#there were whispers but no deathbed confessions

[reformed-misfit]

I just got back 23 & Me results and learned my grandmother is actually my great-grandmother. Fun times!

Time to spill some secrets, fam!

#oopsie #there were whispers but no deathbed confessions #the people who hold the stories are all dead #kinda wild

[babybluebex]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you make eddie strong in his weakest moment // aka a quick fix it fic for that rotten ass finale (part 2 here!)

You could see it happen, just meters away from you. Just far enough that you couldn’t do anything but scream his name as you watched him get swarmed by the bats. Even though your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and your legs protested, you ran to him, using your modified trash can lid as a shield and spearing the fuckers away. You couldn’t focus on anything but Eddie, lying prone on the ground, and you swung your arm and stabbed a bat right through the heart. 

The bats dissipated, and you were left alone with Eddie. Even though you felt like absolute shit, you knew that he was in worse shape, gashes on his sides and throat. You instantly abandoned your weapons and knelt down beside him, and you pulled his head into your lap. “Munson?” you whispered, and his eyes flickered as he looked at you. He was not doing too good. “Hey, there’s my guy. We’re gonna get you help, okay?” 

“No,” Eddie mumbled, his voice gurgling a bit. “I can’t—” 

“Yes, you can,” you told him. “We’re gonna stand up and go back to the trailer, and we’re gonna get you help. You don’t have a choice, Ed.” You tried to control the shaking in your voice, because it was obvious to anyone that Eddie was in bad shape. But, if you got to the trailer, you could send Dustin to get help, and everything would be okay. 

“I can't,” Eddie insisted, his eyes wide. “I’m done for.” 

“Like hell you are!” you exclaimed. “I-I, Eddie, there are people that need you! Dustin needs you, Max needs you, I need you! Y-You can’t just go and give up when there are people who need you! I know it hurts, Ed, I know it does, but you have got to hang in there. Okay?” 

Eddie shook his head, and you chewed your lip. He was right, and you knew it; he couldn’t make it to the trailer, and you weren;t nearly strong enough to carry him. He was going to bleed out and die right here in the Upside Down. You tried to think of something, anything, to do, and you nearly missed Eddie reaching up towards you. He tucked a little bit of hair behind your ear, almost a loving gesture, and he mumbled, “I’ve always loved you.” 

“Oh, whatever,” you sniffled. You couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. “Deathbed confessions…” 

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “Since the first day I met you, I knew I was going to marry you. I could just feel it.” 

“Really?” you whimpered out. You held him close, smoothing back his hair, and you watched as Eddie nodded again. 

“Really,” Eddie replied, blinking slowly. 

“W-Well, why didn’t you ever tell me?” you asked. The more you touched him, the more your clothes stained with his warm blood, but you didn’t care. You just had to keep him talking until Dustin came for you. When Dustin showed up he would be able to help you limp Eddie back to the trailer, and everything would be fixed. You knew it wasn’t that simple, but your plan needed to be simple to avoid your head exploding. 

“I was scared,” Eddie told you. His hands shook as he gathered up yours, holding you tightly, and he shook his head. “But I’m not scared anymore. I love you.”

“Jesus,” you uttered. “Eddie—”

“Don’t say it back if you don’t have to,” Eddie told you quickly. “I-I don’t want to hear you say it unless you mean it.” 

“I love you,” you whispered to him. Your chest heaved with a heavy breath, and you watched Eddie’s do the same. That was the deepest breath he had taken since you had had him in your arms, and, as you examined him again, you saw that the trickle of blood from his neck had nearly fully stopped. Did you…? There was no way. Did talking about you make Eddie grow more resilient? Did you make Eddie stronger?

“Glad to hear it,” Eddie said, and your heart lifted. He was trying to be funny. He was trying to be funny for you. 

“Um,” you started, wiping the tears hastily from your cheeks. “Y-You said you wanted to marry me?” 

Eddie nodded. “Not one of those big, embarrassing weddings,” he told you. His voice cracked and broke, but he was talking, and that was enough. Keep him talking until Dustin came to your aid, that was the plan. “I always imagined that you wouldn’t want a real wedding, just something small… Am I right?” 

You nodded. “I hate weddings,” you admitted, and Eddie chuckled weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I figured.” 

“Tell me more,” you told him quickly. “Tell me a-about, like, how did you know?”

“Sometimes you just know things,” Eddie said, and he paused to cough. Blood stained his lips as he coughed, but you could see color returning to his cheeks. He was going to be alright, you could feel it. “I saw you, and Gareth said something about you being new, a senior and all... You smiled at me, and I fell head over heels. I just knew.” 

Now, your tears were for a different reason. You actually remembered the moment well, the first time you met Eddie. You had been roaming the lunchroom on your first day at Hawkins High, and you had already felt like an outcast, starting a new school as a senior, and then you saw the badass devil illustration on a boy’s shirt. You had looked up from the shirt to see the face, and those moonish brown eyes were already looking at you, and you had given him a friendly smile. Eddie had then come over and introduced himself, said some line about “You look lost”, and offered to let you sit at his table with him and his friends. And the rest was history. 

Since then, you had lost count of the amount of times that you went over to Eddie’s trailer to watch a movie, to help study, to paint D&D figurines. Eddie was your best friend and you were his, and suddenly his pining made sense. He would let you borrow his clothes when you slept over, he always saved the last bite of his lunch for you (the man made a mean ham sandwich, what could you say?), and he held doors for you and offered you his hand to stand up and sit down. At the time, you thought it was him being a good friend and a gentleman, but it was so much more. He loved you. 

“Eddie,” you said softly. You didn’t know exactly what to say, so you let your words fail you. Instead, you leaned down and softly kissed his bloody lips, not caring about the mess. To your delight, Eddie lifted his hand up and lightly touched your face as he kissed back, and you felt your stomach flip. He was going to be okay. 

“Is this a pity kiss?” Eddie asked, his lips still against yours. “Like, ‘you’re dying. Let me kiss you goodbye’?”

“Does it feel like one?” you asked, lifting your face from his. “How do you feel?” 

“Not great,” Eddie admitted. “Everything hurts… Bastard bats. Those fuckers aren’t metal at all.” 

Finally, you laughed, and you saw Eddie smile. Everything was okay. Eddie was cracking jokes, getting stronger by the second. You quickly called out for Dustin— “Dustin! Come here, I need help!”— but you turned your attention back to Eddie without missing a beat. “Maybe marriage is rushing it,” you told him, and Eddie nodded in agreement. “I say we both have to graduate first—”

“Not that far away,” Eddie told you, and you jokingly rolled your eyes. 

“We should probably date for a while first too,” you added, and Eddie nodded again. “But, sure, Munson. I’ll marry you.” 

“Sick,” Eddie said, and he coughed again. “Here comes Henderson.”

“See?” you told him, sniffling away your tears. “Everything is alright.” 

"Why did I ever doubt you?"

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #bex's drabbles

[kiidqr]

Blooming in the Sickness

Reader/Argenti, Argenti Honkai Star Rail, Angst, Character Death, First Post, Fanfiction, 1.3K Words, Honkai Star Rail, English.

Summary:

As the formidable knight of beauty he was, Argenti finds you lost in a place not deserving of such a pure soul as you. Which actively turns out to demonstrate that he has fallen for something more than solely your outside stunning beauty.

Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned...

...

Your face had been pale and sickly for some time now. Not wanting to burden your loved one, on deathbed you've decided to deliver one last rose to him.

Blooming in the Sickness

The interstellar winds whispered through the vast expanse of space as Argenti, the noble knight of the Knights of Beauty, traversed the cosmos on his solitary journey. His silver armour gleamed under the distant stars, a beacon of unwavering commitment to the Path of Beauty. Little did he know that his path was about to intersect with a fleeting moment of beauty that would change him forever.

You, an enigmatic traveller with a heart filled with grace and kindness, had been a silent companion to Argenti in his interstellar adventures. Your paths crossed on a desolate moon, and from that moment, a subtle connection began to blossom. Though you spoke little, your actions spoke volumes, and Argenti found solace in your company.

"As the stars above, you appeared in my solitude, a gentle whisper in the cosmic winds," Argenti mused one evening as you both gazed at the distant galaxies. "Why do you accompany me, traveller, on this lonesome journey?"

Your response was a soft smile, eyes reflecting the luminosity of distant constellations. "In the vastness of the cosmos, I saw a kindred spirit. A knight dedicated to beauty, yet burdened by the weight of solitude. I wished to share this journey with you, to bring warmth to the cold expanse."

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, a unique bond grew between Argenti and you. Nights were spent beneath the celestial canopy, sharing stories of distant realms and dreams that echoed in the cosmos. The silent moments spoke louder than any words could convey.

Argenti, usually reserved and composed, found himself opening up to you in ways he never imagined. "I never thought I would find a companion in this solitary pursuit," he confessed one evening as you both watched the stars. "Your presence brings a new light to my path."

You smiled, reaching out to gently touch his hand. "The beauty of the cosmos is best appreciated when shared, Argenti. We walk this path together, bound by the threads of fate and the love that silently grows between us."

One day, as you explored the vibrant gardens of a celestial haven, you discovered a rare celestial rose – a flower of unparalleled beauty, said to hold the essence of the cosmos itself. With a gentle touch, you plucked the rose, and in that moment, you decided to send it to Argenti along with a letter expressing your gratitude for the shared moments.

As the rose arrived at Argenti's side, its delicate petals whispered a tale of unspoken emotions. Argenti, curious and touched by the unexpected gift, carefully unfolded the letter. In the quiet solitude of his ship, he read your words, written with love and adorned with a poignant farewell.

"Dear Argenti,

In the tapestry of the cosmos, our paths converged like stars in the night sky. Your unwavering dedication to the Path of Beauty has illuminated my journey, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

As the celestial rose graces your presence, let it be a symbol of the beauty we found in the vastness of the cosmos. Our moments together were fleeting, yet they were the most cherished. Continue to walk your path with the same grace that guided us.”

"Do you remember the night we first spoke of our dreams, Argenti?" the letter continued. "I saw a galaxy in your eyes, and in that moment, I knew my heart had found its home. Though our time together is brief, the love that bloomed between us is eternal."

"As the final petals fall, know that my spirit will linger among the stars, and our love will endure in the cosmic winds.”

“I love you.”

Argenti's heart sank as the weight of your words settled upon him. He clutched the celestial rose close to his chest, feeling the fragility of life encapsulated in its petals. The realisation struck him like a celestial storm – the silent companion he had grown to cherish was slipping away, and he had been oblivious to your struggle.

A mix of emotions overwhelmed Argenti as he recalled the shared moments, the laughter, and the silent exchanges that spoke of a love that transcended the boundaries of time. He whispered your name into the cosmic winds, a prayer for your soul to find peace among the stars.

In the vastness of space, Argenti continued his journey, carrying the celestial rose as a poignant reminder of a beauty that once bloomed in the cosmos – a beauty that silently faded away, leaving only the echo of your unspoken farewell.

As the starlight dimmed and the galaxies continued their dance, Argenti vowed to honour the memory of the silent companion who had taught him that even in the cold expanse of space, love could be a beacon, guiding one's path with warmth and grace.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, yet Argenti's heart remained heavy with the weight of your absence. He found solace in retracing the paths you once walked together, visiting celestial havens where memories lingered like echoes of a distant melody.

One day, as he explored a crystalline asteroid belt, a beacon of ethereal light caught his attention. As he approached, he “saw” an imaginary projection of you, smiling amid the twinkling stars.

"Argenti," the image said, "Know that my essence lingers in the cosmic winds. Our love was a fleeting bloom, but its fragrance remains in the corners of the universe."

Argenti's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he listened to your words. "I never revealed the truth, for I wished to spare you the burden of my fate. The celestial rose was a token of the love we shared, a love that will endure beyond the boundaries of time."

The imaginary projection extended a hand, and a radiant rose materialised within it. "Take this, my love. Let it be a reminder that even in the vastness of the cosmos, our love transcends the limitations of mortal existence. Carry it with you, and may it bring you warmth on the coldest of nights."

The projected image faded, leaving Argenti standing alone amid the silent beauty of the asteroid belt. In his hands, he held the radiant rose, a symbol of love that reached beyond the boundaries of life and death.

As Argenti continued his journey through the cosmos, the celestial rose became a source of both sorrow and solace. Each petal held the essence of your love, a love that had blossomed like a silent bloom in the heart of the noble knight.

In the quiet moments of interstellar solitude, Argenti found himself whispering to the rose, sharing thoughts and dreams as if you were still by his side. The cosmic winds carried his words across the galaxies, a tribute to the silent companion who had left an indelible mark on the noble knight's heart.

The beauty of the cosmos unfolded before Argenti's eyes, a vast tapestry of stars, nebulas, and galaxies that seemed to dance in harmony with the celestial rose in his hands. Each celestial body became a reflection of the love that once flourished between two wandering souls.

One fateful day, as Argenti stood on the edge of a cosmic precipice, he felt a gentle breeze, a whisper in the cosmic winds that echoed with a familiar warmth. Closing his eyes, he imagined your presence, and in that moment, he knew that your love, like the celestial rose, had become a timeless beacon in the cosmic tapestry.

In the quiet vastness of space, Argenti continued his journey, carrying the celestial rose as a reminder that love once again, even in its silent bloom, could transcend the boundaries of time and space. As the stars above witnessed the noble knight's solitary voyage, they bore witness to a love that endured, a love that whispered through the cosmic winds, and a love that remained eternally engraved in the heart of Argenti.

#hsr argenti #argenti x reader #argenti honkai star rail #honkai star rail #fanfic #angst #character death #terminal illness #first fanfic #first post #1.3k words

[areyoudoingthis]

"Our relationship was shit for so long before he died." "It wasn't your fault, Ed. You know that, right?" he asks, suddenly worried that he doesn't, that no one's told him and he's been carrying a world of guilt along with the sorrow. He means all of it, the death and the silence and the complicated feelings. - Ed deals with the fallout of everything he went through in S2.

Stede finds him crying under the pile of soft, colorful blankets they picked together for their bed. He started feeling worried when he couldn't find him where he was supposed to be at dinner time - trying to fix the hole on their roof, because it rained two days ago and there's still a small lake on their kitchen floor - and now he's glad he came looking for him. He can hear the way his sobs tear out of his chest, see the way the blankets shake as he cries, and he feels like crying himself.

He approaches the bed quietly, not wanting to startle him, and whispers his name once he's close enough, to let him know he's here.

"Ed?"

There's no response, just more sobbing from under the blankets, and Stede's heart aches seeing him like this. It isn't new or unexpected, he's been here with Ed doing the comforting a few times himself, but it doesn't hurt any less every time it happens. He moves closer and sits gently on the bed next to the bundle of fabric, places his hand somewhere around Ed's middle.

"Darling? Do you want to come out from under there for a bit?"

The blankets shift and Ed's face appears, cheeks tear streaked and eyes red from crying, silver-black curls in disarray.

Stede doesn't hesitate before he moves forward to wrap him in his arms and hold him close against his chest. He's had the opportunity to learn that Ed is a tactile person, gets most of his comfort from touching and being touched, because this isn't the first time they've had to be there for each other over the past few weeks. It turns out giving up the sea to renovate an inn didn't leave all their problems behind in their old life with all their physical belongings.

Stede wasn't taken by surprise this time around, has had to learn over and over that running away solves nothing if they don't make the time to sit together and talk, even if he is truly awful at following through on it himself. It isn't made any easier just for knowing, but the difference with all their previous attempts at this is that they have the time now, and a safe space to embrace each other and cry until their hurts feel less sharp, until the heartbreak eases and they can fall asleep in one another's arms and wake up to a brighter sunrise in the morning.

He combs his fingers through Ed's hair unhurriedly, rubs tender circles on his back, until Ed's breathing starts to even out and his voice comes small from where he's pressed against Stede's front.

"Our relationship was shit for so long before he died."

Oh, so today is about Izzy. Stede is aware the subject is delicate, was there to comfort Ed as he cried when he died in his arms, had a front row seat to Izzy's deathbed confession and to the turbulent days before it happened. He's seen enough of the two of them interacting to guess at years of hurt and misplaced love and loyalty between them, watched the way they rubbed painfully against each other until they were both worn thin, and never fully understood what kept them together. He was there when Izzy sold them out and Ed retaliated in his defense, and he was also there for the period of time when they didn't talk to each other at all after Ed's almost death and the loss of Izzy's leg, even if he missed everything that happened in between (he's heard snippets about those days from the crew, but Ed hasn't chosen to share anything about that time himself yet, and Stede understands. Sometimes it takes a long time to be able to shape some events into words that can be shared with others). And with all that he has seen and been told, It's no wonder this is weighting heavily on Ed after the loss.

It was such a tangled web they got themselves caught in, and Stede doesn't even know where to begin to soothe him. His own terrible relationships were all a lot less complicated than Ed and Izzy's. His father was very straight forward in his contempt for him, he and Mary were dreadfully ill matched from the beginning, and his children were simply too young when he left to have much to say about him.

"It can't have been all bad," he offers as he strokes his back gently. "There must have been some good somewhere."

Ed doesn't answer for some time, breathes brokenly against Stede's chest and keeps soaking his shirt with silent tears. Stede would mop up the entire ocean with it if it made Ed feel better.

"We met a few years after I left Hornigold's ship," he whispers at last.

"That's your old captain, right? The one who was a dick?"

"Yeah. He fed a cabin boy a live crab once." He drops the fact like he needs to let it out, like removing a splinter to ease the pain. Stede gasps and shudders, flashes to a dead goose and a lot of blood, wonders how many other nightmares are hiding in Ed's memories and wishes love was enough to make it all far less terrible than it is. He buries his face in Ed's hair and kisses his head tenderly; if this is all he can give, he will give it until he's raw. "He was shit," Ed continues. "Sailing under him was the fuckin' worst, so I left as soon as I was old enough to run my own crew. I met Iz a few years later, in the early days of Blackbeard."

"What was it like back then?" Stede asks, curious to know what life looked like for twenty-something-year-old Ed. How did he spend his time in between raids? What did he dream of? Did he wish for impossible things like twenty-something-year-old Stede did?

Ed is silent for a while, like he's taking his time to dig up the memories and weigh how he feels about them before he gives his verdict.

"We wanted the same shit at first, and he was there, ya know? Didn't try to stab me in the back like the other fuckers. But he always loved the whole thing. Piracy, becoming a legend, being top dog. He fuckin' loved Blackbeard."

Stede feels a pang of shame, remembers telling Ed he'd give everything he owned away if only he could be like Blackbeard for a moment.

"And you?" he asks, far more interested now in hearing what the man whose life he has chosen to share has to say than in his old fantasies of swashbuckling and glory.

"I dunno," Ed pauses. "I think I liked being the best at something. Calling the shots." Stede can certainly understand that. "And it was fun, for a while, getting back at the fuckin' British, taking whatever we wanted, coming up with the next plan, watching it work out just like I saw it in my head. But-" he hesitates.

"Yes?"

"I think I stuck with it for so long 'cause I thought it was the only option." And this sounds like a realization he's having as he speaks it, like he's chasing the thoughts inside his mind and threading them into sentences; and it's laden with sorrow, as if he wishes he could go back and recapture something that feels lost forever.

Stede aches for him, understands all about feeling out of options and realizing how much time has been lost to the suffocating feeling of being trapped. He spent over forty years stuck in the choices his father made for him, too scared to take a single step to break free, even when he cried himself to sleep every night. The fear was just that strong. Fear of change, but also fear that nothing would ever be better, no matter what he changed. It took meeting Ed to realize that he was drowning the entire time, and that chasing hope can be worth the risk and the terror.

With every conversation they have he realizes more and more that maybe that's what piracy was like for Ed, even though for the longest time he couldn't fathom how it could possibly feel like a cage to someone when it was such an exhilarating promise of freedom for him. He's been learning to see a lot of things under a different light over the past few months of his life.

"We have options now," he reminds him, tries to give back some of the hope Ed's kindled inside him since the day they met and he quite literally saved his life. They're living one of them, but they can just as easily leave the whole thing behind to chase their next adventure. As long as they're together, Stede is convinced there's nothing they can't do.

"Not before you. I didn't see any other options before I met you," Ed says it easily, like the words aren't the most precious gift Stede's ever received in his life.

His heart stutters. He can feel it stop for a couple of seconds before it starts beating furiously against his ribcage again, and the knot that tied itself in his throat when he found Ed crying alone tightens and grows until it burns him. He spent decades believing every word wielded sharp as a blade against him, feeling the bruises left by the stones thrown at him as a child. He's been convinced that he'd ruin everyone and everything around him for so long, that it's hard to believe he brought something good to Ed's life, even now, even when he has the evidence of Ed's presence and his words and actions. He's trying, he's trying hard every minute of their lives, but it still doesn't come easy.

Before he can think of anything to say and try to push it past the tightness in his throat, Ed goes on.

"I tried to love him. I think I hated him before the end." The words are barely audible, like he almost doesn't want to let go of them.

Stede holds him tighter, tries to press his love into Ed's skin, soundlessly show him how much he doesn't judge him for having complicated feelings about a complicated man.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with that, Ed."

"I asked him to kill me, before- before the crew-" Stede's heart constricts and dies a little at the idea of a world where he was too late to find Ed and bring him back.

"Darling," is all he can offer. Some things are too big for words, too big to encompass with a few sounds. He holds onto Ed, gifts him his silence and his love as best he can.

"I wanted to leave, Stede, I wanted to be gone in some fuckin' way so badly. He wouldn't let Blackbeard go, I thought he'd give me that at least."

"But he didn't."

"I don't even fuckin' know why," Ed chokes, sounding frustrated by his inability to understand. "Don't know why I kept him around for so long, either."

"Maybe there isn't a simple reason. Maybe you need time to figure it out."

Sometimes answers aren't straightforward, don't come neatly tied with a bow. Sometimes it takes years to understand and undo the damage. Sometimes it can't be undone at all, it can only be stitched up and left to scar over time.

"It wasn't your fault, Ed. You know that, right?" he asks, suddenly worried that he doesn't, that no one's told him and he's been carrying a world of guilt along with the sorrow. He means all of it, the death and the silence and the complicated feelings. There isn't a single thing Ed caused just by wanting things for himself, it's the world that sucks, the world that continues to be unfair and break all the best in people. The world and the men like Ricky and Stede's father and Ed's dad.

Ed falls apart in his arms when he hears it, cries louder than he's cried all night, and Stede thanks his lucky stars that he thought to tell him, that he didn't fumble this as he's fumbled so many things in his life. He presses him closer into his body, lets him get it all out and continues to use his flesh and his bones and his love to support him.

"I think he died knowing that he was loved, Ed. Isn't that what counts?" he says, once Ed's sobs have calmed down slightly.

"Then why do I still feel like shit, Stede?" He sounds so small when he asks it, voice raw and worn out.

"Well, life's a dick, darling, remember?" Stede answers kindly, rubbing his hand over Ed's arm like he did the first time he said those words. They've become somewhat of a refrain between them, for when they're struggling, or having complicated emotions, or when they fall back into old habits during particularly hard days.

It's a reminder that no matter how difficult what they're going through is, or how complicated they are as individuals, it doesn't make them unlovable. At least by now they're aware that the fear of that weights so heavily on the both of them that it keeps tripping them up, is why they sometimes argue and end up feeling like they're drowning no matter how hard they fight against it, or how happy and in love they are every other day. It's also a reminder that no matter how many times they mess up neither of them is going anywhere, that they're committed to loving each other for every virtue and every flaw, through every mistake and every argument, even (or perhaps especially) when they struggle to love themselves.

"Yeah," Ed agrees, eventually. And if it sounds a bit reluctant, Stede won't call him out on it. He'll just keep reminding him as often as he needs to hear it.

They sit together in silence for a while longer, drawing quiet comfort from each other, Stede petting Ed adoringly, grateful to be able to provide him with some peace in the storm. He runs his hands through his curls in the way he knows Ed finds soothing, traces abstract shapes on his skin and over his clothes, feels his chest rise and fall against his own and thinks maybe the clouds have passed for the day. Until.

"D'ya think he was right about what he said?"

"Which part?"

"About being just Ed."

The wistfulness in his voice takes Stede apart and puts him back together in the same instant. He can relate to the doubt, to asking himself if who he is worth the trouble, worth the effort, worth the love of others. Sometimes he stumbles, says the wrong thing or dwells in his worst memories for too long and has to start building himself up all over again, it feels like. He knows he isn't starting from scratch, knows there's ground gained every day he feels comfortable in his own skin, every day he makes Ed smile, every night they fall asleep tangled around each other after a long day of being happy together -but it still feels like that sometimes.

He knows Ed grapples with similar insecurities, but Stede never has any doubts when it comes to him. He may have to wrestle with every ghost in his head to even get a glimpse of his own worth, but he sees Ed's easily and always bright like midday sunlight. It's large enough to fill their home, and their ocean home, and the whole entire seabed. Ed burns bright and lovely wherever he goes, is the easiest person to love Stede has ever known.

"I think Ed is wonderful," he says, with the full force of his conviction behind the words.

Ed makes a small sound that pierces through Stede.

"You kinda have to say that," he rebuffs.

This, Stede can do, he can give with open palms and open heart. This is how he learns to love himself, through loving Ed with everything he is.

"Ed loves me and he makes me happy," he begins, and he can feel Ed start to shake with tears again. "Ed is patient with me and he keeps me safe. Ed fought for me and he fights for me every day. Ed left everything behind to build a home with me, and he works hard to make sure it holds strong. Ed makes me breakfast in bed and remembers my favorite marmalade and how I take my tea. He listens to me and he makes sure I listen to myself. He forgives me often and he makes me feel adored." Ed trembles quietly with every word, but Stede knows these are necessary tears, cleansing tears. "Ed is wonderful, and I love him."

They're both crying now, clinging to each other and pouring their pain and their love and their hope into the other's body, into the world around them, into their quiet room in the house with solid bones they're restoring, into every step of the life they're choosing.

Stede keeps one arm around Ed, rubs his other hand gently over every bit of him he can reach, trying to keep him warm and safe. Ed is lying half on top of him by now, tucked flush against him and still weeping occasionally. They stay like that for a long time, resting in the safety of their embrace, with nowhere to go and no emergency that needs them, until Ed's calmed down and gone pliant above him, and Stede suspects he may be falling asleep on him.

"Let's get you more comfortable, love. Go wash your face while I make us some tea? Then we can have it in bed."

Ed stirs slowly, hums in sleepy agreement.

Letting go of him feels like ripping himself in half, but Stede hurries through heating up water and measuring tea into their cups as much as he can, avoiding the puddle in the middle of their kitchen that they still haven't managed to fully clean up, and soon he's heading back towards him. They rejoin after their tasks are done, sit side by side against the pillows sipping the tea Stede made until their cups are empty and their bodies pleasantly warm and exhausted.

It may have been a hard day, but the tea is sweet, the bed toasty from their bodies and the blankets, and Ed's skin smells lovely from the soap he used to wash away his tears. When the teacups have been discarded by their bed, Stede lies down and takes Ed in his arms, drags the covers over both of them. Ed settles readily into him, tucks himself under Stede's chin where he belongs and intertwines their fingers against his stomach. He sighs deeply once he's resting comfortably, and Stede hopes it means some of the tension has been released and he'll be able to have a good night's sleep. He nuzzles his face affectionately into the curve of Ed's neck, drapes himself securely against his back, a blanket and a barrier between him and the world. If his body's good for anything, it's the safekeeping of the man he loves.

#blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fic #i am releasing this fic into the world i want to suffer no longer

[rayraygo1267]

Gabenath Headcanons because I have an unhealthy obsession

Note: gabenath cures depression..obviously also sorry for the late post, I had a busy day

Nathalie writes, Gabriel draws

Nathalie was the only person Gabriel trusted with Adrien (beside himself and Emilie of course) when he was born

Knowing how he reacted to losing Emilie, Gabriel can’t imagine the kind of spiral he would go into if he lost Nathalie

When they married they both became Gabriel and Nathalie Grassette (Gabriel’s original last name)

Nathalie finds it attractive when Gabriel talks dirty to her in French

When Gabriel confessed to Nathalie the first thing she said out of habit was “no you don’t, you love Emilie”

Gabriel wakes Nathalie up by giving her kisses, Nathalie wakes Gabriel up by throwing a pillow in his face

One time (before their relationship) Nathalie accidentally said “I love you” at the end of a phone call. She proceeded to immediately hang up and panic, meanwhile Gabriel kept calling her back over and over. All he wanted was to hear her say it again

Sometimes Nathalie will sneak up on Gabriel and whisper things like “kiss me” or other flirtations just to mess with him

Gabriel always kisses Nathalie on her hand

Gabriel has almost burned down the kitchen on numerous occasions

Nathalie always knows when Gabriel is lying

Adrien once accused Gabriel of checking out Mayura when they saw her on tv

Nathalie and Gabriel arm wrestle for “fun”

When Gabriel and Nathalie fight the first thing Adrien will do is go up to Gabriel and say, “what did you do this time, father?”

Nathalie is the type of person to say “I’m fine” when she’s sick, even if she’s literally dying and Gabriel is the type of person that acts like he’s on his deathbed if he has a tiny head-cold

Adrien tried to set Gabriel and Nathalie up by having them stand under a mistletoe during Christmas time, they both proceeded to blush like idiots as Gabriel bent down and kissed Nathalie’s cheek

Even though he went with Emilie, Gabriel shared a dance with Nathalie at their college prom and that’s when Emilie knew Gabriel and Nathalie were meant for each other

One time Chat Noir snuck a photo with Mayura and posted it just to piss Hawkmoth off

Nathalie held Gabriel’s hand when he finally let Emilie go at her funeral

Adrien gives Gabriel dating advice, even though he claims he “doesn’t need it”

Felix once went up to Gabriel and with no hesitation asked, “so how long have you and Nathalie been together?”—Felix was banned from the Agreste house from that day forward

#gabenath #gabriel x nathalie #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #hawkmoth #mayura #mlb nathalie #mlb gabriel #miraculous ladybug #adrien ships gabenath #adrien agreste #mlb adrien #mlb shipping #fav mlb ship #emilie agreste #emilie graham de vanily #Emilie ships gabenath #felix fathom #felix graham de vanily #chat noir #fanon #headcanon #canon in my heart

[mollybecameanengineer]

My Beloved

Summary: A post Kaddish love story

Read on AO3 or below the break

Author’s note: I rewatched Memento Mori, then Kaddish, and this fell out.

“I am to my beloved, as my beloved is to me.”

Mulder laid on the bed in his hotel room, the events of the night passing before his mind’s eye. Ariel, head to toe in white, in the basement of the synagogue, whispering those words to a dead man. 

“I am to my beloved, as my beloved is to me,” she’d said, as a ghost slipped a ring on her finger. 

Mulder couldn’t help but wonder if he was seeing his own future. Scully, on her deathbed. Him finally telling her the depth of his love. Slipping a ring on her finger as the machines around them flatlined. 

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and tried to chase the images away. It wasn’t going to be like that. Scully would be ok. They would treat her cancer, she’d go into remission. 

She wasn’t dying. 

She. Wasn’t. Dying. 

He would will it to be true. 

“I am to my beloved, as my beloved is to me.”

Possessed by an outside entity, Mulder stood and left his room. He wanted to see her – had to see her. He needed to know she was still alive, that she’d not returned to the earth in his absence. 

He rapped on her door, and when it took her a moment to answer, he finally glanced at his watch. “Shit,” he murmured. It was nearly midnight. 

Just as he started to turn away, the door cracked open. He could tell she’d been asleep, a bleary eyed Scully wasn’t foreign to him. “What is it?” she asked. 

“I…” he trailed off. He didn’t have a reason for waking her, not a sensible one he could speak aloud. 

Scully, seeming to understand, opened the door wider, granting him entry. She got back into bed, while he sat at the small table in her room. “You ok?” she asked, the last word partially obscured by a yawn. 

“I should let you sleep,” Mulder replied, and started to rise. 

“Mulder, you should have thought about that before knocking on my door at a quarter to midnight. What is it?” When he didn’t respond right away, she continued, “I can see how this case could have gotten to you. These hate crimes… they were against people like you. Like your family.”

He swallowed. It had struck him that while none of the Hasidic Jews had regarded him as Jewish, the Nazi mother fucker had. 

Scully continued on. “It’s ok if it got to you. It’s hard when you see yourself in the victims.”

“I…” he cleared his throat. He had seen himself in the victims, just not how Scully imagined. “I saw myself in her,” he confessed. “Ariel.” 

She arched her eyebrow. “How so?”

Mulder leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. In for a penny… “Before you came into the basement, I watched…” he paused, and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I watched Ariel marry Isaac. He slipped that ring on her finger, as she said, ‘I am to my beloved, as my beloved is to me.’ She told him how much she’d loved him. And then,” Mulder looked up and met her eyes. “He turned into dust.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Scully gnawed her lower lip. He could feel she was about to speak. He barreled on. “And tonight, I was laying in bed and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I’m afraid—”

She cut him off. “Mulder, I’m fine,” 

“For now,” he replied. She started to object, but he continued, “We live dangerous lives, Scully. I could be shot tomorrow. And there are things. Things I need to tell you, that I want to tell you. I don’t want to wait until it’s too late.”

She stiffened, and he immediately regretted his words. She was his co-worker, for God’s sake. She was also his best friend, but first and foremost, they worked together. Laying this on her was unprofessional at best. 

He started to rise, to apologize and leave the room, but she stopped him. “What things?” she whispered. 

Her face was open, her eyes bright. She knew what he was going to say, and it didn’t look like she was afraid of it.

He took a breath. 

“‘I am to my beloved, as my beloved is to me.’”

She stood, and crossed the room to stand between his legs. “‘He feedeth among the lilies,’” she whispered, before leaning down and pressing her lips against his. 

Her lips were soft and sweet, and he relished the feel of them against his own. After a moment he pulled back. He looked up, and their eyes met. Never in his wildest thoughts did his leaving his room tonight lead to them kissing, to say nothing of what he saw in her eyes now. She took his hand and stepped back, causing him to stand. In silence, she led him to the bed. 

It all happened so quickly. In a moment, their clothes were gone, and his head was between her thighs. He prayed before her altar, prostrating himself before her. Once she’d had her pleasure, he climbed up her body, settling between her legs. 

They began to kiss again, and she, impatient, reached between them to guide him home. They both gasped. 

“God Scully, I love you,” he whispered before he could stop himself. 

She kissed him, before wrapping her legs around his hips to urge him on. 

It could have been a minute or an hour that they made love, the passage of time ceased to be linear. He was surrounded by the feel of her, the smell. The taste. Her moans and soft sighs urged him on until she gasped. She clenched around him, and he couldn’t contain it anymore. He fell over the edge. His seed filled her. 

He collapsed to one side, mindful not to crush her. They were both panting, trying to reclaim their senses. He could feel himself shrinking – he would be separated from her soon. They would rise, use the toilet, wash away the fluids that coated them. 

He wrapped himself around her, not ready to be parted.

tagging: @today-in-fic

#x files fanfic #msr

[sorasso]

Possession, TojixReader Word count: ~600 Warning: mention of death A/N: decided to start by making a new version of an old fanfic :)

In the end, what endures from our existence are our possessions. That's why you had dedicated your life to amassing them. You had done everything to collect the world, always seeking satisfaction, no matter the cost, to preserve your belongings. So, when you died, there would be people who would speak of you - for you.

"Are you satisfied?"

He hated this philosophy of life, even reproached you for it. It was because of these ideas that he was about to lose the only person he had ever truly wanted to possess.

"I suppose..."

Under the folds of the futon, you ran a hand over the wounds that distorted your body. You couldn't survive this mission, you knew it, you knew it even before accepting it, but you had been asked, you had been called upon. They needed you.

And now, you were there, in the middle of your room, alone with death waiting patiently in a corner.

"I don't understand you."

Sitting in the opposite corner, the only object from your collection that had bothered to come see you on your deathbed. With his head bowed, his hair falling to frame his somber face, Toji didn't dare to approach. It was an inner conflict gnawing at him, a whirlwind of contradictory emotions that left him helpless in the face of the tragedy unfolding before him.

"What have you gained from this? Tell me. What has their validation brought you? You don't need them."

His fists clenched, a deep despair overcame him. He felt powerless, angry at himself for not acting sooner, for not succeeding in protecting you from this destructive circle that had pushed you to this extreme. He paused for a moment before adding in a whisper.

"We don't need them."

You remained silent.

What could you say? Confess a vain hope that your possessions would symbolize a less pitiable life than the one you had lived? There was nothing to say when it was only at the threshold of death that you realized the waste that was your only chance in this existence.

"I don't want to die..."

Your sobs broke the man out of his daze. He hesitated for a moment but eventually approached. Your distress was unbearable. He gazed into your eyes, seeing tears, disappointment, fear.

"I want to live."

Your words merged with your despair, creating a sound so fragile that they forced the man to lean in. With his index finger, he wiped away your tears and traced the contours of your beloved's face. His gestures were filled with unexpected tenderness. But what surprised both of you was the trembling of his finger against your skin.

"Toji?"

A tear. That's what the man allowed himself, or perhaps it was an emotion that slipped away. The droplet fell on your cheek, capturing his attention. He stared intently at this tear, gently bringing his finger to touch its surface, delicately caressing the moist skin before gently wiping it away.

He had moved heaven and earth, but nothing. Nothing could prevent the inevitable. Condemned, he now heard that word only with fatalism.

Condemned, alone with your possessions.

Suddenly, he detected a fleeting movement in the corner of the room. Slowly, he moved closer to you, stretching his body on the cold floor. The cold penetrated his skin, he cared little. His arm reached gently towards you, pulling you close to him, nestling you against his warm embrace. With tenderness, he sealed his love by planting a kiss on your temple, then on your cheek, and finally on your lips. Each of these gentle kisses carried within it the depth of his love. They were silent messengers of all that he could not express with words, a reflection of his despair. His devotion.

"Save me a place right next to you," he whispered, a fragile smile accompanying his words.

Smiling, alone with your possession.

"I will."

#sso.oneshot #toji x reader #toji angst #jjk x reader #jjk angst

[taedeco]

Pairing: taehyun x beomgyu

Synopsis: taehyun is madly in love with his straight best friend, beomgyu. so in love he starts coughing up flower petals and blood, poppy flower petals to be precise, gyu's favourite. taehyun knew beomgyu could never reciprocate his feelings and so he has to choose— choose between surgery, and forever losing all his love for beomgyu, or, the inevitable, death.

Genre: hanahaki, angst

Warnings: mcd, mentions of blood,

do let me know if I missed any!

wordcount: 539

Taehyun's heart fluttered erratically as he watched Beomgyu laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his smile lighting up the room. Taehyun's fingers itched to reach out and trace the contours of Beomgyu's face, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath his touch. But he knew better. Beomgyu was his best friend, and nothing more. No matter how deeply Taehyun's heart ached for him.

As weeks turned into months, Taehyun's feelings for Beomgyu only grew stronger, more consuming. He found himself daydreaming about their future together, about confessing his love and hearing Beomgyu say those three precious words in return. But reality always came crashing down, reminding him of the impossible: Beomgyu was straight.

One evening, as they sat side by side on Beomgyu's couch, watching a movie, Taehyun felt a sharp pain in his chest. At first, he dismissed it as heartburn, but when he coughed into his hand, he saw bright red petals mixed with blood. Panic surged through him as he realized what was happening.

Hanahaki.

He'd heard of it before, a rare condition that afflicted those with unrequited love. And now, he was its latest victim. Tears welled up in Taehyun's eyes as he struggled to hide his coughing fit from Beomgyu. He couldn't let him see. Couldn't let him know.

But as the days passed, Taehyun's condition only worsened. He coughed up petals with increasing frequency, each one a painful reminder of his unrequited love. Poppy petals. Beomgyu's favorite flower.

Desperate for a cure, Taehyun turned to the internet, scouring forums and medical websites for answers. But the treatments were grim: surgery to remove the flowers and erase his memories of Beomgyu, or a slow, agonizing death as the flowers choked the life out of him.

Taehyun couldn't bear the thought of forgetting Beomgyu, of losing the memories they'd shared together. But he also couldn't bear the thought of leaving this world knowing that Beomgyu would never love him back.

Night after night, Taehyun lay awake in bed, grappling with his impossible choice. He couldn't bring himself to tell Beomgyu the truth, couldn't burden him with the knowledge of what his love had wrought. So he suffered in silence, his heart breaking a little more with each passing day.

One evening, as Taehyun lay on his deathbed, surrounded by wilted poppies, Beomgyu sat beside him, holding his hand. "I'm sorry, Taehyun," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I never knew. I never realized how much you loved me."

Taehyun managed a weak smile, reaching up to brush away Beomgyu's tears. "It's okay," he said hoarsely. "I never expected you to love me back. Just having you as my friend was enough."

Beomgyu squeezed Taehyun's hand tightly, his shoulders shaking with sobs. "I wish I could have been more for you," he said brokenly.

But Taehyun shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. "You were everything," he whispered. And with those final words, he closed his eyes, his hand going limp in Beomgyu's grasp.

As Beomgyu wept over Taehyun's lifeless body, he vowed to never forget the love they shared, even if it was only ever one-sided.

And somewhere, in a field of blooming poppies, Taehyun's spirit soared free, finally at peace.

note: this is a short version/drabble of a story I've had on my wip for a while :D hope you liked it!!

thank you for reading, have a lovely day ♡

hanahaki art by gesso912 on twt!

divider by @cold--carnage

#niccistories #tomorow x together #taegyu #taehyun #beomgyu #hanahaki

[martianbugsbunny]

We Are Mandalorians: Our Love Must Be Forged (An AxePaz Fic)—Chapter 11

*throwing confetti* It’s time for the real happy ending, loves! Yes, I’m sad this is the last chapter, and I have no clue what my next chapter fic will be, but I really loved writing this one, and this chapter just makes me preposterously happy! Once again, all the Mando’a in the dialogue came straight off Wookiepedia (If you guessed that I used the wedding vows again, you’re right! And you get a gold star! 🫴🌟) It’s a proper wedding, not deathbed-confession-vows like these guys had last time, so read on and enjoy!

It was two weeks before both their wounds were healed enough, and the exhaustion abated enough, for Paz and Axe to repeat their vows publicly. Before the ceremony they sat together in one of the underground gardens, polishing their armor. Paz had already polished his helmet in solitude, and Axe was excited to see him wearing entirely that bright, gleaming shade of blue.

Ragnar splashed in a small pool of collected cavewater a few feet away. It was strange to be back beneath Mandalore’s surface, after all the time Axe and Paz had spent trying not to die down there, but a project was already underway to break apart the crystalline shell encasing the planet and there was a lot more light.

“Fifteen minutes, lovebirds!” Bo-Katan called from the corridor. Axe heard her cackling as she walked away.

“That woman drives me crazy,” Axe grumbled. “And now that you and I are married she’s going to drive you crazy too.”

“Well, you’re getting stuck with Din Djarin and his little green monster,” Paz countered. “I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

Axe glanced over at Ragnar. A husband and a son. He got both, and he got to enjoy his life with them on his home world. “I’m sure I did.”

Fifteen minutes later, polished and gleaming in the light of the Great Forge, Paz wearing a brightly-embroidered kama and Axe with a similar cape, they stood in front of the assembled Children of the Watch and Nite Owls. It was a show of unity, but they were still split down the middle—there were no other unions like theirs, yet, to intermingle them.

Axe started the vows as before, but this time with joy in his voice and a wide smile on his face. “Mhi solus tome.” We are one when together.

“Mhi solus dar’tome,” Paz continued. Axe was knocked breathless by the amount of love in the words. He felt tears coming to his eyes. We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.” We will share all.

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” Paz said. They both glanced over at Ragnar, standing off to one side near Paz. We will raise warriors. And this time, they meant it. They were actually getting the chance to raise at least one warrior together.

The crowd of Mandalorians, both sides, cheered loudly, tapping their vambraces together until the hall rang with the sounds of beskar and celebration. Paz pulled Axe into his arms and pressed their foreheads together. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” he whispered. “I love you.”

Then he turned to the crowd and called, “Alright, Mandalorians! That’s enough! We still have one more ritual to perform today.” Paz held out his hand and Ragnar came to his side. “My riduur and my son are to be joined together. Axe Woves, declare your role not only as a husband, but as a father, and become Axe Vizsla.”

Axe knelt down to be nearer Ragnar’s eye level. He placed one hand on Ragnar’s shoulder. “Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad,” he said. I know your name as my child.

This time, Paz was the first one to cheer, clapping Axe on the back. He got to his feet, Ragnar’s hand in his, and let Paz wrap an arm around his shoulder and hold him close to his side.

#paz vizsla #axe woves #axepaz #paxe #axe x paz #paz x axe #the mandalorian #mandalorian season 3 #rivals to lovers #fix it #nite owls #children of the watch #mandalore #ragnar vizsla #the great forge #wedding vows #fic finale #martianbugsbunny writes fic

[emeraldnoble]

{ sophie skelton, twenty-nine, female, she/her } we are so glad to see you safe, DUCHESSS FEYRE BLAIR of SCOTLAND ! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are LOYAL and GOLDENHEARTED enough to handle it. Just don’t let your BRASHNESS bring you down ! stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out you're not your father's biological child.

basic facts ⚜ —

name: feyre blair nicknames: fey age: twenty-nine birth: october tenth status: duchess in the king's court of scotland sexuality: demisexual, hetroromatic pronouns: she/her marital status: unwed, unbethroted

physical aspects ⚜ —

eye color: green hair color: red height: five'three" weight: one hundred and twenty pounds

family tree ⚜ —

father: deceased, callum blair mother: deceased, alba blair siblings: two, younger.

character development ⚜ —

spoken tongues: french, english, written latin positives: loyal, goldenhearted, ambitious negatives: brash, stubborn, impulsive moral compass: chaotic good

aesthetics ⚜ —

colors: red, green, gold, brown season: autumn weather: clear skies, sunshine time of day: dawn element: fire flower: rose gemstone: emerald animal: fox

first born to her family, feyre was named heir to the blair fortune and title. after her came her two younger siblings. the middle child is two years younger then feyre and the youngest sibling is four years younger.

her father was absentee most days, but feyre remembers him as being a kind and loving father figure when he was around. her mother was harsher on her, making sure feyre knew the weight of inheriting the title of duchess and all that came with it.

feyre's favorite past time is horseback riding. you can often find her in the stables with her mare, ailith. she spends many hours a day out in the sun, among the fields with her mare. when she's not riding ailith, feyre loves to sing and dance. scottish folksongs of fae and mythical beings are her favorite.

it was on her mother's deathbed that she confessed to feyre that she was not biologically her father's daughter. just as her father wasn't around often in her life, neither was he around for her mother before her birth. it was news that feyre struggled to swallow in the moment, and now with her father deceased, it haunts feyre. her mother died before confirming to feyre if her siblings were her father's or not — or who her father even is.

feyre tends to stay out of politics, though she finds herself being pulled into them more often then not due to her close friendship with prince calan. she is kind and tries her best to steer calan in kind directions, even if sometimes others whispering in his ear leads him the other way.

despite the war within herself about her birth, feyre is kind and loyal to a fault. she wants to help everybody, and find peace. she will go out of her way to help those who need it.

#theopulent.intro

[ofcruelheart]

*     ◟    :    〔   jourdan dunn  ,      cisfemale    +   she/her    〕      VALLA    PARADISO ,      some say you’re a  THIRTY FIVE  lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both  SHREWD  and  COLD,  one can’t help but think of  PAPRIKA  by   JAPANESE BREAKFAST  when you walk by.    are you still a    SIN EATER     at      CUTS OF PARADISE,     even with your reputation as the SIN EATER?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and    METHODICAL CUTS INTO THE CHASM OF MEMORY, VISUAL HAGIOGRAPHIES FLICKERING ON A PROJECTOR SCREEN, COLD GAZE SWEEPING OVER A MEMORIAL TRIBUTE AS THE REST OF THE CONGREGATION WEEPS,    although we can’t help but think of BYLETH (FIRE EMBLEM: THREE HOUSES), PRIMROSE AZELHART  (OCTOPATH TRAVELER), KIKYO (INUYASHA)    whenever we see you down these rainy streets.      (      keira  ,      31  ,      she/her  ,     is this a wanted connection? nope!   ,   est    +    none  .     )

Name: Valla Paradiso Age: 35 Pronouns: She/her Orientation: Bisexual Occupation: Sin Eater at Cuts of Paradise, previously a Memory Maker Character Inspo: Mother Suspiriorum (Suspiria - 2018), Byleth (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Primrose Azelhart (Octopath Traveler), Kikyo (Inuyasha) General Inspo: Sin Eater history (x), The Sin Eater by Megan Campisi, The Final Cut (2004), The VVitch (2015), Noteworthy Traits: A stoic, unflappable, often emotionless countenance; a transparently appraising and cutting gaze coupled with lips that are neither smiling nor frowning; slender fingers perusing through memories and flashbacks as if they were playing cards, a rather old-fashioned way of speaking History: (TLDR at end)

I give easement and rest now to thee, dear man, that ye walk not down the lanes or in our meadows. And for thy peace I pawn my own soul. Amen.

Home lies at the fringe of civilization, a commune where the wind cuts and the crops are tough to the teeth. Home is isolation, a place where trust does not extend beyond the fences that encircle them. Life is governed by rigid divisions: men from women, and daily life steeped in prayers uttered in the archaic tongue of Old English. Her mother, she discovers, holds a role steeped in ancient ritual – a sin eater, a vocation she later learns has long vanished beyond the commune's boundaries. The mantle of sin, she knows, will one day be hers to bear, a legacy passed from mother to daughter.

She observes and absorbs the ways of the sin eater. They hear deathbed confessions. Each funeral, each interment, requires their solemn presence. Cakes, symbolic of the deceased's sins, are laid before the sin eater. With each bite, they absorb these transgressions, their consumption a rite that purifies the soul, allowing the departed to ascend to heaven.

To liberate a soul at the threshold of death is a role both deeply revered and intensely feared. Sin eaters, those who dare to barter with their own souls to amass the sins of others, are regarded with a blend of awe and trepidation. Such a sacrificial act, though honored, is often shrouded in whispers of dark magic, witchcraft, and dealings with supernatural forces, or even the Devil himself. To meet the gaze of a sin eater, if only for an instant, is believed to be an omen of misfortune.

Her time arrives, a solitary existence in the ancestral house skirting the village, where silence and averted gazes from the commune are commonplace and constant. She partakes in the ritual consumption of corpse cakes and wine, each sin of others adding weight to her family's tapestry, an ever-growing burden. Life unfolds in this solemn pattern, until an unforeseen event disrupts its rhythm.

The death of the commune leader beckons her to his funeral, to consume his sins, but hesitation grips her. Before his passing, he had confessed to her, revealing the repugnant abuse of his power. These confessions polluted her spirit, tainted her dreams, soured even the sweetest of fruits. Her only regret was that he met his end before she could play any role in it.

Defying all precedent, she absents herself from his funeral, a decision laden with grave consequences. When the commune descends upon her home, they find it devoid of her presence.

The city becomes her new haven, a stark contrast to her previous life. Here, there are no rigid divisions, at least not like those in the commune. Everyone bears the weight of their own sins.

An opportunity arises with Stoneage, a position for a 'memory maker.' Her expertise in the realm of confessions, sins, and raw memories makes her a strange, but fitting candidate. They take a gamble on her, and it pays off; she proves herself both diligent and prolific. But she grows curious, about what she can take and give within living human memory, and she has not yet known the finer nuances of subterfuge - she is discovered.

She is no longer a memory maker, but she still continues her work, and soon discovers it has every potential to be lucrative. It has every potential to bring back that which is familiar - sin eating. Powerful people who have died and are in need of hierographies and memorial movies to play at their funerals, their mausoleums, their museums and remembrances, and want a... clean legacy. Who want their sins absolved, forgotten by all but her.

She dubs her service "Cuts of Paradise."

Her clientele grows, now including the wealthiest seeking her unique services for more than mere memory curation. Bad deals, damning witnesses, debts too great to bear – they need these memories erased from those who would remember it. Not through violence or murder, but through oblivion.

Just forget. Forget about the bad deal. Forget about what they saw. Forget about forgetting.

She is innately attuned to this calling. Born to bear the sins of others, she navigates this labyrinth of forgotten transgressions, a guardian of erased memories, a modern-day sin eater in a world that unknowingly harbors ancient rites.

SUMMARY: Raised in a remote commune at civilization's edge, where harsh winds blow and trust is confined within rigid fences, she learns of her role as a sin eater from her mother, a legacy steeped in old rituals and looked upon with reverence and repulsion alike. Her life revolves around attending funerals and consuming corpse cakes symbolizing the deceased's sins, a rite believed to purify souls for their ascent to heaven. This revered yet feared practice defines her until an event disrupts her life: the death of the commune leader, whose confessed sins haunt her. Choosing to not perform her duty at his funeral, she faces the commune's wrath and flees to the city. Here, she initially struggles but finds a job at Stoneage as a 'memory maker,' drawing on her sin-eating experience. However, her exploration into living memories leads to her discovery and subsequent departure from Stoneage. Adapting her sin-eating skills, she starts "Cuts of Paradise," offering services to erase memories for wealthy clients seeking clean legacies or to be freed from bad dealings. In this modern world, she continues her ancestral calling, navigating a new labyrinth of forgotten sins and erased memories as a contemporary sin eater.

#lawlesssintro

[bcttlcscars]

                                              ─ 𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫.

                   pinterest          /          musings          /          connections

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the  continent  welcomes  AYLIN  ESER  of  THE NIGHT COURT,  the  HEALER  of  THE DAWN COURT.   when  the  HIGH FAE  is  glamoured,    she   bears  a  resemblance  to  ÖZGE YAĞIZ.   the  26  /  231  year  old  CIS WOMAN  is  reputed  to  be  PASSIONATE  and  SCRUPULOUS  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  CYNICAL  and  BRITTLE.   if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  THE SMELL OF LAVENDER AND HERBS WRAPPING AROUND LIKE A WARM BLANKET , WASHING BLOOD OFF ONES HANDS YET IT STAINS YOUR HEART and A CLUSTER OF STARS GUIDING THE WAY HOME.   whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THE DAWN COURT,   where  they  conspire  to  PREVENT ANY MORE DEATH AND PROTECT THE CAULDRON.  

important stuff:  blood mention tw , parental loss tw, death tw, depression tw                     - graphic credit (x)

stats.

FULL NAME: aylin eser

AGE: twenty-six / two hundred and thirty-one

PLACE OF BIRTH: the night court - grew up in the dawn court

ZODIAC: sagittarius sun, taurus moon and scorpio rising

GENDER: cis woman

PRONOUNS: she/her

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual

STATUS: unmated

CURRENT LOCATION: under the mountain

FAMILY: esmeray eser ( mother, healer of the dawn court ) † , unknown father ( member of the night court ) and high sibling ( member of the night court - wanted connection )

POWERS / ABILITIES: healing abilities and high fae abilities such as enhanced healing, strength and hearing.

aesthetics.

collecting flowers and pressing them between the pages of ancient texts - rewriting a dark history. being taught to count to ten before opening your mouth. staring at a ghost in the mirror; the face you wish to forget will always be the one you see. standing strong and steady like the horizon; yet your mind is being pulled under by the waves. the spilling of sugar as you laugh with an old friend over tea. the sharp scratch of a paper cut, blood staining the pages of your favourite book. midnight swims under the stars, the chill of the night softened by the warm blanket that is waiting for you. countless deathbed confessions stored away in the corners of your mind, secrets no one else will get to hear. perpetual sense of longing for something you may never find. bathing in rosemary and honey - an old wives tale to wear off signs of ageing. 

biography.

Born in the Night Court, Aylin was born with the same pointed ears and healing abilities as her mother while her father remained unknown to her. Her mother, Esmeray, sought knowledge throughout the land of Prythian in her youth. Traveling from court to court (when allowed) to train and advance her skillset. Although a few years after the birth of her only daughter, she returned home to the Dawn Court. Given her mothers status as one of the favoured healers in their court, the same responsibilities were placed on the fae from a young age.

Things suddenly came to a halt as the war began. Under the protection of The Dawn Court, Esmeray became unsettled. After spending her whole life training on how to care for those in need; she was sitting on the sidelines. Aylin tried to placate her mother, but ultimately it was her moral compass that resulted in her untimely demise. Against Court orders, she traveled to the Day Court. She didn’t care about the politics of the war, she needed to help those in need.

Aylin never found out if she made it to the battlefield - her body was carried home by a mortal seeking sanctuary in the Dawn Court.

Lost in her grief, Aylin kept her head down. Lurking in the shadows, unseen and unheard. She only emerged when called upon for her duties. The light in her eyes faded with each passing day. Everything she had ever known was torn away from her in an instant.

As the war raged around them, more and more people fled to the Dawn Court.  Allowing Aylin to spent her time trying to help those whom had been out on the battlefields with the memories that haunted them and the wounds which cut much deeper than the surface. All while her own memories kept her up at night.

Time moved forward and whispers began about the wall being erected, she became curious as to the whereabouts of her father. Going through her mothers belongings she found journals she had kept while on her travels. Most of the pages were filled with medical studies and rushed drawings of herbs that would aid in different healing processes. The only thing that stuck out to her was the large gaps in her time at the Night Court.

Aylin shelved the thought for another day as she was called upon by her court to travel under the mountain.

#prythian.intro #aylin / INTRO #i freaking suck at writing intros and bios pls forgive me #blood tw #death tw #parent loss tw #depression tw #war tw

[akampana]

“ look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel something for me."

“ don’t let this one go. he’s perfect for you. “

“ do you think that this, us… do you think it could ever… be something more? “

Either of these for Beditoria mayhaps? Feel free to choose!

(A/N) Went with the third one. :> Also, I've always wondered how it would be if the FSN Bedi made it to Chaldea, so I hope you don't mind that the plot of this one is based on that idea.

feelings never fade____________

Words: 1.5k

Characters: Bedivere | Saber, Artoria Pendragon | Saber

Ship: Beditoria

Tags: Pining, Love confessions

Bedivere never liked when others called him brave. ‘Twas supposed to be the highest compliment; an honor to a Knight of the Round Table such as himself, but the word had never sat right with him. To be called brave was to wear an ill-fitting glove: uncomfortable at best, perilous at worst. And while he trusted himself to take care in his conduct, there was no getting away from the unpleasantness he felt when being associated with the word. 

A brave man’s heart did not startle. His diction did not waver. There was no retreat in his horizon, nor was there surrender. A brave man never slumped in posture. A brave man never lost his composure when faced by adversity. He did not stutter. His cheeks did not pale.

Especially when ‘adversity’ was confessing to the one he loved.

Time and time again, Bedivere had tried. The first time, the Round Table had merely consisted of her, Merlin, Kay, and himself. But then, she met Lancelot, and with their newest addition keeping them all busy, he pushed his feelings to the back of his mind, dismissing it as a mere passing fancy. 

The second, she was already wearing the crown, slowly shaping Camelot into the kingdom they dreamed it could be. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that the shining castle they envisioned also contained a queen. His emotions scratched and scraped at his throat as he swallowed them. He faulted himself. No one should dare to hope of something that could not be. 

Bedivere’s final attempt came at her deathbed, his mouth failing to muster any of the carefully prepared words he’d put together as he delayed tossing Excalibur to the lake. 

He returned once, a lie on his lips instead of his confession. 

He returned a second time, another disloyalty on his tongue instead of his confession. 

Tears burned at his eyes, from grief, guilt, and the pressing demands of regret. He couldn’t prolong his king’s suffering for such a selfish act as voicing his unrequited love. 

When he returned the third time, Excalibur was gone. And moments later, so was she. 

He grew old knowing they were never going to meet again. His feelings would forever go unheard, except by the tree where she died, to which he had whispered his love for Arturia Pendragon til he, too, gave up the ghost.

It was nothing short of a miracle, this Chaldea. 

He doubted he deserved to be resurrected alongside the others here. Merlin, Galahad, Gaheris, Gawain and even Kay…these were all faces he believed would exist only in the memories of a soul. Even Agravain was in attendance, and while Bedivere had always been wary of the man, he could not deny that for what may be the first time, it was pleasant to see him.

But there too, standing as perfectly poised and calm as usual, was his beloved king. She looked up at him with a smile like the sun that melted winter into spring, her green eyes so damnedly clear. It was at that moment he truly felt reborn, his heart beating heavily against his chest as a flush colored his face. Now. He had to tell her now. He’d missed his chance so many times back when they were alive, but now he had nothing to lose. 

Bedivere was not a brave man. 

…

Arturia’s third lease on life came with many realizations. Fortunately, her incarnations had done irreversible change to her soul, such that in this life she still remembered the events of the Holy Grail Wars she participated in, and everything those experiences taught her. It made this incarnation lighter, unburdened. It wasn’t even for a wish that she’d accepted Ritsuka’s summoning. She had no wishes to make anymore. Master had asked for her help, and she’d answered. It was as simple as that. 

That Kay hugged her to his chest as she materialized was a mere bonus. She had no idea that she would have the chance to see him again, nor the chance to meet her nephews, who had all stood steadfast by her side til their bitter end. Surprisingly, there appeared Merlin, who in his own twisted way, had always been her ally. 

And after some time, after using herself as a catalyst had brought about many failures, bathed in golden light stood the first knight she’d ever recruited, who’d observed her rule from start to finish, yet never wavered. Not even once. 

When their eyes locked, it was like the world had come to a standstill, as if bowing to the magnitude of the moment between the blondes. Something inside her burst into flame like a hearth reignited, spreading sunny warmth across her skin. She couldn’t breathe, or maintain that practiced kingly facade of hers. Arturia did not think or move, even as the rest of her knights rushed out to greet the new arrival. She couldn’t even control the stupid smile that painted itself onto her face. How could she? 

She’d suddenly gained a second purpose.

“Bedivere…” she called fondly, expression so soft she looked like a smitten maiden. 

He knelt in front of her like he’d always done, taking her hand in his left instead of his prosthetic, and kissed her knuckles.

That day, the Knights of the Round Table bore witness to something that in the back of their minds they’d always suspected. In hindsight, they should have known. There was never, and there never would be, someone that mattered more to Bedivere than their dearest king. 

After that, there was never a day the king was without her loyal knight. It was like there was a gravity between them, one so potent it demanded they cross paths at least once before the next dawn. And even though the pair never spoke of it, the Camelot knights knew something had changed between them; something that had been stubbornly kept at bay when they were alive, but now had been set free. 

Because now, she was the ruler of a kingdom long lost, and he a knight of an order long perished. Their titles were no longer a barrier. They had no duties to uphold. What remained were feelings, which obstinately stood the test of time. All they needed was a little courage to face them. 

“Bollocks,” cursed Kay, bearing witness to Bedivere’s fingers faltering before he locked them with his sister’s. She was gone right after, summoned for a mission Kay knew could be delayed. 

He placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, twirling him around till he could glare into the timid one’s blue eyes. 

“Tell her, Bedi,” he urged, something like surrender swirling in his brown orbs, because Kay had known the longest. Because Bedivere had stayed when Kay hadn’t. Because if anyone in the whole world deserved her love, it was Bedi. Because he knew she’d be happy. Because–

“Please. Are you really going to let the chance pass?” 

Bedivere gently shrugged him off. Kay could only hope he’d gotten through to him, because…because he feared someone unworthy would take her away. Many of his comrades were here. Who’s to say who came through next?

It was gravity again that brought Bedivere to the Command Room, eagerly awaiting his king’s return. There was something in his chest that swelled like a balloon with each enemy that she felled on the display, as if it could sense that her return drew ever nearer. His heart was beating like a drum, the tempo accelerating as the Rayshift began. Kay had been right. He couldn’t let this chance slip away. 

Bedivere closed his eyes, knowing when he opened them he’d be faced with a task more intimidating than even the beasts he used to slay back in Britain. 

But when she filled his vision, he wasn’t overcome by nerves as he usually was, nor out of breath. She approached, but he was calm, warmly smiling as she joined him in the corner of the room. 

“Bedi–”

The knight swept her hand up for a kiss, but this time, he kept their fingers intertwined. Warmth spread from where they touched, all the way down to his toes. It felt like heaven looking into her eyes, seeing himself reflected in them. He wished he’d been this courageous sooner. 

His hand clutching hers tighter, he steeled his resolve and asked, “ Do you think that this, us…do you think it could ever…be something more?”

Bedivere didn’t even care that he’d stuttered. He didn’t care that he wasn’t enunciating his feelings as clearly as he dreamt he would. He’d have more chances to show her he loved her, no matter what she answered. The knight loved her as long as he lived, he wasn’t going to stop, even if he had to do so from afar. But in the small chance she held the slightest bit of feelings for him, then–

Her fingers tightened around his. “I believe it’s always been…something more,” she admitted, her cheeks reddening in time with his. “I just wasn’t brave enough to acknowledge it.” 

_______

heya! hope you don't mind this is so late.

The FGO Camelot Singularity is actually my favorite one, and IMO the HARDEST ONE HOLYFSHIT, but as much as I love Bedi over there, I've always sort of contemplated what happened to the FSN Bedivere, whose tiny bit of content started my Beditoria journey in the first place.

I wonder if he knows another version of him found her again. And that that other version loves her just the same.

-akampana

#oblivious idiots asks #akampana asks #beditoria #bedivere #fate #fgo #fate grand order #arturia pendragon #saber #artoria pendragon #arturia #my writing #fanfic #fate fanfic

[hoboal87]

Don't Speak, Part 19

Pairing: Sam x Dean, implied Winchesters x F!Reader, implied Adam x F!Reader, implied Dean x Jo, implied Dean x Claire

Characters: Sam, F!Reader, Dean, John, Adam, Claire, mentions of Bobby, Ellen, Jo

Summary: Dean discovers some family secrets in the wake of John's death.

Warnings: Wincest, gay sex, oral, daddy!kink, minor feminization, implied dub con, implied loss of virginity, legal stuff, deathbed confessions/secrets revealed, implied stillbirth, implied marital rape, implied incest (father/daughter), implied attempted infanticide, Mary is not treated well.

WC: 3.1k

beta’d by the wonderful, lovely, @writethelifeyouwant

This is a dark!fic that includes triggering content and is intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for your own media consumption, so please, read the warnings and if you feel that you may be triggered and/or offended please move along. If you have any questions about the warnings/tags please feel free to DM me.

Don’t Speak Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

Part 18

Dean

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean grunts as Sam swallows him down and tangles his hands in Sam’s hair, encouraging him to bob up and down on his cock. It’s the first time they’ve been together properly since returning home. Claire’s been especially clingy, wanting to spend all her time with him, and he wishes that she were more like Y/N in that regard, not pushing for any additional attention from Sam.

The feeling of Sam’s tongue around his cock and the obscene moans coming from Sam’s pretty little mouth makes Dean want to cum right down his throat, but he won’t, not until his baby brother’s been taken care of as well. Dean’s mouth waters as he watches Sam’s free hand disappear into his trousers, and notices the unmistakable movement of him stroking himself to hardness.

“Please, De,” Sam groans, popping off Dean’s cock. “Need you.”

“Not yet, baby boy,” Dean tsks, pulling Sam up to his feet, planting a rough kiss on his brother's lips, and replacing Sam’s hand with his own. Dean’s thumb rubs against Sam’s slit, and he uses his other hand to rid Sam of his trousers. A dull thud fills the room as Sam’s pants fall to the floor, before Dean’s rips off his shirt, exposing Sam’s toned and taut chest. Dean can’t help but let out a sigh of appreciation as he takes in his brother’s gorgeous body.

He plants kisses around Sam’s neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave a number of marks, showing everyone who Sam belongs to. Dean makes his way down Sam’s chest, until he’s on his knees taking Sam’s leaking cock into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around Sam’s length, swallowing him down, hollowing his cheeks, until he can feel Sam at the back of his throat.

“Please, daddy,” Sam moans, and Dean’s cock gets even harder at the use of his new nickname. Dean’s hands make their way towards Sam’s puckered hole, rubbing it for a few moments before pushing in a single finger. Sam never needed much prep, and today is no different, but Dean loves working him open. He slides another finger in, scissoring Sam open, and sucking even harder on his cock until Sam is coming hot and salty down Dean’s throat.

Dean swallows down Sam’s seed, letting him go with a pop, before rising to his feet and planting his lips on Sam’s, letting Sam taste himself on Dean’s tongue. Sam’s needy, whiney, and exactly where Dean wants him, and he can’t wait much longer to sink his cock into his baby brother.

“How y’want it, Sammy?” Dean grunts, wrapping his hand around Sam’s cock again, stroking him back to hardness.

“Wanna see you.”

“On your back and spread your legs f’me,” Dean whispers as he walks Sam backwards towards the bed. “Show me that needy little hole a’yours.”

Dean kneels at the edge of the bed between Sam’s legs where he’s completely exposed. He leans forward to lick at Sam’s hole and pushes in two fingers. Once Sam’s ready and loose, Dean wets his palm and strokes his cock, standing up to guide himself into Sam.

“Please, daddy,” Sam begs again as Dean pushes in the tip of his cock, relishing in the feeling of his brother finally wrapped around him again.

“Y’want daddy to fuck you, baby boy?” Dean teases, leaning over Sam, his breath hot on his face. “Tell daddy how much you wan’ it, Sammy.”

“Please, daddy, need you to fuck me, make me yours.”

“So needy, baby,” Dean starts thrusting hard and deep into Sam. “S’too bad you aren’t a girl, then I coulda started breeding you years ago.” Sam moans at Dean’s words, clenching around his cock. “Keep you full of my cum, watch you grow round over and over again. We wouldn’t have to take on those whores as wives.”

In a swift move, Dean pulls out of Sam and sits back at the head of the bed, beckoning Sam forward with a flick of his finger. Sam’s eyes are lust blown as he crawls on all fours towards Dean. Dean expects him to climb on top of him, but instead Sam takes Dean’s cock in his mouth again, kissing the tip before swallowing him down. Dean lets out a sigh, there isn’t anything much better than Sam wrapped around him, whether it’s his mouth or ass, the only thing that comes close is Y/N’s tight little pussy, but even then, he’ll take his brother over those useless bitches any day. Claire, though, isn’t completely useless, she’s done her duty, at least.

Once Sam’s got Dean’s cock nice and wet, he climbs into Dean’s lap, jerks his cock once more before guiding it towards his hole. Dean reaches for Sam, grabbing his ass as he encourages Sam to ride him; nothing beats a needy slut riding his cock, whether it’s Sam, Y/N, Claire or Jo. Sam’s riding his cock like there’s no tomorrow, as if this may be the last time that they are together.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean moans as he feels Sam squeeze around him, sees his baby brother’s cock hardening once again. "C'mon baby boy, show me how bad you want it."

Sam bounces even harder on Dean, hair flopping in front of his eyes as he takes him even further to the root. Dean can feel himself getting closer, and he wraps a hand around Sam’s cock, stroking him in time with Sam’s movements.

“Fill me up, Daddy,” Sam pants, “fill up your baby boy.”

Dean cums with a holler, spilling inside Sam, not caring if the whole house hears them. Sam collapses on top of him, body sweaty from exertion.

Dean shoves Sam off of him playfully. As much as he would love to spend the next hour buried inside his brother, they have legal matters to attend to. The reading of John’s will would be today, and they would learn what exactly he had left them, though there wasn’t much to guess.They had no other family to speak of, so it’s not like they had to worry about some long-lost cousin or uncle trying to claim a portion of the estate.

“C’mon Sammy, Finch’ll be here soon,” Dean says, giving him a swat on the ass.

Sam mumbles in response, before lifting himself off the bed and redressing.

Y/N and Claire are downstairs waiting for him and Sam when Finch arrives. Pleasantries are exchanged as the girls introduce themselves and quietly take their seats behind him and Sam as Finch begins reading out John’s bequests. Sam side-eyes him when Joanna’s name comes up, as a recipient of a small fortune as well. Dean’s not surprised, John was one to always take care of family, and Jo, whether Ellen liked it or not, would be connected to Dean for the rest of her life.

That was his kid she was carrying in her belly, and John wouldn’t allow the mother of his first grandchild to go hungry. He’d make sure that the kid would receive a proper Winchester upbringing, even if it never shared their name. He remembers the night he’d done it: Y/N had caught him buried deep in her, but he didn’t need to worry about her saying anything. They’d taught her well enough to stay in her place, and even if Y/N did tell Claire, she was too timid to speak against her husband.

“And to the matter of my Estate…” Dean focuses his attention back on Finch, “whichever one of my sons is the first to produce a legitimate male heir.”

Dean scoffs and orders Finch to repeat himself; surely, he must’ve heard wrong. Dean was the oldest, he was supposed to be the one to become the master of the manor. Not that it mattered, Claire was already pregnant, and at this rate it didn’t seem like Sam would ever manage to get Y/N pregnant. He figures that if Sam can’t or won’t do the job within the next couple of months, he'll have to take matters into his own hands.

“An additional inheritance of ten thousand dollars will be given for him to do with however he sees fit, with a minimum of one thousand to go into a trust to allow for the boy’s, and any future children’s, education and training.”

Dean can feel the anger radiating off of Sam as Finch continues, stating that both Y/N and Claire would receive a small fortune as well, in the event of their husbands’ deaths. They typically lived more dangerous lives than they had over the last year, but John’s death was a wake up call to Dean, at least. Finch drones on for another hour before asking to speak with Dean privately. The girls are dismissed quickly, but Sam is less than willing to leave, protesting that whatever Finch needs to say to Dean can be said to him as well.

“Your father insisted,” Finch cowers slightly as Sam stares him down. “That this next part was to be shared with Dean and Dean alone.”

“S’okay, Sammy,” Dean laughs, though curious as to what other stipulations he would reveal about their estate now that he was gone. Sam grunts, but listens to his brother, stepping out of the room.

“Mr. Winchester,” Finch pulls an envelope out of his side pocket. “Your father dropped this at my office a few weeks ago, along with another amendment to his will. I wasn’t able to put it into effect before his death, but this letter corroborates his wishes.” Dean grabs the envelope and eyes Finch, before ripping into the letter and reading.

Dean–

There are things about our family that you don’t know, and I never planned on telling you, but, in the event of my death, you are the oldest, and you must now take on this burden of knowledge.

Over the years, you’ve asked repeatedly about the circumstances behind your mother’s death, and while I’d let you and your brother believe that she was taken from us, the truth is far from that. Mary never had any intention of settling down, but an arrangement between her parents and mine, a merging of two strong bloodlines, sealed our fates. We didn’t care for each other, and used others to fulfill our needs for years, until your mother became emboldened, trotting her lovers around the manor, and refusing to share my bed. I couldn’t take it anymore, and wouldn’t be made a fool of, and that night I took what was rightfully mine.

After you were born, your mother refused to care for you, and hired Ellen to nurse you. Ellen and I grew close as she cared for you, and less than two years into her service with us, Joanna was born. During this time, your mother’s mental state was becoming more erratic, and doctors told us that she had hysteria. I kept your mother locked in her chambers, convinced that she had been possessed, and asked a priest to perform an exorcism, but nothing worked. One legitimate child wouldn’t be enough to carry on the Winchester name, and your mother became pregnant again, but the child, a girl, was lost. The death of your sister only weakened your mother’s already fragile mind. She nearly drowned little Joanna while helping Ellen bathe the two of you, screaming about our lost daughter. I made the decision to commit your mother to an institution until she was well enough for me to put another child in her.

I wasn’t given the opportunity, as by the time I brought your mother home, she was already expecting. Sammy was born six months later, and while he may be a Winchester by name, he is not our blood. He is the product of something unholy; a demon possessed your grandfather and forced himself on your mother. The only reason I didn’t end the baby’s life is because your mother begged me to spare him, that I would learn to love him. I realized that whether he was my blood or not, he was my son.

I wouldn’t let another child be taken from me, and as I grew more fond of him your mother once again became hysterical. The circumstances of your mother’s death aren’t as mysterious as I’ve led you and Sam to believe. The night your mother died, she tried to smother Sam; Ellen was checking in on her, and found them. She said Mary was muttering about a cursed bloodline, and that it had to end with him. Your mother planned to come after you next, and Ellen did what she had to do to protect you and your brother. Ellen saved you and Sammy that night, she hadn’t meant to hurt Mary, and one day you need to thank her for what she's done for you.

Dean can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and can hardly think straight. Why would John wait until now, until he was gone, to make these confessions? He knew there was something off about Sam, there always had been, but now knowing that he is a cambion, and that the demon used their grandfather to impregnate their mother, did that mean that one day he’d have to end Sam’s life as well?

After Mary’s death, I couldn’t be around you or Sam. Memories were too painful, and I didn’t know how I would explain it all to you one day. When your grandfather passed and I was made master of the Estate, I knew I could no longer skirt my duties. I had no real intention of marrying again, but your grandmother insisted I try. When Katherine came into our lives, I had no intention of falling in love with her. But as I watched her be the mother that you and Sam deserved, I knew she was the one for me. When I confessed to her about what our family does, she at first, took it in stride.

You and Sam were heartbroken when she left, she and Ellen were the only mother Sam had ever truly known, and you had taken to her quite well. But, now that I’m gone, I must tell you why she left. Katherine was pregnant, and didn’t want to live in fear that something would harm her or our child, and I reluctantly let her go. Your brother was born six months later, and she called him Adam.

Adam Milligan is your half-brother. To my understanding, he is unaware of his heritage, and his mother would like to keep it that way. Adam is to stay on as a physician to ensure that the girls remain healthy throughout their pregnancies. If neither Claire or Y/N give birth to sons within five years of my passing, Winchester Manor may pass to Adam if he has produced a male heir and chooses to reclaim his birthright.

You and Sam must decide what is more important, our family legacy, or each other.

–Dad

Dean can feel his face growing redder but the second. He re-reads the letter again, and again, trying to make sure he understands everything correctly. Why did he lie for so long about Mary’s death? He could understand when he was a small child and didn’t understand that there were creatures and things that go bump in the night. But he was an adult now, he and Sam could understand that there was more to their mother’s death than they thought. Now Dean has to decide what to do with all the information that John’s laid out in front of him. If Adam truly was their half-brother, and wanted to claim some part of the estate, this letter was all he needed. He needn’t worry about Adam producing an heir before him, at least, with Claire well into her pregnancy.

“Is this real?” Dean questions Finch. “Adam Milligan is our brother?”

“Your father had been giving Ms. Milligan a monthly stipend up until Adam’s eighteenth birthday. When I recently spoke with Katherine, she confirmed that as far as she knows, Adam is unaware of his parentage.”

“What about Sam?”

“There is nothing that can prove what your father alleges about Sam or Adam,” Finch admits. “And legally, it doesn’t matter when it comes to Sam. I did know your mother for a brief time, and she had many delusions of grandeur. I remember your father trying to exorcize her, and when she returned from the asylum she was worse off than before. ”

Dean spends the following weeks wrestling with himself on whether he should share what he learned with Sam. In the end, he decides against it; knowing what Dean knows won’t do either of them any good. And if Dean is honest with himself, he really wishes he didn’t know it either.

He allows Sam to stay behind in Virginia when the case starts to go cold; Dean has more important matters to attend to, namely Adam. He hadn't sent word ahead to announce his early homecoming, not needing the pomp and circumstance that John used to love, instead only giving a quick greeting to Bobby at the door. Claire and Y/N are out wandering the grounds, something Bobby’s told him they’ve made a habit of as of late, not that Dean cares what they do when he and Sam aren’t around. The only thing that does bother him is how much time Adam has been spending with Y/N.

It’s not Y/N he doesn’t trust, he and Sam had trained her well enough, and she was too timid to do anything with someone outside of him and Sam. But Adam– he clearly had formed some sort of bond with her while they were gone. Sam has little interest in Y/N anymore, sharing his and Claire’s bed more than sleeping in his own, not that Dean’s complaining. But if Sam were a little more observant, he’d notice the looks that Adam gives Y/N when he thinks no one is watching.

"Dean," Claire's voice pulls Dean out of his own thoughts. There's a slight worry behind her voice, as if she's concerned with his early return. He supposes that makes sense, the last time they returned early from a hunt, John was dead. Dean takes in her appearance; her belly has rounded out perfectly under her dress and he can’t wait to see Y/N the same way. If Sam’s not going to get the job done, then Dean will. He can’t risk Adam trying to claim the estate. Once he and Sam both have their sons, it will be impossible for Adam to become the master of the manor. "I didn't think you'd be home so soon."

"Case was going cold, Sammy decided to stay behind for a few more days."

"Oh."

“What is it sweetheart?” Dean cups Claire’s face as she reaches him.

“It’s Y/N,” Claire says timidly. “There’s something you don’t know.”

“Sam and I know about everything that goes on in this house, princess,” Dean tsks, and Claire’s lip quivers. Whatever she’s about to tell him, she’s clearly nervous about it. “You can tell me, Claire.”

“If I tell you, I’m being good?”

“Yes, sweetheart, you’re my good girl.”

Claire takes a deep breath, “Y/N’s pregnant.”

Dean doesn’t understand Claire’s hesitation. Y/N being pregnant has been the goal since they took her last year. The worry on Claire’s face doesn’t waver, what else was she afraid to tell him.

“Is there something else, princess?”

“Y/N has been having an affair with Adam,” Claire says barely above a whisper. “She told me that she thinks the baby is his, but–” Dean doesn’t hear another word, beelining straight for Y/N’s room.

Part 20

Feedback is fuel! Please let me know what you think!

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#sam x dean #dean x reader #sam x reader #smut #wincest #don't speak #reader x adam #dark!fic #pregnant!reader #non-con #dub con #john x reader

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

caryl oneshot where daryl finds carol out in the woods with a gun and thinks she's gonna off herself and gets super upset, but then she moves her collar to the side and shows the bite in between her neck and shoulder, and suddenly his entire world crumples bc how could she be bit? there has to be some kind of a mistake. he takes the gun from her, promising he'll be the one to do it, despite her protests, and takes her back to his old camp where they have desperate depression sex ending in tearful love confessions full of regret for all the lost time. daryl then holds her for the rest of the night, periodically checking her temperature, and come morning, when she still hasn't started getting sick, a thought occurs to him, and he's like, "wait, what if it wasn't a walker? what if it was a whisperer?" and carol's like, "wait, you think a /person/ did this??? ...ew." and he laughs, bc of all the things in the disgusting world they live in, the thought of some stranger biting her is what grosses her out. anyway, they go back to where carol slayed the walker, and low and behold, it's a whisperer, and daryl is so happy he could propel himself directly into the sun by the sheer force of his joy. but then they have that awkward, "oh. we had emotions and also sex bc we thought we'd never have to address the consequences, whups" thing, and they're forced to admit that their feelings were real and not just things said bc they thought she was on her deathbed, and then they go back home and bone a bunch more, and they live happily ever after, forever and ever amen. the end

#my new thing #since i have more projects than i have time #is just writing summaries and ideas in run-on sentences #and letting y'all fill in the blanks #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #caryl #twd #dunlap writes shit

[angryinternetduck]

Bet On It

HELLO i’m back again with not only another fic but another friends to lovers!!! here’s 5.9k on hotel mishaps, long-term bets, and falling in love. featuring harry styles x reader with just a few warnings of explicit language and alcohol consumption.

enjoy!!!

masterlist | ask

***

Five Years Ago

If you hadn’t met him an hour before in the bar of the hotel, you would’ve said no. Share a hotel room with a stranger just because the hotel fucked up and double booked a room? No. Absolutely not.

Except -

His name was Harry. He was very cute. And sweet. He complimented your shoes in the bar, dimpling at you all cutely before holding out his hand and introducing himself. He let you prattle on for way too long, laughing at all your jokes and nodding gravely when you started getting serious.

And surprisingly, when you said you had to go, he didn’t ask you out or try to kiss you. He just told you it was nice to meet you with a smile. Problem was that that wasn’t the last you saw of him; when you went up to the desk to get your key card, the receptionist informed you of the mistake.

“We’ve double booked it. You’ll have to work it out amongst yourselves,” they said. “We can suggest other places to stay, or you can sleep in the lobby. Or - of course, you can always share. He’s over there. Guy in the pink shirt.”

You looked over, and lo and behold…

“Harry.”

“We meet again.”

“Was this your doing?” you joked. “All that to get me in a room with you?”

Harry grinned. “I wish I were that smart.”

“So just coincidence?”

“Or perhaps fate,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Did you know?” you asked. “When you, uh - introduced yourself?”

He shook his head and said, “Not that it was you.”

“Well, now that you do, what do you say? Share the room?”

Harry tilted his head from side to side, pondering. “Let’s prove it was fate,” he decided, meeting your gaze with a grin. Your brows furrowed, and he clarified. “Rock, paper, scissors. I win, we’ll share. You win, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.” He held out his fist.

“Won’t make me find somewhere else?” you asked, smiling a bit. “Would rather share?”

He shrugged.

“Alright, then.”

Both of you counted silently, in your heads -

Rock, paper, scissors…

Harry grinned, and you made a fist from your scissors to bump his rock.

“Fate it is,” you said.

Fate proved to be in your favor; that night, you had the most fun you’d ever had in your life. To your surprise, however, the fun didn’t involve sex. Just talking. You sat on the bed drinking booze from the minifridge and talking until dawn with this Harry Styles.

It came up at one point, sex - or at least kissing did - but neither ever happened.

It was around three, when the exhaustion had set in, when you were lying down, gazing into each other’s eyes, half asleep. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” he’d whispered, and you grinned at him. “I should be asking you that, don’t you think?”

He looked confused. “Why’s that?”

“You’re the one in love with me,” you told him.

He giggled, rubbing his eyes. “And what makes you say that?”

“You wanted to share!” you exclaimed, like it was obvious, because it was.

“Sharing is caring.”

You bounced your brows. “Caring. Loving.”

Harry laughed and insisted, “Not the same!”

“I’d bet a million bucks you’re in love with me,” you murmured, tapping his nose.

“Then a million bucks you’d lose.”

“You will be,” you said, nodding slightly.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, a smile growing on his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a million bucks to give me on my deathbed when I still only care?” he said.

“Do you have a million bucks to give me when you confess?” you said back.

He stared at you for a second. His eyes were very green, his smile very wistful. “A kiss.”

“A kiss?” you echoed.

Harry nodded. “I will bet you one kiss that I will never fall in love with you.”

“You’re gonna want a lot more than one kiss when you inevitably do,” you whispered.

“At least one kiss,” he amended.

“At least one kiss,” you agreed.

“Shake on it?”

You both shifted around in the bed so you could shake hands without sitting up.

“It’s a bet,” Harry said.

And so it was.

***

Present Day

“Give it to me straight, Styles,” you greet Harry, plopping down at your table with a sigh.

He hesitates for a moment, drawing out the suspense, and then breathes, “Care.”

You shake your head disappointedly. “Unbelievable, how bad you are at lying, you -”

Harry interrupts, “What’s really unbelievable is your tardiness -”

Then you do: “Your annoyingness -”

He pouts and fires back, “Your vocabulary -”

“Your lack thereof -”

“That’s not proper English.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re not proper English.”

“I promise you I am,” he replies with a smirk.

“I’ve always thought the accent was fake.”

“If it were, I’d be the greatest impersonator to walk the earth.”

“Impersonator?” you repeat. “And tell me, what is an impersonator but a talented liar?”

He gives you a grin. “I’ll take the compliment of talented, thank you.”

Leveling his gaze, you smile back and take a sip of your drink. “You know, I think that actually was proper English,” you muse. “Lack thereof. Your vocabulary - or lack thereof.” Harry bites his lip, eyes narrowed, staring at you, and you’re tempted to joke that his focus is lust when he replies, “It’s still wrong. I was saying your vocabulary is naive, and by saying I have none, you’re fundamentally saying the same. It’s redundant.”

Clearly satisfied with himself, he sits back, smiles smugly, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Harry Styles,” you say, “I’m going to smack that smirk right off your pretty face.”

“Second compliment in a day!” Harry exclaims. “Someone alert the press.”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your own drink. “Why, they’d have a field day.”

The little cafe you’re in is absolutely adorable. It’s midway between your place and Harry’s, and after that fateful night in the hotel (during which you learned you live so close to each other), you began a tradition of meeting here once a week.

Tradition doesn’t end with just the location and time. Each meeting is almost exactly the same. You’re always late, and you always greet him the same way: some variation of “Have you fallen in love with me yet?”

And his reply is always the same: negative.

From there, the conversation wanders as much as it ever does, with one asking about the other’s week and the response being long and filled with complaints and woes and lamentations. The question is echoed back, and the response is - again - long, filled with complaints, woes, etc.

Despite the moaning and groaning, the mood never falls too low. It’s impossible to feel down around Harry Styles; just one look at those dimples makes a smile of your own appear on your face.

Your friendship with him has certainly blossomed. It’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen in love yet (or maybe he has, you’ll never know unless he says), and a greater wonder still that he hasn’t turned the question around on you.

Because the answer would be yes. You have, in fact, fallen in love with him.

Deeply, madly, in love.

But he’ll never know, because you’ll never say.

***

“I love you,” you tell Harry breathlessly, looking up at him lovingly. “Most ardently.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no - I’m just a girl! I’m just a girl, standing in front of -”

“I’ll always be there for you!” you cut in excitedly. “All the love in my heart, Llo -”

“Michael, I love you!” Harry gushes. “Choose me, marry me, let me make you happy!”

You jump up and jut a finger at him dramatically. “We live in a cynical world!” you exclaim. “A cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you! You - you complete me!”

Harry jumps up to match you and begins, “I hate that -” then shakes his head and restarts, “I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie - I hate it when you make me laugh and - and - and even worse when you make me cry - I hate the way - I hate it when” - he’s grinning big now, jumping with excitement and passion - “you’re not around and the fact you didn’t call - but - but mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even a little bit, not even at all!”

It all came out in a rush of jumbled words and you’re so impressed you can’t help but sit back down and clap for him. Bright red, Harry takes a bow and collapses onto his couch next to you. “That took way too much effort,” he says, out of breath.

“It was worth it,” you tell him. “That was dazzling, really. You should go on the road.”

Harry nods. “One man show. Shakespeare. All of his long monologues, then bam - a poem better than all the others combined.” You giggle and fall into him, leaning against his chest with a sigh. “I’ll come with you,” you say. “Follow you to the ends of the earth and hold my breath to Pluto.”

“What’s that from?” Harry asks.

“That’s all me, baby.”

“Maybe the poem better than all the others combined could be yours.”

“Impossible,” you say immediately. “Nothing will ever beat Kat Stratford.”

“I’ll manage.”

You scoff. “You?”

“We.”

You shake your head. “There’s no ‘we’ in genius, Styles, but there is an I.”

“And a U!” Harry replies.

You look up at him.

“Wait.”

Snickering, you sit up and stretch your arms towards the ceiling. “Stick to memorization, maybe. Leave the heavy lifting to me. You need some practice on that speech, anyway - I counted at least three errors, not to mention the stuttering.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Harry sings. “What do you say, can I confess my love to you every night for the sake of practice?” You shake your head, standing up again and grabbing an empty container of food to throw away. “Not without losing the bet.”

Harry follows you, cleaning up as he goes. “Just for the one man show!”

“No exceptions.” You grin at him, grabbing your stuff and heading for the door. “Thanks for the food, Styles. I’ll see you Sunday?” Harry nods and blows you a kiss, which you catch and put in your pocket. “I’ll save that for when you lose the bet,” you tell him.

“Get outta here,” Harry laughs.

You stick your tongue out at him and stick a post it note on the door frame as you leave.

***

Harry usually wakes up to a few texts. Maybe a call every so often. Notifications from social media aren’t uncommon. The only days he wakes up to nearly a hundred texts are the nights you decide to go to the outlook.

Whether or not you like staying up late normally, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning to go to this place you found about three hours outside of the city. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’s completely worth it.

There’s a little woods out there, and a while ago you went a bit off path and found an outcropping of rocks that look out over the city. At night, stars are visible. There’s nothing you love more than lying for hours on the cool stone, gazing up at the heavens above.

The first time you took Harry to the outlook, you asked a question, and Harry’s answer to that question was one of the only lies he’s ever told you. You’d asked, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

And Harry had said, “Of course not!” when in reality, he’d been looking for an opening to mention that very fear for the twenty minutes before, while you’d been climbing steadily uphill through the trees.

In his defense, there was no way he could’ve said anything different. You were just so happy, glowing with excitement and practically buzzing with energy. Plus, you’d grabbed his hand at the moment you asked to pull him up the last ridge and he was still a bit startled.

He never came to regret that lie. He grew out of the fear, anyway, so it wasn’t a huge deal. In fact, he’s almost come to love heights. He loves the thrill, the burst of happiness, the insane phenomenon of a racing heart and the feeling of being totally at peace all at the same time.

Incidentally, he also feels that way around you, whether the two of you are a hundred feet up or not. He’s always enjoyed spending time with you, and even just seeing you makes him happy. It’s what makes you a good friend.

Harry’s gone with you a few times to the outlook, but it’s usually pretty late by the time you want to go. Sometimes you’ll call him and he’ll pick up, and you’ll talk on the phone until one of you falls asleep.

You went last night, apparently, because Harry scrolls through seventy-two text messages this morning. It takes a while, since he reads all of them and then replies, but he woke up early anyway so it’s fine.

It’s Sunday, so he’s headed to the cafe to meet you. He has a cup of coffee even though he’ll get one at the cafe, too. There’s a sticky note on the coffee maker - Note to self: tell Harry there’s a snickers bar in his sweatshirt pocket - which you probably left a few days ago.

Harry smiles at the note, then frowns, sticking his hand in his pocket. There is, in fact, a Snickers bar in there, and Harry throws it out. It’s from almost a month ago, when you and him had an August Halloween. The sun is just a little too bright. Harry listens to music in the car, humming along and tapping his hands against the wheel in time.

You’re late, of course, so he orders his second cup of coffee and reads a newspaper on the shelf while he waits. Today it’s five minutes until you arrive, which is actually more on time than usual, and Harry throws you a large brimmed hat he found in his closet when you approach the table.

“What say you, Harry Styles,” you greet him, catching the hat and placing it on your head. “Make a jester laugh” - you form a heart with your fingers - “or make a jester cry?” Your heart cracks in two as you pout at him.

Breaking a finger-heart of his own, Harry grins. “Laughing clowns were always creepier to me,” he tells you. You trace a finger down your cheek like a tear and sit down across from him, sliding a menu from its place on the wall and beginning to read it over.

You look up at him, half smiling, a joke on your lips, and then -

Harry blinks.

Just like that, something’s changed.

You snap in front of his face. “Hello? Anything? You could at least pretend to laugh.”

“Christ, sorry,” Harry breathes. “What’d you say?”

Raising a brow, you lean forward and inspect him. “You alright, there, Styles?”

“If I were any better and it’d be obscene,” Harry answers easily, tapping your nose.

Grinning, you sit back. “Fantastic. Tell me, then, how it’s been. Fill me in.”

“It’s a lot better seeing you in that hat.”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim, looking up at it.

Harry giggles and asks, “You wanna know what one hat said to the other?”

“Oh, boy.”

“I’ll see you on a-head!”

Groaning dramatically, you throw the hat at him and bury your face in your hands.

***

"This is getting embarrassing, Styles,” you say as you walk up to Harry.

He turns around, a smile already on his face, and begins, “What’s -”

He stops when he sees you, because you’re all dressed up. You look absolutely stunning, which was on purpose, because of course you want to see his reaction, whether he loves you or not. And it’s very satisfactory, this reaction.

“You look fantastic,” Harry says softly.

You clear your throat, a little put off by how serious he’s being. “That was the goal.”

His eyes float back up to meet yours, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” you chirp. “But don’t let your head get too big - I only came for the free food and movie.” Finally, the glaze over his eyes fades, and he grins at you. He takes your arm, and as you walk, he asks, “You started a thought, you know, about something embarrass-”

You scoff. “You asked me on a date, Styles!”

“I did not!” Harry insists. He shakes his head. “My date ducked out at the last second -”

Smirking, you cut in, “Wonder why, Mr. Pink Suit.”

“- we were going to match, thank you - but really, she ducked out, and I wasn’t about to waste two perfectly good tickets. Thus… here we are.” He nods, like he’s pleased with his answer, but you raise a brow at him. “That’s a terrible excuse. You can just say you love me. I’ll accept.”

You arrive at his car. “Not yet,” he says, and then he gets in.

He starts the car, and for a moment, you gaze out the window.

Then, breaking the silence, you say, “I like the suit.”

“I like the look.”

“Thanks, I came up with it all by myself.”

“Impressive.”

You wait a moment, and then ask, “What inspired the pink?”

“She said she wanted a pink rose.”

Frowning, you begin, “I thought you said pink roses are -”

“Yeah, they’re not my favorite,” he mumbles.

You snicker a little. “Oh, what a bad date in high school can get you…”

“Hey, don’t tease,” Harry whines with a pout.

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur. “You’re nice to dress up anyway. No rose, though?”

Sheepishly, he tells you, “I… forgot.”

“You forgot?” you laugh.

“Yeah…”

“Well, um… well, it’s the thought that counts.”

Harry pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, then unlocks the doors. “Come on,” he says, but you frown at him, confused. “You know you pulled in the wrong way?” you ask, but he just beckons with his hand and opens the trunk.

You hadn’t even looked - there’s pillows back there, and candy, and blankets, and he flicks on little fairy lights. “Harry Styles, you romantic!” you gasp, enthralled. “Wow, I gotta meet this girl, if you’re doing all this for her…”

He sits down and pats the space next to him, then grabs a pack of candy - your favorite. He hands it to you, which you take with a slow smile. “Her favorite too?” you ask. “Nope,” Harry replies, shaking his head as he opens his own pack of candy. “Forgot to ask her, but when I called her in the store she wouldn’t pick up so I just… got yours.” He clears his throat and hands you a bag of popcorn. “There’s this, too.”

“Thanks, Styles.”

On the huge screen in front of you, the movie begins to roll. You take a risk, sliding a little on the seat so you’re leaning against Harry, head against his chest. You can feel him breathing, his heart beating, his arm around your waist, thumb gently moving back and forth over the fabric of your clothes.

You fall asleep for most of the movie.

When you wake up, you’re leaned against a pillow, not Harry. Frowning and out of sorts, you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s leaned against the car outside, on the phone, and you can just barely make out what he’s saying.

“... I know, it’s… Yeah, I - I’m sorry you couldn’t make it, love. I missed you…”

The familiar feeling of tears building behind your eyes horrifies you, and you have to turn your back to him as tears start slipping down your cheeks. You’d somehow managed to convince yourself that it was all a ruse, that he’d meant it to be you from the start, that there was no other girl, that all along it was -

“Hey,” Harry says.

You cough, palming away the tears on your face and yawning like you’d just woken up. “Oh, hey… How’s, um - how’s she doing? Or - whoever - I mean -” You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“She’s fine,” Harry tells you. “How are you? Took a pretty long nap there…”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I was… I’m tired.”

“C’mon, then, let’s get you home.” He smiles at you, dimpling adorably, and holds out his hand. You take it and slide off the back of his car. “Thanks,” you say. He nods and shuts the trunk while you get into the passenger seat.

You don’t say anything as he starts the car, as he backs out and heads for your place. He glances over at you, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, and eventually turns on the radio. You fold up a sticky note and covertly slide it into the center console.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” you tell him when he stops the car.

He nods. “See you then.”

You hold his gaze for a second, and then get out of the car. As you’re shutting the door, Harry says, “Hey!” and you stop. “Hey, er - thank you. For coming tonight. I know it was a little… It was a bit much.”

“Not too much at all,” you say softly. “Bye, Harry.”

You shut the door.

***

The sticky note business began about a year after Harry met you. He’d mentioned something about refrigerator magnets being the most charming form of communication ever invented, and the next day he found a sticky note on his mirror that said, Note to self: find a more charming form of communication than refrigerator magnets.

Harry doesn’t find the sticky note in his console until the next night, when he’s driving home after working late and he’s trying to find his phone. It’s ringing, and it’s your ringtone, which is really, really annoying because you set it to the worst song you could think of so he’d be motivated to pick it up fast.

It’s not in the center console. It’s actually in his pocket. He picks it up.

“Harry, you gotta tell me now,” you say immediately. “Do you love me?”

“I -”

“Love or care, Styles.” You sound breathless. “L or C. Lover or Cunt. Tell me now.”

“Cunt,” Harry says reflexively, and then shakes his head. “I mean -”

“You don’t love me.” You don’t sound upset at all. You’re just clarifying.

Harry frowns. “I… What’s going on?”

“Well, I think I love this guy, Styles, and I’m about to fuck him, so I’ll talk to you later.”

And then you hang up.

Harry stares at his phone for a moment. Then he puts it down, frowning at the street in front of him, and thinks for a while until he gets home. When he does, he’s shutting the center console, which he’d left open, and he sees the little post it note.

Note to self: buy a pink rose for h to make him like them bc they’re pretty

Sitting in his car, staring at the note, Harry can’t help but think he’s messed it all up.

***

Sunday. You don’t show up.

***

Another Sunday. Harry orders a coffee and reads the newspaper.

You don’t show up.

***

You answer a text.

He asks if you’re okay, and you say, Yup!

***

You send a text.

Hey, Styles? Can you bring me a flower?

***

He should’ve gone to your place first, Harry’s thinking. He should’ve checked there, and then gone here. But it’s too late now. He’s stepping out of his car, trekking through the forest, and he’s finally here, and -

You’re on your back, staring at the stars.

“You know, I really thought he was the one.”

Harry bites on his lip and fiddles with the flower in his hands. “Did you?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you sigh and sit up. “No.”

“He didn’t - you’re not… You’re okay, right?”

“Nothing’s broken but my heart,” you murmur. “Physically, I’m fine, emotionally, I’m…”

You fade off, and Harry sits next to you and hands you the flower.

“Yellow,” you whisper. You look up at him, eyes wide in the moonlight. “Why yellow?”

“Color of your shirt the first time I met you.”

Smiling, you murmur, “Memory of an elephant.”

“I couldn’t remember her favorite candy,” Harry says impulsively. He shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. “Sorry. Wrong thing to say.” You shake your head, looking forward again. “It’s fine. How’s she doing?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

Surprised, you glance at him again. “You mean you -?”

Harry shrugs. “She said my priorities weren’t right. Then she said goodbye.”

“We’re just a coupla broken hearted fools, aren’t we?” you say quietly.

“Broken hearted, yes,” Harry replies, “but I’m not a fool. Don’t know about you.”

You scoff, hitting his chest with the back of your hand. “We’re having a moment here!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, but he’s laughing so the apology is moot.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you say, “I would’ve known about her if I hadn’t missed all our Sundays. I’m sorry.” Harry shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have fun, at least? With Mr. Heartbreak?”

You giggle. “So much fun.”

“Well… that’s good, at least.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment, he forgets himself.

You’re looking up at the stars, your head tilted up, your lips curved upwards in a smile.

Harry’s expression matches yours. It’s one of quiet awe, of happiness and joy and adoration. He’s smiling, too, but it’s not as conscious. It’s more reflexive, something he can’t help but do whenever he catches sight of this view. He’s not looking at the stars, though - his gaze is focused on you.

“Come on!” you exclaim suddenly, jumping up. “This is the perfect excuse to watch The Notebook again.” Harry blinks, standing up and following you back to his car. “You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says.

***

Ideally, on the anniversary of your meeting Harry, you’d both rent a hotel room and get drunk on the minibar, talking nonsense until morning, to properly reenact that first night together. Problem with that is that hotel rooms cost money.

So instead, you have a sleepover. Last year it was at your place, so this year it’s at his. The good thing about not being in a hotel is that you can buy normal size bottles of booze, rather than the teeny ones from the minibar.

He’s grabbing everything from the kitchen while you’re queueing up the movie on the TV in his room. It’s not cooperating, though, and you’re rooting through all the wires in the back to try and find something that’s supposed to be connected.

“Harry, if you don’t get in here this second!” you shout at him.

“Did you get the other remote?” he shouts back.

You groan and whine, “Just come in here!”

“I haven’t gotten everything yet! Look for the second remote. It’s in one of the drawers.”

“Which drawers?” you yell.

He doesn’t reply.

So you ruffle through the drawers closest to the TV. Books, papers, chargers. No remotes. You go further and find his record collection. A few photo albums. You stick a sticky note on the top one that says, Note to self: go through these. There’s more books. A few DVDs.

And then - a folder. It has a yellow flower on it.

Frowning, you glance at the door behind you and then flip it open. What must be a hundred post it notes fall out. Your jaw drops, just slightly, because they’re all from you. Every sticky note you’ve ever left him is in this folder. He kept them all.

“Did you find it?” Harry shouts.

You ask, “Find what?” but your voice is too soft and he doesn’t hear you.

He shouts your name again, and you quickly shove the folder back where you got it. You clear your throat, then yell, “Harry, I can’t find it!” Finally, he comes in, arms full of food and drink, and tugs open the top drawer on his bedside table with his foot.

And there it is.

“Have I got to do everything around here or what?” he jokes.

You give him a laugh and set up the TV, which works just fine now that you have the right tools. Harry sets everything down and puts his hands on his hips, raising a brow at you. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine,” you tell him. “Just grew a few white hairs waiting for you to come back.”

He sticks his tongue out and tosses a bag of chips at you. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

Finally, the movie’s set up, and you lean against his bed, sighing in contentment as the opening credits start to play. Harry hands you a glass and holds his own out, which you knock against your own. “Cheers, Styles,” you say. “To five years.”

“And counting.”

Grinning, you drink up and then settle back to watch the film.

***

His voice is thick.

Like honey.

It drips off his tongue, catches on his lips, slides down the column of his throat and glistens in the dim light. It’s rich. Deep. It turns to crystal in the cool air around you as his words fade off. You want to reach out and feel it on your fingers, want to taste it on your tongue, want to feel it slide over your lips, down your throat…

“... and then, suddenly, I was flying out the window with the worst pain I’ve ever -”

“Harry,” you interrupt with a giggle, “this is the third time you’ve told this story tonight.”

“It’s a good story!”

“Lemme see,” you say, crawling forward, and you’re on his lap now but you can’t really bring yourself to care because this is for scientific purposes. Harry grins and puts his hands on your waist and you giggle again and put your fingers on his jaw. “Lemme see your tongue.”

“Wanna see it or touch it?”

You smirk and reply, “How ‘bout lick it?”

“That’s gross!” Harry exclaims with a delighted laugh.

“I know!” you exclaim back, equally delighted.

“It’s broken,” Harry says, but he’s opening his mouth so it comes out all warbled. “I’m broken, you know -” You peer at his tongue, but it doesn’t look very broken. “No, you’re not,” you tell him.

“On the inside,” Harry says, pouting at you.

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, nestling your head on his shoulder in a hug. “You’re warm,” you say, “that’s what you are.” Harry nods against you, running his hands up and down your back. “You fix me,” he slurs into your neck.

“That’s so romantic!” you giggle.

You sit there for a second, breathing him in, feeling happy, and then suddenly -

“I’m roasting,” Harry says, and it’s morning.

“I’m so hot,” you groan, “and my head hurts so bad…”

Harry grunts and pushes against you. “Get off me.”

You open your eyes, squinting in the sunlight, and fall off of him and onto the floor.

He stands up, moaning and groaning, and walks out. You may have fallen asleep again because when he comes back in and hands you a glass of water and some medicine you’re blinking back awake. “Thanks,” you mumble, downing both.

“That was something,” Harry says.

“Something for sure,” you say.

“I can’t move,” Harry says.

“Me neither.”

So you don’t. The day drags on, and when you’re both coherent enough for food you go to the kitchen. Harry cooks something up, and you eat it, sitting next to him at the kitchen island. You feel his foot against yours, and you play a half-delirious game of footsie as you finish eating.

Once you’re all done, Harry stands up and starts to wash the dishes. You watch him, watch his back and his arms and the way he moves, and stand up and stand next to him, grabbing a dish towel and holding out your hand. He hands you the plate, and you dry it.

It’s comfortable, the silence, and it’s more than peaceful, standing there drying dishes with Harry in the early afternoon. There aren’t many dishes, but you both take your time, and eventually he breaks the silence and the productivity to put on some music.

And then, suddenly, you’re dancing, a smile on your face that you can’t seem to get rid of curving your lips as you float around the kitchen with him. He’s bopping along to the song, hand in yours, dish towel over his shoulder after he stole it from you.

The dancing carries you to the living room, where he twirls you out so you can collapse onto the couch. He does the same, and you put your feet on his lap, head on the armrest, looking at him.

“You’re staring,” he says.

“You’re in front of me.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

You raise a brow, smiling and still holding his gaze, and then sit up. “Staring contest, go.”

Instantly, he blinks, and you laugh, “Fuck’s sake.”

“No, no, again,” he demands, grinning, and he blinks quickly a few times before declaring, “Go.” The staring begins. Your eyes begin to sting, and you bite your lip, trying to keep your eyes open.

“We should watch Bird Box,” Harry whispers.

“Saw it last week.”

“I saw it,” he corrects. “You hid behind your hands the entire time.”

“You were the one screaming like a baby.”

“I prefer rom-coms, you know that.”

“Sometimes you need a little variety in life.”

“I lost the bet.”

You blink.

“Victory,” Harry says, a bit weakly, blinking too.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“Victory,” Harry repeats, smiling sheepishly.

“No, no, before that,” you insist, shaking your head.

“I lost the bet,” Harry repeats softly.

You swallow thickly. “What bet?”

Harry bites his lip, concentrating, and then stands up and walks away. You scoff, following him, and ask again. “What bet?” He shakes his head, quiet, and opens his refrigerator, looking for something.

“Harry, for the love of -”

He holds out a kiss. A chocolate kiss.

Your eyes widen.

He steps closer, holding the kiss out on his palm. “I lost the bet,” he says. “I fell in love with you.” Your breath catches in your throat. “I don’t know if you feel the same,” he goes on, “so I… I don’t want to kiss you. I mean - I do, but -”

He holds the kiss closer to you. “I lost,” he finishes quietly.

You can’t find the right words.

So instead, you close the distance and kiss him.

The chocolate kiss falls to the floor, and fireworks erupt behind your eyelids.

After a moment, the words come.

And then, when you pull away for a moment, you both speak at the same time -

“I love you.”

Laughter bubbles from your lips, and Harry grins, kissing you again.

“So I guess I didn’t lose after all,” he murmurs.

You smile against his lips. “Let’s call it a tie.”

***

AHHHH there it is!!!! i actually did write this in like . two days . which was ! great haha but i hope u liked it!!!! if u did, feedback and a reblog would be much appreciated 💜

thanks for reading!

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