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ineffablydelighted · 1 year ago

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[How exploring the Ineffable Husbands' dynamic in Good Omens can help us figure out what the show/book is all about, Part 1/?]

Also called: This human has, apparently, too much time on her hands and will be trying to Effable the Ineffable for [...] hours.

Ah, Hello! 👋

I'm ineffably delighted to meet you all! 😇

Let's cut to the chase and bear with me as we try together to analyze further the subject of the day:

Aziraphale is in love with Crowley and I am pretty sure he is aware of that fact BUT

[yes, there is a "but", do not erase me from the Book of Life just yet, let me explain first, homie 🥺]

I do not believe he can comprehend WHY he is just yet, and what that would mean for him in terms of... well... EVERYTHING he ever stood for.

It will also be the perfect roots to answer the biggest question yet :

What is Good Omens all about, exactly?

[Yeah, it's a tough one. When I say "bear with me", I really insist on the fact that it will be LONG. I will try my best to make it fun to read and to allow some "natural breaks" but know that I would appreciate your unshared attention if you're willing to give it to me. 😇]

Although, would you have the chance to ask him about it (probably looking at a cup of tea as we would all do in Earthy fashion), Aziraphale would have somewhat of an answer to give you, probably in the range of:

"Because, deep down, Crowley is the nicest being I've ever known."

Is it false? No, Crowley IS nice. Swaggeringly nice, occasionally unhinged, but still. Nice.

And that is somewhat the core of the... "problem" for our soon-to-be Supreme Archangel [Yep, the pain is still fresh, thanks for asking, you're welcome for reminding you 😭👍] because, as much as Crowley learned nuances due to past experiences (Falling being, most likely, the most traumatic one,) Aziraphale remains bound to think in absolutes. And everything relates to THIS perfect meme right there:

[Whoever you are, person/entity who has done that, you have forever my utmost gratitude and respect]

I'm far from bringing anything new to the table here, but to Aziraphale, Crowley should NOT have fallen in the first place. Because of how nice he is. Crowley IS an angel, to him. In fact, I'll go even further by stating that, to Aziraphale,

Crowley is more of an Angel than ANY Angel in the "Main Office."

Let's present our other contestants, shall we?

When he ruled, Gabriel was an absolute a** and had an ego the size of, idk, at least A DOZEN GALAXIES. He made Aziraphale feel like... well... poop most of the time they interacted.

That is why, in S2 when Gabriel/Jim tells him "I love you", Aziraphale, even being and considering himself a "creature of love", happens to be utterly unable to either reciprocate or take the compliment. At this moment, later enhanced when he reminds himself of the Job case, he realizes he is able to feel, if not hatred, NOT love NOR admiration for somebody he should somewhat consider a role model.

That is very important for Aziraphale's present and future character development, especially considering Gabriel/Jim's own fate, so please keep that in mind.

Michael? Oh God, Same if not worse: too condescending and ambitious in the wrong way to inspire anything nice to anybody.

Sandalphon just does what they are told but can totally throw a punch if necessary.

Uriel is mostly cold, occasionally cruel, and can also be physically threatening.

[I love the actress, though. Gloria Obianyo deserves a Ph.D. in Resting Bitch Facing for her performance in Good Omens alone and I'm here for it.]

S2 Saraqael seems to be more layered but has also been hurtful to Aziraphale (especially when she ironized that he couldn't possibly be the 25-Lazarii-magnitude-miracle caster).

Overall, S1 Aziraphale refers to the "Main Office" Angels as "BAD ANGELS!" after their hostile encounter. We could see from his face he would have wanted to use harsher words but couldn't get past his forgiving, decent nature.

Before we talk any furfur-ther [Am I proud of this so-called pun? A-BSOLUTELEH 😎🤭], let's add a really important stone/layer to our favorite Angel's thinking: to him, it is simple maths:

GOOD = RIGHT, BAD = WRONG

And let's save it for later, shall we?

[Killgrave dear is just here to remind you you can take a break anytime to drink a glass of Talisker if you'd like, or, more so, if HE'd like. Also because that character is THE best David Tennant role on television - 10th Doctor being the worthy third, I let you guess which character is our second now - and I might have wanted to use this gif just to be able to say that, who knows? *whispers* Mysssteryyyy...]

Anyway.

To a being like Aziraphale, who mostly thinks in dichotomy, being an Angel requires one main requirement: being GOOD.

[Buy a farrrrrm and be good! Not just "pretendy" good but. properly. GOOD! - NO, I couldn't find the gif and YES, I'm mad about it, but since I'm also unable to make one myself, I'll just shut it.]

That is why he refers to the Main Office Archangels as simply being BAD.

At that moment, they had been mean to him, threatening, and, by doing so, they became somewhat active in Hell's Armageddon project. Making them "bad" angels, but, more so:

Bad at BEING Angels.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is, at heart, the penultimate goody-two-shoes: he does feel bad about himself whenever he does something bad/wrong such as lying (it has started to change, and I'll nuance that statement another time, but you get the grip).

He is constantly scared he might fall whenever he somewhat defies God's will or the idea he built in his head of what an Angel should be(have).

But have you paid attention to how his "Angelmates" NEVER seem to CARE about their own displays of, let's say "unconventional characteristics" for what should be the highest "Representatives of the sole concept of Good"?

Have you ever seen Gabriel or Michael being self-conscious about their narcissism and condescending tendencies? Uriel about their coldness? Saraqael about their sarcastic nature? Any of them about their use of violence? Of course not! They seem to be perfectly fine with it!

They own their characteristics, good AND bad.

Aziraphale does not.

Aziraphale is... soft. Even if he, at times, expresses regrets to be just that, he also applies it to his Angelic nature.

You know who else is soft?

Crowley.

Crowley is soft because he cannot kill children and takes it upon himself to LITERALLY DEFY BOTH GOD AND SATAN'S WILL TO SAVE SAID CHILDREN, including two annoying ones [especially the one who DARED to hit on Aziraphale but that is a topic for another day]

[MASSIVE Bildad the Shuhite fangirl here, consider yourselves warned.]

Crowley is soft because he cannot even kill GOATS.

Defying both God's and Satan's will to save kids? Yeah, eventually, okay.

Defying God's and Satan's will to save goats? Man, that's so effingly. more. powerful.

[Oh, look! A bird flying, normal thingy, nothing to see here, buh-bye!]

Crowley is soft because he proposes/"tempts" Aziraphale to "eat a spot of lunch", especially whenever his Angel experiences stress.

We have barely seen him eat, which might indicate he does not have such a strong taste for it personally. He only goes to the Ritz to enjoy Aziraphale's company and to watch him happily eat scrumptious, comforting foods.

[Okay, also because it morphed into a proper kink at some point but that is NOT today's subject, so stop trying to make me deviate from it! 😣]

Oh, and, before you bring that up, no, the alcohol motive is not relevant since he can, in all probability have a glass of Talisker in ANY sort of pub/restaurant in London.

[As a proper peated whisky lover who happens to be French, let me tell you this is NOT the case in my country and I'm super duper jealous of you, lads.]

Crowley is soft because he takes care of both Gabriel and Aziraphale's bookshop, even if it is clear he loathes the first and expressingly said he would not be a bookseller "even at gunpoint."

And, by "taking care of", know that I MEAN IT: he kept an eye on Jim, didn't wake him up when he heard him snore, answered any question he had, no matter how seemingly stupid they were [Even if Crowley, of all beings, cannot be anything but a raging "There is no stupid question, only stupid answers" representative] and offered him hot cocoa. As for the Booksho-P[uhhhhh *exhales in asthma*], he attempted to repair Jim's messy ordering twice and meticulously rearranged the place after ✨the Ball✨

[What do you mean, "he also Killgraved him into jumping out of the window?" HE ALSO STOPPED HIM FROM DOING SO, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. #NotBiasedInTheSlghtestIndividual]

Crowley is soft because he shares his Bentley with Aziraphale. Which is a VERY. BIG. DEAL. considering it was, at the time, HIS LAST ONE AND ONLY PRIZED POSSESSION.

[Should I mention that the Bentley FALLS IN LOVE with Aziraphale or is debating on whether or not that falls into the Oedipian complex territory off-topic? Yes, I'll see myself out.]

Crowley is soft because he rescues Aziraphale on countless occasions, even though, 99% of the time, that is pretty much unnecessary.

For real, guys: if Aziraphale had been discorporated in the course of his 6000+ years on Earth at any other given moment BUT on the eve of THE WAR with a capital "W", nobody in Heaven would have flinched.

[I do have a theory, though: maybe being re-incorporated takes quite a long time, which would have meant too many years apart from each other, hence the growing Damsel in Distress kink in Aziraphale, idk THAT IS NOT TODAY's SUBJECT, OKAY?!]

Also, Crowley is soft because "doing that makes him so happy".

Do you know who is supposedly "so happy" to save living things, aka GOD'S CREATIONS? Angels.

Crowley is soft because he rescues Aziraphale even when it is ACTUALLY ENDANGERING for both of them

He risked: his life, his pretty comfortable position "he carved out for himself", both his Earthy and Infernal homes sort of speak, AND EVEN HIS CAR to save his Angel's bottom/help him out in the direst situations (like stopping time to stop SATAN HIMSELF.)

[Also his past/present/future existence altogether, but the Bentley is more important, as I'm sure we'll all agree.]

[That is a Class A Protective/Helpful Husband, right there.]

Crowley is soft because he encourages Aziraphale to follow his passion for ✨prestidigitation✨

Even though he is pretty... amateurish at it. Not only does he encourage him, but he also HELPS him when he accepts to be his dashing assistant on stage.

[Yes, he does tell S1 Aziraphale to stop doing magic because he "has no idea how demeaning that is" but I'm pretty sure it was BECAUSE of S2 1941's events. Also, #WeStan1941Crowley here.]

Crowley is soft because he works pretty hard to make two humans he barely knows fall in love.

Yes, he also does it to cover his and Aziraphale's 25-Lazarii-magnitude-miracle lie BUT don't tell me his amazed expression when he thought he was about to witness Nina and Maggie actually falling for each other was not the purest, sincerest of all.

Finally, even if I could come up with more examples,

Crowley is soft because he saved Aziraphale's books JUST because he KNEW and CARED that Aziraphale CARED about said books.

That also, in Michael Sheen's very own opinion [as stated by Neil Gaiman in S1 GO DVD commentary], shared by many fans, and myself very much included, marks the moment

Aziraphale falls in love with Crowley.

[I DARE you to tell me THIS is NOT THE LOOK OF LOVE PERSONIFIED, go on, fight meh.]

So. WHY did it happen at that moment in particular? Well, because, first of all:

As a proper Jane Austen fan, Aziraphale is a slow burner.

Also, to him, an actual Angel, love is everywhere, so differentiating one love from another might be more difficult for somebody who can feel it whether or not it is even their own.

BUT [have you started getting used to my "but"s yet or should I harass you some more?] Let's go back in time to see how every previous encounter (that we know of) led to that pinnacle, shall we?

[Oh and, YES, this sort of essay will be long, and NO, I had no idea how much it would be when I started writing it, and still haven't, tbh 🤷‍♀️]

During part 2, we will also dive a little bit deeper into what Good Omens is all about.

[Yeah... I figured we would all need a break at this point.]

More on that later, then!

Hope I kept your interest at a reasonable peak. See you soon, Angels ❤

Need help to find the rest of this analysis? I've got you covered! Follow me, Angel 😇

Previous - Beginning (you're here) - Next

#Ineffable Husbands #Good Omens analysis #Good Omens #Good Omens S2 #Aziraphale in love #Good Omens theory #Aziraphale #Crowley #Aziracrow #Effable the Ineffable #Philosophy #Good Omens is a philosophical essay disguised as comedic/satyric/romantic Fiction and I am here to prove it #A maniac woke up one morning and decided to overanalyze everything about her current favorite thing #even though that will not help her control her hyperfixation in the slightest #also too many hashtags but you know I have issues already

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ladyswillmart · 1 year ago

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“I’m sorry,” he then spouted, pausing abruptly at the foot of the bridge. “I am not very good company tonight, am I.”

Hivallion looked down at the hobbit—in a purely literal sense—upon hearing such a needless apology.

Actually. He wanted to walk that one back a bit; what was the best way for an elf to address a hobbit? Would it be more polite to kneel to his address or would it come off as condescending? Thus far he could only consider his own dealings with a student of his, a native of the Shire village of Stock, and Arlen Askew didn’t seem to mind whether Hivallion stood or knelt or even passed out beneath a shrub after having a single pull of cider from the Bent Elbow in Tighfield.

Actually. The less said about that particular episode, the better.

However, this Baggins character seemed entirely unlike the hobbit Hivallion knew best. For one thing, unlike Arlen’s insouciant (if utterly gormless) approach to the grand carnival of life, Frodo handled his affairs with a great deal of introspection—alas, to such a degree of anxiety that the likes of Gandalf the Grey himself asked Hivallion to take a stroll with the fellow through the fresh and hopefully ameliorative air of Rivendell.

Perhaps the opportunity to speak frankly with a relative stranger—yet one known to myself and others—might go a long way towards easing a troubled heart, the hoary old wizard ventured. Besides, no doubt our mutual friend Elrond has already made him aware that he has something in common with you...

But when Hivallion asked Gandalf what that something might be, he chose not to disclose the specifics, only that it would come as a surprise, should he ever find out.

“That’s alright,” he said, electing to remain upright; this weather was already making his knees ache. “Honestly, I am not usually very good company myself.”

“Oh? But you’ve listened to everything I’ve said so far, I can tell, and I would ask nothing more of a stranger,” Frodo returned with a shrug. “And should I have anything else to say on our walk, I am sure you’ll listen to that too.”

“Rather trusting sort, are you?”

“Elrond himself recommended you to me! He said you were an elf to ride the river with, right as a trivet. That’s a turn of phrase straight out of Tookland, and it sure sounded funny coming from his mouth, but there you have it. He seemed awful proud to know you.”

Hivallion lowered his head, feeling his face burn about the cheeks. In absence of a fierce breeze, he could only attribute the sensation to his own overactive bashfulness.

“Besides, I already know that Gandalf asked you to take this walk with me,” Frodo went on. “It was kind of you to humor us, especially on a cold winter night!”

“The air does have a strange sort of bite to it lately, does it not?” Hivallion noticed, carefully.

“It is December,” Frodo reminded him.

“Indeed, but Rivendell doesn’t bite. Not normally. I wonder if—”

“—well, Master Elrond did tell me that a Morgul-wound might make you feel that way for a long time after receiving it. As if sometimes you simply cannot warm up, even when you’re sitting right in front of the fire. Even after the wound heals, the chill can sort of linger within you like a ghost haunting your very bones.”

“Master Elrond told you all that, did he...?”

“He did. And he told me that you were so badly wounded by a Black Rider’s blade that you slept for years and years! Right there in his house, in the Hall of Rest!”

“Mm.” Hivallion nodded, grimly; he did so wish Elrond would stop telling tourists about this, though he had to concede that it was as much Elrond’s story as it was his own. “‘twas during the Battle of Dagorlad, at the end of the previous age, if you recall your history. I was wounded by the Witch-King of Angmar himself, and yes, I really did spend the subsequent millennia convalescing in Tham Send. But there is no need to trouble your own imagination with such nasty things! That war happened a very, very long time ago,” Hivallion stated, adding sheepishly, “and I am a very, very old elf.”

“Older than Elrond?”

Hivallion nodded again.

“Older than Glorfindel?”

Hivallion tipped his head. Perhaps?

“Older than Gandalf?”

“Well! Not that old.” Hivallion didn’t think so, anyway. “But Elrond spoke true, and in such matters he is an expert: Morgul-steel can do many dreadful things to a person, though I suppose whatever becomes of the victim ultimately will depend on the intent of whoever is wielding the blade.”

“But what did the Witch-King intend to do with you?” Frodo asked. “What happened? And why did it happen?”

And how many times had he been questioned so? Hivallion wondered this as he chafed his bare hands and watched his breath coalesce, delicately frosted plumes visible against twilight and tree-silhouettes. Though far-removed in time and space, the mere reminder of that day only served to amplify the hollow sting of a lonely winter night.

What happened? His friends and allies had been asking him that question ever since the what happened happened, but never Why. To ask Why of a Nazgûl usually felt about as productive as asking Why of a marmot obliterating one’s garden peonies.

But Frodo Baggins obviously possessed good hobbit-sense, and coming from his mouth the question sounded strangely sensible, and produced the notion that perhaps one really should ask Why of such things more often.

“As I remember it, or at least as Elrond and several other friends of mine have helpfully remembered for me, I was scouting an enemy encampment while trying to investigate what became of an ally of ours named Thelaron,” Hivallion told him. “I cannot tell you what I was expecting to find at that overlook, but I can say for certain that I did not expect to meet the Witch-King of Angmar himself, face-to-face—well, face-to-whatever passes for a face to a Nazgûl.”

“Did you exchange words?”

“Oh yes, I should think so. He had a few words for me, at least.”

“Did you exchange blows?”

Hivallion shook his head. “Did we do battle, you mean? Oh no!” He laughed. “Imagine the likes of this old Falathrim trying to defeat a Nazgûl in single combat! No, I am no warrior, Mister Baggins. A-and anyway, I was so petrified—”

“—but then he stabbed you anyway, just like that...?”

Hivallion held his arms together, close and tight against the encroaching cold; their walking pace had slowed to a near stand-still and it would not do for much longer. “Forgive me. The encounter challenges my memory now as much as it challenged my senses back then. But yes, he stabbed me, just like that. I do know that his blade pierced my armor, very close to my heart, and yet I do not think he intended to kill me, not outright...”

But you, Hivallion Pellithorn! You shall be changed, and you will return to Gil-galad as his greatest foe!

Those last words he recalled hearing from the Witch-King, stuffed like an unwanted Mathom into a shadowy, abandoned cobweb-corner of his memories. Probing deeper, Hivallion felt a curious thickening deep within his ears and throat, muddling his balance and producing a vague queasiness and the sensation that he was falling into darkness like a loosened star...

Fortunately his lapse into such disquiet was briefer in reality than it felt to him; Hivallion returned his attention to the hobbit, asking brightly, “This is by the by, but know you the story of the Witch-King, Lord of Angmar? I mean, the man himself, the Númenórean, not the Nazgûl he eventually became.”

“I—”

“—wait! So long as we are posing the Why of things, why would anyone, much less Elrond, ever see cause to dredge up such appalling subjects with you in the first place? Cursed Morgul-steel and ghastly wounds and Black Riders!” Hivallion groaned and apologized. “Oh dear, oh dear! And I was supposed to be helping you clear your mind, not stuff it to bursting with even more horrible things!”

“But you did help, Mister Pellithorn!” Frodo insisted. “There I was, maundering on about my own troubles when there are so many things about my life that I should treasure! My health, my friends! True, I have been given a most frightful task, but at least I am still walking amidst the warmth and wonder of Middle-Earth! When I could have been laid up in a bed for the next three-thousand years...! Imagine that!”

Hivallion, of course, did not need to imagine such a thing. “Well! I am full glad that some measure of good came from my misfortune,” he jested, “that I was able to provide some small comfort for whatever was plaguing you. Just as well, as I believe our little talk is over.”

“Oh?”

The overly conspicuous rustling from a nearby abelia shrub eventually revealed the tumbling form of another hobbit, whom Hivallion did not recognize outright.

“Sam?” Frodo guessed, squinting through the gloom.

“There you are, Mister Frodo!” huffed the eavesdropper—(Sam, yes Samwise Gamgee is this one’s name, Hivallion strained to recall)—as he brushed the twigs and dried leaves from his hair. “You really shouldn't go off by yourself, you know!”

Even in the darkness, Hivallion could feel the bore of Samwise’s keen eyes, aware that he was now being evaluated from top to bottom, and that whatever the hobbit observed did not impress.

“N-now, I'm sure you're a perfectly respectable elf, but I'd just as soon you left Mister Frodo alone,” Sam reported.

“Of course,” said Hivallion, dipping into a stunted half-bow. “But there is no need for alarm. I accompanied him at Gandalf’s request.”

“That may be so, and I don't mean no offense, but Mister Frodo's gotten himself into trouble with strange folk before, if you take my meaning.”

“Oh honestly!” Frodo protested. “Mister Pellithorn is hardly strange! He is Elrond’s friend! And he is familiar with the you-know-whats. A you-know-what did a you-know-what to him, with a you-know-what.”

“Do I know-what?”

“Yes! The things, Sam. The things that are doing the thing because they seek the thing that Gandalf told us not to talk about here.”

“That covers an awful lot of things, Mister Frodo.”

Hivallion excused himself with a pointed cough. “Ahem! Then I do hope you will forgive my intrusion into the business of you and your friend, Mister Gamgee. I had no idea things were evidently so, uh, thing-ish,” he tried. “In fact, perhaps I should be on my way now; I am supposed to be meeting an old friend of mine in town for supper, and no doubt she is now peering into her drink and wondering where I've gone. But never mind that, you two will surely catch your death of a cold out here! Then old Gandalf might never forgive me for that, hm?”

With that, Hivallion and the two hobbits exchanged their good nights and good lucks, with the former graciously leaving the latter with their privacy intact. He did not need any more detail than what Frodo had provided: A you-know-what did a you-know-what to him, with a you-know-what. And that was that. And now the hobbits’ assemblage was about to undergo what he suspected was some Incredibly Important Endeavor, with which he absolutely did not, under any circumstances, want to involve himself.

However, as he continued down the path, veering west towards the markets, his long ears helplessly caught Frodo’s parting shot by the tail end:

“Three-thousand years—! That could’ve been me, Sam!”

“Mister Frodo, what are you talking about...?”

#LotRO #they both Survived an Edged Weapon #and now Hivallion is surviving Frodo's Burden #and moving very awkwardly

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innocencelives · 22 days ago

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talking to myself: An Idiosyncratic Life & A True Tinfoil Hat

i do still fall into spaces where its-maybe i made it up? maybe my moms right?-but im able to recognize, how heavily i was gaslit, how my mothers perspective-representative of the entire family-poisons my everyday world. i think about, what would she think of my messy place? what condescending, devaluing thing would she tell me about it? i start arguing with her, or worse-i start bonding with her. but shes not there. just her spirit, like a demonic infestation from several states away, its a curse to know shes breathing, and that her perspective still persists unchallenged in her world. but its hard to doubt it, when i ask myself, when i realize, a portion of the sexual abuse that happened later in my life, is as clear as day, as solid as concrete.

i do doubt the severity of it all. perhaps i dont doubt it, im in disbelief about it. im still, still, years and years later, still shocked by it. i still cant believe this pretty picture was tainted the whole time. but these two realities never merged, thats whats frustrating. they exist as separate states of mind, i vacillate between one and the other, unable to integrate the two into a cohesive life story.

black and white thinking i guess? the true reality, the one where i suffered more than anyone should, the one where one foundational trauma was expounded upon and multiplied until it was all i knew, until it eclipsed everything. the original trauma could be considered unbelievable, improbable sure-but knowing it is true, it makes all the gaslighting true.

things like psychiatrists convinced by my mom to medicate a psychosis that didnt exist. truly medically sedated, blamed by everyone, disbelieved and shunned by everyone i trusted, therapists and psychiatrists trying to convincing me i made it up, therapists who are seeing my father who raped me at the same time as they were seeing me, collaborating with my parents to deny my abuse. collaborating with my parents to GASLIGHT me. THAT is unbelievable, shocking, like a fucking movie. a conspiracy! a fucking tinfoil hat conspiracy of a life.

i mean. am i supposed to not have doubts? how could i, how could i just trust myself outright when my father admitted what he did, a few years before he seemed to genuinely say he didnt know what i was talking about. sometimes i feel like im in the wrong timeline. i wasnt supposed to understand what happened, i was supposed to continue to believe that was normal. maybe i could have lived a decent life. instead i chose to hold on to my truth, steadfast, stubborn and unwavering, clinging to memories that left me decrepit and crippled.

why would i do such a thing? of course i wanted to forget, to put it back, to close pandoras box and move on. but you see there was an indescribable feeling, that i try to explain to people to no avail. in 10th grade, when i opened it, i was triggered just by the word “boy” by the word “abuse”. but these triggers were freeing, like they released me from a burden. they hurt, so, so, so badly. i remember vividly, in chemistry class, there was a page of this big textbook, 581 or something, that had a picture of a sad little boy. every time i was in that class, i would flip to that page, look at it, and become lost in grief and melancholy.

that idiosyncratic symptom has followed me a decade later. just like in middle school i will sometimes read vivid, disturbing descriptions of war crimes such as the holocaust, unit 431, serial killers, serial rapists, pictures and all. this isnt morbid curiosity, no, this is a form of self harm. a futile attempt to understand the inexplainable nature of incestous abuse. a crime that so denies everything we hold dear about this earth that there is a genuine historical record of people disbelieving its entire existence. not just instances, freud himself believed this phenomenon of people coming to him about their abuse must be a kind of common fantasy.

i think part of the reason its been so many years and ive never recovered is that ive never gotten anything remotely close to closure. and i probably never will. they will continue to live their lives unaffected by the abuse, and i will continue to suffer from it-until the day we both die. nothing can be resolved, no book can be closed, nothing can be put behind me. feels like i walk around town with a knife in my back.

i know ill never know peace, but i can find contentment.

i can never be unburdened, but the burden can be accepted.

if i am haunted, then i will live as a person haunted

if i am burdened, i will live a life with my burden beside me.

if my life is half-lived, it is still a life after all.

#txt post

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rosedesang · 7 months ago

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Bellamy to provocation does not react so well. A competitor, hungry for a continuous win, that's what he is. Taiyang's words to Bellamy's fighter taking a damageful hit only hardens the clench of the heir's jaw, his eyes on the fight he's about to lose, his hands down his pocket while Taiyang is sitting down the couch in his back. The Black Fang King has a certain sense of humor - Bellamy can have one too, sadly not when a victory of his is on the line, no matter how small it is. It's just a dirty underground fight, isn't it. Pride, the Kang is driven by not just the power, he is driven by Pride too. "Someone's about to lose six months of roof above his head I fucking guess." Words in between his teeth that comes as a raw, unfiletered, from the heir, priviledged, up on the ladder enough to decide if the one in the cage lives in the streets or not. "It is not an easy task to find skilled fighters nowadays. It's just not like it used to be, they have gotten lazy with inflation." Comments the heir before shouting. GET HIM, KILL HIM OR I KILL YOU MYSELF. An order. One that seems to be working like fuel as his fighter does stand again to fight for his life, he hits and hits and hits as Bellamy keeps on shouting and well, threatening him. The crowd is on fire, all of them, cheering for Bellamy's fighter who is now winning. The KO is pronounced. "YES!" Adds Bellamy fist up, as his fighter is announced winner. The heir is satisfied, for tonight.

Their little debate however, is an even more interesting part of the night. The poor, the rich, it is all the same to Bellamy, the one with the biggest hammer slams the hardest - no matter who it is handed to. The Kangs have the power in question for now, he likes it this way, he wants it to stay that way. The future head of the Kang family is concerned however about what might do his cousin, Kang Gaya. Gaya has never been a preoccupation to him when younger, she simply appeared to be the different Kang, the outsider, the adopted, the quiet and sinister little girl who to him, can never be family. Everything his uncle could have expected from Gaya, she does - positionning herself as one of the most influantial figure in Law with the family firm Kang and Associates, standing right behind her father with the world soon at her feet. It seemed Taiyang perfectly understands the message, yet Bellamy must make it clearer for a future that he fears and foresees. "That is indeed what I am stating. Anybody, inconsciously or not, is willing to sell their soul for all the money and power they can grab. Truly, we all do, in a way, at our own scale, with our own ambitions but we do. Money is survival, it is in human nature to aim for the survival of ourselves, of our families isn't it? It's in our instinct, in our DNA." A statement. "I do not mind you not sharing my point of view. In fact, it makes it all way more interesting or should I say, fascinating, to me. I do admire the noble colors of your cause, the ones Black Fang seems to wear. It's... Honorable." Meant yet quite condescending in the delivery. "May you never lose yourself, Taiyang Tseng." The words are spoken with a slight raise of his glass of scotch. "On the subject of my dearest cousin, I believe you and her have called off some sort of alliance or should I say, friendship? I out of respect won't question what came in between the two of you. However, if you need another Kang in your life, I would gladly take her seat." A side smirk that is soon replaced with a more serious facial expression. "In appromatively one year from now, Kang Gaya is going to be named one of the youngest Judges in the history of the country. It is the natural continuum of the career the other side of the family has planned for her. Sadly, money and power might be in the Kang's hands, she is a lone wolf, I don't trust her to fight for this family, I can only imagine her climbing the ladder for her own agenda. I wouldn't normally worry but once she becomes Judge, her word will be supreme law, she could get rid even of Me if she wanted. To protect what's mine, I must be prepared. Can I count on your support, if anything goes south on that matter? You can go and ask me what's in it for you. Well, you might already know having my phone number to call can make a difference. So, I can guantee you will able to count on me, too."

#玫瑰 : 𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐲 / the sovereign.#玫瑰 : 𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐲 / interactions.

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broke-art · 2 years ago

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Wukong x reader Darkside

"We both know what you are." Your mother's voice spoke around you. A cave full of spider webs surrounded you flicking to a glowing blue then back to normal vision. Your mother's blue silhouette appearing each time your vision flickered.

First to your left.

"This fleeting attraction you have." She giggled.

You flinched stepping back.

She appeared Infront of you leaving close.

"It cannot possibly last. It isn't your destiny." She grinned.

Desperately you covered your eyes with your hands.

"I choose my destiny!"

Her condescending laughter filled your ears as the scene around you fell to black.

"I've taught you better than that, y/n. You will bring him to me." You could sense her right behind you just then. "And he will learn to Hate you!" On the second to last word she seemed to shove you.

Sun's pained yells filled your ears and the disturbing image of him being torn to pieces filled your mind.

"No, STOP!" you screamed sitting up in bed. You glanced around the room in a panic. No one was there. Sun's belongings were placed around. Some neat, others strewn.

In an instant the door flew open, your boyfriend stood in the door way with a shocked and protective look.

"Y/n? What's wrong?"

At that moment everything came crashing down in your head. Tears spilled down your cheeks and you started to cry.

She couldn't do this. Ignore you for decades then just show up when you were finally happy. Finally safe with someone who loved you dearly.

After all, he did love you right?

Wukong was by your side in an instant his speed made a small sonic boom, knocking things from the shelves in the next room. An the next thing you knew he was holding you against his chest gently.

"Not another nightmare." He sighed.

He was right, this was a nightmare. Just a nightmare, nothing more. Slowly, you forced yourself to nod curling closer to him.

"Don't worry, Im not gonna let anything hurt you." He promised with a reassuring smile.

You forced yourself to take deep breaths. He was right. Sun Wukong, the Monkey King was strong enough to protect you from anything, right?

That's when a thought struck you.

'His abilities are not what's in question. He can protect you, but can you protect him?'

The thought made your heart crack and you could almost hear your mother's mocking voice whispering the words simply to break you.

You shook your head. No, you would not let her get into your head.

"Hey, peaches. Speak to me. You still look dazed." Sun instructed lifting your chin.

"I-I am ok." You stammered. But that felt a good deal like a lie. "I'm fine." You stated firmly. "It was just a nightmare." You looked up him with what you hoped was a normal looking smile.

Wukong's jaw fell slightly at that moment, and he flinched away.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Peaches, your eyes are glowing." Sun pointed out with a frown.

"What?!" You gasped. You grabbed your phone turning on the front facing camera. Sure enough your eyes shone an icy blue. The mark of your mother's magic.

"Heh, I didn't know you had magic peaches." Wukong chuckled nervously. "That's weird, I would typically know." He mused in confusion holding his chin.

Your gut sank as your mother's voice sounded once more in your mind.

"We are one,you cannot escape me. You will embrace your destiny, my dear."

Sun offered his hand with a smile.

"But don't worry peaches, we'll figure it out together."

*Yes I know, its short. But what makes a story impactful isn't the length, it's the message. The Daughter of the lady bone demon was originally the first idea I had for an OC. I have a few ideas if you'd all like more stories about it.*

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years ago

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Just One - John Winchester smut

The one where John has been obsessed with killing you but now that he found you...

Warnings: smut, as close to hatefucking as I can write, witch!reader, masturbation (f), oral (m, f), dirty talk, degradation laced with praise?, hairpulling kink, namecalling (bitch, whore), John wants it to hurt, slight size kink (blink and you’ll miss), p in v, spanking, biting, unprotected sex, cumplay, unspecified age gap

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: This one is a part of my kinktober celebrations. My original intention for this October was to work exclusively around prompts that my wonderful friend @darkficsyouneveraskedfor created for her challenge and dedicate each story to a different friend. My new plan became then 31 days of different kinks, which expanded on a poly relationship with Stucky, as you might know by now. However, some of the stories I started were already truly loved by me, and so I kept on writing them. It worked well because as it turns out, I am fortunate enough to have more than 31 friends on Tumblr, so here is the story I wrote for @negans-attagirl. This most likely celebrates my last time writing for John! Special thanks to my @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for reading this even though she’s not really into Supernatural! I love you for it!

I knew he was there. Watching. I’d been running away from him for so long, it felt like second nature now - to look over my shoulder, hold my breath when a stranger got too close. Watch the shadows and see if they took the form of a well-built man who wanted nothing more than to see me dead.

But I didn’t just wait around for my inevitable ending, oh no. I’d studied him just as much as he did to me, prepared myself for what was to come as I fled the state and traveled borders in the hopes of throwing him off. I concocted potions and spells and thought about everything I could do to him whenever he found me again.

Most of all, I thought of him. How could I not? Not only was he my main concern in this life, but the man was just walking sin. And if I were to go down, I was determined to at least go down on him before he killed me.

So I slowly left the diner across from the motel I’d been hiding in for the last three weeks and returned to my room, making sure to leave the door unlocked while I took off my clothes. The sound of the door closing behind me wasn’t unmistakable, and we both knew that. “Feel like joining me?” I asked as I sat down on the bed and spread my legs for his eyes, my hand traveling down my body, playing with my nipples before settling between my thighs. He didn’t look confused, not even for a moment.

This sexual tension between us, it’d never been one-sided. It was there from the beginning, electrifying our interactions as desire swirled in the air around us. I was convinced it was the main reason why he couldn’t just let me go.

He leaned his head to the side, but didn’t say anything. He was too focused on what I was doing, the way my fingers rubbed my clit before dipping inside my hole only to come back up wetter, the sounds of my actions filling the air around us.

“I don’t see why not.” The words sent a thrill up my spine, and without even stopping to consider what I was doing, I dropped to my knees before him, reaching out for his jeans. “Can’t let you get off all by yourself.”

I hummed appreciatively as I stuck out my tongue to lick the red head of his cock, already intoxicated with his taste. “Such a gentleman… even when you’re planning to kill me.” His chuckle was like thunder, reverberating through me and making my clit throb as I wrapped my lips around his member.

“It would be a waste if I didn’t put this pretty mouth to work.” His thumb brushed against my lower lip until I licked it and enveloped it with my mouth, making him groan. “So fucking warm. I’m gonna enjoy filling this hole with my cock.”

His words had me clenching around nothing, the overwhelming wetness that dripped from me now slathering the inside of my thighs, no doubt reaching the floor. It made me desperate to please him, desperate to fill my mouth with his cock.

So I wrapped my lips around the head of his member and began sucking, at first looking up to see his darkened, lust-filled eyes before actually closing mine to fully appreciate his taste, the weight of him on my tongue.

I licked every single inch of his skin until my saliva coated his member. It was a beautiful cock, a cock that deserved to be worshiped. I wasn’t one to enjoy being on my knees too much, but his thickness was just too tempting. I needed to pay it the proper respects.

So I took him as well as I could, ignoring the way tears rose to my eyes as I willingly choked myself on his cock, trying my best to breathe through my nose in an effort to reach his navel.

I wasn’t able to. But he didn’t seem to mind, hand wrapped around my hair, forcing my movements as I slobbered all over his dick. “Such a good little cocksucker…” he absentmindedly commented, almost to himself.

“Were you expecting me?” I looked up to see him looking down at me, actually waiting for an answer. So I pulled away, wiped the spit from my jaw before replying honestly, “Always.”

Because, well… How could I sleep peacefully without thinking about the man who wanted to kill me?

But his answer was a chuckle and an almost condescending head pat, his deep warm voice making me even wetter when he complimented, “Good girl.” God, he could kill me right now. I’d go willingly and happily.

I eagerly sucked him off a bit longer, losing myself in the almost-sounds that I could pick up from his body: the little groans and pants, the way he cleared his throat instead of growling his desire for me. He wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t show his satisfaction to a little witch.

I could live with that.

“Stop that.” His words were accompanied by a harsh tug on my hair, pulling me up until I was standing on my tip toes, my face mere inches from his. “Wanna fuck you now. I can kill you tomorrow.”

The fact that he never kissed me didn’t escape me. This was a quick fuck, it would not be mistaken as anything else. Still, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t drag as much fun out of it as I possibly could… especially considering these might very well be my last hours of living.

“So you want me?” I questioned, smirking at his answering huff. He didn’t want to admit it, of course - that would be recognizing I had some sort of power over him. So he opted to tighten his grip on my hair until I moaned from the pleasurable pain, eyes sparkling in their darkness as he took in just how desperate I was for him.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he settled for saying as I laughed. “Always a fucking tease. Is your cunt as bitter as your soul, brat?” I bit my lip as he threw me on the bed, already anticipating his next move.

“Find out for yourself.” His expression made it clear that he was doubtful when he tore off my underwear and threw the scraps of it over his shoulder, pulling me to the edge of the bed by my ankles without much care.

He pressed on the inside of my thighs to keep my legs spread for him, and when his tongue licked a line up my cunt, I clenched around nothing, eyes closing for just a second to relish in the barely-there sensation.

“Oh, fuck…” His voice was barely over a whisper, but I still heard it and when I opened my eyes to look at him, he was staring directly at his meal, like he couldn’t believe what he had just tasted. “So fucking sweet…”

He went back there with a newfound hunger, and although I knew he wasn’t doing this to make me cum, I also knew he would achieve that - easily. It didn’t take many of his long swipes over my hole, the twirls around my clit to make me gasp for him, hands flying down to pull on his hair.

I think the only reason he didn’t slap them away was because he seemed to like the slight sting I provided him.

“Fucking cum, bitch,” he growled at some point, surprising me until he revealed why it was that he wanted me to orgasm. “I want to drink all of your essence before I shove my cock into you, make sure it’ll really sting.”

But I knew it was more than that - I knew he wanted more of my taste. It was everywhere now, dripping from his beard, smearing the inside of my thighs, but he kept his eyes focused on me, waiting for my breaking point.

I saw embers of flames when it arrived. Maybe it predicted my death at the stake, but I couldn’t mind it. Not when John was rising to his full height and very easily turning me around to lay on my stomach, keeping my legs dangling off the edge of the bed when he kicked them apart.

I was trapped under his much larger body and I didn’t mind it at all. He shoved my face against the bed, like he didn’t want to see it as he slowly started to stretch me out.

I bit my lower lip as I struggled to adjust around his thickness, and by the sounds John was releasing, I could see he was just as overwhelmed by me and the pussy he wanted to destroy.

I couldn’t believe how good it felt to be ravished by John Winchester. No one had ever fucked me like this before, and I was sure he knew, with the melodic moans that kept slipping from my lips, try as I might to reel them in.

“Those fucking sounds…” He groaned behind me, seconds before his hand landed harshly on the right cheek of my ass, making me whine even louder. “You’re a filthy little whore, aren’t you?”

I was too far gone to even try to deny it, fucking myself back against his delicious thick cock, desperate to cum again, this time feeling completely full of him.

“Who would have thought…” He panted, hips maintaining their onslaught against me. “Nasty fucking witch, such a tight little pussy.” Each word was accompanied by a particularly brutal thrust and I relished in it. I relished in witnessing the great John Winchester get carried away because of my body.

“Fuck,” he cursed after he managed to locate my sweet spot, which in turn had me instinctively clenching around him. “Why do you feel so fucking good?”

Under him, I just giggled, my hand easily locating the spot above where we were connected so I could rub myself to an orgasm. “I’m convinced you’re the devil, little witch.”

Stifling a laugh, I started to move my hips back so I could fuck myself on him, showing him how I liked to be treated - even harder and rougher than he was already treating me. And because I really was a brat, I couldn’t help but taunt, “Do you feel sorry you have to destroy it?”

I knew he understood I was referring to my pussy, and when his hand slapped mine away so he could take over the motions over my clit, I closed my eyes to let bliss take me.

“Almost,” he grunted, a confession I almost lost in the fog of my high. But here lied an opportunity, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away without a fight.

“I mean… you could just keep it,” I offered, barely over a whisper so as not to anger the man who kept fucking me. I didn’t want him to stop his movements, so I hoped even if he did get pissed at my suggestion, he’d just take it out on me. “Use it whenever you want.”

I didn’t get a response from him - at least, not verbally. But he did speed up his movements, pounding me so hard the bed started to hit the wall and I knew we were seconds away from having the neighbors banging on it, telling us to keep it down, but I couldn’t care less.

Not when John was burying his face in the crook of my neck, beard tickling me as he bit on my shoulder to keep his roar from reverberating in the room when he shot his cum deep inside of me.

He didn’t wait even a second before pulling out. I missed his weight on top of me, but the feeling of his cum slowly slipping from my used pussy was enough to give me some comfort.

“Shit, I really opened you up, huh?” He chuckled, rubbing his cream around my hole before pushing it back into me, making me whine. “I’m still fucking hard. Did you put a spell on me, brat?”

I laughed as he massaged my ass, apparently incapable of fully retreating his touch from my skin. “Is that why I’m still aroused?” He insisted, rutting his very much, still hard member against my thigh. “Tell me.”

Stretching, I giggled at his silly accusation. “I think I just turn you on, old man,” I teased, wiggling my ass at him. He took the bait and spanked it, before I felt his weight leave the bed altogether.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower, wash you off of me,” he explained, stopping at the door of the bathroom to stare at me. “You better be there when I come out,” he warned and I bit my lip, understanding exactly what he meant.

“I don’t think I can walk if I tried,” I giggled, but he just tipped his head back, humming noncommittally. Before long, I heard the shower turning on, the sound of the water running down the drain almost lulling me to sleep.

I made sure to leave my panties right next to the note I wrote for him to find when he got out of the shower. Three simple words, a promise: “Until next time”.

#my fics #john winchester smut #john winchester #smut #john winchester x reader #john winchester reader #john winchester reader insert #john winchester reader inserts #john winchester fanfic #john winchester fanfics

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musingsofmyown · 2 years ago

Note

Ship: Johnlock

Crack or not idc

Plot: John finds out Sherlock is trans (ftm), hurt/comfort ensues.

Rating: Teen or above

Song: Trying by Cavetown

Omg thank you so much for the prompt anon!!!

I love writing trans!lock because I can use my own experiences with Sherlock

That being said:

the entirety of the fic is going to be under the cut due to the nature of the beginning-

Explicit Transphobia TW

Do not read if you are easily triggered by misgendering and transphobic harassment.

This is a hurt/comfort fic, so there will be a very positive resolution by a loving John Watson. (944 words)

Let Me Know if You Changed Your Mind

“So, what exactly are we looking for?” John followed behind Sherlock’s quick pace, sprinting forward every few steps in an effort to catch up,”We’ve been running through London for three hours now-”

“I am looking for a person,” He simply stated, finally coming to a halt,”you are here to keep me safe from said ‘person’.”

“Why would I- hold on, are you getting yourself into some kind of trouble?” John turned his friend around so they could talk about their current situation.

“No, it’s just that this person is particularly difficult and frankly pig-headed when it comes down to certain things. They have information that I need, for the case, but I’m not entirely sure we’ll get it out of them.”

“Alright-” He looked around,”So keep my guard up?”

“Oh I’m sure you’ll want to commit homicide by the time we’re done talking,” Sherlock’s expression changed as his gaze fell upon a man in a well-tailored suit,”there he is.”

They approached this official looking man,”Well hey there freak!” he ‘greeted’ the lanky man,”Still pretending I see?”

“Not pretending anything, Lucius, besides I came here to ask a few questions about your boss-”

“And give information to a creep like you? Never,” he glanced at his watch in a feigned attempt to get out of the conversation,”You were a freak back in university, and you’re still a freak now. Pretending to be a ma-”

“Shut up!” Sherlock snapped,”clearly I’m not going to get the answers I need from you since you’re so stubborn and idiotic, John let’s go-”

“That your side piece?” He called after them in a condescending tone,”have fun with your girlfriend!”

As they climbed into a cab, John’s blood continued to boil,”What the hell was that guy’s problem?”

“John-”

“I mean seriously, what grown man calls someone a freak that many times? And what on earth was all that about ‘pretending’?”

“John… please,” his eyes were threatening to spill over with tears,”Please just drop it-”

The shorter man was stunned by how hurt Sherlock seemed,”Wait… Sherlock, are you okay?” He slowly reached out his hand as if meaning to cup Sherlock’s face, but he jerked away,”What-”

“I said to drop it!” He snapped, wrapping his coat around himself ever tighter,”Just- just leave me alone. Please.” Tears were now running freely down his cheeks,”I don’t-”

“Love, hey, what’s wrong?” John’s hand settled on his own lap, giving Sherlock his space,”Stuff like that doesn’t usually bother you.”

The words died on Sherlock’s lips, not here,”I’ll… I’ll tell you when we get home, please, I need to think.”

“Okay, take your time, I’m right here.”

The two remained silent during the ride back to 221b. He and John had started dating just barely three weeks ago, so the whole dynamic was still fresh between them. Their ‘couple activities’ hadn’t gone much farther than kisses and cuddling, the occasional hand-holding in public. At the very beginning, Sherlock confessed to never having a relationship before, so John decided it best that Sherlock set the pace so there would be no rushing things or awkward moments of unreadiness.

The cab pulled to a halt and John paid, following the brunet up the stairs,”Are you alright Sherlock?”

“No…” the broken, wounded look in his eyes said everything,”John- I-I’m so sorry- I should have told you before and- and I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me-”

“Hey, no no, Sherlock hey,” John pulled him into a tight hug, guiding them to the couch where they sat down, entangled,”Whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise you’re safe with me. I promise love.”

The taller man took in a deep breath, calming himself with the scent of his partner, finding security in the strong arms that held him close to John’s beating heart,”I do hope you’ll forgive me… but I haven’t been completely honest with you-”

“You’re safe Sherlock, I won’t hurt you.”

Somehow, John’s words reassured him even more about what he was about to tell him,”I… I’m transgender, John… and, I understand that is a big thing to keep from you, because you’re my partner, and we should know everything about each other- so… in light of this information… let me know if you changed your mind…”

“Changed my- wait… Sherlock,” He leaned back a bit to get a look at his partner’s face,”You think the fact that you’re trans changes our relationship?”

Sherlock gave a curt nod,”Yes, it does, especially in the sexual aspects of the relationship which we will get to eventually. It’s only logical that you may change your mind about… about us.”

John squeezed him even tighter, though not so tight as to squish him,”Sherlock I couldn’t give less of a shite about sex. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to have it with you, but that means the relationship I have with you now is absolutely perfect in every single way. I wouldn’t care if you were on or off testosterone, with or without surgeries. I love you Sherlock. And to the contrary of what that arsehole said; you are just as much of a man as any other man out there. My boyfriend, even.”

“It truly doesn’t put you off…?”

“Not a bit, I love you, for you. My clever,” He kissed Sherlock’s forehead,”brilliant,” a kiss on the nose,”madman,” and finally a kiss on the lips, one that the other gladly deepened.

“I love you,” Sherlock panted, breathless from their kiss,”I love you, John.”

“I love you too, so very much. Just you."

____________________________

Tagging:@helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @emaster875 @whatnext2020 @dinner--starving @loki-lock @kettykika78 @mycrofts-umbrella-in-the-tardis @gaylilsherlock @topsyturvy-turtely @colourfulwatson @safedistancefrombeingsmart @kyramaximoff @psychosociogentleman @peanitbear @justanobsessedpan @justanobsessedpan @thesherlockandjohnshow @icatee @boldlygowhereitsbiggerinside @ethannexil @sherlockwatsons @totallysilvergirl @forfucksakejohn

Let me know if you want to be taken off or put on the list!!!

P.S. That piece of shit got disappeared by Mycroft not three hours later, so he's a stain on the earth that no longer needs to be tolerated :)

#transphobia tw #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #john watson #johnlock #johnlock fanfiction #musings masterpiece #mini fic #hurt/comfort #thanks for the ask anon!#aspen answers asks

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the7thcrow · 4 years ago

Text

600 degrees

pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader

summary: you can’t cook. like, really can’t cook. good thing your cute neighbour is here to help clean up the mess.

word count: 5.1k

genre: neighbours au. strangers to lovers. the fluffiest of fluff, slightly suggestive.

warnings: a make-out session, bad humour, minho being a twat of a roommate, and tooth-rotting fluff.

rating: 14+

a/n: hi guys! hope you enjoy this one, it’s so much more wholesome and fluffy than what i usually write, but I'm pretty happy about it. don’t by shy to send me an ask or leave a comment. anything you have to say, I would love to hear. :)

...

“Fine. Since you won’t come, at least enlighten me on how you plan to keep yourself busy?” Minho asks, casually leaning against your kitchen island. He stares at you, with that familiar condescending smirk you’ve seen far too many times.

“I don’t know,” you state, rolling your eyes. Rising to your feet, you head over to your shared refrigerator, pulling a bottle of Sangria out of the fridge. “But I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“You know, if you want to drink, you could at least do it at the party.” Minho approaches you from behind, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “It’s a lot less sad that way.”

You slap his hand away, letting out a frustrated groan at the laughter he lets out from his own joke. “I get out plenty, quit acting like I’m some lonely cat lady,” you say, grabbing your favourite wine glass from the cupboard. “I like parties, I just don’t like Jisung’s parties. They always get way out of hand.”

“But Y/N,” Minho wines, picking up your freshly poured glass and taking a sip, earning himself a glare. “I never said you were a cat lady, just the lonely part.”

At that you snatch the glass away from his hands. Not wanting to deal with this torment any longer, you walk back to your comfortable, worn-in spot on the couch.

“You know I’m right,” he says, continuing despite the fact you begin to turn up the volume of the television. “And the only way you’re going to change that is by accompanying me to Jisung’s loud, out of hand parties.”

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows. “Somehow, I doubt my soulmate associates himself with Han Jisung.”

“Well that can’t be right, because I associate myself with Han Jisung?”

“Shut up, Minho.”

Your roommate snickers to himself as he opens the fridge, taking a quick glance at everything - or for a better term, lack of anything - inside. “What are you even going to eat? There’s nothing leftover from last night.”

“I’ll make something,” you say. Frankly, you had expected the outburst of laughter, but that didn’t do anything to simmer down your growing annoyance.

“Make something?” Minho laughs, giving you an incredulous stare. “Y/N, I’ve lived with you for two years and I don’t think I’ve seen you cook anything once.”

“Hey, I can cook,” you return, wrinkling your nose. “But why would I, when I have you to do it for me?”

At this, it’s Minho’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I take that back. I don’t want you to come, have fun curling up on the couch alone with your three cats.”

“They’re literally yours.”

“Whatever,” he says, opening your front door. “Just don’t burn the apartment down, alright?”

As he closes the door, you flip him off. At first, you aren’t sure if he saw, but you’re given your answer as his laughter echoes down the hallway, fading as he walks further away.

You scowl. Of course you can cook. Well, at the very least, well enough to make a meal for one on a saturday night. Minho didn’t know what he was talking about.

Minho. Your best friend and roommate for the last two years. Man, does the guy have a way of pushing your buttons. You love him, of course. In the weird, bickering, just short of volatile friendship sort of way the two of you had developed.

Still, you can’t deny that even with his painfully irritable nature, he is still a good friend. No matter how many times you say no, he always offers to take you anywhere he goes. He pushes you out of your comfort zone. He’s there to console you when a date goes bad, or you failed a test you studied hard for. He makes all his meals for two, just because he doesn’t want you to live solely off shitty take-out.

He’s your rock. Your platonic other half. Your closest companion.

Which means you are going to prove him wrong, and then rub it in his face as much as you possibly can. Of course, because that’s what friends are for.

~~~~

Then again, maybe you wouldn’t. Or, at the very least, it was going to be exceedingly more difficult now that your apartment was full of smoke.

Covering your nose with one hand, you take the tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. If you can even call them that, as they now held a far closer resemblance to that of hockey pucks. Both in looks, and what you could assume in taste, as well.

Okay, you know chocolate chip cookies don’t really count as a decent meal, but they are the only thing you remember how to cook from when you lived at home. Or maybe you didn’t remember, based on the tray of failure sitting in front of you.

Then, to make matters even worse, your fire alarm starts going off.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. Now you are going to have to go to the front desk, let them know everything is okay.

Maybe Minho was right, you should’ve just went to Jisung’s stupid party and eaten something there. Putting all the other painful aspects of Han’s parties aside, Felix was his roommate, so the horderves were always excellent.

They were better than your hockey puck cookies, anyway.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, you open your apartment door, prepared to get a rough scolding from the lady working the front desk. However, you are surprised to find a man standing in front of you, his hand in the air, as if he were about to knock.

“Hi,” he says, awkwardly putting his hand back down at his side. He has messy platinum blonde hair, and soft eyes. He’s cute, and the realization quickly makes you recognize him.

“You’re my neighbor,” you say, pointing a finger at him. It’s not until he doesn’t respond immediately that you realize it was a strange thing to say. Obviously, he knows he’s your neighbor, and he might be a little offended you didn’t recognize him immediately.

Then again, the two of you had never really talked before. Everytime you would pass each other in the hall, he’d always give a polite nod and continue walking. Sometimes you’d try to say hello, or start a small conversation, but he always disappeared quickly. It had gotten to the point where you assumed he had some strange, unwarranted grudge against you.

So, it was safe to say that you were more than just a little surprised to find him at your door.

“Uh, yeah, I am. Are you okay? I thought I smelt something burning, and then I heard the fire alarm go off.” He asks, peeking behind you into your apartment, seeing if he can catch sight of any flames.

Instead, his eyes land on your tray of butchered cookies, and he… smirks?

“Oh,” he says, attempting to hide the smile growing on his face. “Having some cooking trouble?”

You stare at him for a moment, watching as his lips pursed together, stifling a chuckle. “Are you...” you begin, your jaw dropping slightly. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” he looks down at you, finally letting his grin free. “I would never.”

“Yeah, okay,” you frown, already not enjoying that sarcastic look on his face. You thought you’d be able to avoid that humiliating look considering Minho wasn’t here, but apparently not.

“As you can see, it’s nothing. So if you’ll excuse me,” you continue, attempting to move past him. “I need to go get my neck rung by the lady at the front desk,” However, he doesn’t budge from his place in your door frame. You cast him a glare, which only makes his smile grow wider.

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll go let her know,” he says, already turning to walk down the hall. You open your mouth to object, but he casts a glance over his shoulder, snickering. “You focus on cleaning up whatever those black lumps were supposed to be.”

You stand in your doorway, dumbfounded as your neighbor disappears down the complex staircase. Who did this guy think he was, openly laughing at your current predicament? Sure, if the roles were reversed, there’s no doubt that you would do the same. But that isn’t the point.

No. The point is that you are not impressed by the audacity of this stranger, and you are going to make sure that this distaste is known.

Grumbling to yourself, you dump the still smoking cookies in the trash can. It’s a shame, really. You’d thought you were doing so well, too. You thought this would be your chance to prove Minho wrong. Minho. Oh, he would be having an absolute hay day if he were here right now, and the thought only makes your scowl deepen.

“Well,” your neighbor calls from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. He reappears in the open door frame, sticking his neck inside, but not fully crossing the threshold into your apartment. “She’s not thrilled, but the alarm didn’t trigger the main system’s sprinklers, so you’re good.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

The man smiles. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly were you trying to make anyway?”

An embarrassed blush casts itself over your cheeks. “Chocolate chip cookies,” you mumble, not meeting his eyes.

He lets out a burst of laughter, smiling widely. You can’t help but notice that he had a cute smile, dimples on both of his cheeks, eyes crinkled. Not that you were looking. Not that you cared, obviously.

“How’d you manage to mess up chocolate chip cookies that badly?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “You tell me.” You gesture towards the oven. Your neighbor smirks, walking inside your apartment. He bends down in front of your oven, before taking a look inside.

“Well, nothing seems to be wrong in there…” he starts, before glancing up at the set temperature. “Oh,” he states, before looking back at you, his eyes full of pity. “Oh boy.”

“What?” You ask defensively.

“The temperature. You forgot to convert it from celsius to fahrenheit. See?” He says, leaning away from the oven to give you a closer look. “So you thought you were cooking them at 350 degrees fahrenheit, when in reality they were at over 600 degrees.”

“Oh my god,” you say, smacking your palm against your forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t know,” the guy shrugs. “You could have burnt your apartment down, so I’d consider it a win. You’re lucky I got here on time.”

You cast him a scowl, although you can’t seem to relinquish the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto your lips. You know damn well you wouldn’t have started a fire, and that the man showing up really didn’t stop anything but an uncomfortable conversation with the front lady. You are also sure that he is fully aware of this too, which makes your smirk grow wider. Alright, you’ll play along.

“Right, what ever would I do without you?” you say sarcastically, causing your neighbor to playfully roll his eyes. He leans against your kitchen counter, relaxing slightly.

“Does my saviour have a name?” You ask, opening the fridge to take a look at what’s inside. You feel your stomach rumble, taking a glance at the clock to see that it was already past 9:00.

“It’s Chris,” he smiles, leaning over your shoulder. “So what are you going to eat, now that you’ve successfully butchered the easiest recipe known to man?”

“Hey!” You snipe. “That is certainly not the easiest recipe known to man.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris says, putting his hands up in defense. “Maybe not the easiest, but it’s definitely up there. But putting that aside, what are you going to eat? Because I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen a fridge so empty.”

You want to quip back at him, but he’s right. Minho usually does the grocery shopping, but because of Jisung’s party tonight he wasn’t planning on cooking anything.

“Good question,” you sigh, closing the refrigerator door before leaning your back against it. “Maybe I’ll just order some take out. I don’t think my pride can handle another failure.”

Chris smiles. “Or, I have an idea,” he says, his eyes glinting. He heads over to your apartment door, and for a moment you worry that he’s leaving.

No, you’re not worried. You’re curious. That’s all. You were curious whether or not he was leaving, nothing more.

When Chris returns, he has his arms full of ingredients. Spinach, penne, tomato sauce, cream, a variety of spices. The list goes on, and he stumbles slightly, almost dropping the surplus of food onto your kitchen floor. Imagining the mess, you rush over to help him, placing the load of groceries onto the counter.

“I don’t know if you couldn’t tell before,” you say, motioning to your overflowing counter. “But I really can’t cook. I have no clue what to do with any of this.”

“That’s no problem,” Chris smiles, already separating the food into different groups. “I’ll help you.”

“No, no, no. I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, waving your hands in protest. You step in front of him, squeezing yourself between his chest and the kitchen counter, preventing him from reaching any of the ingredients. “You’ve already dealt with the desk lady for me, and brought over all these groceries. You’ve done more than enough.”

He smiles, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and effortlessly moving you to the side. “Why would I bring you these groceries if I knew you couldn’t do anything with them?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just let me help you.”

You sigh in defeat, ignoring the way your heart begins to beat faster in your chest. “Alright,” you say, grabbing Minho’s cutting board from the cupboard. “Let’s do this, then.”

~~~~

An hour later, you find yourself sitting on top of your kitchen counter, Chris stationed by the stove working on the pasta sauce. You had genuinely tried to help in the beginning, you really did. But after Chris criticized your (awful) cutting technique, and said he didn’t exactly trust you to do anything else, you gave up.

Besides, you don’t have a problem watching him work. Over the last hour, you’ve come to learn that Chris is an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Moving from place to place, adding spices by intuition and nothing more. This wasn’t something you could have managed to make yourself in a million years, and it’s obvious that if you tried to assist him right now, you’d only get in the way.

Of course, you’ve learned a lot more about Chris in the last hour than just that. Where he grew up, his hobbies, what he was currently studying at the university. Music theory, as you’d learned. As cool as it sounded, Han had managed to tarnish your image of music majors, but you suppose you could give Chris a chance.

“It’s almost done,” Chris says, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.

“Thank God, I’m starving,” you reply, leaping off the counter to stand beside him.

“What, no ‘thank you, Chris?’ No, ‘what ever would I have done without you, Chris?’” He mocks offence, placing a hand on his heart.

“It’s not even done yet. I’ll thank you after I try it, I promise.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Ah, so you’re only thankful if you like it. I see how it is,” Chris says, crossing his arms in front of himself, pouting his lower lip slightly.

“Guess so,” you say, crossing your own arms mockingly. Chris smiles, those cute little dimples of his dancing across his cheeks.

Then you feel it, that little jump of your heart. The faintest skip of a beat that you’d familiarized yourself with over the last hour. That little hint of anticipation that makes you decide that you are, even if only slightly, a bit interested in Chris.

After all, he’s funny and sweet. Can carry a conversation well, and to understate it, undeniably easy on the eyes. That’s more than enough to give him a chance.

Most of all, however, you like that little flare between the two of you. The sarcasm, the banter. It doesn’t feel the same as when Minho does it, slightly condescending and done purely to harbour your annoyance. No, this is different. It is a challenge. He wants you to quip back, to push further. To make him smirk, or laugh, or roll his eyes.

“Alright, fine then,” he says, taking the large wooden spoon and scooping up some of the pasta sauce. “Tell me if this is up to par, your majesty.”

You aren’t sure if he wants you to take the spoon, or let him hold it for you as you take a bite. You decide to take the gamble, gently moving your lips around the spoon, tasting the sauce. You glance up at Chris, a small look of surprise on his face. However, you don’t miss the flash of something behind his eyes. The faintest hint of affection, interest.

The sauce itself is delicious. A perfect blend of tomato, basil and cream. You hum contently, giving him a thumbs up.

“Chris, this is amazing,” you praise, admiring the small blush that sprinkles his cheeks.

“It’s really nothing,” he says, diverting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, shyly.

“No, seriously,” you say, taking the spoon from his hand and scooping some of the sauce up yourself. “Try it.” You hold the spoon out in front of him, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. Your gaze remains firm. A challenge.

Hesitantly, he takes the bite, not breaking eye contact as he does so. You stare at him, watching the way his lips move around the spoon, the intensity of his gaze. The action itself should be innocent, yet you feel a warmth rise to your cheeks.

Chris swallows, taking his lips off the spoon. For a moment, neither of you say anything. You can feel the change in the atmosphere of the room. The spark between you two being brought alight.

You swallow hard. “So?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah, it’s good. Very good,” he says back, his voice low and raspy. He goes to take the spoon from you, and his hand lingers a moment, his thumb trailing the skin of your knuckles.

You feel yourself lean in slightly, fully prepared to take the leap, when suddenly he breaks away from you, eagerly taking a few steps back. He looks away, placing a hand on his face, as if he were ashamed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know you’re seeing someone, we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m sorry,” he babbles, completely turning away from you.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Seeing someone? Where the hell could he have possibly gotten that idea?

“Seeing someone?” You ask, incredulously voicing your thoughts. You grab him by the shoulder, turning him around. “Why do you think I’m seeing someone?”

Chris still refuses to meet your eyes, instead focusing intently on the wall behind you. “The guy that lives here- Minho - aren’t you two?”

“Minho?” You gape, contorting your face in a look of pure disgust. “Ew, gross! No! Believe me, I am not dating Minho, I’d genuinely rather stick this spoon in my eye,” you exclaim, lifting up the utensil.

At that Chris finally looks at you, wearing his own look of pure confusion. “Wait, really? But whenever I hear you guys out in the hall, the two of you are always so… flirty.”

“Flirty?” You laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “If by flirty you mean he teases me literally every god damn second of every day, then yeah sure, I guess. But believe me, there is absolutely nothing romantic about that. Not in the least.”

Chris shakes his head, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. “Wow. I am such an idiot,” he sighs, a rediscovered lightness to his tone.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “Anyone could make that mistake, I guess. It’s really no big-”

“No, it’s not just that,” he cuts you off. “That’s why I’ve never talked to you before now.”

“You never talked to me because you thought that me and Minho were dating?” You ask, slightly confused. Even if you were dating, you didn’t see why that would stop him from starting a conversation with you. “Why?”

“Well,” he sighs, his cheeks reddening further. “I thought you were pretty, and based on the way you always quipped back at him, clever and funny as well. I don’t know, it just felt wrong to try and build a friendship with you, knowing how I already felt a little....”

You smirk, drawing yourself slightly closer to him. “A little what?”

His smile transforms itself from embarrassed to a sly grin of his own. “A little into you, I guess.”

“It really is a shame,” you shrug, trying to hide the excitement building in your chest. “Because here I was, thinking my cute neighbor had some irrational grudge against me.”

Chris leans in, so the two of you are only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the strong fragrance of his cologne. Sharp with lemon zest and mint.

“We could always make up for lost time, you know,” he says, his eyes flashing with mischief.

That is all the invitation you need to break the space between the two of you. You press Chris’ lips against your own, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other along the line of his jaw. His lips are soft, you notice. Tender in the slow rhythm the two of you develop.

He runs his hands up along your figure. One of them finding itself locked in your hair, the other placed firmly on the curve of your lower back. Gently, he leads the two of you away from the stove, placing you so that your back is pressed up against the kitchen counter.

You run your hand down along his chest, reveling in the groan he let’s out as your fingers trail down his lower abdomen. The sound is electricity pulsing through you, charging the room and igniting the atmosphere around the two of you.

His lips leave yours, trailing your jaw before making their way down your neck. Each individual kiss is slow and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine. You take a deep breath to stable yourself, and it does not go unnoticed.

Chris smirks, shifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown out with desire. “You know, if we keep this up, the pasta sauce is going to burn,” he says, letting his fingers trail along your collarbone.

“Let it,” you shrug. “I wasn’t hungry anyways.”

Chris laughs at this, leaning forward so his face brushes the crook of your neck. “Yeah, right,” he says, allowing his lips to dust your skin. Suddenly, he bites down, not enough to break through the skin, but certainly enough to leave a small mark.

You laugh, running your hands in his hair, half-heartedly pulling him off of your neck. “Hey! That hurt,” you exclaim, only half serious.

“Sorry,” he grins, before crashing his lips into yours once again. The pace between the two of you is much faster now, each kiss more passionate. More promising. Your desire rings through you, clouding your mind in a hazy fog of lust. It is dizzying, just how much you want him at this moment.

You're certain he feels the same way, given in how tightly he grips your thigh, his breath ragged every time you break apart. It is messy. Greedy. The two of you so deeply wanting more. More of each other.

You’re about to ask if he wants to move this to the bedroom, when suddenly the apartment door swings open. It’s almost comical, how quickly you and Chris break apart, springing to opposite ends of the kitchen.

“I hate to say it, but you were right,” Minho calls as he walks inside, not yet glancing up from his phone screen. “Shit got out of hand. Someone managed to break the pool table, don’t even ask how, I don’t know either. Almost gave Felix an aneurysm. I swear the kid was about to cry, poor guy. Han had to shut everything down. So you really didn’t miss out on-” Minho stops as he sees Chris, a confused yet bemused expression crossing his face.

“Oh, hey Chan,” he says, causing you to give Chris a look.

“A nickname,” Chris mouths to you, as discreetly as he possibly can.

“What are you doing over here?” Minho asks him, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. He has that smug smirk on his face that makes you want to punch him.

“Oh, well…” Chris starts, casting you a glance. “Y/N made some food, and there was too much of it, so she invited me over.”

“Really?” Minho asks, caught off guard. He walks past you and Chris, staring at the pasta and sauce currently sitting on the oven burners. “You’re saying Y/N made this?��

“Well, yeah?” Chris says, feigning confusion. “Of course, I wouldn’t lie about something like that. Why?”

You have to stop yourself from laughing, looking at the expression of utter bewilderment on Minho’s face. Minho glances at you, narrowing his eyes, before sighing.

“Well then, I guess you proved me wrong on two things tonight, Y/N,” he says, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he begins to scoop some of the penne into his dish.

“Oh, you said there was a lot,” Minho responds, raising one eyebrow. “Can I not have some?”

“Sorry, go ahead,” you say, still slightly flustered by the abruptness of his entrance. Minho finishes filling his bowl and takes a seat at the kitchen island. As he begins to eat, the room is filled with a rather tense silence. You and Chris share an awkward look, unsure of what to do next.

Minho looks up from his dish, glancing between the two of you.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing his bowl and standing up from his chair. “I’m going to go eat this in my room. Have fun you two.”

Before you can say anything, Minho disappears around the corner, down the hallway leading to his room. You turn back towards Chris. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“He’s a bit of a mood-killer, huh?” You say, grabbing two bowls from the cupboard, offering him one.

Chris nods in thanks as he takes the bowl from your hands. “Just a little bit,” he laughs, beginning to scoop some of the pasta into both of your dishes.

The two of you take a seat at your counter, spending the meal talking and laughing. Nothing else, the moment has passed, but that doesn’t bother you. You enjoy Chris’ presence. His quick humour and thoughtful conversation.

It really is something that you could get used to, you decide.

After you’re done eating, you walk Chris over to the door, handing him his surplus of spice bottles and leftover spinach.

“Thank you for doing all this, seriously. The food was delicious, you’re seriously gifted. And also, thank you for covering for me, I really didn’t feel like listening to Minho die laughing over the burnt cookies,” you admit.

“It’s no problem, really,” Chris smiles. He shifts all the spices over to his right arm, letting his free hand fall down to his side. Softly, he takes your hand in his, letting your fingers intertwine.

“Listen,” he continues, shyly looking up from your hands to meet your eyes. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, you’re welcome to come over for a proper dinner. You know, so I can show you what I can actually make when it’s not a last minute attempt at salvaging a meal.”

You smile a goofy, genuine grin. “That sounds good to me,” you say. Hesitantly, you lean forwards, planting a soft, innocent kiss on his lips.

As you break apart, he hums contently. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, thanks for today. You made my night, Y/N.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chris.” You watch as he walks over to his apartment door, which is of course, only a few meters away from your own. When he disappears into his own apartment, you sigh, closing your own door behind you. You lean against the frame, letting out a shaky breath, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve held any genuine interest in someone, you feel almost giddy.

That is until you see Minho, leaning against the corner of the kitchen wall, watching you with his cheshire smirk.

“Dinner tomorrow, huh?” He asks, walking into the kitchen and scooping himself the last of the pasta.

“What about it?” You retort, not giving in to that pestering look in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it’ll be good, considering Chan clearly made this,” Minho says, shoveling some of the pasta into his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard.

“Save it, the lady at the front desk told me you almost set the apartment on fire,” Minho laughs as you pour the wine.

You let out a groan, handing him his glass. “God dammit.”

“Don’t blame her though,” he smiles, leaning back and taking a sip. “I wouldn’t have believed you could have cooked that anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Had me fooled for a second there though,” he says, patting you on the head. “But more importantly, you like Chan huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Nice hickey, by the way,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows.

You pull up the collar of your shirt, casting him a glare. “Okay, maybe I do,” you shrug. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he replies, before taking a second to think. “Just please don’t fuck him or anything tomorrow. Walls are thin.”

You laugh, taking your glass of wine and flopping yourself back down on the living room couch.

“Shut up, Minho.”

thanks for reading loves <3

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oneirataxiahiraeth · 4 years ago

Note

Can I have a sub!kai fic where he annoyed the reader Thx

Uhmmmm yeth👹

Rules

pairing : vamp!reader x sub!kaiparker

Warning : language, smut, penetrative sex, oral (masc & fem), face riding, orgasm denial (m.), bondage, Kai stubble, dirty talk, 69ing,

Requested ;)

Word Count : a little over 3k

A/N :

I had wayyyy too much fun with this one. I’m not really used to writing sub!kai so I had this one was good enough for you<3 (also I’m sorry it literally took FOREVER) also, there’s is little to no plot, srry

He groaned as the ropes rubbed harshly against his skin. His wrist red and irritated as he pulled to feel the tiniest bit of relief that he wasn’t getting.

“It’s only going to hurt more with every pull, Malachi.” You hummed, a sadistic smirk finding its way to your lips as you watched him struggle.

That’s what you were.

A sadist.

You enjoyed watched him like this. Helpless, vulnerable, borderline pathetic. A shiny layer of sweat coating his forehead, and disgustingly dirty thoughts of you on top of him filling his mind. You were truly one evil bitch. How could you do this to him? Strip him of his dominance, just to prove a point. It was oh so fucking hot, but torture not being the one on the other side of these ropes.

“You do realize that once I’m out of these ropes the rest of the night is going to be absolute hell for you... right?” He cleared his throat. He was just itching to inflict some type of fear in you, but in his current state he was making much progress.

You knew exactly what you were doing to him. You’ve never done all this before, but you had a plan for exactly how you wanted it to go. Kai was a dick. He has been one all fucking week. Lately he’s been treating you like precious cargo. Not letting you do anything on your own, not even a shower without him sneaking in. At first it was somewhat sweet sentiments, like ordering your favorites at the grill, then driving you around town to handle errands. Slowly that sweetness faded into him making every decision for you. Not letting you speak for yourself, and finding ways to punish you for speaking out against him. Putting silencing spells on you if he didn’t feel like hearing you rebuttals, and just yesterday he put you into a deep sleep for a few hours so he could ‘have a few moments of peace’.

He was dictating your life.

“What makes you think you’re getting out of these ropes tonight?” You hum.

You watched as he swallowed down the air bubble caught in his throat.

You were set on proving a point. He wasn’t the boss of you in any way shape or form. Not in public, not in private, and he definitely did not have you wrapped around his finger like he was your pimp or some shit. In fact, the whole point of tonight was to make him see that it was quite the opposite.

“Because we both know I can satisfy you way more if I’m untied. Just untie me and I can make you feel good, y/n/n.” He smiled, thinking that you would give into his offer. Instead of actually untying him you just let out the most seductively cynical laugh ever, causing his body to tense under yours.

“We’ll see...” you smirked, lifting your hips from his crotch as you leaned down to place a soft kiss on his collar bone. “Now should we go over the rules or do you have more empty threats to make?”

"Rules?" He nearly laughed in your face.

“Tonight is all on my terms... you will do whatever I want you to do.” You relied, ignoring his failed attempts at taking you seriously. “First rule, not touching. But that shouldn’t be much of a problem, huh?” You smirked, watching his eyes roll. “Second rule, you will ask for everything...” suddenly his smile dropped, and he was so amused by the situation anymore. “You want me to touch you? You ask. You want a kiss? You ask. And if you want to cum... you better beg as if your life fucking depended on it.” You nearly giggled feeling the way he giggled under you.

“Y/n-”

“You will not cum unless I say that you can.” He took in a sharp breath. “Not too bad right? You can be a good boy for me, just for the night, right?” You pouted mockingly, looking deeply into his eyes dark with lust.

“Are the uhm... ropes necessary?” He asked, voice an octave higher than usual.

“No.” You sighed. “But you look so fucking hot all tied up like a doll.” You hummed, finger tracing the vein bulging from from his neck. “So pretty. So perfect.”

“T-that’s usually my line.”

“Did I give you permission to speak?” Your hips grinding down into his, earning a low groan from his throat.

He remained silent, putting a soft smirk on your lips. Your hands traced down his chest, oh so lightly, scooting down his body until you’re hands ghosted lightly over the bulge in his boxers. He felt the heat of your fingers over him. He decided to take advantage of the fact that his legs weren’t bound by anything to push his hips up into the air for some relief. Unfortunately for him, you could read him like a book. Your hand moved away from him before he could even move, resulting in a disappointing action that caused a tiny whine to leave his lips.

“Y/N!” He groaned, head falling back as he tugged at the ropes keeping his bound. You smiled at his frustration, he was in for a long night.

“You didn’t ask.” You shrugged as if you did nothing wrong. Hand placed on his lower stomach, fingers tracing through the outline of his abs.

“Touch me. Please.” He grumbled, not too happy with his position. He was usually the one having you bed for any sort of touch from him. This was all different kinds of unnatural.

"I am touching you, you're going to have to be more specific than that, Princess." You smiled, voice sweet, but the words coming from you mouth made him want to murder you.

“Aw, but I am touching you. You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Princess.” You teased, voice sweet and condescending. He lifted his head just to glare at you for the nickname. You lifted an eyebrow, challenging him to speak out of turn but he decided to play nicely.

"I want you to-" he wanted a lot of things.

“I want... I want you to-” he wanted a lot of things right now actually. He didn’t want to give into you no matter how badly he wanted you. His mind fighting against your sudden rebellion while his body ached to be under your control. There was a way to get what he wanted. He just had to show you that he still had control over you, even in restraints. “I want to taste you.” He blurted, a sharp breathing entering your lungs for a moment. You automatically knew what he was doing, and how he must’ve thought that this was so smart of him. “I-I want you to sit on my face...” he spoke, ideas running through his mind at 100 miles per hours. “And I want you to suck my dick too.” Your whole body tingled with excitement at the request.

“What’s the magic word?” You asked, eyebrow raising at the devilish smile beneath you.

“Please, oh please.” He played along. He knew it wouldn’t be too long before you were untying him, and begging for him to fuck you until it was difficult to function properly. He stuck out his bottom lip to ass to the effect.

You scanned the mischief on his face before do anything. Slowly you moved off of him until you were standing on your bedroom floor, his eyes following you closely. In the position he was now he just seemed so vulnerable, and perfect. Just like you had mentioned before. You could see how rock hard he was through his boxers, and how his abs tightened even when you weren’t on him just proved how badly he wanted to be touched by you. You didn’t think he realized but his hips were slightly bucking into the air, trying to find something, anything, but it wasn’t working out too well for him.

You slid your panties down your legs, letting them rest on the bedroom floor. You stepped out of the fabric, walked back over to the bed. Kai watching intently as your fingers traced down his chest, your beautiful being so close yet far at the same time.

“Can you kiss me? Please?” He spoke, a genuine request. Your eyes slowly trailed up to his, not detecting any hidden intentions besides just wanting you lips on his. You were fine giving him what he wanted, but that wouldn’t be fun if you gave into ever request. He’s be a total dick to you all week, so you denying him just one simple pleasure was totally fine with you.

You brought you’re face to hover over his, hand moving up to the soft skin of his cheek. The soft yet prickly hairs of the beard he was growing out tickling your aura. You’re lips barely grazing against his, allowing him to relish in the closeness for a moment before pulling away.

“There are much more productive things you could be doing with that pretty little mouth of yours right now.” You grinned, watching his jaw fall in amazement as you climb back onto the bed. You maneuvered yourself carefully, making sure both of your legs were positioned on either side of his head.

His view of your face was gone, nothing but you glistening pussy waiting for him to give into you. You could feel the warmth of his breath hitting on your already heated core. You lowered you’re body down slowly, just until you felt his warmth barely touching you. You leaned over, hands tracing slowly down his abdomen, slowly reaching under his boxer band, listening to his breathing change as your fingers wrapped around him.

He pulled against the ropes, hoping to gain even just a little bit of leeway. His eyes rolled at the light laugh you gave under your breath, realizing you really weren’t going to let him free. He just had his plan to hope will work. He didn’t have to move too much before his tongue was flattening against your folds, licking a single bold stripe against you. A soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth began to move against you, you’re hand slowly pumping him as he took over you mind for a brief moment in time. For some reason, though he hadn’t to admit it, being bound right now felt surprisingly good. The idea of being at your mercy as his tongue worked against you... just did something to him that he couldn’t explain. His eyes closed as he focused on solely pleasuring you before he became a bit distracted. You soft lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, collecting his precum on your tongue. His jaw fell open at the relief, letting out a soft moan.

His tongue worked into you, lapping up and sucking down all of your sweet juices. His facial hairs tickling the insides of your thighs as he ate you out. You made sure to make the most of this moment. You wanted to drive him crazy, by giving him everything and nothing at the same time. Your tongue flattening against his shaft as you took him in your mouth. In his mind he was debating on just siphoning some of your magic to get out of the ropes so he could handle you... properly. Though he quite enjoyed the way your hips were rocking against his mouth as you tried your best to contain yourself.

“Faster,” he groaned, tearing his mouth away from you. “Please- god, I need faster.” He begged, in a voice that sounded way too needy for his own liking. Which basically meant he sounded perfect for you. You hummed, sending vibrations through him before taking your mouth from around him with a pop. You pumped him in your hand a few times before sitting up above him. His lips connecting to you once again earning a gasp and moan that you weren’t prepared to release. Kai always knew how to work wonders one you. He was most proud of how submissive you would be for him in the late hours of the night. He knew how to work you up, and push all the right buttons and he always made sure that no matter what happens he made you cum.

Just another joy you got to swipe away.

You lifted you hips too far for him to reach, listening to him whine form the loss of your taste. You maneuvered yourself around his body again until you were straddling his lap. His stubble covered chin glistening with you juices, watching his chest rise and fall with heavy breathing. You bent down, placing a soft kiss on his lips, being sure to make sure he knew you just were getting a taste of yourself.

“You should grow out the beard, it would be so fucking hot.” You smiled, his throat let out a needy whimper as he tugged again at the ropes keeping him bound.

“y/n- please, m’gonna explode.” He groaned, causing your wicked smile to widen.

“sorry, what? I didn’t hear that.” You hummed, turning your head so he would speak right into your ear.

“y/n.” He whined loudly, hips bucking into yours harshly. You hands moved down to his hips, holding them down before he could try again. He was right where you wanted him. Needy, pathetic, and easy to break. “I need you, so so bad, please.” He groaned, tugging at the ropes again, pure frustration and sexual tension taking over him.

“You need me?” You asked, trying to sound confused, hands moving further down his body until your fingers were tracing the base of his cock. “Like... right here?” You cocked your head to the side, watching as his jaw clenched. His eyes locked on your face, watching you find him amusing enough to smile. He would never in his life admit this out loud, but he definitely enjoyed this. He was aching right your your hand, just like how you wanted him.

“I w-wanna feel you.” He breathed.

“You want me to fuck myself on your dick?” You dipped your head down, placing you lips right below his jawline, pressing a series of light pecks along his neck.

“Please- fuck, please baby.” He whined again.

Your hand wrapped around his shaft once again, pumping him slowly in your hand. His mouth fell open at the friction again. Your hand sped up in its action as you watched his eyes close for a brief moment in pleasure. If this is what having total control felt like... being able to see the person you love most revel in the feeling of just you and only you... you could understand why it was so addicting to him.

Doesn’t mean you weren’t still annoyed with him.

In his mind flashed pornographic pictures of you echoes of your moans on repeat in his mind, along with the sensations of your fingers coursing along his skin. You always held the power to make him fall apart at your finger tips, he just never let you see that.

“Aw, you like this don’t you?” You hummed, poking out lips at the soft moans you were earning as you jerked him off.

“Please let me feel you.” He asked again, aching to feel your heated walls wrapped around him.

“You think you deserve to feel me?” You sigh, handing tightening around him as your pace quickened earning an audible reaction. “You make such pretty noises, you know.” You hummed, leaning over him a bit. His tip barely brushing against you stomach as you watching him glide closely to the edge. “Are you close baby?”

“Y-yes, god, I’m so close.” He groaned out, hands turning to grip the comforter to relieve some pressure.

You watched his eyes squeeze tighter together, and his muscles everywhere tense. A light layer of sweat forming over his chest as he body produce a heat that was lethal. Throaty moans escaped him, and your body heat so close to him was only bringing him closer to his euphoric release.

Or what would’ve been if you hadn’t stopped.

“Y/N-” he whined, tugging at the ropes a little extra hard with frustration.

“I didn’t say you could cum, did I?” You responded to his childish whine.

Your lips curved up into a devilish smile that has him weak in the knees. You hand squeezing the base of his cock once again before you lifted yourself on your knees above him. His tip gliding along your folds slick with his saliva and your own arousal. His mouth feel open, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of your dragging him along your heat.

“Wanna be in you, babe.” He groaned, “please, lemme feel you.”

You hum, moving you hand away from him breaking the intimate contact between the two of you. Both of your hands reached the his, grabbing the ropes keeping him bound before breaking each one. His hands immediately try to go to you, but you catch them before they can manage to.

“No touching rule is still in effect, Malachi.” You grin.

“Then why untie me?” He pouted.

“I love to see you squirm.” You commented with a light shrugged, leaning over as you placed his hands over his head. Your nose barely brushing past each other. “If you touch me and without permission we’ll stop, got it?”

“You’re so evil.” He whined, head lifting up to bring your lips closer together.

“Wonder who I get it from.” You smiled, finally pressing your lips together bringing sinking down on his cock that’s been waiting for you all night. He let out a breathy moan into the kiss, your hips lifting back up before falling again. Air slowly leaving your lungs as you let out a breathy moan into his lips. Kai’s hands gripping onto the comforter once again for dear life.

You kept up a steady place, bouncing on top of him, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. Your lips tore away from each other’s as you tried picking up pace, watching Kai’s face twist as he watched you use him for you’re own satisfaction. You noticed the tired euphoric look on his face on how he was already beginning to twitch inside of you. Your walls clenching around him, making him go ballistic as you fuck your self on him.

“I-I’m go-nna-” he moaned, trying to make coherent sentences through the ecstasy. “Can I please-”

“No, not yet.” You spoke clearly, pace not altering. “Look at me.” You demanded notices how his eyes fluttered shut every few seconds. He tried to keep his eyes open for you, staring you dead in your pretty face wondering how in love he had to be to end up in this position. “So good for me.” You smiled, nearly making him break one of your rules... possibly all of them.

“P-please let me t-touch you” he pouted.

“So needy.”

“Please.”

You nodded allowing him to move his hands. They went straight towards your hips, gripping your skin tightly, causing you to realize how close you were to the edge. Your walls clenching around him with every move, making it harder to keep himself contained. You’re eyes locked on each other, watching each other as you both fell completely apart. You noticed how heavy his breathing was and how he was trying his best not lose his shit. It was mesmerizing, noises flowing from the both of you so disgusting erotic that you wished everyone in this house was listening to the best sex they were never going to get to have. That’s when you realized you were beginning you’re ethereal trip on ecstasy.

“Y/N-”

“Cum for me, baby.” You moaned as your legs began to shake around him, body jolting with pleasure as you tried milking out your orgasms by slowly rocking you hips on his but the sensations became too much.

You leaned over placing your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt his hot seed spilt into you coating your walls, as you listened to the rapid pace of his heart beating.

“Can we uhm... can we do that again?” He breathed, voice vibrated through your sensitive body.

“Fuck yea.”

#wattpad #aesthetic #teaser #the cw legacies #vampire diaries #damon salvatore #kai parker smut #stefan salvatore #kai x reader #kai parker #malachi parker #gemini coven #tvd fanfiction #tvd universe #tvd fandom

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emmyhem · 4 years ago

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always (l.r.h)

a/n: hi everyone! this is a lil angsty piece i wanted to get up. i just want to say again how sorry i am for not getting anything up for the past two weeks, i’ve just been overwhelmed with some stuff for my classes, but i am starting to get back in the swing of things now. also, this is unedited as i was rushing to get it up in time. i do plan on posting something else tomorrow night and hopefully i’ll be posting pretty consistently from now on. also this does end kind of abruptly but i wanted to leave it like that because i’m a sucker for angst, with that being said i would be happy to write a part two if that’s something you’d be interested in. anyway, feedback and comments are appreciated as always and i hope you’re all having an amazing day/night. enjoy! - emmy <33

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: luke recounts his mistake and hopes he can patch things up with his always.

warnings: very brief mention of sex, cursing, mentions of alcohol, luke’s being an asshole, mention of pinching (idk), slight insecurity from the reader, lots of angst :(

word count: 2.6k

Luke had always hated the quiet. That’s when his thoughts were the loudest. That must be why he had never really liked being alone with himself.

Tonight in particular, his thoughts were practically screaming, one word over and over again.

“Y/n”

For the past two years that name had acted as his most favorite word, one that he would utter whenever he had gotten the chance. Whether it be to brag about your recent accomplishments to his friends, to catch your attention from another room, or falling from his lips with a sigh of pleasure as he reached completion with you laying breathlessly beneath him.

Now the word seemed torturous, the last time he uttered it replaying on a relentless loop in his head.

It was your 2nd anniversary. Dinner had been laid out on the table for an hour. Two glasses of wine sat untouched in front of a vase of roses you had picked out at the florist earlier that morning, and there was no sign of Luke.

You were wracking through your brain as you watched a petal fall from a rose and land lightly in one of the glasses.

Had you gotten the time wrong?

But you were sure that the two of you had agreed on 8:00 for dinner, that way you had time to get everything ready after getting home from work, and Luke wouldn’t have to rush to leave the studio.

Yet somehow you found yourself staring at the now cold dinner at 9:30, with absolutely no word from Luke. You wanted to call, if for no other reason than to check he was still alive and breathing, but your nerves stopped you from doing that, not wanting to take on the role of the overbearing girlfriend.

Your stomach growled hungrily over the light music that was playing through the house speakers. So, begrudgingly you took a bite of the pasta on your plate before downing your entire glass of wine.

Luke arrived home about 2 hours later, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. He caught sight of the table, with one setting completely untouched as he hung up his coat, causing guilt to pang in his chest.

“Baby,” he called out, carrying himself to your shared bedroom.

When no response came his heart rate sped up in fear that you had left.

“Y/n” he called, louder this time with a sense of urgency clear in his voice.

That’s when he spotted a person sized lump underneath the duvet. Releasing a sigh of relief he moved towards you, peeling the blankets off and leaving a soft kiss on your shoulder.

This caused you to stir a bit, eyes fluttering open to meet him.

“Hi, my love.” he cooed.

A frown was prominent on your face, and a crease separated your eyebrows as they furrowed angrily.

“I’m sorry I’m late. We got a bit carried away in the studio, but in good news the album is coming along great. M’so excited for you to hear it”

You had always tried to be understanding of Luke’s job for many reasons. One being that you both reaped the benefit of his success, you wanted for essentially nothing, had a nice house, the opportunity to travel, and Luke often spoiled you with gifts even if you asked him not to. Another being how happy it made your boyfriend. Music truly was his passion, and he was so talented that you wouldn’t want for him to ever put his work on the back burner for you.

With that being said, you made a point to take time off to spend time with him whenever you were able to. You had even changed jobs because your last one hadn’t allowed you to go on tour with him, which he had been adamant about, insisting, “There’s no way I can be away from you for that long.”

And you were happy to do all of those things, because you were in love, and you felt incredibly lucky to even be a part of his world. But you did start to question things as your relationship went on. It felt like Luke didn’t even consider your job. He only saw it as something that took you away from him.

You had worked hard to get where you were in the occupational field. Without your job all you would have to do is sit around and wait for Luke to be ready for you, and you just couldn’t live like that.

Luke turned on the lamp on your nightstand as you slowly sat up in bed.

“2 weeks Luke, we’ve had these plans for two weeks.”

“I know baby I tried, but you know how it is when inspiration strikes.” he dismissed while sitting the flowers on the ground.

“No, I don’t. Do you not think that I have things I could be doing for work? Cause I do, and I choose this over all of that.” you huffed in frustration.

Luke took a deep breath while subtly rolling his eyes.

“Y/n, I’m sorry for missing dinner, but you don’t understand the pressure I’m under, from the fans, the label, management, and the band.”

“I know that you work hard and I know how important this is to you, and I’m so proud of you, but I’m proud of us too and I would’ve liked to have a night for just us.” you tried to explain. “Not to mention the fact that I’m under pressure in my job too and I always find time for you, no matter what.”

“Yea, you have pressure from a job that you don’t need.” his voice rising in anger with each word as he paced around the room.

“How many times do I have to tell you Luke? It’s my job, it’s a part of my life and I don’t plan on giving it up anytime soon.” you shouted.

“Great.” he replied sarcastically. “Then you should understand that I won’t give up my job anytime soon.”

“I’m not asking you to, I’m just asking for a bit of consideration, and just a sliver of your time.”

“I’m working to make us more money.” he stated.

“Luke, we don’t need any more money. You should be working because you enjoy it and because it’s your passion.”

He let out a condescending laugh before turning to look in your eyes.

“Yea, well you don’t seem to mind all the money when you're sitting at home in the house that I bought, and leeching off of my bank account on the daily. D’ya think you could afford all the shit you have just based on your salary?” he spat crudely.

You physically leaned back as if the words had just actually been thrown at you. They must’ve, because the pain they caused felt far too real to just be emotional. You opened your mouth to fight back, to scream, to do something but the lump in your throat prevented anything to come out other than a sad, and pathetic squeak.

Was that what he thought about you?

This had caught you completely off guard. Sure, you were expecting an argument, you’d even say you were expecting a big one, but you would’ve never guessed he would throw this in your face.

You felt betrayed. It had always made you insecure that you were making such little money compared to your boyfriend.

Some days after receiving your paycheck you would go out and spend it all on Luke, solely because you wanted to know that you could contribute too. You would do that whenever you got the chance, to reassure that your work was important, and valid. And mainly to show Luke that you appreciated all he did for you.

He would always reply, “You don’t have to do this, love. I like spoiling my girl.”

Yeah right.

“I wasn’t, I m-mean I don’t try to lee-,” you paused, the word feeling too gross to repeat back.

“Well, you do whether you're trying or not so the least you can do is give me a break occasionally.” he spoke casually, while changing into sweats as if he wasn’t ripping you apart with every word.

You kept a blank stare at the bedroom door, your eyes already stinging with unshed tears. You wished you could be angrier but his words left you questioning and feeling guilty.

As hard as you’d tried to provide for yourself and make your own way you couldn’t help but wonder if you had subconsciously started leaning on him, more than you had ever wanted.

Luke continued getting ready for bed, not taking a second look at you since hitting you with his harsh words.

“I-I’m sorry.” you croaked.

“It’s fine, Y/n I just wish you could’ve been slightly more understanding.” he continued, still not facing you.

“I think that maybe, I mean, um I gotta go.” you were speaking through tears, as you abruptly stood from the bed and hurried to leave the room.

This caught Luke’s attention causing him to spin in your direction at lightning speed, finally taking in your emotional state.

“Going? Going where? I-what are you talking about?”

You didn’t reply, grabbing your keys, bag, and shoes as you continued to speed to the front door.

“Y/n!” he continued, following closely behind you.

You paused at the front door and turned to meet his eyes. His stressed appearance subsided as you allowed him the opportunity to talk.

“You’re upset.” he concluded, reaching a hand out to hold your cheek.

You leaned away from his touch and shook your head lightly, “M’not.”

His features softened and he took another step closer to you, “You are. I’m sorry, I was harsh.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know?”

“I don’t want t-to leech” you stuttered out.

This rendered Luke speechless, realizing how cruel his words had been. You had taken this as an opportunity to exit the house, quickly running to your car. Luke made it to the driveway just in time to see you drive away.

“Fuck” he snapped, jogging back towards the house to get his phone and call you in hopes of convincing you to come back.

After calling you at least 20 times with no response he conceded and decided he should try and get some sleep, that way he was rested enough to get you to forgive him in the morning.

His body fell naturally to his side of the bed, but his eyes lingered on where you typically laid.

Rolling onto his back, eyes finding the ceiling he muttered to himself, “I’m an idiot.”

Eventually he was tiring out, the bedroom ceiling growing extremely boring after staring for so long. He turned on his side to hug your pillow to his chest. As his hand slid under the pillow it came into contact with an envelope that had been hidden underneath.

He sat up and flicked on a lamp to read the front, “To my Lu”

He could tell that you had taken your time penciling on your words, each letter was flawless and written delicately. Before ripping it open he hesitated, questioning whether or not he even deserved to see what was inside after the way he spoke to you. The selfish part of his brain won for the second time that night.

The first thing he saw after opening was two airline tickets situated just in front of a folded piece of notebook paper.

He held his breath as he brought them into the light, two roundtrip business tickets to Sydney.

He rushed to read the note you had left with them, unfolding it quickly.

“Lu,

Happy two years, my love. I can’t believe I’ve been lucky enough to call you mine for this long. Not a day goes by where I’m not in complete and utter awe of you and everything you do for me. I know how hard you work and how much you miss home and your family while you continue to grow in your music, and in yourself everyday. I know these aren’t the best tickets you’ve ever had by any means or the most extravagant vacation you’ve taken, but I wanted to show you how much I love you and how much I know you deserve, and need a break. We have 2 weeks, we leave tomorrow. I’ve worked it all out with the guys and your label. I know this is just a small way to repay you for the way you’ve taken care of me and the way you’ve loved me so selflessly for so long but I hope it shows you just a sliver of how much I love you.

Yours always,

Y/n”

He traced the letters of your name repeatedly as he blinked back a few stinging tears, before falling asleep, the note clutched tightly to his chest.

That was a week, and about 100 missed calls ago.

About two days after you left, your friend had called to let him know that you were safe and staying with her for the time being. It had slightly lessened his worry, but the guilt he felt grew exponentially each day he had no reason to say your name.

He had claimed your side of the bed as his own in hopes that it would bring you closer to him. When he had finally dragged himself out of bed to shower he used your body wash and as embarrassing as it sounds nearly cried when the room was flooded with the familiar rose scented steam. And tonight while scouring through the liquor cabinet and feeling completely sorry for himself he had come across a bottle of tequila that you had purchased on your most recent vacation.

Luke had put a serious dent in it by the time he was done scrolling through all of his pictures of you, and his finger began to itch with the need to call you.

Through blurry and clouded eyes he located your contact, a breath hitching in his throat when he clicked the call button.

With each unanswered ring he pinched his wrist, willing himself to wake up and discover this was all just some horrible nightmare, that he would just roll over and see you curled up next to him, warm, and sweet, and perfect. So fucking perfect.

“You’ve reached y/n. Sorry I can’t get to the phone, leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thanks”

But it’s not his nightmare that got him here, it’s his mistake.

“Y/n,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and scratchy as he hasn’t used it much in the past couple of days.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, I miss you and I’m sorry. I-” his heart was pounding and his intoxication numbed him from the feeling of the hot tears that streamed down his face as he continued. “M’selfish baby. I’m so selfish and I was talking out of my ass that night, of course you’re not leeching. That’s fucking ridiculous, you couldn’t be, I give you nothing compared to what you give me. I just don’t know how to admit I’m wrong and the money is bullshit, it doesn’t matter, we could both live without it.” his chest felt tight as he took a large gulp of air. “I-I can’t live without you, really I don’t think I can. I need you and I love you. I love you so much. Just please come home to me, please baby. I need you with me, and I want to fucking give you the world and I know you don’t need me to give it to you. I want to. I just-I want to give you everything, anything. You can have it all. It’s yours. I’m yours, alwa-” his pleads were cut off by the dial tone.

“Always.” he repeated, staring at the black screen.

pt. 2

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years ago

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Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 4

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 2877

Additional note: This is the final chapter. There'll be an epilogue, but you'll have to wait a bit because there are a lot of challenges I've signed up for and I'm way behind schedule.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

Devastated and angry at the world. That's how Ivar is feeling.

Holed up in his room since the night before, and despite Lagertha incessant requests, he doesn’t plan to come out, not now at least. Come to think of it, he might as well decide never to leave his room again.

He can't stand the idea of facing his brothers. He doesn't want to have to tell them about his failure. He doesn't want to endure Ubbe's pity and condescendence. He doesn't want to see the look of triumph on Sigurd's face. The thought makes his stomach lurch while at the same time a murderous urge creeps into his mind. No, he definitely can't see his brothers.

Surprisingly, and unlike Lagertha, his brothers have left him alone, as if sensing that entering his room would be as moving into a minefield. Only Hvitserk had taken a chance earlier, cautiously poking his head through the door. His disapproving look obvious when his eyes had taken in the scene before him, Ivar's belongings scattered on the floor, some of them smashed into pieces.

"I got you a chocolate muffin from the kitchen, baby bro," he had explained, putting it on a nearby shelf, and it had almost brought a smile to Ivar's face. To Hvitserk, there's no predicament that can't be improved with comfort food.

"Look, Ivar," scratching his neck, Hvitserk had then said, "I don't know what happened and I don't want to pressure you. You tell me when you're ready, if you are. But I'm here, okay? Whatever the time of day or night, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to. If I'm upstairs, just call me, okay?" With these words, he was gone, the door closed.

Ivar can't get the events of the previous evening out of his mind. Like a waking nightmare, they are playing over and over in his head: how he had freaked out when he heard the beeps; the confused and then so disappointed look you had given him when he sputtered his need to leave; finally, his shameful escape into the night.

What could he have done? What should he have done?

He does know the answer. He should have been more cautious. He should have checked the time, asked for your number and just walked away.

On the other hand, what difference would it have made? He would still have no future with you, right? He would still be a cripple, and you would still be... you... perfect... too good for him.

So yeah, he had run away like a coward. He lets out a bitter chuckle to himself. Run away? Who is he kidding? He hadn't run away, that would have been too easy. Cripples don't run away. Without his cane – why the fuck did he leave it behind?? – he had pathetically limped away, stumbling, his feet sinking into the sand. He had still been on the beach when the battery had died. He had had no other choice but to crawl like a worm the rest of the way, silently praying to the gods that the darkness of the night would prevent you from seeing him like this.

Tears of despair run down his cheeks for the umpteenth time. He's used to feeling humiliated, but feeling humiliated and heartbroken simultaneously is really too much to take. He feels like he's dying from the inside over and over again, cursing himself for wanting to attend the party, for wanting to see you again. He should never have let his walls down, he should never have dared to hope. What was he thinking? He may have walked, and even danced with you, but at the end of the day, he still is a pitiable cripple with stupid, crooked legs, in love with a girl way out of his league.

If he's being honest, that's what hurts the most. He now realizes how delusional he had been. Holding on to a dead dream for years, he had not forseen the painful yet unavoidable reality check. And now, it's like he's been hit by a train. Because there's no denying it, dreaming of a life with you is no longer an option, not after last night. And even though it's almost unbearable, he knows now he has to let go of you, of the idea of you and him being together. As much as this mere thought is devastating, he has no other choice. He has to stop fooling himself, for his own sanity, if nothing else.

Giving a guttural cry, much like that of a wounded animal, Ivar doesn't hear when the front doorbell rings. Not that he would have reacted even if he had heard it, too busy wallowing in self-pity.

***

"Thank you for having us here on such short notice, my dear." Your uncle states joyfully, his eyes sparkling, as Lagertha greets him with a handshake and a tight-lipped smile. Even though you don't know why, it's obvious that she's not his biggest fan.

Your uncle, who doesn't seem to notice – or doesn't care, you're not sure – keeps giving her a beaming smile. "My niece here," he turns his head toward you for a short moment, "has a weird request. She met a boy yesterday, during the party. He lost something and my sweet Y/N has been adamant since this morning that she wants to find him and personally return it to him. We were wondering," he turns his gaze in the direction of the couch, "if it could be one of your wards."

There are indeed three young men, half sprawled on the couch, who get up as one when Lagertha gives them a stern look. If you vaguely remember having seen them before, a single glance is enough for you to know that the one you're looking for is not among them.

You're on the verge of saying so but your uncle doesn't give you a chance to. "See boys," he unceremoniously grabs the cane you're holding behind your back, "here is the lost item. A cane! Fairly uncommon, if you ask me. Anyway... Does this... thing belong to any of you?"

Since you know it doesn't, you're surprised when two of the guys both take a step forward. "Actually, it's mine," they say in unison, each of them only then becoming aware that the other is speaking.

Dumbstruck, you look at one then the other successively. They've got a lot of nerve! You know they're lying, and you would have known it even if these two idiots hadn't spoken at the same time. They just look nothing like your handsome stranger – if he's a stranger.

"Sigurd, you know it's mine!"

"Don't play dumb, you never use a cane, Ubbe! Whereas me, I do sometimes. Everyone knows artists tend to be eccentric, right?"

The blondest one – Sigurd if you heard right – points his finger at a guitar leaning against the wall and then winks at you, "I'm a musician, you know?" You don't even have time to roll your eyes as the other one – Ubbe? – yells, his nostrils flaring.

"Shut up Sig, you're so full of shit! You know I've got a sprained ankle!"

"A sprained ankle, no kidding? Who did a ten-kilometer run today, huh? It's not me! So, you are the one going to shut up, you fucking douchebag!"

It's almost funny to watch them arguing back and forth. If you weren't so pissed off, you'd laugh. But right now, you're mostly mad at them. Their blatant lies make your blood boil with anger.

Are they really thinking you're a complete idiot? That you can be fooled so easily? Who do they think they are? Who do they think you are? Some stupid chick ready to fall for their good looks? If they think that, they're kidding themselves.

"You're the fucking douchebag, Sig!! Don’t forget I'm the oldest!"

"And what's the difference, huh? You can't have all the girls, Ubbe! Keep fucking Margrethe and just let me be! Stop being a controlling asshole!"

"STOP!!!! BOTH OF YOU!!!"

Lagertha's shout is deafening and if looks could kill, these two morons would be lying dead on the floor right here, right now.

"Y/N, my dear," Lagertha gives you an apologetic smile, "I'm so sorry for that. I swear they usually know how to behave, better than that at least. Guess they don't know how to handle your striking beauty. Now sweetheart, tell me, is one of these two knuckleheads the one you were with last night?"

The silence that falls on the room after her question is so complete that you could hear a pin drop. Acutely aware that all eyes are on you, you shyly lower your gaze, shaking your head slightly, as you clasp your hands over your belly. You eventually speak, your eyes meeting Lagertha's, and you can see she knows what you're going to say. "No, the guy I was with last night is not one of them."

"How can you be so sure?" Sigurd's voice is soft and tentative now, and Ubbe adds, seemingly for once in agreement with his younger brother, "yeah, how can you? It was pretty dark after all."

You give them a smile. "How can I be so sure? You mean beside the fact that you obviously don't need a cane? Neither of you?" The third brother, who still hasn't opened his mouth, chuckles, giving you a thumbs up. "Look, I appreciate your interest, I really do, but neither of you are the one I am looking for. Therefore," you look at your uncle, "we should leave, don't you think?" Checking the time on your watch, you shrug. "What about the Eyvindsson family? Didn't you tell me about three brothers? We may have time to go and see them tonight if we hurry."

Your uncle nods, handing you back the cane. "You're right, Y/N, we should leave." Taking two steps forward, he grabs Lagertha's hand. "Sorry dear, we will waste no more of your time."

You're about to thank her when one of the boys clears his throat. "Ahem..."

Turning your head, you're surprised to see the third brother, the silent one, raising his hand. "I think I might know who this cane belongs to." Frowning, he glances at his brothers. "And you both know it too."

"Shut up, Hvitserk!" Sigurd spits, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't bring the fucking cripple into the conversation."

"Sigurd! Keep your mouth shut!" Lagertha glares at him for several long seconds then her face softens as she looks at Hvitserk, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What are you trying to say, Hvitserk? Do you think this cane belongs to your baby brother?"

Hvitserk nods. "I know it does, actually."

"Come on, Hvit, you're talking nonsense. It cannot be, it just cannot. That guy was standing. It wasn't our brother. Our brother wasn't there last night." Ubbe stubbornly insists, but Hvitserk just shakes his head.

"Of course, he was. I saw him. And don't bullshit me, Ubbe, you saw him too. With Y/N." Hvitserk states. That's when you realize that your palms are sweating and your pulse is racing.

Hvitserk keeps going, now speaking to his guardian. "I know what I saw, Lagertha. It was him. I don't know how, but he was standing, Ubbe is right. He was even walking. It may sound weird but I swear, it was him."

Lagertha nods. "I believe you, Hvitserk." A beaming smile spreads across her lips and she tilts her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Floki had something to do with such a miracle. Go get your brother, Hvitserk, please."

Your heart leaps at these words, you're barely able to contain your excitement and as you let out a nervous chuckle, you cannot help but jump for joy. Needless to say, Ubbe and Sigurd seem much less enthusiastic than you.

***

Reluctantly following his brother, Ivar mutters under his breath, "you're pissing me off, Hvit. I'm fucking not in the mood for whatever you have in mind."

Hvitserk pays him no mind though, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Trust me, baby bro, you'll be in the mood."

Ivar wants to protest, or maybe just turn around and wheel back to his room but all at once the sound of your voice reaches his ears and he stops, frozen in place, his eyes wide open. He may have stopped breathing.

Patting his shoulder reassuringly, Hvitserk whispers, "It's Y/N, baby bro, but I have a feeling you already know. She's here for you, she was looking for you, Ivar. Go..." before giving a single push to his brother's wheelchair, his right hand on the backrest.

Ivar honestly doesn't know how he manages to wheel himself into the living room. What he does know, however, is that you're suddenly standing right in front of him. The heart stopping smile you flash him blows all the air out of his lungs, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, and the outside world – Lagertha, his brothers, Harald – ceases to exist.

A little voice tells him he should be feeling self-conscious with his hair all messy and wearing worn sweatpants, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you kneel in front of him with stars in your eyes.

"Here you are, finally," you breathe, gently placing a hand on his knee. Ivar didn't know until now that one could die of happiness, but that's exactly what he's feeling and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Swallowing, he blinks several times. When he speaks, his voice trembles, his bottom lip quivering. "Hello Y/N, you were... looking for... for me?" He has trouble getting the words out, his nervous fingers fidgeting on his lap.

Grabbing both his hands in yours, you nod, your thumbs stroking his knuckles tenderly. "I was, yes, and for a very long time."

Shyly lowering his head, Ivar, almost feeling dizzy, can't wrap his head around your words. They're just too good to be true. "But... why?"

"Why?" You giggle, your laughing eyes lighting up your face, and he's positive, you're even more beautiful like this. "Isn't it obvious? I want to know more about you, what's your favorite color, what you eat for breakfast, where you see yourself in ten years. I just want to spend time with you, Ivar."

'Ivar' You've just said his name and it's like the sweetest music to his ears. He can't believe it. Wow. "You... You recognized me?" There's so much hope and joy in his voice, he cringes.

You shrug, your smile never leaving your lips. "I wasn't sure at first. You've changed a lot." Your hand cups his cheek. The sensation on his skin is so overwhelming he has to hold back the tears threatening to gush. Yet, he can't help but think you're speaking about his legs.

He grits his teeth. "Yeah... Standing tall can change a man."

"No! no, no, no," you retort without missing a beat, "That's not what I meant. In my memory you still looked like you did when we were ten, but look at you now, all grown up! Your hair was so short back then." Reaching out, you brush a strand of hair back and tuck it behind his ear before letting your fingers run slowly down and up his bulging biceps, your hand finally lingering on his forearm, "Plus, you clearly work out a lot. So, yeah, I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure. When we were dancing last night, I thought I'd ask you right after, but then you left and... well... I didn't have a chance..."

Ivar wraps his fingers around yours, a frown creasing his forehead. "About that, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like–"

You shush him, holding a finger to his lips. "It doesn't matter, Ivar. You don't have to explain. All that matters is that I found you." Standing up, you lean forward and gently kiss his cheek and he feels like he's floating. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you whisper in his ear, "I reckon we got some lost time to make up, you and me. Can we go stargazing now?"

Hearing this makes Ivar's insides turn to jelly. Barely able to think, he is on cloud nine and wishes with all his heart never to come back down to earth again. But despite the daze, despite the fog in his head, despite the blinding happiness, he knows one thing: no matter how many stars he sees, you'll be the brightest one.

"Yes, Y/N, you're right," bringing your hand to his mouth, he gives it a kiss, "let's go stargazing."

And as he leaves the room, you walking alongside him with your hand on his shoulder, his heart filled with joy and wonder, he doesn't miss the thumbs up Hvitserk gives him, nor the scowl on Ubbe's and Sigurd's faces.

For a fleeting second, he thinks he should – he could – taunt them. They deserve to be laughed at, don't they? But then, he realizes he doesn't have time for that. The time for happiness has come, and it's far more important.

Giving you a beaming smile, Ivar inhales deeply before releasing a sigh of satisfaction. Yeah. Happiness. Happiness sounds good.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar’s taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

#ivar #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern-ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar imagine #ivar fic #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #cherrypie’s500 #fairytale retelling #ivarello

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ackerdaddy · 4 years ago

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hi! can i request for a oneshot for levi where he and his s/o are in the middle of a reallyyyy nasty fight where levi himself couldn’t help but lose his cool and raises his voice due to sheer frustration. but in the end they were able to find a common ground and made up. the setting will take place in the aot world but if u wanna turn it into modern au that’s fine too. :D i want to see levi lose his composure then return back to his stoic but loving self. also, i just want my angst and fluff 😂😂😂 tysm! 💓

Heya! I definitely made Levi into a soft boi for this one. It turned out to be longer than expected, so hope you enjoy <3

Parings: Levi x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Words: ~1500

Summary: You recklessly put yourself in danger trying to save a friend while out on an expedition and Levi is not so happy about it

You knew you were in shit the moment Levi had glared at you from his horse across the formation as the squads retreated. The sheer intensity of his gaze had you suppressing a shiver that was threatening to run down your spine. You were excited when you were given the news that your squad was running a joint routine with the Levi squad out past wall Rose. Levi, however, had his own opinions on the matter; he hated that you were a part of this operation. It made him incredibly nervous to know his full attention wouldn’t be on keeping everyone else alive because your safety would constantly be lingering in the back of his mind, although he would never admit it.

He only said six words to you the day you left the walls.

“Don’t be stupid out there. Survive,” he tightened his grip on your wrist and sternly reminded you that he needed you to return home with him. While it seemed like he was scolding you, you knew in your heart that he said those words out of pure love and concern.

Everything had been going smoothly until you heard a blood-curdling scream that ripped from the mouth of your best friend. Looking to your left flank, you saw her being squeezed in the massive palm of an 8m titan. Your body reacted before your mind could protest, whipping your horse’s reins and taking off towards her and the beast. Once you were in range, you fired your ODM gear straight at neck of the titan and felt your body being pulled aggressively towards your target.

“Y/n, NO!” your friend screamed as you flew in. You were coming in much too quickly and at a very bad angle, desperate to save your companion.

The warning that fell from her lips was carried by the wind and alerted Levi to your location. Watching in horror from his position some leagues away, he kicked his horse into gear and galloped towards you faster than he’s ever ridden. He was forced to witness as the titan grabbed the wire of your ODM with its other hand, thrashing your body down and into the ground. You were unable to move from the sheer force of the impact, and the titan seized the opportunity. It picked you up, and all you could do was scream and slam your fists into its hand, although you knew your efforts were futile.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. You looked at your best friend in the titan’s other hand and the two of you exchanged a look of both complete terror and complete love. The wide-eyed expressions on both your faces told each other that you knew your fate had been sealed. At least you were dying together. You scrunched your eyes closed and awaited what you presumed to be your gory demise.

Your eyes sprang open in shock when you felt yourself falling rapidly through the air. The fall left you no time to gather yourself and your back hit the hard ground with a sickening thud. Your tailbone was definitely broken. Wheezing and bloody, you frantically looked around to get your bearings. Footsteps approached you and when you gazed up at your saviour, you were met with those steely eyes looking down at you with an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You groaned and cringed internally when you saw Levi approaching you as you dismounted your horse.

“My office. Now.” He was using his Captain’s voice, and you knew you had to obey.

“Hey, you wanted to see me?” You said, feigning innocence. You busied yourself with shutting the door behind you and fiddled with the lock for way longer than necessary to avoid looking him in the eyes.

“Y/n, look at me.”

You turned around to face your partner and gave him a sheepish smile, hoping it would melt the ice in his voice, even just a tiny bit.

“What did I tell you?” He asked firmly.

“Not to be stupid,” you replied, voice filled with shame.

“Exactly. And what did you do?” He pressed.

“I was just-”

“The complete opposite of what I asked,” his voice was laced with frustration. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose before bringing his piercing gaze back to meet yours. Normally, your boyfriend was so calm and collected, but today there was a something else burning behind those guarded eyes. Nevertheless, it was becoming increasingly bothersome that he was talking to you in such a condescending tone.

“That doesn’t mean you need to treat me like a child,” you snapped, eyes ablaze.

“If you’re going to act like a child then I am going to treat you like a child. It is that simple,” he fired back.

“So you’re saying that I should have just left my best friend to die? Is that it?” you challenged.

“Oh for god sakes y/n!” Levi stated pacing towards you, causing you to back up until your back was flush with the door. Still, he continued, “Do you think I haven’t watched countless people that I care about die? You can’t be throwing yourself directly into the path of a titan without even thinking for a single second about the repercussions!” He shouted, his demeanor becoming increasingly heated. “If I hadn’t gotten there, you would have both been killed. How noble of you to give your life for the cause!” the venom in his voice dripping with sarcasm. His palm whizzed past your head and slammed into the door. The loud clap of his palm against the wood rang in your ear.

Your mouth slightly agape, you turned your head slowly turned to observe the hand that had smacked the door, then back to Levi, whose breathing was ragged and veins were popping out of his forearms. Unable to wipe the incredulous look from your face or form a coherent sentence, you continued to stare at him with wide eyes. You had never seen him this worked up before. His raven bangs fell haphazardly into those normally reserved, cool eyes. Today, there was a fire alight in them. They shimmered with an intensity that felt like it went right through your being, to the core. You felt naked under the vigor of his gaze.

“I’m . . . I’m so sorry Levi,” you choked out, blinking rapidly and trying hard to swallow the lump in your throat. You didn’t usually show this kind of weakness with anyone, and were almost embarrassed that your partner – humanity’s strongest – was seeing you in this state.

The instant that he saw the fear and sadness in your eyes that was threatening to spill over, the fiery light that was in his eyes was completely extinguished. This time, it was replaced by a soft look of compassion and love.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he tugged at your wrist, pulling you swiftly into his chest and resting his chin on top of your head. “I’m not mad, I was just worried. Y/n . . . I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice low and soft; almost a whisper. The low rumblings of his voice in his chest reverberated through your own, comforting and grounding you as you relaxed into his embrace and sighed through your nose contently.

“So . . . what you’re saying is I’m special to you?” you asked playfully, the crackling tension that had previously been in the air all but evaporated.

“Oh you’re special alright,” he joked, chuckling as he moved one calloused hand to caress the side of your head, guiding your face to his, your eyes locking. You heart melted when the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly into that crooked smile you loved so much. “You’re such a brat,” he teased, but the tone of his voice was interwoven with nothing but adoration.

“Yeah but I’m your brat,” you retorted, stretching up on your tippy toes to plant a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Must be my lucky day,” his voice was soft and warm as he leaned in to capture you lips in his.

#levi ackerman #levi requests #levi one shot #levi aot #levi snk #the veterans #corporal levi #levi heichou #captain levi #levi x reader #shingeki no kyoujin #rivaille #my writing #levi angst #levi fluff #angst #fluff

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rumblelibrary · 3 years ago

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The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it. To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth. But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me. What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them. A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen. What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining. Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance. You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me? I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee. Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.” (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence. The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way. And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty. To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

#the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler headcanons #thealienist #the alienist fanfic #the alienist fanfiction

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koujinna · 4 years ago

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An appreciation essay for emotional comfort

TW: discussions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts, and anger issues

The episode titled “The Ancient One” (Season 4 Episode 14) is an episode that has stayed with me for years. It is an episode I continue to revisit till this day as an adult. I watch it when I’m heavily stressed or having dark thoughts. I find it strangely comforting, especially since I identified with Leo’s character since I first watched the show.

Are there some corny pieces of dialogue? Yes. Do some of the lessons seem completely obvious? Well, yeah. When you’re in a better state of mind perhaps.

The point is, for a children’s show, this episode is a fantastic exploration of processing trauma, relinquishing guilt, recognizing self-sabotaging behavior, and accepting failure. There is a way to admit failure without internally punishing yourself. Persistent guilt and self-punishment do not make you a better person. You can learn to care in a more effective way. While I did not fully understand everything presented in this episode the first time I watched it, the episode stuck out so much that I kept re-watching it, each time processing it further. When you come from a background where you are constantly led to believe failure is not an option, self-punishment is normal, and that you are never good enough, the lessons in this episode can seem mind-blowing.

Leo always cared about his family. But his care manifested in a way that was detrimental. That same care being the fuel for his angry outbursts that ironically hurt his family instead of helping them. The classic overthink, frequent irritability, projection of incompetency onto other people: all signs of someone dealing with trauma.

Anger. Something I don’t think many people like admitting they have a problem with. I remember feeling ashamed for my anger. Ashamed of losing control. The aftermath of that anger only fuels that shame and guilt. You can see all the guilt and regret pour out when Leo lands a blow on Splinter. It was a rude wakeup call. It forced Leo to confront something he was deeply ashamed of, a.k.a. what he had become. He was ashamed of being mentally and emotionally unwell. And so Splinter had to confront the issue swiftly but calmly (something I commend). Clear communication and guidance was necessary for Leo. I can see why some people think Splinter’s reaction was quite cold and brisk. But from personal experience, beating around the bush gets you nowhere and can just get frustrating. Leo needed someone to be honest and calm with him and to give him a clear, defined direction to figure himself out. Straightforwardness without being condescending and panicky. The last thing an emotionally unwell person needs is for others around them to be freaking out.

I won’t give each lesson a full-blown analysis because they can be summed up nicely by the show’s script:

1. A warrior who attacks in anger never wins.

2. Some roads are shorter than others (it’s okay to take a shortcut)

3. A warrior who never fails, never learns.

4. If there was nothing more you could have done, why do you punish yourself so?

5. You are your worst enemy.

I have to give a round of applause for Michael Sinterniklaas’ performance in this episode. Leo sounds desperate, screechy, and VERY emotional, as he should be in his situation. The lines where he fights the golem: “I-I’m sorry. I’m I-. I did the best I could! I DID THE BEST I COULD! There WASN’T ANYMORE I could have DONE!” That sticks with me and I get chills every time he says it.

Edit: https://tmntsoundthingies.tumblr.com/post/59499731139/i-just-play-some-videos-of-2k3-randomly-and-this

The lovely @tmntsoundthingies actually has a clip of this!

One more thing. And this is on a darker note. Now that I am in a better place mentally, I can wholeheartedly laugh when the Ancient One says “You stupid! You alive right?” to Leo after he surrenders a fight to the demon ghosts. This hits me very hard as someone who did not use to value my life before. I really would neglect my wellbeing, my life, over something so small in the grand scheme of things. Leo, being in the self-destructive mindset, was willing to die over a fight that was not worth fighting in the first place. Self-preservation is a concept I had to actively relearn after many years of believing you have to give your all to everything. The ideas that you have to work until you drop, sleep is for the weak, and failure is not an option are toxic mindsets. Before you know it, you are neglecting to take care of yourself. And then, if you spiral down further, you actively go about harming yourself or even ending it all. The Ancient One talking about self-preservation (and in turn, self-care) so nonchalantly like that is a reality check. I deserve to live. I deserve to feel better. I deserve to be a better person. I deserve to be happy. All of these thoughts are NATURAL and you are allowed to act on them. You can give yourself permission to act on these natural thoughts. As someone who used to be suicidal, having this revelation brings me great relief and joy.

This post is most certainly WAY too long by this point. I honestly could write about this forever, but I think I’ve made my point. I honestly made my point a long time ago. I just like externalizing stuff because I think too much...and analytical, personal insight is fun. Looking inward (practicing introspection) is something I already intuitively do. This episode and many other things in my life just helped me do it more productively. I really can be my worst enemy.

There is value in messages, regardless of what form they take. This just so happened to be an episode in a kid’s cartoon. Thank you Steve Murphy for writing this episode and thank you to all the others involved in making this episode, and this show in general, a reality. TMNT 2003 is truly a comfort show for me in many ways. This was just one of them.

#tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3 #leonardo #master splinter #ancient one #teenage mutant ninja turtles #this episode just has a place in my heart is all #leo's my fav turtle in case that wasn't obvious

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