skull, as you slowly stroke him, your tongue playing, teasing, tasting him. He groans, impatient, his hand shaking on the back of your head. And you take him whole.

Outside the window, they gasp. ‘Well.’ Abby starts, a grin on her face. ‘Shane must be pleased that his wife…’ ‘Abby…’ ‘Knows her way…’ ‘Abs I swear to Yoba and all that is dear.’ ‘Around a cock!’

[missmeinyourbones]

L, pro athlete atsumu and reader for "the only kind of girl they see is a one night or a wife" has me THINKING

ONE NIGHT OR A WIFE (a. miya)

a/n: pro athlete atsumu, implied woman identifying reader -> slight talks of womanhood and slut-shaming, atsumu is trying so hard he has the spirit he’s just ken

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

When the front door clicks behind you,  you're greeted with the back of a messy blonde mop peeking from above the lip of the couch. Atsumu doesn't have to turn around to know it's you coming through the door, but you don't even give him a chance to guess with the immediate interrogation flying from your lips.

"Why are we trending on Twitter?"

Amused, Atsumu turns around to catch a glimpse of your panicked face before he smirks, turning around and redirecting his attention back to the television.

"Oh, they think I proposed to you again."

His words oddly bring a wave of comfort over you, and when you exhale and plop down on the cushion next to his sprawled-out limbs, he lets his hand gently run through your frizzy hair.

And you don't pretend to ignore how it's weird that this calms you—that enough people on the internet typed and searched and chatted about the two of you to get it trending. How many people need to talk about something for it to trend worldwide? You think about googling it, but that's a headache waiting to happen.

Instead, you slump into his touch and try to keep your tone humorous when you ask, "On what grounds this time?"

Atsumu is now far from affected by the newlywed allegation, as this isn't the first (or second) time the media thinks he's popped the question to you. You always feel a bit warm when remembering the first time the rumor spiraled. How flustered he was, how he couldn’t meet your eye when opening the app for weeks, how it led to your first actual conversation about a future together. 

Now immune to the gossip, he casually fishes for his phone in his sweatpants and lazily pulls up a paparazzi photo of the two of you leaving dinner a few nights ago.

"Here," he hands the screen to you, borderline yawning. “This picture from the other night,” he has the audacity to point knowingly, like it’s common sense when he says, "left hand is hidden in yer jacket pocket."

You guess he is right, your left hand is tucked away into your coat in the photo, but that's because it's almost winter, and you're human, despite what some may argue.

The photo itself isn't even anything crazy—a candid shot of the two of you walking to the car. Atsumu's hand is on your back, seemingly guiding you as you walk along the curb. Your right hand rests on your purse, and your left apparently hides a flashy diamond ring in the suede of your pocket.

Atsumu hears you scoff at the stupidity, "So naturally that means I'm your wife now?"

He smiles and scratches your head with loving fingers.

"Yup," he pops the last part of the word before looking over to you with a grin. "Apparently the rock was so big, it had to be hidden in fear of blindin' the paparazzi."

He’s teasing, it’s lighthearted, but your eyes don't leave the photo when you softly furrow your brow.

"Why do they keep assuming we're engaged?" you lowly mumble, to him or yourself, Atsumu doesn't know, but he hears it all the same. Your voice almost wavers when you weakly exhale, "This is like the fourth time."

Carefully, as if you’re suddenly made of glass, Atsumu pulls the phone from your grasp, and you don't put up a fight when he easily swipes it and shimmies it back into his pocket.

"Dunno baby,” his voice whispers as his hand finds your shoulder. “People like to talk. I can't even begin to name the craziest rumors I've heard about me."

You hum to let him know you're listening, but when you don't elaborate much more than that, Atsumu knows something isn't quite right.

Not one to let his thoughts spiral, he thinks for all about two seconds before deciding that he’s getting to the bottom of this.

He tries to act like a normal person, stretching his arms and casually asking, "Does it bother you or somethin’?"

You're quiet for a moment like you're thinking extra hard about what to say. And when you do take a deep inhale and open your mouth, Atsumu feels a bit queasy.

"In a way," is all you allow to come out.

In a way? Atsumu doesn't know what to do with that. That could mean a million things. In what way? A good one? A terrible one? A way that makes you mad at him, at the world, at yourself? He needs more from you, but he’s too afraid to ask. 

You think a part of you breaks when his big brown eyes water a bit, but the tears are quickly blinked away through long lashes when he shakes his head.

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way."

You shift to sit up on your knees a bit, gently touching his jaw that's clenched to the touch. "Hey, hey no,” you watch him tilt his sour face away from you when you coo, “Not like that, don't apologize."

With the slightest pressure on his cheek, you're able to get him to face you again, where you're met with a grouchy pout and some slight hostility. 

You feel his jaw twitch and unclench when you place a delicate kiss on the carved bone. Your voice is soft, cautious when it rises to elaborate.

"People thinking we're married isn't what bothers me," you gently breathe. "We've talked about it, right? We're just not ready yet."

True, he thinks, logic returning to his clouded thoughts. Atsumu nods at your words, though his eyebrows are still downturned with stress.

"Right. So what does bother ya about it?"

He watches you open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find the right way to say the right words, but there really isn't a tailored combination for the sticky conversation at hand. He almost thinks you give up until your hand tenderly rubs his stiff neck and your voice comes out barely a whisper.

"It can be tough sometimes," your voice wavers with uncertainty, "y'know, being a woman associated with someone like you."

Atsumu turns his head to you in confusion, but he doesn't say anything. Because he trusts you—he might not understand, but he trusts that you do, that you're aware of something he might not be, and that you can explain it in a way he might be able to grasp.

He watches you shy in the slightest, struggling in silence with your tongue.

"I'm either slut shamed for being someone just fucking you or written off as your property. There's never really an in-between, y’know?" you choose to shrug. 

Atsumu shoots you a sympathetic tight-lipped smile because though he'd never agree, he's not stupid. He knows what people can say about you, sees the headlines and hashtags every now and then.

"Y'know," his voice comes uncharacteristically soft, "one time I read that I flunked out of high school."

Your eyebrows raise at the turn in conversation, "Did you?"

"No," he scoffs. "Wasn't a nerd or anythin' but I graduated like everybody else."

You hum in thought at his confession, but it doesn’t seem to get his point across so he continues. "One said I was on steroids, another said pills."

He takes a small amount of pride in the way your frown slightly quirks up at the corners.

"Please,” you huff out a breathy scoff, “you pout like a baby when you get your blood drawn and can barely keep up with your daily vitamins."

He fights off a smile, ignoring the teasing and resting his head on yours as he goes on.

"My favorite was that one theory that me and 'Samu switch lives regularly. Sometimes when I look a little pudgy, they claim it's him with bleached hair, so we can both live out the Olympic dream."

You actually laugh at that, a real one, and Astumu thinks the sound itself could make flowers bloom and storm clouds disperse.

"Well that one can't be true, you can't cook for shit," he hears you mumble against his neck. 

"Hey now," he gently smacks your thigh at your fresh words. "The point is that people say things all the damn time and I know it's not really the same as what they say about you, but..."

His tongue falters at the touchy subject, a hill he knows he’ll never conquer but is willing to die trying to defend you on.

He thinks for a moment before saying with certainty, "But we both know what's true and what isn't, right?"

You angle your neck to look up at him with sarcasm. "And what's true? That you're a healthy high school graduate with a twin brother who doesn't play Parent Trap with you?"

"What's true," he whines a bit, flicking your forehead before placing a small kiss on it, "is that I love you, and I'm absolutely marryin' you, just when the time is right."

You melt, both at his touch and his words, and for once in his life, Atsumu knows he's said the right thing when he feels you lean onto him a bit more. He takes on the comfortable weight like an Olympic medal, one he’d proudly wear everywhere if he could.

And as Atsumu goes on and on, your night gets that much better, and the silly rumor from some stupid tabloid doesn’t seem nearly as important as it did when you first got home.

"And yer ring is gonna be bigger than whatever the paparazzi imagined. And they'll be pissed when they find out we eloped and they missed the ceremony pics. And when we actually trend on Twitter for the right reason—"

[theredofoctober]

MANNA CHAPTER 2: SUPPER

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham fic, TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, mild Daddy kink (it'll all make sense).

This chapter is chronologically 2nd in the series.

Keep reading after the cut

Blood in your mouth; you've bitten your inner cheek in your sedative state, auto-cannibalism under the eye of vague attendants. Both are male, featureless, moth-men with closed wings.

You glance from one to the other, grasping foolishly at memory, not yet finding its edges.

"Dad?"

The figure on the left ejects an awkward laugh.

"Which one of us is that again?"

"A moment, Will," says the other man, and through the ether of sleep you see his face, the etching of an aesthete, that which you have seen before.

Hannibal. Dr. Lecter. An enemy in the seat of a saviour.

"Give her time to wake," he says, "and to acclimatise to her environment."

"What's going on?" you ask, rubbing your hands across your face in an effort to rouse yourself. "Where am I right now?"

"You don't remember what happened?" asks Hannibal, his absence of brows arched. "You are in my home, where you will be staying for the foreseeable future, under my care. My colleague, Will Graham, will be assisting me in looking after you. I hope that while you are unhappy with your situation, you will be cordial to him."

A tableau— Hannibal trapping you against the door, your knee bruising his male sensitivity, intimate as newlyweds in the clinch of your rash violence—slows your thoughts with its artistry.

You remain too sluggish, yet, to fear Dr. Lecter as you did in his office. Every feeling seems performed by some spirit in your place, a girl who died here before you, leaving a breath of her sorrows in the walls.

"Are you a doctor?" you ask the man named Will Graham.

He blinks at you as though perturbed by the question.

"No," he says, shortly. "I lecture in criminal profiling for the FBI. Occasionally, I step in as a special agent on crime scenes. I'm here to offer my insights on your case, I guess. Haven't decided quite what they are, yet."

You sit up, frowning.

"But I'm not a murderer."

Will smiles, the curl of his mouth quite unpleasant.

"I know. Doesn't mean I can't get inside your head, though."

He is unfriendly, and oddly furtive, his expression dancing between moral objection and a grudging interest in you. Segments of his conversation with Hannibal pluck at you delicately: he is present only under duress, any curiosity a provocation on Dr. Lecter's part.

You glimpse an avenue for escape through the younger man's sensitivity.

"So... you're a cop?" you ask, carefully.

Will coughs out a laugh.

"Not exactly. Why, worried I'll arrest you?"

"No, but you should arrest Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal delivers you an amused look.

"I have no concerns with the legalities of your treatment. Will would not incriminate himself in any act that would be to your detriment."

You worry your lower lip with your teeth, wondering how much of the truth Will Graham knows.

"So... am I in trouble?"

"Why would you be?" Will enquires, but the question is directed at Hannibal, who coolly answers.

"She assaulted me in her efforts to leave my office."

You stiffen as Will's expression clouds with a new darkness.

"Are you hurt?"

"Fortunately not. I could have been, but I was prepared for resistance. A poor start to our relationship, nonetheless. I think an apology is in order."

Threat is inevitable in that statement; you look for windows, doors, any potential exit, knowing well that you cannot move fast enough to pass your jailers without intervention.

Will says your name, the suddenness throwing you like the recoil of a gun.

"Apologise to Dr. Lecter."

"She was frightened, Will," says Hannibal, generously. "A stray animal unused to human contact, she cannot help but bite in the terror that we mean her harm."

Yet he does mean you harm, means to play with you as an orca does a seal it kills, an inversion of his own metaphor.

Will shakes himself, turning from you in reluctance to meet your gaze.

"You said she has to learn," he says, through gritted teeth. "We need to reinforce boundaries with her. So either she apologises, or we have to punish her. That's the way this works, right?"

Fear opens your lethargy with a surgeon's precision.

"Punish?" you cry. "What are you talking about?"

Ignoring your interjection, Dr. Lecter says, "You are correct, Will. For certain plants, a framework is needed for them to grow. What trellis must we build to guide our clematis to its most majestic heights?"

Will regards his friend thoughtfully.

"What's your suggestion?"

"There are two options that occur to me," says Hannibal, watching as you claw yourself against the headboard with both hands. "The first is that we begin the initial step of her recovery with a hearty meal. I was informed by her family that she has not eaten since yesterday. It is not too late for me to prepare dinner. If she will not eat, then I have the means to encourage her to do so."

Dr. Lecter turns aside, allowing you to glimpse a feeding tube posed gracefully on a tabletop. You have long feared this tool, which even previous therapists have raised as a possibility for you, should you not end this starving strike. Never had you pictured a day this horror would find its becoming.

Terror licks at you as readily as a flame.

Starting forward, you grip Will by the wrist, unhinged in your desperation.

"Don't let him do that to me."

Will looks down at your hand with displeasure, yet he doesn't attempt to remove it, enduring your touch with grimacing obligation.

"And the other option, Dr Lecter?" he asks, thinly. "It's been a long day, and I don't know if I have the energy to step in as orderly to a violent patient without preparation."

"I am sure that you would handle her proficiently," says Dr. Lecter. "But perhaps there is another method we can consider, first."

He takes Will aside and murmurs to him; the fragments you discern sound as ambiguous as the language used aloud.

The younger man takes on a cornered look.

"I... can't do that," he protests, his posture sharp with discomfort. "That could open up a whole host of new problems for her."

"Or it could impress upon her the necessity to listen to her guardians," says Hannibal. "I will join you, if it will persuade you."

"Doesn't that go against the confines of your role?"

Dr. Lecter smirks, his fine-jawed features made truly handsome.

"I will enact discipline, also. But it will not be the first tool that I apply."

The two men approach the bed together, one on either side of you, apparently united in their purpose.

"What are you doing?" you cry, although by now you've a sense of it. "Stay away from me!"

"These are the conquences of resistance, little one," says Hannibal, closing the space between you. "From now on, I suggest that you comply."

You scramble backwards only to come up against Will Graham, his arms a cuff around you.

"Don't struggle," he snaps. "I don't want to hurt you any more than I have to."

"No! No!"

Child-like, you find yourself reduced to simple denial, fear snatching the very language from you. You are all trembling fragility beneath Will as he shoves you, face down, on the bed; you turn your head back to look at him, glimpsing a flash of clenched teeth, eyes with a bear's indifferent hunger, something sickly, and soulful underneath.

You think, this man is not well, then bark out a startled scream as he forces your head frontwise, a fisherman's rough hand on your scalp, oppressing you in its unthinking violence.

"Face him," Will barks, pushing you for emphasis. "He's the one you injured."

You comply, feeling on the very cusp of death.

The man on your back manoeuvres you on all fours to his liking, the stave of his hard want crushed against his jeans. His comrade holds your arms down, though you could not move them at the devil's request; stillness is your ally, submission where a fight would cut your throat.

Hannibal looks at you with the cruel serenity of an angel, in all his justice. He touches your tear-scaled cheek with solace stolen from husbands and fathers; when he tips your face to his, you know what he will take from you, have felt the omen of that kiss.

It is intimate, gentle, kinder than any touch you've known in years. You blink, dismayed by the lust that roots itself from gut to cunt in its tangling wisteria.

"What— why?" you stutter, the feel of his lips on yours a reverberation that long remains.

"A treatment from bygone times," says Hannibal, patiently. "Although widely frowned upon, sex was once implemented to allieve many ailments. I find value in it, still."

"No," you say, aware of Will's arousal at your entrance. "I mean, why did you kiss me? Why would you do that?"

"You ache to be cherished, and so you will be. Alas, it may be many months before you see me as the friend you crave."

"You'll never be my friend," you sneer, and regret the barb as Will thrusts against you, having unbuckled his jeans to free himself to your imprisonment.

There is an arc of sore horror as his cock bolts within, making butchery of you in his taking. Will's arms are either side of you, the bars that cage such a sow; he smells of sweat, and Old Spice, and dog hair, and now of sex. You sob drily as he ruts your vulnerability against the mattress, as he sucks the skin of your neck in his teeth and bites until a ring tattoos your throat.

That mark is a staple of sexual assault, you'd read that somewhere, a sigil of the taker's power.

Limp, you let him use you, fucking you in so harsh and primal rhythm that you can think of nothing but its pattern.

What ill of yours earned this brash causality? Why, of all patients, has Hannibal taken you up as his toy?

"Stay there," Will grumbles, as you arch your back in a spasm of gilded agony. "Don't move."

"I have her," says Hannibal, and he guides you up onto your knees, his chest flat to yours as Will ruins the atrium of his desire. "Teach her what she will endure, if she will not accept our aid."

You cannot stand to be torn apart like this, a beast between your legs, and another touching your breasts and waist as though your partner in a waltz, all courtly chivalry.

"Please, Will," you moan, but he has thrown aside his reason, swept up in this gourmand's pleasure.

"Hurt me the way you hurt Dr. Lecter and you'll really wish you hadn't," he says, and you shake your head in a frantic falsehood.

"I won't. I swear I won't."

Will is fire, and you are ash: he is pain and delight, a conundrum. He puts a hand to your neck, holding your head upright as he fucks you, and growls against your ear sharp threats that sell you to silence.

Hannibal stares at you in fascination. You feel it pour over you like tar, glazing you with the shame of your illness having made you his object.

Dr. Lecter is of an evil Will is not, setting you both before him to observe your every response.

Later, he will write notes about this; the hands that glide your body now will itch for the pen, to lay out all you are on paper, and memorialise your suffering.

Does he truly think that this will help you? You don't believe it.

This night is his experiment, that which he might take apart like a pig's heart to show its working to students of science. Will is Dr. Lecter's pupil, and he is moulding the man to be as he is, and though it is Graham that fucks you, it is Hannibal you hate the most, the God that set this all into motion.

Will's breath flutters at your ear, and he stills, only the part of him within you left flinching to a vicious end. Hannibal steps back from the bedframe, smoothing down his suit of creases with elegant hands. As Will struggles up to join him, you crumple forward, sodden and stammering, a headache starting to beat at your temple, the hangover of Dr. Lecter's drug.

Yet when the younger man places a hand to your jerking back, you accept the touch, wanting even so poor a substitute for love.

"Daddy," you whisper. "I want to go home."

Will jerks away from you, staring at his own hand with abject revulsion.

"What have I done?" he asks, and there is an undercurrent of awe to the words that you do not quite understand.

"You did what you had to," says Dr. Lecter, smoothly. "What was needed."

His colleague shakes his head, his gaze dropping floorwise.

"No. She's seriously ill. She should be in a hospital ward, and I— we—"

"Will."

You cannot stand the fondness with which Hannibal addresses the other man, grooming him to such extremities of evil. He lays a hand on Will's shoulder, and he relaxes into the touch, an unconscious softening of his inate angles.

They stand together as if alone in the room, Dr. Lecter's face almost in the crook of Will Graham's neck.

"She is quelled," he says, quietly. "Tomorrow, she will eat the breakfast I make for her with the memory of this correction, and in time, she will learn to thank you for it. Even to love."

Still, Will lingers in the doorway, watching you wind yourself into the coverlet to nurse the wound of his making.

"Is she going to be alright?" he asks, nervously.

Through sodden lashes, you see Dr. Lecter guide his colleague into the hallway, as a strict father might the mother that coddles an infant that screams to be held.

"Let her sleep," he murmurs. "Her dreams will be woven with our teaching. Soon we shall see what tapestry will be made."

They leave you there, descending into opiate darkness. You slumber, but you do not dream, only lie with your hand over the heat these heathens have struck in what was before a lampless under-earth.

Your hunger follows you down into the castles of sleep, loyal to its creator.

[stories4you04-x]

Dearest Readers,

When overhearing being the wife of Anthony Bridgerton was like a dream I thought it wasnt true. A dream that one must dream of living. He is according to his wife the most caring and loving husband but when in public he is different. He had a different personality. A sense of regality one dreams of achieving. One that his newlywed wife Y/N could easily match for events and balls during the season. But this article is how he dropped this facade in public...

"Anthony do you feel up to a walk today the weather is ever so lovely" Y/N announced to her husband who was sat in a chair reading the book he was currently reading. "Yes the weather is lovely today I believe a walk would be quite nice" Anthony said whilst placing his bookmark in his book and settling it on the table beside him. It only took a few minutes for the newlywed pair to get ready.

They walked hand in hand in the local park which was surrounded with other people. As they walked people bowed or tipped their hats towards them as there was an aura of regalness that surrounded the pair. "Anthony look Hyacinths we must pick some for your mother she does love this flower" he smiled at the way she practically dragged him over towards the flowers. "Very well I guess we should mother has been feeling a little down recently maybe these can lift her spirits" she nodded and started to pick ones that looked big and full of life without a care in the world. However Anthony looked around and noticed a few bees buzzing around the flowers. "Y/N please be careful" she turned around to him "whatever for?" He looked panicked and said "there are bees" she smiled "they will be fine im not making them angry" she continued to pick them not realising the one she had picked had a bee nestled withing one of the flowers which travelled onto her collar bone.

Anthony had turned around to look at his wife as she had stopped to bask in the sun she smiled at him until she saw his face drop and she looked confused at him "Anthony whats wrong?" He shouted "Stay still please" His wife started walking towards him "why what's the matter my love?" He had tears in his eyes "please just stay still" she looked down as she felt something crawling on her and she realised a bee was on her collar. She wafted the bee for it to fly away. Anthony got scared as he heard her cry "ouch it stung me" he couldn't breathe "no no no no Y/N stay with me please" he pleaded holding onto her face "love what is the matter its just a sting I am fine" It wasnt until he was fully panicking on the floor within his wifes arms that he began to calm "but you got stung you could die" she seemed shocked at how he announced the statement "love you can't die from a sting unless the person is allergic" he calmed slightly "what can I do to get you to calm fully" he thought "can we get a doctor to check please my wife I can't loose you" she looked into his eyes as she held him "of course we will go straight away but let's enjoy the sun for a little longer"

She was getting a full body check by the doctor under Anthony's orders. He waited outside pacing back and forth whilst his two brothers benedict and Colin sat in the nearest chairs "Anthony sit down she is going to be fine" Colin pleaded. "No my wife is in there she got stung" he started panicking again until Benedict stood and grabbed Anthony's shoulder and forced him into the chair "she is going to be fine if something was to happen it would have happened by now so calm down and sit still for a few more minutes the doctor should be done soon" Benedict then sat in the other chair. Violet heard all the commotion upstairs and went to find out whatever was happening "sons what is happening?" Anthony stood and hugged his mother "Y/N got stung picking those Hyacinths for you downstairs and she is with the doctor right now she said she was ok but I'm scared I can loose her too mother" she placed a hand on his cheek as he released from the hug "Anthony your wife is a strong woman if she says she is ok then she is perfectly ok" he nodded and sat back down.

A few minutes later the door opened Anthony jumped out of his chair. The doctor said nothing but nodded towards the four standing at the door "go Anthony" his mother said pushing him towards the door. "Y/N love is everything ok the doctor said nothing" he walked towards the bed where she was laying "perfectly ok" she smiled and he released a breath he did not realise he was holding "However..." his breath hitched again "...there was something he found. He was quiet because I swore him to secrecy until I told you and the family" he was stressed "love what was it?" She smiled at him "I am with child" his jaw dropped and a few seconds later his face contorted into a smile "A... A baby?" She nodded "You are to be a father" she announced and he cheered ran out the room and told everyone outside. She could hear the claps and cheers outside and he ran back in and gave her a kiss full of passion "Anthony calm down I know its exciting but I don't want to have to call the doctor back because you have hurt yourself"

It took a few days for the news to be spread and be written into Lady Whistledowns article. The newlywed couldn't have been more happy for a singular bee sting to be the product of such big news.

A/N I am rubbish at writing I don't know where I just got this inspo but I just had to write I hope you enjoy 😊