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tommydoesntpayforsuits · 3 years ago

Text

Maybe It's for the Best | Part II

gif from @nofckingfighting

Summary: Tommy is miserable, Y/n is not coping well, Charlie realises what he did, and Ada is caught in the middle of it all.

Word Count: 5095 words (I told you it was gonna be long)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Variables: Y/n

Warnings: angst, mention of sex, feelings of abandonment from Charlie, Tommy and Charlie are still grieving, I guess mild season 3 spoilers if you squint, mentions of substance abuse, in one scene you can interpret it as being alcohol abuse, Karl is being a shit, Charlie cries a lot, Reader is struggling, Reader misses Tommy and Charlie, there's a horse, mentions of death, jealousy

Author’s Note: I really hope this does part I justice. There's gonna be a part III soon, but I've got to pack cause I'm moving to Belgium, so idk when it'll be out.

I recommend using the InteractiveFics Chrome extension to replace the variables to your preferred criteria. It’s free and only takes a couple of clicks.

If you need a song to set the mood: Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) - Kate Bush

EDIT: I'm really sorry guys. I didn't notice until now, but some glitch happened and the first scene of the fic didn't copy. I'm so embarrassed bec everyone who praised it just didn't get a beginning. Sorry. If you would be so kind to read it again, it would mean the world to me.

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Part I -> Part II -> Part III

In the middle of the night, Tommy crept into Charlie’s room. He was still in the same position, curled up on the floor. Tommy sighed. Poor kid tired himself out, he thought piteously. Careful not to jostle him, Tommy gingerly scooped Charlie in his arms, held him to his chest, and gently placed him in bed. Tommy’s muscles flexed with relief. Charlie was getting too big to pick up, now. He was still small, still babyish, with beautiful round cheeks pigmented with the rosy tint of youth— but he was growing.

Tommy remembered when he used to lie in bed, playing with his baby fingers as Charlie napped on his chest. It was a comfortable pressure, right over his heart. He could feel Charlie’s own little heart hammer like a little hummingbird’s wings. Grace was panicking when she heard it beating so fast around the first week of his life, rambling about calling the doctor immediately. Tommy had just laughed, stroked her hair and kissed her forehead— explaining that it was normal for children’s hearts to beat that fast.

“They’re small, and their blood doesn’t have to circle too far in their body like ours do,” he’d explained. Grace was unsure at first, until Tommy elaborated that this was something his mother had taught them when they were small. When she leant four-year-old Tommy’s and seven-year-old Arthur’s heads to new-born John’s chest, and told them to be quiet and listen— “That, my babies, is the miracle of life,” she’d said in Romani with a smile, a smile that had at last reached her eyes. She showed them the same, this time with John, years later to baby Ada. It was amazing every-time. Tommy was eighteen the last time he did it, when baby Finn was born. Finn was sleeping, peacefully— the only peaceful thing in Small Heath. So alive in his arms, his little brother. One of the reasons he worked day and night to bring the bread home. Tommy shared the experience with Ada, whom never got the chance to be shown by their mother, and John, who didn’t remember listening to Ada’s. They smiled, giggling together.

Grace had calmed down after that. They spent that night listening to Charlie’s heart flutter in his chest in the silence. Peace.

Tommy untied Charlie’s little shoes, placing them neatly on the floor. Something soft brushed Tommy’s fingertips. His eyes snapped down, where Charlie’s toy horse was sprawled— forgotten and slightly damp from tears and drool. Tommy placed it in Charlie’s arm. In his sleep, Charlie shifted and curled up next to the horse, flapping the long wrist of his jumper away. Tommy contemplated trying to take Charlie’s jumper off, but that would surely wake him up. And frankly, Tommy wasn’t in the mood for conversation tonight.

Tommy spent however long watching Charlie’s chest rise and fall; letting the knowledge that he was alive, safe and breathing beside him filled Tommy with the comfort he needed to temper the growing ache in his chest. When Tommy’s own eyes began to droop, he shuffled out, closing the door behind him. Out of instinct, he headed to his own bedroom— but a single glance at the half-empty room, and he remembered. Remembered Y/N leaving a few hours earlier. Watching her climb into the backseat of the car, her hallmark sad smile burned into his mind as he stood in the doorway of Arrow House. He didn’t smile back, instead with his deep-set frown, but he kept chanting in his head look back, look back, look back. He didn’t like his superstitious side. Still, his only focal point was that Y/N looked back as the car pulled out. Tommy couldn’t make out if she did.

Tommy turned around, and locked himself in his study.

Y/N’s parents didn't say anything when they opened their door unexpectedly at midnight. They didn’t ask questions when they saw her, teary eyed with smeared make-up and mussed hair. They didn’t make any comments when her staff — well, Tommy’s staff — lugged her entire life inside.

It was good her parents didn’t make a big fuss. They only looked at one another sadly, and let her be. Y/N’s father made up the guest bed she was always welcome to, whilst her mother made her a cup of tea. Y/N hadn’t said a word. Instead, she silently stared at the tea swirling sluggishly. Wordlessly, she went to bed. Mug still warm.

She did it for Charlie— which had become Y/N’s mantra. Often, she caught herself itching to jump into her parent’s car and speed back to Arrow House in her pajamas. Sometimes the yearning was so strong she had to go downstairs and take a shot to bring herself back. This was for Charlie, she would chant in her head. For Charlie.

Despite his behaviour, Y/N missed him so much. The thought that she would never see his little round face, and miss his next birthday, and his first ‘big boy horse’ drove her wild with grief. What if they didn’t get the right cake? He always had a vanilla strawberry buttercream cake. And the macaroons. She forgot to remind Tommy of the macaroons from Paris. She should call him up and remind him—

No. She instigated this. This was her idea, her insistence. For Charlie.

And yet, Y/N would give anything to hear that awful, headache inducing, off-key screeching— one more time. She was there for every recital; she supervised every practice; she bought him every instrument his clever mind wanted to master— and watched him exceed from the comfort of her living room.

Well. Not hers any more.

Y/N didn’t sleep. The sheet was itchy, and rubbed against her skin like sand; the pillow wasn’t padded enough to support her neck; and she was freezing. She missed her bed. Her old bed, where Tommy would wrap his arms around her, his hot flesh enveloping her from behind. Or even when she laid her head on his chest, listening to his even breathing, his muscles strong underneath her. Or when he’d fuck her into exhaustion, body worn and warm.

It was four in the morning, and Y/N had yet to spend a few minutes without shifting. Whenever she closed her eyes, Tommy was there— his eyes just as numb as when she pulled out of the drive. Y/N had to stop herself from pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing for her mind to stop. To Stop. Thinking. She had watched him, tears spilling, until he was just a blurry shape in the distance.

What was he doing at this hour? Was he sleeping? Was he drunk? Was he lying awake in the dead of night, staring at the ceiling like she was? Was there someone next to him—?

No, Y/N scolded herself firmly. Tommy loves me.

But even if Tommy did love her, even if he was also staring at the ceiling, Y/N knew it was none of her concern who was in their—... his bed. Y/N had no claim to Tommy any more. She had no right to feel jealous, or possessive, or betrayed. No right to feel that persistent sting and heavy pounding in her heart. No right to wonder if she was pretty; if she fucked him just as well as Y/N did; if she had the same hair or eye colour. No right to think if the girl reminded him of her.

Was it wrong to fuck someone not even twelve hours of your wife leaving? Twenty-four? A week? A month? What was the limit? Y/N swallowed, sick to her stomach, but she wasn’t that far gone. Whether he fucked a woman an hour after their split, or a year, he wasn’t wrong. Tommy was a free man; Y/N still felt chained to that house.

He loves me, she insisted.

To whom.

Charlie huffed, slumping into his seat. Peculiarly, the food wasn’t there as it usually was. It was always served by the time he was awake, not that Charlie cared. It wasn’t like he’d eat it. He watched as his father chugged water with concerning desperation, and proceeded to pour himself more.

Charlie’s glower became less angry and more… disgusted. He didn’t recognise his father this way: looking like he was going to be sick any second, a slight sweaty sheen to him, an unfocused gaze. When the staff came with breakfast, his dad’s eyes jumped out of his head, and gave them an uncharacteristic nod. Once the food was set in front of him, he picked up a fork and began stabbing his eggs.

Surprised, Charlie blinked. He never ate without waiting for her first. Wary, Charlie tentatively picked up a fork and began hesitantly picking at his eggs, curiously glaring at his father from his furrowed brow. They said nothing.

Tommy beat on the front door. He felt hot. Too hot. Like he wanted to rip off his jacked and collar. He dabbed the wrist of his shirt against his damp forehead and swallowed down the rising bile. The sweat patches on his back were growing by the second, his shirt sticking to his skin like honey.

The door opened and Tommy barged in, ignoring the sarcastic, “Why don’t you come in?” from Ada. She was hot on his heels, protesting his every move. Tommy reached the kitchen, launching his cap carelessly aside on the kitchen counter. Wrenching the tap on, he gathered water in his palms and drenched his face. Sighing, he brought his wet hand to the back of his neck. His flesh finally stopped burning. He turned the tap off, relishing in the relief.

“What on earth is going on with you, Tom?!” Ada snapped with an incredulous expression as she watched him from behind the kitchen table. “Are you ill, what’s the matter with you?”

“I’m alright, Ada,” Tommy grumbled, taking his jacket off and slinging it on the back of the kitchen chair. “I’m just in the middle of an awful fuckin’ hangover.”

Ada’s shoulders dropped as she rolled her eyes and scoffed, as Ada did. She offered him some tea by showing him the freshly boiled kettle. He shook his head and recoiled, giving a long, disgusted huff.

“Have you eaten?” Ada asked conversationally. She poured the water on the tea bag and sat down at the kitchen table. The tea leaked from the brim of the mug, dripping onto the table. Ada tutted and pulled a kitchen towel from where it hung on the cupboard handle behind her, and swiped quickly at the tea residue. She left the towel on the kitchen table and sat down. Ada, upon noticing the cover was visible, turned over the book she was reading to spare herself the embarrassment of Tommy noticing.

But Tommy wasn’t paying attention. He only nodded slowly to himself, sniffing as the remnants of water droplets ran down his nose and into the collar of his sweat drenched shirt. “Yeah, I had some breakfast with Charlie.”

“Oh!” Ada exclaimed, eyebrows jumping. “Is he’s eating?”

“Yep,” said Tommy bitterly. “He’s eating now.”

Ada hummed with a surprised lilt, sipping her tea. “I bet Y/N’s happy,” she said absent-mindedly.

Tommy clenched his jaw and gripped the edge of the counter until his fingers turned white. Last night, he did the same when he’d kissed, touched Y/N for the last time. His stomach tightened, muscles sore with over use.

Ada put down her cup and wiped away the lipstick on the rim with her thumb. Tommy didn’t say anything. Curiously, she glanced at him, and witnessed his pained expression— like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him. “Tommy?” she urged. His behaviour was scaring the wits out of her.

“Yeah.” Tommy cleared his throat. “Y/N and I split up. She left last night.”

Her eyes were wide and her jaw slack. All that was running through her head was possibilities for Y/N leaving, and she froze when one caught her attention. Her eyes narrowed. “Thomas. Michael. Shelby.”

With furrowed brows, he looked at her.

“What did you do?” Ada jumped out of her seat, grabbing the kitchen towel and holding the end like a whip. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips, reminding him very much of Polly at that moment. “Did you have a fucking affair, Tommy?”

“What?!” Tommy barked.

She raised her voice and swung the tea towel at him, punctuating every word with a beating. “Did—you, or—did—you—not, have—” her voice went shrill, “a—fucking—affair?!”

Tommy raised his arms half-heartedly to protect himself. “NO!”

Ada scowled at him fiercely, the tea towel swayed from her hand threateningly. “Are you lying, Tommy?”

Tommy raised his hand and slammed it on the counter with a loud BANG! To Ada’s credit, she didn’t flinch. “NO, I’m not fucking lyin’!”

Ada blinked.

“Y/N left because Charlie had another tantrum, and she didn’t want him to be acting up any more!”

Her scowl relaxed. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. Tommy inhaled deeply, trying to regain control. Matter-of-factly, he said, “She left because she thought her absence would benefit him more. So, no, I didn’t have— a fucking affair.” He added, sharply, “I love my wife.”

A deep sigh left Ada, her eyes fluttering closed. She looked up at Tommy, who’s jaw was clenched once again, and his eyes were tensely trying not to show any emotions. Ada knew that look well, she saw it on him too many times. Without another thought, Ada reached her arms up and enveloped him to her, holding him in place. Tommy hesitated, before wrapping his own arms around her and squeezing her tightly. His breathing became erratic, chest spasming in what Ada — with surprise — understood to be crying.

“Oh, no, Tommy,” she lamented. Ada rubbed his back like she used to do to Karl when he was angry and didn’t know why. Truth be told, she didn’t know what to do. Ada almost never saw Tommy cry. She was sure he did, but always in private, never in front of anyone.

Tommy stopped. Quickly, with one breath. He didn’t want to cry any more. Tommy rubbed Ada’s back gratefully, and pulled away to reveal her concerned frown, but he shook his head, insisting he was alright. He wasn’t, but Ada probably already knew that.

“I- uh…” his voice faltered. “I came to ask if you would take Charlie for a couple of days. I just…” he ran his hands over his face, callouses scratching at his skin. “I need to be alone for a bit, I need to just…” he didn’t know what. But he looked Ada in the eyes and pleaded. She understood, and nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look after him. Can I pick him up tomorrow? I’ve got to take Karl to the doctor for a check-up, and then I promised he and his friends could sleep over tonight, and I have to watch them, then take them all home—”

“Yes, that’s fine,” he whispered, tired.

Ada frowned at him, searching his face with her eyes. “Tommy, you really don’t look alright. Stay here and have a nap. I’ll make you some lunch.”

He shook his head, his eyes mindlessly tracing the pattern on the floor. “I just had breakfast, it’s too early for lunch,” Tommy muttered.

She paused, pursing her lips. “Tommy, it’s about three-thirty in the afternoon, you must be running on steam...”

Three-thirty… Tommy was annoyed, but not surprised. Only when Ada said it did he notice how tired and sore his body felt, keeping itself up with sheer will alone. He finally met her worried gaze and offered a heavy nod. Ada rubbed his arm and went around the cabinets, pulling out ingredients.

“Sit down,” she ordered, gently.

Tommy slumped down in Ada’s chair, letting his head loll back.

He was looking out the window. With the grey clouds and naked trees. Thinking. Y/N and him had gone for a ‘walk’ on those grounds, before. It was freezing, and maybe irresponsible, but it was some of the most fun he’d ever had. That was where he told her he loved her, after they rode horses all day, and they were on their way back to the house. That was where he proposed to her, too. He grabbed her hand and dragged her onto the grounds, muttering nothing but dry jokes all the way to hear her playful laughter. He was almost forty years old, but they acted like they were twenty-year-old fools in love, like they could withstand anything.

The door to his study clicked open. “Daddy?”

Evidently, not.

“Yes, Charlie?” Tommy said gruffly, placing his dwindling cigarette between his lips.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t move. “Remembering.”

Tommy looked at Charlie, who was meekly hanging on to the door handle of his study, swinging from the door handle, the hinges squeaking quietly, but loudly enough to make Tommy clench his jaw. Another thing he had to fix. “Where’s Y/N?”

Tommy’s shoulder’s tensed, mouth suddenly dry. He swallowed, but his throat just felt sticky with dehydration. Clenching his jaw again, Tommy’s emotions threatened to spill right in front of his son. “Y/N’s gone, Charlie. She’s not coming back.”

The squeaking halted. Tommy said nothing as he made notes on his paperwork.

Nothing was right. Nothing was how it was supposed to be.

At Charlie’s favourite time of the day, snack-time, he ran to the kitchen, giggling with excitement. The staff had his apple slices and sandwich ready for him. He bounced frantically in his seat, grinning. As soon as his eyes fell on the food, his grin melted. His sandwich still had the crust, which was strange because they were always cut off (they hurt his gums when he chewed); it was cut into rectangles rather than triangles (he didn’t mind as much, but it was odd all the same); his apple slices still had the skin on, (which were uncomfortable when they got stuck in his teeth); and he didn’t have any water. He always had water, bread made him thirsty. The staff filtered out by then, so he ate silently, picking the apple skin with his nails and ripping the crust off.

The approaching storm looming made the climate chillier, and Charlie was suffering— he never did well in the cold. His skin ached and felt like ice. Charlie went to get his slippers from where they always were under the radiator in his bedroom. But they weren’t there. He asked Frances, and Nanny Joan, but no one knew where they were. In the end, Charlie just put on another pair of slippers. His feet were still cold, stomach in knots.

The next time he saw his dad was at dinner. Charlie was sitting quietly, not causing a fuss, as the staff brought a tray of salmon and placed it at the middle of the table. Charlie didn’t mind that they were having salmon again, he was just excited to be eating three meals a day. Once the food was served, the staff were excused and ushered away. Charlie’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at his fish. He glanced at his dad, who was mindlessly picking at his food, occasionally bringing some to his mouth.

“Where’s my cream sauce?” Charlie broke the silence.

Glancing up from his food, Tommy inhaled sharply as he was forced out of his daydreams. “Say again, Charlie?” he mumbled with exhaustion.

He pointed to his plate. “My cream sauce. It isn’t there.”

Tommy blinked. “Yeah. Sorry, mate. I forgot.”

Charlie’s heart sank into his empty stomach. “You never forget,” he said, voice small.

Tommy stopped, jaw chewing slowly. Carefully, he said, “I wasn’t the one who took care of those things.” His attention shifted back to his food as he placed some salmon shavings between his teeth.

Charlie said nothing more.

At bedtime, Charlie’s feet were freezing. The thunder grumbled from outside the window, flashing occasionally. He was shivering, covers drawn to his neck. Searching, his feet reached for the bottom of the bed, but he wasn’t met with heat. He wasn’t met with anything other than more cold sheet. That was when he realised that the hot water bottles, usually at the end of his bed, were absent.

Charlie couldn’t shake the feeling that he made a terrible mistake.

Tommy didn’t know how to handle his emotions.

Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. If he went by what he wanted to do, he would drink himself to sleep. To kidney failure, honestly. But Y/N hated it when he overdrank, it scared Charlie. And the last thing he needed was for the business to falter. For the papers to catch wind of his depressive episode. For Frances to walk in on a rotting corpse with bottles of whiskey dripping on the carpet. For Y/N to get the news that the night after she left, her husband drunk himself to death— she’d never forgive herself. For Charlie, especially Charlie, to wake up one morning and be told he’s an orphan.

No, he didn’t think Charlie, or Y/N, or Grace— or anyone, really —would forgive him for that one.

He considered using his opium pipe. Though, he didn’t even remember where it was or if he even still had it. Y/N demanded Tommy stopped, that Charlie nor her should have to live in a house with a man who was so up in the clouds that “can’t even get up to piss let alone do his fucking duties.” She threatened him that night, a face like thunder. Stormed into their bedroom while he was trying to sleep and told him that if he didn’t stop, she would leave him and take Charlie away and protect him. That she would talk to the coppers, even die if she had to, and she didn’t care if he hated her for it. “No child should live with their father too fucking high to protect him or even raise him. Especially not one in organised crime.” If it had been anyone else, the threat of coppers or taking away his son would be a cause for a bullet in their forehead. But the thought that Y/N would die to protect his son, even from him, filled him with pride. He bought a ring the very next day. After that, he’d stared at a photograph of Grace. Tommy never smoked again.

Honestly, Tommy would never touch the stuff again. It took him so long to detox, suffering extreme withdrawal symptoms, snapping and screaming at anyone who looked at him the wrong way. Seeing the fear in his son’s eyes and the rage in his wife’s. But he calmed down; sobered up.

So, no drinking. No opium. Would he smoke? Regular, old-fashioned cigarettes? That was one thing Y/N could never wane him off. All she asked was that it was in moderation— no chain-smoking. “I’m not going to be a widow by the time I’m fifty,” she had said. Tommy cut back, like he’d promised, but he doubted smoking would be the thing to off him.

So, what did that leave? Tommy looked out the window. The sky was grey and gloomy. It was definitely going to rain.

Might as well go for a ride.

Charlie peeked behind the door frame, where his Aunt Ada was stirring a pot. His little heart was thundering in his chest as his hands jittered with fear. Whenever he mustered the courage to saunter into the kitchen, Charlie’s mind raced with every way his plan could fail. All included Aunt Ada getting angry at him for meddling, and getting a right telling off. But the image of his dad looking so sad. Empty. Charlie had seen him that sad before he had to shoot a horse. The same cloudiness in his eyes. It frightened him.

So, Charlie knew he had to face Aunt Ada for help eventually, but he didn’t have to be happy about it.

Deciding that he wasn’t a coward, like Karl regularly called him, he tittered into the kitchen, sitting on a chair without making a sound. Charlie stared at his hands, pouting, not knowing what to say or how to begin.

“Charlie—FUCK!” Ada exclaimed, slamming down the pot of boiling water and stumbling over to the sink, frantically twisting the tap on. She groaned as the cold water cascaded over her burn. Hissing with pain as her wound began to blister, Ada wrapped a cloth around her hand and turned to a wide-eyed Charlie. “Oh,” she faltered. “It’s alright, Charlie. I just didn’t see you. I’m sorry I yelled and swore.”

Ada prayed desperately that he wouldn’t cry. Charlie only shrugged and went back to staring at his hands. Ada blinked. She approached him, taking slow, small steps as if he were a wild cub she didn’t want to spook. “What’s wrong, Charlie?”

Charlie shrugged. His legs swung aggressively.

Ada crouched next to him, and placed her hand on his knee. She looked in his eyes with a small, comforting smile. “Won’t you tell me?”

His legs stopped.

Innocently, her eyebrows rose. “You’re not gonna tell your Auntie Ada?”

Charlie swallowed, his pout pulling into a frown. “I think I did something bad.”

Ada’s eyes went wide, her muscles tensed. What should she do? What should she say? “What—” she cleared her throat, “what do you mean, Charlie?”

His eyes began to leak. Little sniffles escaped him— so quiet, it broke Ada’s heart. “I think I hurt Daddy.”

Her eyes twisted, lips pursing into a pained expression. “Oh, my boy,” Ada cooed, voice tight with pity. “Is this about Y/N?”

Charlie’s sniffing grew louder as he nodded, his mouth opened in a wet, high-pitched sob; his fist roughly rubbed at the pouring tears.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Waves of sympathy rippled through her. She grabbed him by his waist, hoisting herself onto her feet with Charlie in her arms and jostled him like a baby. “Don’t cry, Charlie-boy. It’s alright. You’re alright.” Ada turned his red and blotchy face to her with her index finger. Charlie rested his head on her shoulder.

“It’s my fault!” Charlie wailed, almost incomprehensibly.

“No, no, no it’s not,” she insisted.

His little arms circled around her neck as far as he could reach, gripping so tightly it surprised her. Ada could feel his tears soaking the collar of her cardigan. “I hurt daddy! I was mean to her, and I hurt daddy!”

Footsteps stomped toward the kitchen. Ada’s head snapped to see the source of the loud groan that followed. Karl was crossing his arms, glaring at Charlie. Ada wondered momentarily what Freddie would think of this behaviour.

“Is Charlie crying again?” Karl complained.

Ada’s eyes narrowed coldly directly into Karl’s, ignoring Charlie’s bawling in her ear. Karl stared back, unbothered. He eventually relented, rolling his eyes.

“Go to your room, Karl,” Ada snapped.

“But I’m hungry—”

Ada wasn’t having it. She pointed her finger vaguely in the general direction of his bedroom. “NOW!”

Charlie wept louder, Karl groaned and stomped away, Ada swore under her breath— head already throbbing. Karl definitely tested her patience, but his cruelty was becoming too difficult to handle. She wiped the tears from Charlie’s slick cheeks and consoled him with comforting words and songs, until his sobs were reduced to low whimpers.

“I—don’t—know—what— to do …” Charlie mumbled into her shoulder, speech convulsing, as it tended to do for crying children. Charlie’s arms were becoming limp, slowly sliding off of Ada’s shoulder. He was sniffling now, breathing more evenly.

Ada lowered herself on her kitchen chair, rocking Charlie to sleep. “We’ll fix it,” she assured. “We’ll fix it, Charlie.”

The horse was skittish as they neared the lake, sniffing and whinnying before staggering to a stop. Tommy clenched his legs around the horse’s torso, keeping himself in place as she rattled. He swung a leg over, sliding off on his stomach. He landed with a squelch in the mud. Tommy stroked the horse’s damp snout, tugging gently at the reins to guide her to the lake. He shot down and dipped his fingers in the freezing water, swiping at the horse’s mouth. She sniffed gratefully and bent her head to drink.

“That’s right,” he whispered. “Good girl.”

It was freezing. They saw the worst of the storm the previous night, but the rain was still going the next day. Tommy would feel droplets run down his temples and his cheekbones, occasionally flicking his head to move the hair plastered to his skin. Tommy didn’t mind this weather, though. He liked riding in the rain, it gave him a sense of peace he couldn’t understand. Even so, he hated the mud. The fucking mud. But the good must come with the bad.

Tommy could see Arrow House in the distance, relatively small and insignificant in the horizon, standing isolated against the trees, looking less like home than ever. If it wasn’t the house where Charlie grew up, where Grace lived, where Y/N spent her time fussing over them— Tommy would burn it to the ground and light his cigarette with its flames. He would let the ashes fall around him like snow. That house brought him so much sorrow, it was a wonder he was ever happy in it at all.

The horse sniffed, giving a quick whinny. Tommy glanced at the house one last time, empty, before climbing back on the horse and galloping away.

Y/N was still in her parents house, wearing a dress that Tommy got her, with nowhere to go; drinking Tommy’s gin that still hadn’t eradicated her “seemingly incurable sadness.” How very Tommy of him, to name it like that.

She sat on the armchair next to the window— staring at nothing, occasionally pouring another finger of gin. Bessie Smith crooned from the record player, spinning and spinning and spinning for hours on end. One of her parents would occasionally come in to see if she needed anything. She always asked them to change the vinyl. “To what?” they’d ask every time. Y/N shrugged every time.

When the light seeped away and the sun set, Y/N stood from that armchair, bones stiff, and collapsed on the bed.

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babyboibucky · 4 years ago

Text

Featherlight

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x Ballerina!Reader

Summary: Bucky is blinded by his insecurities and fails to see how in love you are with him.

Word Count: 2,140

Warnings: Body image issues, insecurities but other than that, this is just pure fluff 💕

A/N: I asked for fluff prompts and y’all delivered and I swear, I’ll try to make them into full fics but for now, have this fluff inspired by my wifey’s idea @sarge-barnes-sir 😘 It’s my first time writing Chubby!Bucky and I hope it’s decent enough for everyone to enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST

If you were the sun, he was the shadow. He’d follow you everywhere but would always stay behind, not wanting to dim your light.

Bucky adored you and he was so in love with you that sometimes he felt like he wasn’t enough for someone like you. Someone so pristine, so delicate and so perfect.

A ballerina.

Slender in figure, fit and so blindingly beautiful. You moved with grace even when you aren’t dancing. Whether you had your pointe shoes on or simply a pair of sneakers, you always looked like you were gliding with ease— so lightweight and carefree.

And then there he was, Bucky. Known as the clumsy book shop owner who couldn’t even finish arranging his books without taking breaks in between. He’s put on some weight recently, his stomach stretching out his shirts and his pants becoming too tight.

Bucky felt like he let himself go and he hated it. Hated how people seem to question how he was able to steal your heart, hated how he’d gotten looks from people whenever the both of you were out and about.

What Bucky couldn’t seem to see was that you thought of him as the sun too— your source of warmth and your light.

You adored him just as much, he was kind and so caring. Even the smallest things he’d do for you were never unappreciated. In fact, it was those trivial things that made butterflies explode in your stomach.

Bucky always opening the door for you or subtly switching sides with you whenever you’d cross the street; his book recommendations for you with little post its stuck on certain pages and phrases that he thought you’d love.

He was thoughtful and he showered you with affection but only when no one was around. You knew why he was always aloof whenever he needed to make himself known and it hurts you.

You were so in love with Bucky, maybe even more than he was with you. And if words weren’t enough proof, you were definitely going to show him and make him feel how much head over heels you were for him.

The chimes above the entrance resounded throughout the book store, followed by your cheery voice calling for Bucky.

Bucky emerged from beneath the counter, greeting you with a smile, “Hi there, princess.”

You almost hop from happiness, just by seeing Bucky. His presence always made you feel giddy and his smile, that beautiful smile of his, it never failed to make you feel like a high school girl having a crush.

“I’m on my way to the studio and I thought I’d give you these.” You excitedly showed Bucky a box of cupcakes, placing them on top of the counter before walking around it to press a kiss on his cheek.

Bucky hesitated for a moment, but was careful not to show it in his face. He had been holding back on the sweets, noticing how his stomach was becoming pudgier than before.

“I woke up early today to bake these for you.” You said.

Bucky opened the box, revealing his favorite red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese filling. He pulled you close to his side and kissed your crown, mumbling a soft thank you before taking one out from the box.

“Doll, you’re making me fat.” He joked, but there was a little bit of truth in it. And it didn’t go over your head.

You give Bucky a hug, your hand resting on his stomach. “I like this. It’s cute.” You told him.

“You’re cute. And I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s heart swelled at your words, because they sounded sincere. You were always so genuine and you always expressed your love for him. He could only wish he could do the same thing to you without feeling embarrassed of himself. You deserved that, but sometimes it was hard not to let his insecurities get to him.

“Will you come pick me up after my rehearsals?” You asked pleadingly.

Bucky nodded, “Of course, baby. I’ll be outside waiting.”

And outside did Bucky wait. He had arrived earlier but decided to stay outside the studio. The doors had a glass window, allowing him to watch you as you danced gracefully with the rest of your ballerina friends.

A warm smile tugged at Bucky’s lips as he watched you with admiration. Your arms were poised as they moved along the music, feet gliding against the wooden floor as if you were weightless.

In Bucky’s eyes, you were the most beautiful when you were in your element.

You twirled on your toes and as soon as you turned towards the direction of the door, your eyes immediately spotted Bucky.

“Bucky, you’re here!” You practically squeal and rush out mid-practice.

Bucky chuckled when you ran towards him, jumping up and clinging onto him like a koala. You kissed his lips before letting your feet land back on the ground.

“Come and watch us.” You told him, taking his hand and tugging him into the studio.

Bucky though, pulled you back and stole a quick glance past your figure. The other ballerinas were looking at him, he realized. But no malice nor judgment were present in their eyes, If any, there was only amusement.

“I don’t want to interrupt you, baby.” He worried.

You chuckled, “You won’t. Besides, they’ve all been wanting to meet you.”

Bucky didn’t get a chance to make up another excuse because how could he say no to you? You looked so excited to see him and introduce him that it made him forget about his insecurities briefly.

“Ladies, this is my boyfriend, Bucky. I hope you don’t mind it if he watched?” You asked happily, your fingers intertwined with Bucky’s the entire time.

Bucky bashfully waved at each of your friends and offered a soft hello, acknowledging each of them when they introduced themselves.

“She really doesn’t need to introduce you to us, you know. She gushes about you every time, it’s really nice to finally meet you.” Wanda said, looking over at you with a teasing smile.

Natasha hummed in agreement, “She keeps on telling almost everyone how your shop has the best selection of books there is. I might actually drop by soon to check it out.” She said.

Bucky’s chest constricted, not from consciousness nor embarrassment but from utter happiness. You’d been talking about him to your friends, enough to have them be just as excited to meet him.

And that afternoon, Bucky watched you with loving eyes as you danced. You kept on looking at him, shooting him smiles and winks that made him blush like a little school boy.

You truly had eyes only for him.

Bucky thought that he was over his self-doubts after meeting your ballerina friends. They were all so nice and not once did they make him feel inferior for having you as his girlfriend.

But now, having to attend the ballet recital you’d star in, Bucky could feel his diffidence come back all at once. His hands felt clammy around the bouquet of flowers he bought, he walked up to the steps leading to the backstage to surprise you, feet becoming heavier and heavier as he neared.

Was his dress shirt too tight? Bucky unknowingly placed a hand on his belly hanging over his belt. Would the security even let him into the backstage if he said you were his girlfriend? Would he even believe him? And the director of your ballet company, he’d finally meet her but how would she feel about her star ballerina being with someone like him?

He was merely a book shop owner, a timid one at that. You were a rising star, and with the amount of media attending the show, there was no doubt that you’d have all their attention and Bucky wouldn’t want to be beside you then, dimming your light with the little darkness that often hung above his head.

Bucky began to sweat and thought about just meeting you after the show, but then you saw him and your beautiful voice calling for his name was enough to shatter all the negative thoughts before they could fully consume him.

“Hi doll.” Bucky greeted as he walked up to you.

You were already in your outfit, all white with gold accents with an intricate tiara to match— Bucky’s queen looking like an actual queen.

“You look beautiful.” He praised, handing you the flowers.

You cooed and gave Bucky a hug, looking up at him with bright eyes and a huge smile. “You look so handsome today, Buck.”

Bucky chuckled softly, not even acknowledging your compliment. “Well, I’ll leave you to prepare. I just wanted to surprise you before the show starts.”

“No, wait. Come on, I’ll introduce you around. The show won’t start in half an hour anyway.” You said.

There were stares and whispers as you went around to introduce Bucky to the rest of your company. Wanda and Natasha were quick to greet him, alleviating some of Bucky’s worries. But then his fear of being judged came back when he noticed the others and how they looked at you and then at him.

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat when you let go of his hand to approach one of the male dancers, greeting him with an embrace.

He was lean and fit, handsome too with features that would make any girl look twice. Bucky wasn’t jealous, no. He trusted you and knew that you would never, ever look at someone else.

But it was Bucky’s own thoughts that betrayed him. He began to compare himself with the other men in the room, how they looked physically good, how strong they probably were to be able to lift you in the air with ease.

How they looked like the perfect match for a perfect girl like you.

Oh how the press would love to see the star of the show with someone just as graceful and beautiful.

“Bucky.”

Your voice pulled him out of his reverie, not because of how chirpy it sounded but because it was stern and came out like a warning.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” You asked with a frown as you walked up to him, resting your arms on his shoulders and pulling him close.

Bucky faked a laugh, “Doing what, honey?”

You made a face and cupped his cheeks, “I love you, Bucky. And I hate it when you bring yourself down when you lift me up. You always does that and I don’t like it.”

Bucky avoided your gaze and heaved out a sigh, shaking his head and licking his lips.

“I can’t help it when you’re so...perfect. You shouldn’t even be with me, I’m just...I mean...look at me.” He chortled bitterly, motioning down at his body.

“I am looking at you, Bucky. Always. And do you know what I see?” You asked and tried to catch his gaze.

“I see a perfect man. I see the love of my life. I want you to see that too. I don’t care about what others would say, I’d choose you always.” You reassured with a tender smile that almost brought Bucky to tears.

He was so caught up with his insecurities all these years that he failed to see how you looked at him. There was always a glimmer in your eyes whenever you spotted him, your smile always reaching your ears every time you were out with him.

You never cared about his body, his shirts becoming too tight or how he had to loosen up his belt so he could breathe. You loved Bucky as he is and you always made sure to show him that whenever you made love to him.

Hell, you showed him that every single day, with your surprise visits at his shop, your lips on his cheek even when in public...how you were all over him whenever the two of you were together.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky breathed out and caught you off-guard with a kiss.

He poured his love into that kiss, other people be damned. You’re his just as much as he was yours. If you think he was perfect, then he’ll make sure to be it and he was going to start by being proud.

Proud of you and proud of himself too.

“I love you, Bucky. Always you.”

Bucky had never seen you so ethereal as he watched you take over the stage with your grace. You danced as if he was the only person in the audience, your eyes always finding their way to him and they’d shine with happiness and love.

You had eyes only for Bucky and the way you made him feel with your love was akin to how you danced across the stage—

Featherlight.

Everything Bucky Tag List:

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crescentsteel · 4 years ago

Text

When in Brazil - Sunshine

pairing: Hinata x f!reader genre: SMUT wc: 6.6k warnings: fingering, oral, body worship, praise kink, hinata with big dik

[a/n]

I said to myself, lets make this quick and short. lol yea sure

No beta. This is Spartaaaaa

My brain went bzzt bzzt after this.

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist for this mini series

Beach || masterlist

“Are there any more deliveries for me, y/n?” The ginger asks while beaming at you like he hasn’t been delivering orders under the heat of the sun across Rio the whole afternoon.

“We’re all good, Shoyo.” You smile back. He’s such an earnest part-timer that your mood just lifts up whenever you see him. You rarely find anyone like him. Even though he’s just delivering orders for the diner, he’s so dedicated to it. He’s not like one of your previous delivery guys who grumbles before and after work as if they’re not getting paid. Shoyo is different. His eyes are full of life, full of purpose.

You like seeing him around because his sincerity and politeness makes you feel like you’re not just some dumb waitress in some small diner. Aside from pleasing to talk to, he’s also pleasing to look at. He’s like a cute boy-next-door kind of guy.

“I’ll be going ahead then!”

“Wait!” He turns around with an inquisitive look on his face. You want to keep him around longer for tonight. It’s been a rough day for you and you could use some sunshine. “Actually, I’d appreciate some help closing up. I’ll serve you something for dinner in return.” His face brightens up at your request. There it is. Mr. Sunshine, indeed.

“Sure, y/n! Just tell me what to do.”

He’s an efficient help to have. What you usually do in 40 minutes or so was done in just 20.

“Wow, I should ask you to help out more often,” you say jokingly. “No problem, y/n! I can help out after deliveries.”

You wave your hand frantically. “Oh no no no. I was just kidding, Shoyo. I can’t always give you dinner. The owner would notice when we do inventory.” You laugh apprehensively.

“You don’t have to! I don’t mind staying for a few minutes to help out after deliveries.”

You stare at him with an appreciative smile on your face. Bless his pure heart. Boys in Brazil could learn from him. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen to prepare your food real quick.”

He seats himself in one of the vacant lounges, grinning at you as you enter the kitchen. Since it was just him, you get it done in ten minutes or less. When you get out of the tiny room, he’s like a puppy salivating at the tray you’re holding.

“Here you go, sir.” You jokingly say.

He doesn’t respond as his eyes twinkle at the food you laid out in front of him. Poor Shoyo. He must have been starving or maybe he’s just glad for the free food.

You decide to clean up the kitchen and the counter while you wait for him to finish, but he ate so fast that he’s done before you are.

When he sees you still occupied, he takes it upon himself to get his used cutleries and wash it. He easily finds where to put them and he even wipes the table he sat on. If ever he asks you for another job, you’d instantly recommend him to the owner to replace one of the staff who’s basically a sloth.

You two almost finish at the same time.

“Thank you so much for the dinner, y/n.” He bows. You’re thrown off at first, but you remember that he’s from Japan.

“Thank you, Shoyo. Seriously. The help is nothing compared to the food.” You get out of the cashier and get your bag. You remove your apron and shove it there before leading him out of the diner as you lock it up.

“I’ll walk you home, y/n.”

You wave your hand dismissively. He’s done so much already. “No, it’s fine. You must be tired.”

He shakes his head in disagreement. “Not really! I wanna walk a bit too, but if you’re uncomfortable with it, I-”

“It’s okay!” You interrupt him. You do appreciate it if he’d accompany you home. You just thought he’s doing it to be kind and polite. “It’d be nice to chat with someone on the way home.” You tell him. He keeps his bicycle at his right while you’re at his left.

Even as the night is fully settled in, Shoyo’s energy is still soaring as he narrates why he’s here in Rio. No wonder his eyes are always gleaming vividly. He wants to accomplish something badly that he traveled halfway across the world in a foreign country. And as you get sucked in his story, you don’t notice you’re at your apartment already.

“I live right here. Do you wanna come in for tea or beer or whatever?” You invite him, wanting to hear more of his Volleyball journey. He seems glad from your invitation. Maybe he wanted someone to talk about it too.

“I’m okay with just water.”

You open your door and hold it out open for him. “You sure?”

He nods sprightly which makes you smile at the pure innocence he exudes. He eyes your whole place when he gets inside. “Wow. You live all alone, y/n?”

“Uh huh. I don’t like having roommates.”

“I think I’d get more homesick if I lived all alone,” he remarks.

From being awed, you begin to feel bad for him. It must be really tough to be so far away. “Well, you can always come here if you feel like talking or stuff,” you offer earnestly. You don’t mind him visiting every now and then. He’s such a positive energy amongst the dread of your everyday routine that’s constantly draining you. Also, You can’t imagine him being one of those guys who just hang out to get a slice of action.

Since then, he frequently came over.

On the days when he had deliveries for your diner, he’d help you close up. Instead of getting him dinner from the small diner, you two would get something on the way to your apartment or you’d fix him a quick meal when you get there.

He’s a comfortable company. Because he’s quite the talker, he never runs out of things to say. He not only talks about his life in Japan, but also here in Rio. You practically know all his friends here just from his stories.

“Didn’t they say anything when you wanted to leave?” You prod when he opened up missing his family. “They did, but they still pushed me to do it. They know what’s it for, and they know I’ll be back.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

A soft blush surfaces on his cheeks as he chuckles nervously. “I don’t have one.”

“Oh? Who’s the cute girl in your wallpaper then?” You’ve seen it several times when he looks at the time with his phone.

“She’s our Volleyball manager and a really good friend,” he explains as he gets his phone to show you something. “She’s been with the team since I was a first year.” He shows you a photo of him, a black-haired guy who’s probably Kageyama, and the cute blonde girl.

Your attention all goes to him, his innocent beam at the camera while his arms are sprawled in the air. “Oh my God,” you exclaim while staring at the photo.

“You were so skinny!”

You look back and forth from the screen of his phone to him, comparing how he looked like then and how he looks like now. You pull your chair closer to him so you can scrutinize him more. He looked so young and pure back then. Literally, just a kid.

“Wow.”

You gape at him, marveling at how his features have changed so much. Even if he still has that baby face, his face has definitely gained structure. And the scrawny boy in the photo? You can’t find that anymore with the Shoyo in front of you right now. He even has a nice tan going on that suits him so well.

Without thinking, your hands fly to his shoulders to grasp the muscle he’s built after high school, squeezing them firmly before trailing down to his well-defined chest. Damn, he really put some nice work to achieve this. You drag your hands down to see how his abs are and holy crap, he’s fucking lean.

Your gaze drops further just below where your hands are and see a faint outline of what he’s hiding beneath his shorts.

“Ah!”

You immediately remove your hands off of him and raise your palms in mid air. “I’m so sorry! That was so perv- I mean rude of me to do that all of a sudden.” You apologize in a panicked tone, hoping that he didn’t think you were being handsy, even if you really were.

“I was just amazed because you looked so different from the photo and uh..” you laugh to make up for the missing excuses you were supposed to say.

He laughs with you, a timid smile gracing his face.

“It’s okay, y/n. You can continue touching me if you want.”

You squirm as you put your hands to your lap, clutching your shorts from the sudden thick air that engulfs the room. He sounded harmless. Even his face is his usual good-natured facade. But those words meant something else to you, an invitation to touch him more.

You let out a tense tither before turning to him. “No no! Haha. I’m fine. It was just on impulse.”

In an attempt to hide the awkwardness, you gather his used dishes and cutleries. “Let me get these washed up.” You stand up and hurriedly get to the sink.

What was that weird sexual tension? That over there in your dining table is just your nice delivery boy, Shoyo. You’re nothing but co-workers who are just friendly to each other.

You let the cold water run on your fingers and wrists while you wash the dishes. You need to get back to him composed and cooled off. You want your relationship as it is now. You don’t want to feel awkward and bothered.

So what if you just realized that he’s hot and nice and completely alone with you?

“Do you need help with anything, y/n?

You yelp at the sound of his voice so close behind you. You can feel his warm breath fanning your neck and his body hovering at your back. He’s barely pressing against your back but you can already feel the ends of your hairs prickling your skin.

“Wah! Why are you having goosebumps, y/n? Are you cold??”

“Yeah. It is a bit windy tonight.” You lie with a tense chuckle as you hasten your task so you could escape the situation. To worsen things for you, he places both hands on your bare shoulders and caresses them up and down to create heat.

“I hope this is warm enough,” he says concernedly.

It’s more than just warm. He’s supposed to create friction by rubbing your shoulders, but he’s skimming so gently on your skin that it’s fueling a different kind of heat stemming from your core from the supposed friendly gesture he’s doing to you. You fight off the urge to clench your thighs together for he might notice it since he’s just a hair away behind you.

You saw him as a nice guy but his hands are making you feel otherwise. You had to bite your lower lip to suppress a whimper that was at the tip of your tongue. You can pass it off as a groan of relief, but with your current state, it might sound sexual. Since when were you this sensitive?

“Do you want me to prepare your green tea?” he kindly offers.

“Yes, please,” you answer weakly.

He takes his hands off you and gets you your green tea as he suggested to. You breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves. You feel like you’re about to break from how heavy his sexual pull is on you. Is he even aware?

You dry your hands and saunter back to your dining table to take a seat and give your legs a break. Shoyo places the cup of tea in front of you and sits beside you.

“Why do you always drink that, y/n? It doesn’t taste good.”

“It’s to help me lose weight.” You draw the cup to your lips and take a sip.

“Ehh? But you already look hot as you are.”

You almost choked on your tea from what he just said. You weren’t expecting such an adjective from him. With trembling fingers, you return the cup to the table. “You okay, y/n?” He asks worriedly.

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He can’t help but notice that you’ve been on the edge since you felt him up. He believes that you did it with no malicious intent, so he really didn’t mind. He knows that all you think of him is a good help to the diner. That’s why you comfortably invited him to your home, but he can see right now that he’s made you uncomfortable for some reason.

Maybe you’re really embarrassed with what just happened even if he did say it was fine. He really was okay with you touching him, even if it was something more than just touching. But it’s not like you see him like that.

He likes you a lot, so he should just go so he doesn’t make you any more uneasy. “It’s getting late, so I’ll go now, y/n.”

When he stands up, you immediately follow. “Oh? Already?” You ask with a hint of disappointment in your voice, which makes him a bit confused. Did you not want him to?

“Do you want me to stay for a bit longer?”

You look at him hesitantly before shaking your head. He smiles amicably at you for the usual hospitality you’ve given him. “Thanks for the dinner, y/n.” He looks at the time and heads for the door.

“Shoyo!”

He shifts his body to your direction while he waits for what you’re going to say “I- uhhh. Sorry about a while ago.”

He strides back to where you are and grabs your hand, slowly leading it to his chest with a faint grin playing on the corners of his lips. “It really is okay, y/n.” When your palm lands on his pecs, you just let it stay in one spot as you look at him differently than usual. You regard him with doe eyes gleaming with baffled curiosity.

With his grip still on your wrist, he does the work for you and guides your hand down to where you touched him just a while ago. Your line of sight follows your hand while his is completely focused on you, anticipating your reaction if you’re satisfied with just this.

He lets go of your wrist, allowing you to do as you please. You raise your gaze to meet his, your eyes asking him for permission.

“I really don’t mind, y/n.”

Your other hand goes to his bicep, firmly grasping it before you take one step closer to him. Both

your hands travel to his midsection, the feel of your delicate caress making his thoughts not as friendly as it used to be. Especially with how impressed you look with your hands all over him.

“Can I touch you too?” He blurts out without thinking.

He instantly regrets it when he sees the surprised look on your face as you pull your hands away.

“No! I didn’t mean t-“

You silence him instantly by putting a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t say anything,” you mutter as you usher his one hand to your waist.

You remove your hand from his mouth and use it to lead his other hand on your neck. You don’t know what you’re doing. You keep your eyes on his neck while he languidly roams his left hand on the small of your back until his arm is wrapped around you. He doesn’t move his right hand away from your neck. He only strokes it tenderly with his thumb.

“Y/n.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you raise your gaze to him. “Can we do more than just touching?”

Instead of answering him, you yield to the heavy sensual pull that you’ve been trying to ignore earlier. You slowly reach for his lips, wanting to gradually settle yourself in the present situation.

But when your lips touched his, he didn’t share the same idea you had as he wastes no time exploring your mouth with his. All the hesitation he had is gone with his hand dropping down to your ass to give it a firm squeeze which draws you even closer to him, letting you feel his erection against your core.

He doesn’t take his mouth off of yours as he leads you to the dining table, taking both of your ass cheeks in his hands and carrying your weight as he guides you to sit at the edge of the table.

When you’re comfortably seated, he tugs the flank of your shirt and hurriedly takes it off you. You want to look at him to see what he looks like when he’s not being the nice Shoyo you used to see him as. But he gets back to your mouth in just a second, sticking his tongue out to let it wander inside your warm cavern.

His hands immediately find the clasp of your bra and unhooks it with ease. That’s when he pulled away. His eyes are glued to your body as he removes the undergarment slowly, as if he’s unwrapping his gift with the slow reveal of your breasts.

His eyes glimmer with delight when he completely slides the clothing off your arms. It kinda makes you conscious with the way he’s staring at you, like his eyes are burning through your skin. You use one arm to cover your boobs, but he instantly sees through your plan.

As soon as you lift your arm, soft panic sets off in his eyes. He immediately grips your wrist and slams your hand against the table.

“Don’t!”

“But you were staring too much.”

His gaze drops down again to your unclad breasts with reverence. “Cause you’re pretty.” He leans down on you again, his plush lips just within an easy reach from yours. “So pretty that I can’t stop staring.”

You expect him to kiss you again, but his mouth latches on your jaw instead, nipping the sensitive skin beneath it. A soft sigh comes out of your already parted lips while his palms trace the length of both your arms up to your shoulders. He kisses his way down to your collar bones, savoring any skin that his lips graze upon until he reaches one soft mound.

His hands follow the trails of his lips, one finding its way on the curve of your hip while the other stops on your breast where his mouth isn’t latched onto.

He delivers sloppy kisses, sucking on your perk nipple and swirling his tongue on it like it was a treat. The other bud isn’t left out as he plays with it, tweaking it between his thumb and index finger.

Your breathing starts to become shallow from the surge of desire spreading throughout your body.

He cups both sides of your boobs and pushes them together before he continues on, letting his tongue toy with your nipples almost simultaneously. He’s so into it that his teeth accidentally scrape one bud.

“Ah!”

He immediately stops and looks at you apologetically, misunderstanding the moan that came from you.

“Sorry...”

“No. It felt good,” you feebly tell him.

His eyes brighten up and gets back to what he’s doing. He takes the hard bud in between his teeth, tugging it lightly as he looks up to you, his orbs eager for your approval. It spurs you on even more. You give him one nod as you feel your cunt throbbing from how your arousal is heightening by the minute.

“Shoyo,” you call him weakly which he didn’t seem to hear.

He lets go of your breasts and licks his way down right on top of your shorts, leaving a trail of saliva on your skin. He unbuttons your shorts, the sound of your zipper being rolled down letting you know what he’s planning.

“Shoyo.” You call out louder this time, causing his hand to rest on your groin. “Let’s go to my room already.” You expect him to be glad, but he frowns. “But I want to taste you already. Please, y/n? I want to eat you out here.”

Your legs quiver from how much he wants you, his eagerness affecting you as you yourself get impatient and wonder how his tongue would feel on your pussy.

“Do it.” He smiles at your approval as you lift your ass off the table to help him get your shorts off. You aren’t surprised that he tugs your underwear together with it as he peels it off you. You’re starting to get an idea how he is at bed - impatient, excitable, and eager to please.

A subtly smirk tugs up your lips when you realize you’re in for a fun night.

He doesn’t notice it though. He takes a step back to relish the vision that you are. His eyes are completely focused on your bare body with keen hunger as he traces every curve in sight. You indulge him a bit by spreading your legs apart for him to see.

“Wow.”

His eyes don’t leave your cunt while he drags the chair he’s previously sitting on. He spreads your legs even further as he sits down. He places his thumbs on your inner thighs, gently caressing them before he stripes one thumb on your slit.

“You’re so wet, y/n,” he says right before dipping down and tracing his tongue where his thumb just did earlier. He continues doing so, licking up and down the length of your opening as you lean your head back to enjoy what he’s giving you. He eagerly slurps on your juices, lapping on your slit with his hot tongue.

He uses his thumbs to spread your folds that surround your clit, exposing the swollen bud for him to taste. When he gives it a delicate, languid lick, your one hand frantically grips his hair. He takes it up a notch and inserts his middle finger inside .

“Haaa,” you moan out loud which urges him on even more. He pumps his finger inside you, gradually picking up the pace when you start squirming within his hold.

“Another,” you tell him breathlessly.

“Another what?” He asks cluelessly while his mouth continues ravaging your clit. “Add another finger,” you answer to which he complies immediately. He stretches you even more with the addition of one thick, calloused finger inside.

He looks up at you, parting his mouth away from your pussy to show you his two digits that are half inside you. “Like this?”

You nod. “Yeah. Like,” He suddenly shoves the two fingers knuckles deep into you. “thathnnnnggg.” You clutch his hair tighter while your mouth gapes at the instant fullness you feel down in your center. His eyes don't leave your face anymore as he latches his mouth back on your hardened clit.

You’re whining while grinding on his face, getting wetter even as he relentlessly drinks your lewd essence. He loves the look on your face, blissed out and completely lost in the moment. He loves how you keep trying to close your legs together even with his arm not allowing you to do so. He loves the desire glimmering clearly in your eyes as you meet his gaze while he feasts on your pussy.

He already got aroused the first time you touched him. Seeing you unravel before him gets his cock throbbing painfully within his shorts. He’s so tempted to remove his arm and let you crush him between your thighs so he can palm his cock.

He doesn’t even know if you’d let him go any further than this. What if after you cum you change your mind and ask him to go home? There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that. He’ll just replay the scene before him as he jacks off in his own room.

His one hand goes inside his shorts and takes out his cock, causing your thigh to waver without his support. He grasps the base of his dick, squeezing it firmly, easily distracting himself with his own pleasure as he moans in your cunt.

You immediately notice. You see him firmly gripping his member, pumping it steadily up and down with eyes closed as he slows down his ministrations with you. You cup his face, forcing him to open his eyes and look at you again. “Stop fucking yourself. I’ll do it with my mouth after you make me cum.”

He stops like you asked him to. “Really?” His eyes pleading with lust to uphold your erotic promise. “Yeah. So make cum already,” you brazenly order him. He tucks his cock back in his shorts right away, using his arm once again to spread you wide. His mouth, lips, and fingers pick up the pace, thrusting swiftly in and out of your while flicking and sucking at your clit.

“Ooohhh fuck.” You claw on your wooden table from the rapid build up of pleasure. You can feel the heat in your groin, spreading quickly through your body. “Yes, yesss. Don’t stop,” you mindlessly whine. Everything he’s doing is pushing you further to your release - the friction and fullness provided by his fingers and the wild strokes of his tongue on your clit. He suddenly curves his fingers, hitting just the right spot that blurred your vision from how good it feels.

“Cumming... am cumming, Shoyo!!” You trash helplessly on his face as the pleasure floods your senses, but he doesn’t stop. He only slows down, matching your post-orgasm state as you come down from your high.

You tug his hair up while panting to catch your breath. “Come here.” He stands up and you reach for the back of his head to cover his mouth with yours, tasting your own fluids in his lips. “Help me get down,” you whisper to him.

He effortlessly grabs the back of your thighs to get you to stand again. Once your feet reach the floor, you release his lips and drag him to your room.

Once inside, you lock lips with him again as you scurry towards your bed. You get him to lie down as you straddle him, your wetness rubbing on the bulge of his shorts. You hurriedly remove his clothes, itching to see the delicious muscles you touched only with his shirt on. He helps you as he tugs down his shorts and underwear, his last piece of clothing thrown somewhere on the floor.

You bite your lower lip as your eyes roam on his body. He should thank beach volleyball for the tan and the jaw-dropping build. Your gaze falls on his naked bulge that you saw a glimpse of earlier. Damn. You weren’t seeing things earlier. He really is packing down there.

“Is something wrong?” He asks with a worried look, returning your gaze back at him. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s,” Your eyes get distracted with how he gulps, your gaze lingering down again on his gorgeous chest. “..fine.”

You return the favor, starting on his neck. You plant your arms on his shoulder as you move your hips up, resting your cunt on his toned abs. You deliver soft kisses on the delicate skin of his neck, letting your tongue sneak a few licks as you go down on him until his cock is within the reach of your mouth.

You position yourself in between his legs as you grip his shaft. His hips lift up from the contact. You watch his reactions as you start to drag your palm around his member up and down. He’s already heaving with lips parted as he takes the pleasure you’re giving him with eyes closed. You find it cute - how he’s this sensitive when you’re barely done anything yet.

You gather your spit and let it drool at his cock, the translucent liquid glazing the tip down to the base. You trace his length with your index finger, from the tiny slit of his tip down to his balls. You go back up to the head of his cock, but you do it with your tongue instead of your finger.

You peek at him again. He’s semi sitting up with his elbows on the cushion as he glues his eyes on your tongue on his dick. You grip him again, tighter this time before pressing one digit firmly on his tip. He throws his head back from the pressure and you use that chance to take his thick girth in your mouth

His thighs tremble as he lets out a euphoric moan while you sink lower and lower on his dick. “Your mouth -aahhh so gooood.”

He really likes you and thinks you’re fun to talk to, but sometimes he’d catch himself fantasizing about you when he gets home and ends up masturbating at the thought of you sucking him off. But his right hand doesn’t even compare to the actual warmth of your lips wrapped around his dick at present.

He keeps his eyes on you, which is a bad idea for him since it’s only quickening the pleasure that was boiling at the pit of his stomach. But he can’t help but stare at you. You look so good, so pretty, with your ass up as you suck him even faster.

He can feel his cum threatening to explode already. He feels so lame, but your mouth just feels so magnificent that he can’t hold it in any further. “Stop, y/n. Please~ aah ahhh gonna cum already.” He doesn’t want you to be disappointed with him, but it’s as if you didn’t hear him. You even go deeper while quickening your pace.

He gives in to it, gripping your hair as the peak of his pleasure takes over. He expects you to pull away, but you continue sucking, letting him shoot his load at the back of your throat.

You take all of it, swallowing every drop he let out in your mouth. You did hear him say stop, but the lascivious delight on his face contradicted his words. You had to let him finish even if that meant you won’t get to feel how his cock feels inside your already sopping pussy.

You sit up as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. As for Shoyo, he covers his eyes with his forearm while he pants. You start to get up and head for your drawers when you feel him grab your wrist before you can even leave the bed

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“To get dressed.”

“But we’re not done yet?”

You appreciate the thought. He really is such a generous guy, but.. “It’s fine, Shoyo. You don’t have to force it. You’re already soft??” Your statement becomes a question when you see his arousal still erect.

You don’t know whether to be amused or amazed at that, so you end up staring dumbfounded at him who’s still lying on his back.

He grins at you as he sits up straight and goes for your lips. It wasn’t soft and gentle like you expect from someone who just came. He seems even hungrier, more eager for you.

He guides your hand to his shaft, confirming that he’s hard and ready to continue with what you have in mind. You smile into the kiss, curious and excited as to how he feels inside your pussy. Horny as you are, you throw yourself at him which causes him to lie back down again with you on top of him.

As your tongues clash against one another, you rub your moist slit against his erection, teasing both yourself and him while doing so. He’s groaning in your mouth while he keeps one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly gripping your waist. “Y/n, can I put in already?” He asks with hazy eyes even though his hand on your waist goes down to his cock and aligns it on your folds.

“Mmm, wait.” You lift yourself off of him and reach for your purse that was hanging on one of the metal bed frames. You quickly get a condom and throw your purse somewhere. You tear the packet and remove his hand from his shaft to unroll the rubber on it while he watches. You take over his previous attempt and position the tip on your entrance. You place a palm on his stomach to anchor yourself as you lower yourself on him.

He stares at you mesmerized while you wince from how his cock is spreading you open. You ball your fist that was still on his abdomen, trying to get used to the discomfort even if he’s still not fully inside you. He recovers first and glances back on how you’re doing.

“Shoyo, you’re-ughhh-big,” you tell him with a pained expression. “I- I am?” He asks with pink streak surfacing on his cheeks, flattered from what you said. You nod while sinking lower until you finally cover the last inch, taking him entirely inside you.

He whips his head back on to the pillow with his cock completely sheathed inside the tight warmth of your pussy. He thought your mouth was already marvelous, but the way your walls deliciously envelop his cock is way beyond his wet dreams.

Your hand joins the other, supporting yourself as you slowly lift your hips up and descend back down with the same agonizing tempo. While you adjust to his size, he keeps his eyes on his cock disappearing each bob of your hip.

From your pussy, he rakes his eyes up to your naked body glimmering with sweat. You look so beautiful with your eyes shut, gaping lips, and tits bouncing altogether as you speed up. “You look so fucking pretty, y/n.” Your eyes flutter open from the unexpected vulgarity he uttered. It wasn’t like him, but it wasn’t forced either. He regards you with lust swimming in his orbs, the courteous friendship you two have totally erased as of this moment.

You still for a second before you remove your hands off him and place them on his thighs as you lean back. You spread your thighs and plant the soles of your feet on your bed. You see his eyes widen because of the view. Rather bouncing up and down, you gyrate on his cock. It’s supposed to be a show for him, but with his size, you feel his cock gloriously scrape your insides with the circular movement of your hips.

“Shit!” You curse before you close your eyes again as you start grinding on him. You don’t start slow this time. You impatiently roll your hips against his, driving his cock deep inside you each plunge. You didn’t think it would get any better than this until you feel his thumb on your neglected cit.

“Oh ffffuuuck.” You can’t even open your eyes anymore while his two fingers replace his thumb and rub the sensitive bud frantically. You could feel the pleasure escalating faster and faster with every salacious thrust of your hip and his every flick of your clit..

“Are you gonna cum, y/n?” You hear him ask.

“Yesss. Am gonna cuuuuuummmm.” You clutched his legs tighter when your orgasm hits, your vision blurry when you open your eyes as you ride it out. He pulls your panting self to his chest and tenderly caresses your back.

He sweeps your hair behind your ear and whispers. “Did that feel nice?”

You nod weakly. “Did you cum?” You ask in return. You were so occupied in your own pleasure that you lost awareness of his. He chuckles lowly. “No.”

“Oh..” You lift yourself up a bit to meet his gaze and apologize.

“Why are you saying sorry? We aren’t done yet.”

What he said as a question earlier became a statement. Something changed in his eyes, a spark of determination that isn’t there earlier.

“Let’s just continue next time, Shoyo. I’m kind of tired,” you explain.

“There’s a next time?!” His eyes shine with enthusiasm which makes you laugh softly.

“Sure. Why not?” You lift your hips up but his hands quickly go down your ass and crash you back down, shoving his dick back in you hard and deep.

“Gaah!”

“Thanks, y/n. But don’t worry about being tired. I’ll move instead,” he hums on your ear as he spreads your ass cheeks and pummels his cock wildly into your sensitive pussy.

You moan on his neck at the savage pace he starts with. “Shoyo, pleaseee. Sloweer mmmmm.”

“But why?” He whines. You can’t answer with how ferociously he’s rutting against you, his dick consistent with its swift thrusts. “Shit, your pussy feels amazing. So good, fuck.” His crude words of praise fan your pleasure that was rapidly filling your senses again.

He rams your hips down to meet one sharp thrust. You gasp from how deep his cock went inside you. “Aaah!”

“Do I make you feel good, y/n?”

You nod weakly as you grind slowly on his cock, desperate to chase your pleasure but too tired from your earlier stunt.

“Please, move,” you whisper with exhaustion.

“Tell me first. I want to hear it,” he demands.

“Too good, Shoyo. Your cock feels too good. So please, fuck me again already,” you shamelessly beg as his cock throbs inside you.

Instead of granting your plea, he takes his cock out and pulls you to lie underneath him. He parts your legs apart for him and jams his dick right back inside. That’s when he indulges you, thrusting his size in and out of you at an unforgiving pace.

He leans down on you, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pins both your hands on the bed. “Do you like this, y/n?”

“I love it. Please please pleaaaaseee. Don’t stop mmmmmm,” you babble messily as your impending orgasm overwhelms you.

He clumsily kisses you, his teeth grazing your lips as slips his tongue in before covering his mouth with yours. He’s groaning relentlessly on your mouth while drilling his dick in your cunt. “You gonna cum?”

“Yeaass haaa.” Your moans become louder and louder each thrust. “Gonna cum like this? With-ugh-my cock inside you?”

His obscene words make you writhe beneath him. You arch your back from the intense pleasure. He dips down on one nipple and fervidly sucks it. “Gonna c-aahhhhhhh.” You thrash violently beneath him as your hands clench his to ground yourself from the explosive orgasm that he caused.

“Fuck, yes. Cum on my cock, uhhh. Like that. Shit.”

His thrusts become erratic as he goes after his own orgasm while he milks yours. You hazily open your eyes and watch him chase his high with eyes shut and parted lips, animalistic pleasure taking over his features. He delivers one swift thrust and stays completely still, his dick twitching inside you as he cums.

You both pant heavily with him on top of you.

—

You open the door for him and bid him goodnight. Your legs feel like crap but you don’t want to just drive him away on his own.

“Thanks for tonight, Shoyo.”

You’re not sure what you’re thanking him for, the company or the sex. Maybe both.

“Um, y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Will there really be a next time?” He asks apprehensively, totally different from his demeanor from your last moments in bed. It’s kinda amusing. You didn’t think he had that in him.

“You’ll still help me close up the diner, right?” You ask meaningfully.

He beams at you. “Of course.”

Beach || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslavee @tsumurai @celestialarchiveshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe

#hinata x reader #hinata smut #hinata shoyo smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! smut #hinata shoyo x reader

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filmsmakkari · 3 years ago

Text

Satisfied

Wordcount- 2.2k

Hamilton!Tom Holland x Angelica!Reader

Soldier!Tom x Princess!Reader

So this is the first part of a story based on Angelica and Alexander's dynamic in Hamilton :)

i would recommend listening to the song satisfied here

Full Series Masterlist

youtube

I remember that night

I just might regret that night for the rest of my days

Being raised the crown princess of the small island nation of Larione had never been easy. Larione wasn’t particularly important to larger countries, only included on a few maps. Many of the citizens lived in poverty and only a powerful marriage alliance with a wealthy royal would solve it. Being born a girl only made things worse. No matter how people will deny it, boys are always favored over girls, especially in royal families. No one would ever take you seriously as a queen without a king by your side. It was imperative that you married a future king- preferably a wealthy one. You’d been raised with the responsibility of marrying for your country’s benefit, so the idea of marrying for love had never even crossed your mind.

I remember those soldier boys trippin’ over themselves to win our praise

It all started at your father’s Winter Ball. Plenty of the continent’s royals were in attendance, all trying to earn you and your sister’s favor. Though Larione’s royal family wasn’t the wealthiest, the (Y/L/N) Sisters were known to be quite beautiful, making you the envy of all. As you socialized with the guests, you noticed a few soldiers flirting with your ladies-in-waiting. You smiled at one of them, Lady Adannaya, as a way of encouraging her to continue their flirtation. That was when you first saw him.

But Alexander, I’ll never forget the first time I saw your face

Another soldier had joined his friends and your ladies. You knew from the moment your eyes landed on him that you would never be the same. He had silky brown hair and a hunger-pang-frame. You wondered if he ate regularly. And oh, good lord those eyes. They were a deep shade of brown, but they shone gold in the light of the candle he was near. They sparkled with intelligence, wit, and ambition. He must have felt your gaze on him because he suddenly turned to meet your gaze, smiling seductively at you. At that moment it felt as if your heart had been set aflame. He began to approach you. Then it felt as if your entire body had been set aflame.

You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied

“Your highness,” he said, bowing and kissing your hand.

“Good evening, soldier. What is your name?”

“Thomas Holland, your grace,” he replied.

Thomas Holland, you thought. You knew him. Not personally, but you’d heard of him. He was essentially Major General Njeri’s right-hand man. A soldier with a marksman’s ability, and not too bad with a quill either. From your understanding, he wrote all of the general’s correspondences.

“Are you enjoying the ball, Thomas?”

“I am,” he looked you up and down “but you aren’t.”

“Pardon me?”

“All of these suitors, they don’t make you happy, do they?”

“Well, aren’t you perceptive?” you asked, a smirk painting your face.

“Oh, come on.” You made a surprised face, taken aback by his familiar tone. “Suitors, balls, court life, none of this satisfies you, does it, your grace?”

You chuckled in disbelief. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You forget yourself, Thomas.”

You turned to walk away, but he grabbed a hold of your wrist. You looked down at your wrist, then back up at him, eyes wide in surprise as he spoke.

“I don’t think so, your grace. You see, you’re just like me, I’m never satisfied,” he said genuinely.

“Oh, is that right?” you questioned, forgetting not to show your intrigue. “Where is your family from, Thomas?”

I asked about his family, did you see his answer?

His hands started fidgeting, he looked askance

He’s penniless, he’s flying by the seat of his pants

You could see the reservation about the topic of his family in his eyes even before he spoke.

He shook his head nonchalantly, but his hands were fidgeting. “Doesn’t matter where my family’s from. I’m going places one day. Just you wait. You’ll see. Just you wait.” And with that, he was back with his soldier friends, leaving you fascinated and slightly lovestruck. You knew it was foolish to have feelings for someone you barely knew, especially being a princess, but you simply couldn’t help it. His boldness and lack of regard for your position ensnared you immediately, and before you’d even spoken much, you knew he had you.

Everything we said in total agreement

You spoke with the handsome soldier boy a few more times that night, always agreeing, constantly sharing the same opinions. It was as if you shared a mind. You never did get to dance with him, but you promised he would have a dance before the night was over. If you hadn’t been sure already, you were then. You were completely and utterly in love with him.

Handsome, boy, does he know it

Peach fuzz and he can’t even grow it

I wanna take him far away from this place

Then I turn and see my sister’s face and she’s

“Helpless,” your sister, Yelizaveta, whom you all affectionately called Eliza, said to you.

She had just pulled you to the side of the ballroom and told you that someone had her “helpless”.

“What do you mean? Who does?” you questioned.

“Him.” Eliza turned, and there he was.

Thomas. The one who had your younger sister so helpless was the very same young soldier who had stolen into your affections.

“He’s wonderful (Y/N/N)!” she turned back to you. “It’s Thomas Holland, General Njeri’s favorite soldier! He’s so handsome and brave.” Your sister was basically swooning by that point.

“Helpless? Eliza, it’s only been one night, are you sure?” You knew you were being hypocritical. You yourself felt deeply in love with Thomas and had also only met him that night. And anyway, you knew she wasn’t exaggerating. You knew your sister like you knew your own mind. All you had to do was look into her eyes and you knew she meant it when she said she was completely helpless for him.

“Yes, sister, I’m sure. He has me,” she replied.

And I realize

Three fundamental truths at the exact same time

You nodded, stroking her face and walking over to him. As you got closer to him, you realized three key truths that you had foolishly allowed yourself to forget.

Number One

I’m a girl in a world in which my only job is to marry rich

My father has no sons so I’m the one who has to social climb for one

You were the oldest of all your sisters, making you (Y/N), Crown Princess of Larione. The future ruler of your country. Crown princess, not prince. You would never be taken seriously as a ruler on your own. Your job was to marry a rich royal, preferably a king or crown prince. Thomas Holland was the furthest possible thing from that. A poor bastard orphan from the Caribbean, with no title or wealth. Simply a soldier favored by a revered general. As a woman, he could give you love, but as the future of the realm, there was nothing he offered you.

“How have I offended you now?” he asked jokingly.

“Not at all,” you said, smiling. “There’s actually someone I’d like you to meet.”

He raised his eyebrows as you grabbed his arm and led him in your sister’s direction.

“Where are you taking me?” he questioned.

“I’m about to change your life.”

“Well then, by all means, lead the way.”

As you approached your sister, she curtsied politely, saying “Princess Yelizaveta. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Princess?” Thomas turned to you in confusion, having thought this girl was one of your ladies.

“My sister!” you explained.

“Thank you for all you do, sir,” Eliza said.

“If it takes fighting a war for us to meet it will have been worth it.”

“I’ll leave you to it!” you said, smiling through the pain of your actions.

Number Two

He’s after me cause I’m a Schuyler Sister

That elevates his status

I’d have to be naive to set that aside,

Maybe that is why I introduced him to Eliza

Now that’s his bride,

Nice going, Angelica, he was right

You will never be satisfied

Thomas Holland was an ambitious man. A social climber, desperate to rise above his station. To marry a princess would make him a duke, one of the highest titles in Larione. His children would have royal blood, and so would his grandchildren after that. Perhaps that was the reason you had introduced him to your younger sister. A princess, but not one who would be queen. Someone a step above, but within reach. A decision you regretted almost immediately. You wished you had kept him to yourself. Ha, would you look at that, he was right. You will never be satisfied.

Number Three

I know my sister like I know my own mind,

You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind

If I tell her that I love him she’d be silently resigned

He’d be mine,

She would say “I’m fine”

She’d be lying

The week following the ball, Eliza and Thomas were writing back and forth constantly. Eliza’s eyes lit up with every letter that he wrote her. You played the role of the protective, prying older sister, saying to her in regards to the letters “I’m just saying If you really loved me you would share them!”, trying to playfully snatch one away.

Of course, it was all an act. You wished those letters were for you. You wished you were the one Thomas was so eager to write to. You wanted so badly to confess your feelings to Thomas and Eliza and to take him for yourself, but you could never do that to your kind, gentle sister. Realistically, if you were to confess, your sister would be happy for you. She would sway Thomas in your direction, just as you had done for her. She would tell you she was happy for you and that she was alright. She’d be lying. Eliza felt strongly for Thomas, anyone could see it. She’d be heartbroken, but she’d deny it. She would want nothing more than your happiness, the same way you wanted her’s. Your love for her triumphed over all, even your love for Thomas. You loved her more than anything in this life and would put her happiness over your own every time. So you bit your tongue, hiding away your true feelings.

Before you knew it, several months had passed. Thomas, through ambition, skill and, and hard work, had risen in station from a common soldier to Secretary of Larione’s Treasury- a position high enough to marry a member of the royal family.

So finally, the time had come to ask your father for his blessing to marry your sister. You, Eliza, and your youngest sister, Margaery, or “Peggy”, were sitting on a couch in the upstairs corridor leading to the stairs, listening for your father’s approval.

Your father stood up and walked towards Thomas slowly. You got nervous, fearing he was going to deny Thomas’s request for marriage. You truly wanted him to bless the marriage. All you wanted was for Eliza to be happy. Thankfully, your father shook Thomas’s hand saying “be true to each other”.

Thomas smiled brightly, looking up to Eliza. You all rushed downstairs. You and Peggy hugged your new brother-in-law tightly, welcoming him to the family. You smiled softly as Eliza kissed him. Though it would be a lie to say you didn’t feel a flash of sadness at the reminder that he wasn’t yours. But as usual, you hid your feelings.

Days passed as quickly as they came, eventually leading up to Thomas and Eliza’s wedding. To say it was bittersweet would be an understatement. On one hand, your sister’s happiness brought you great joy, on the other, the prospect of Thomas being out of your reach permanently brought you great despair.

You smiled as you walked down the aisle as your sister’s maid of honor, but anyone who looked close enough would have seen your eyes were crying.

You couldn’t stop the tears pooling in your eyes as Thomas’s close friend, Lieutenant Colonel Harrison Osterfield spoke loudly, “Everyone, give it up for the maid of honor! Princess (Y/N)!”

“A toast to the groom!” you said enthusiastically, looking at Thomas and Eliza.

“To the groom!” the guests toasted.

“To the lovely bride!”

The guests repeated it back to you.

“From your most adoring sister,” you said, wrapping your free arm around Peggy. “Who’s always by your side.”

“May your marriage be long and prosperous,” you turned to Thomas specifically. “And may you always be satisfied.”

The young man smiled knowingly at you.

The wedding came and went, and before you knew it, you were saying goodbye to Thomas and Eliza as they left for their honeymoon.

“Are you crying, sister? Oh, I love you ever so much!” Eliza said, wiping your tears and kissing your cheek. She thought you were crying tears of happiness for her. Oh, if only she knew. As she said her goodbyes to Peggy, you caught Thomas’s eye. In them was an expression of such deep longing it made your heart ache. Your gazes on each other lingered until Eliza’s sweet, lovestruck voice called out “Thomas?”. At the sound of her voice, he tore his gaze from you, stepping into the carriage and riding away with his wife. Eventually, Harrison, Jacob, and Tuwaine- Thomas’s fellow soldiers- alongside Peggy went back inside, leaving you standing alone, tears running down your face outside of the chapel where your dearest sister just married your one true love.

He will never be satisfied.

I will never be satisfied.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x princess!reader #tom holland imagine #hamilton fanfic #hamilton #tom holland angst

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smuggsy · 3 years ago

Note

the second prompt list you posted, number 25, the "when you love someone" would be really good for nygmobblepot if you wanted to 😌

okay, so first things first, we agreed to change the prompt to this one: Character A combs fingers through character B's hair. thanks for being such a sport! <3

Summary: Oswald is jealous, drunk and dizzy. In that order. Word Count: 2096. Read it on AO3 (or under the cut).

There are certain things that come attached to the title of Kingpin of the Underworld. Certain things one might consider red flags, green lights if you will. Things that would send Gotham's hungry wolves on a merciless hunt for his head, no doubt. Showing weakness, hesitation, doubt, incompetence. Oswald knows there's just no space for error when it comes to these, not for Penguin and certainly not for the Mayor.

Unfortunately, he comes to learn Edward Nygma incarnates each and every one of those traits. The ones that would certainly bring about his demise, Oswald admits, if he isn't careful to hide them behind his facade of cold-blooded killer or faithful politician. If he doesn't avert his eyes when the cameras are rolling or when his party attendees are talking to him, toasting, congratulating, saying things Oswald will have forgotten within the hour.

Because he can't help but be painfully aware of Ed's presence, usually standing in strategic high-points making sure everything is running smoothly, sometimes entertaining particularly snobby guests who would have Oswald at their sides for the duration of the night if it were up to them, their egos too fragile but at the same time too precious to threaten even slightly.

Edward is always on top of things.

Oswald is always aware of this.

Of him.

Too much, sometimes.

It's a bit more difficult to pretend he isn't hyper-aware of his musky scent and hoarse voice and well-lean figure when they share a car back to the mansion after occasions like these. When Edward slides into the opposite seat with a pleased self-congratulatory air and confidently starts listing off people and colourful details that might prove useful in the future and Oswald smiles gently, doesn't tell him he already knows he spoke to all of them because he was watching.

He was watching when he brought the Commissioner's mother her favourite cherry-chocolate liquor and when he complimented the Gotham Gazette's new editor's dress. When he leant in pretending he couldn't hear her, when he oh-so-gentlemanly offered a handkerchief after she collided with one of the waiters because she was too distracted by the way he smiled down at her - Oswald was watching.

And, well.

He doesn't blame her.

And Edward?

"...she scribbled her phone number on a napkin and slipped it into my hand so I'll say we, quite literally," he smiles smugly and produces the neatly folded napkin from his dark-olive jacket, "have her in our pocket."

Oswald laughs, sharing in the sentiment, the joke.

Or so he thinks he's doing until he sees Edward's expression shift into something much less chipper and he realises what he's actually done is roll his eyes and scoff like a spoiled little child.

"You don't approve?" Edward asks, excitement dying off.

Oswald curses his own recklessness and puts on another smile that he knows wouldn't fool anyone.

"Oh, no. I approve. I quite approve of your calculated flirting, Ed. A very nice strategy. Maybe try to exercise a bit more prudence next time, go one at a time?"

The car comes to a stop at a red light, Edward stares at him for a long moment before he seemingly understands the meaning behind Oswald's reproach.

"Oh, that!"

(He definitely doesn't understand the meaning behind Oswald's reproach.)

"Yes! No, that was just Miss Johnson recommending me some poetry," the napkin returns to the safety of his breast pocket and next Ed brings out a little notepad from the inside of his jacket, pushing his glasses up his nose and wetting his lips - Oswald looks away, feeling too hot all of a sudden, "she's the head of the Literacy Club, they hold meetings at the City Library every other Thu—"

"I know who she is, Ed!" he snaps before he can stop himself. It's such an abrupt reaction that Edward stops his monologue and looks at him again with that face that means he's trying to decipher his real intentions and assessing the terrain. He looks Oswald up and down and sits straight, clearing his throat one more time and reading his hostility.

"Of course," Ed mumbles, "yes, you do. Sorry. It was a tedious evening, I should—" he clears his throat again out of nervousness and Oswald sighs, biting his tongue and taking a deep breath in, "I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Or not. I know you're not one for poetry anyway."

"Ed..."

"No, it's fine. You must be exhausted, I know you hate these events, mingling and standing up all night—"

"Ed."

Edward's caramel eyes, that'd been cast downwards to his lap in an awkward and almost sheepish manner, shoot up to meet Oswald's again at his insistence. His gentle gaze brings back memories. Of bullet wounds and take-out food and piano melodies and a flourishing friendship.

"Who told you I don't like poetry?" Oswald tries with a gentler and more genuine smile this time. Because he's being too rude. Edward is none the wiser and he shouldn't have to deal with his stupid outbursts of jealousy. "Go ahead," Oswald says, with a much less venomous roll of his eyes and smiling at Edward's playful air and devilish grin.

His Chief of Staff opens his little notepad and shifts over from the opposite seat to come and claim the space next to him.

"I'm all ears," Oswald announces.

Except he isn't, really.

If he'd known Edward was going to make himself so comfortable between him and the cold window, was going to press himself so tightly against his side and loosen up his tie and giggle and start reciting a love poem with that mocking glint in his eyes and that theatrical hand-waving, Oswald never would've encouraged him.

"I hoped that he would love me, and he has kissed my mouth. But I am like a stricken bird that cannot reach the south..."

He needs to loosen up his own tie, too.

"...for though I know he loves me, tonight my heart is sad. His kiss was not so wonderful, as all the dreams I had."

Oswald stops breathing, stops trying to make himself look away from Edward's rosy lips, his cheekbones ever-so-slightly turned pink because their driver has turned on the heating way too high, the laugh that rocks his body, Oswald can feel it too because if he were closer he'd be sitting on his lap.

Stop it.

"—and then she just started telling me about her divorce, as if it wasn't all over the Gazette's front page last month. I declined her invitation but I figured I'd keep the poem, do a little bit of research, get in her good graces, so to speak. Never know when you'll need some funding and everybody knows she won the court case so, ca-ching!"

Ed blurts out another laugh and turns to look at Oswald, no doubt fishing for praise.

Oswald, who's so helplessly staring at him, lips slightly parted and hearing nothing beyond his gentle poem-reading about kisses and love and dreams. One of his betraying hands goes to Edward's nape and settles there, fingers brushing his hair of their own volition, brain failing to catch up to the situation. He feels light-headed.

"Oswald?" comes Ed's slightly concerned voice, now fully turning to face him better.

Oswald blinks out of his stupor with a pitiful gasp.

Sees his hand almost pulling Edward closer —

"Are you..." Ed starts, eyes darting to the side, to Oswald's outstretched arm with a frown, "...okay?"

"Fuck," he says out loud, without meaning to, "I—," he tries, he blinks again, he swallows through a dry throat, he looks at Ed and at his own hand cradling his head and then at Ed again looking at him with a quizzical look but still not leaning away, "—sorry! I— think I had too much to drink."

With that, he retrieves his hand and shuffles away from Edward, feeling like he's about to implode and like he can't take a proper breath in, he starts to get uncomfortably sweaty.

You idiot! What the hell do you think you're doing?!

"Is your leg—?" Edward places a cold hand on his thigh, "is it your leg?"

Oswald looks down, Ed's slim fingers brushing over the fabric of his trousers, he keeps them there, like it means nothing — like it doesn't mean everything.

"What?" he blurts out, because he didn't actually hear what Ed just said.

"You're sweating," his Chief of Staff states matter-of-factly, but when he goes to grab his handkerchief he finds it isn't there.

Oswald closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, thinking this is his only chance of living it down.

"Yes, yes. I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

Edward leaves his side immediately to go tap insistently at the dark window separating them from their newly-appointed chauffeur. He mutters a few orders that Oswald doesn't actually catch, there's a menacing undertone to his words and then he actually leans over into the front side of the vehicle.

"Are you trying to cook us alive?" he says finally, before shutting the window back close with unnecessary force. He turns to an Oswald biting his lip and trying not to laugh, "amateur. Do you want me to fire him?"

"It's his first day."

"Precisely."

"No, I don't want you to fire him, Ed," he peels his eyes open and gestures to the left window, his vision spinning for a moment before he gets just the teensiest bit nauseous, "but maybe you could—?"

Edward returns to his side and rolls the window down a few inches. The cold winter air feels heavenly on Oswald's flushed cheeks and he lets out a sigh — it turns out he did actually have one drink too many, then.

"Better?" Ed asks, too close. Oswald doesn't dare open his eyes again. He only lets out a grunt and shakes his head.

This has backfired completely.

What was supposed to be an act — a decoy, has turned into him bracing himself against the cold glass window to his right and feeling like he's inside a blender. He meant for Ed to get distracted and brush aside his slip but now Ed is closer than he was before and Oswald genuinely feels like he's going to be sick.

"Stop— stop the car," he crooks out, he opens his eyes to see Edward leaning over him with a worried look but making no move to obey, "Ed!"

It stops just in time. He feels quite helpless as he wrestles with the door handle and stumbles outside into the cold dark and empty street of some downtown neighbourhood to empty his stomach by the sidewalk.

He hears rather than see Edward scramble out of the car after him.

"Oh, dear."

How humiliating, Oswald's mind provides, as he tries to lean back up, tries to get some leverage with a hand on the opened door only to find nothing there and almost trip over. Edward catches him just in time.

"Uh-oh," Ed sings, "I got you."

"Mayor Cobblepot! Is there anything—?"

"Just get in the car and wait there," Ed mumbles menacingly. Oswald would've sent the boy a murderous glare himself if he hadn't been so occupied trying not to fall into his own vomit and holding onto his Chief of Staff for dear life.

So much for living this down.

"Ughhhhhh," is all he can say, because he thinks he's about to faint.

"I know, I know," Edward keeps one hand on his arm and the other round his shoulders, "but you'll feel better now it's out."

Oswald scrunches up his face and almost gags again. Edward does a great job of guiding him back into the car, now much colder than it was just a moment ago. He feels like a deer that's learning to walk: he can't seem to find proper footing and only when Ed sits him down and settles next to him does his head stop spinning. The car starts to move again and the passing lights become so bothersome he doesn't open his eyes the rest of the trip home.

"Now can I fire him?"

Oswald nuzzles closer into the embrace, one of Ed's arms is still around his waist and the other hand is left unmoving over his forehead, a cold solace, keeping his head from moving around too much with the sloppy turns and few street holes the car fails to avoid.

And because he's still drunk and Ed is holding him so close, his lips brush against a warm minty-scented neck and stay there, breathing in perfume and skin and finding no resistance.

#i started writing this at midnight #it's almost 6am #between editing and trying to make this useless app work???#skskskks #anyway i hope this doesn't disappoint #as i said. muse does what she wants #i have two more prompts i'll see to tmw!#nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot fanfiction #riddlebird #gotham fanfiction #gotham fox #gotham #oswald cobblepot #edward nygma #the riddler #the penguin #answered #my writing

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jeonsjiddies · 5 years ago

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Something Good | knj

summary- you’d known from the moment you’d laid eyes on him, Namjoon was good.

rating- e for everyone? lol

word count- 3395

pairing- namjoon x reader

genre- fluff

Warnings- lots of emotions, possibly kinda angsty?

a/n: possibility of a smutty part 2 if people want it?

Namjoon-

Namjoon was tired. He loved his life, he really did. He loved his career, he loved Army, he loved his bandmates. He could not have asked for anything better. But today, Namjoon was tired. He was worn out, and he just wanted to drift into the crowd unseen long enough to get his coffee and go back to his hotel room. He was dressed casually, jeans and a dark blue cotton t-shirt paired with a black baseball cap and a gray jacket, hood up. He wore a mask across his face, but with how smoggy it was in the city, that didn’t make him stand out.

He found a small coffee shop that looked fairly empty and ducked inside, quietly giving his order to the first employee, an older woman with a kind smile who nodded, writing “John” on his cup when he said Joon but he didn’t mind. His eyes flicked to the young woman who began mixing his drink, her pretty hair bouncing with her movements, languid and quick. She hummed quietly to herself, so quietly he couldn’t make out the song, but her sunny disposition made his mouth curve up into a smile.

“For John?” she smiled brightly at him, and he nodded, handing her the money and taking his change.

“Thank you.” he responded kindly, reaching out to take the drink.

Her eyes widened, mouth falling agape as she looked up to hand Namjoon his drink, their fingers brushing slightly as she handed it off. Namjoon felt a spark run clear down to his toes, and he met her gaze with similar surprise.

“Kim Namjoon?”

Y/N-

“Kim Namjoon?” you breathed, recognizing that voice anywhere.

Your skin was electrified where it touched his, and your gaze shot up and locked with his. Kim Namjoon, leader of BTS was standing right in front of you. The man who’d taken control of your every unconscious moment, drifting through your dreams like he owned them. The man you’d almost watched grow up on any screen you could get your hands on. You knew BTS had a concert in the city in a few days, but it never crossed your mind that he would appear in the small coffee shop you wasted your days in, barely making enough to cover your rent.

“Please don’t scream.” he begged, not in a conceited way, more desperate, exhausted.

“I won’t.” you promised.

“Thank you.” he whispered in a sigh of relief.

Namjoon flashed you a smile, which you only caught by the crinkle in his eyes. He turned to walk away and you stood there, frozen in place until your heart kicked into overdrive. This was your one chance. You hopped over the counter and dashed after him, skidding to a stop in front of the door just as he was about to open it.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re probably tired of fans approaching you, and I swear I’m not insane. I’ve been your fan for a while, but I’m not going to pretend I really know who you are. I would like to, though. I might not know everything about you but after watching you from the sidelines, I can tell there’s something different about you. You’re good. I could really use some good in my life.”

Namjoon’s eyes met yours but he didn’t speak, his gaze just searched yours. For what, you didn’t know.

“You don’t have to decide right now. Look, let me put my number in your phone, so you have it. You can decide if you want to text me or not. I won’t be offended if I don’t hear from you. But I think I could be something good for you too.” you offered, heart pounding with adrenaline.

Seconds passed before Namjoon nodded, something about the spark in your eye drawing him in and begging him to trust you. He dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone. You gently took it from his grasp and input your contact information, hitting save. You looked up at him as you handed it back. He looked at the screen momentarily.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Have a good day.” he said softly before exiting the shop and disappearing into the crowd.

When your shift ended two hours later, you were still in shock. Namjoon. Kim Namjoon had been in your coffee shop, had touched your skin. You shivered at the memory, a smile gracing your lips. You began walking home, ready to crash into your small twin bed inside your shared apartment. The sun began to set just as you crossed over to the shadier area of town, the only place you could afford to reside. You looked at your phone to check the time, and noticed a text from an unsaved number.

Namjoon [8:37PM] Hey, Y/N. It’s Namjoon.

Your heart thundered in your chest. He texted you. This had to be a joke.

You [8:39PM] Hey! I didn’t think you’d actually text me. How are you?

Namjoon [8:42PM] Honestly, I didn’t either. But you were so honest and open I figured it couldn’t hurt.

Namjoon [8:43PM] I’m okay, just tired. It’s been a long day.

You [8:44PM] I’m glad you did. I’m pretty great now. What made it a long day?

Namjoon stared at your message, unsure of if he should be truthful in his sour mood or pretend everything was fine. You’d only just met anyway. But something about you, it just made him feel like you’d get it. That you’d understand. He decided it would be okay, and he needed to let it out.

Namjoon [8:47PM] We had dance practice today for our upcoming show and I kept messing up and making everyone start over. I just couldn’t focus.

You [8:50PM] Are you working yourself too hard? Maybe you need to take a break.

Namjoon [8:53PM I don’t have time to take a break. Our show is in two days and we have to be ready.

Your heart ached for him. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders and he couldn’t spare a few minutes to prioritize his health?

You [8:55PM] Have you ever tried meditation or anything?

Namjoon [8:56PM] No…

You [8:59PM] Okay, hear me out. There’s this app I use when I’m stressed. It helps you meditate and has scenes with nature sounds to help you calm down. It’s even got a deep breathing feature to help you breathe. I listen to the sound of the rain when I just need to disconnect from the world and it always puts me at ease. You might try it.

Namjoon [9:00PM] What’s it called?

You [9:00PM] Calm. :)

You didn’t hear from Namjoon for a good twenty minutes, and you were starting to wonder if you’d said something wrong. You sighed, setting your phone down and curling into the blankets, disappointment crawling its way into your heart uninvited. That was, until your phone started ringing and Namjoon’s name flashed across your screen. Your heart lept into your throat and you slid the answer key across the screen.

“Hello?” you tried to make your voice even.

“Hey. Sorry. I hope it’s okay that I called. I didn’t feel like typing.” he chuckled, seeming in a much better mood.

“No that’s fine!” you assured him.

“I love this app. Thank you for recommending it.” he praised.

“Oh, Namjoon, haven’t you heard women are always right?” you giggled.

“So I’m learning. Twice now you’ve been right.” his deep voice held a smile you could imagine if you closed your eyes.

“So you feel better? More relaxed?” you verified, turning to lay on your back and close your eyes while you relished in the sound of his voice.

“Much better. Thank you.” he said sincerely.

“Next step is a bubble bath and a face mask.” you teased.

“Ah, I think I’m okay for now.” he laughed, letting the warm happy feeling settle in his chest at the sound of your voice. Namjoon thought you had a beautiful voice. It fit you. Soft, gentle, but with a little mystery and a hint of mischief.

“I’ll convince you one day. It’ll do wonders for your skin.” you explained.

“Are you saying I have bad skin?” he scoffed playfully.

“Stop fishing for compliments.” you chastised. “You know you look great.”

Namjoon’s deep laughter floated through your ears like your favorite song. You giggled to yourself, his laughter was contagious.

“It’s weird how comfortable I am with you already.” Namjoon admitted suddenly, “I feel like I’ve known you forever and we met today.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” you agreed easily, buds of hope blooming in your stomach.

In the long months that followed, Namjoon visited you every time he was near. He texted you or called you every day that you were apart. He couldn’t always talk for long, but a simple “good morning, have a good day” if that was all he could manage. There was something about the spark in your eye that drew Namjoon in, and he wanted to make sure you knew he was thinking of you. He wanted to keep you.

The sun had long gone to sleep by the time Namjoon and his friends finished their dance practice and headed back to their hotel for the night. The dark skies had opened up and began to let the rain trickle down, thudding against the window in a soothing rhythm. Namjoon immediately thought of you and your love of the rain. You’d told him on more than one occasion that the sound of the rain coming down was one of the most calming sounds you’d ever heard.

“You coming?” Tae asked, waiting by the door with one of the umbrellas as the group left the vehicle for the safety of the hotel.

“I’ll catch up with you guys.” Joon smiled.

Tae shrugged and jogged off.

Joon waited until Tae’s form disappeared into the large rotating door to turn his attention to his phone, pressing the facetime button on your name. When your face popped up on his screen, surrounded by a thick comforter, he worried he’d woken you up.

“Joonie!” your smile lit up like the sun and Namjoon felt something warm fill his chest.

“Y/N.” he greeted pleasantly.

“What’s up Joon?” you asked, the smile not leaving your lips.

“It’s raining here, and I thought maybe you’d like to listen?” he asked quietly, suddenly unsure of the gesture.

“Omg Joon! That’s so sweet! I love the rain, almost as much as I love you!” you giggled, and though Joon knew you didn’t mean it like that, his chest stirred.

Joon turned his camera around to show you the darkened night sky and the rain that fell rhythmically on the rooftop of the car, the windows, racing down.

“I want to see your face, Joon.” you whined a bit.

He turned the front camera back on and smiled at you. Your face lit up and you just watched him watch the rain, eyes flickering back to you every once in a while.

“Hmmm… this is so soothing.” you hummed quietly, making sure your voice didn’t overpower the rain.

“I think of you every time it rains.” he admits, barely above a whisper.

You were quiet for a moment, and Namjoon was almost afraid to look at the screen before he heard “I miss you, Joon.”

“I miss you too. We’ll be in town in the next month or two though.” he soothed you, noting the way your eyes filled with tears but they didn’t spill over.

“But I want my best friend here now.” you sighed. “It’s colder when you’re not here.”

“I know what you mean.” Namjoon agreed, an involuntary shiver washing through him as he turned the heat up in the car.

“Tell me what you did today.” you smiled, Namjoon could tell you were getting tired.

He spoke gently, voice low in an attempt to lull you to sleep. He knew you pushed yourself too hard, stayed up too late. You worked multiple jobs to keep yourself afloat and assist your family in any way you could, and Namjoon had offered on many occasions to help you out financially, but you had refused, stating that he was your friend, not your ATM.

Your stubborn personality was one of the most infuriating things about you, and also one of Namjoon’s favorites. When you’d set your mind to something, there was no going back. You never backed down when you were passionate about something, and you were passionate about Namjoon. Too many times you’d watched him get close to people who only wanted him for his fame or his money. He acted like it didn’t hurt but you knew. Each time he was betrayed it was like a piece of him chipped away. He smiled though. He never stopped smiling.

Sometimes Namjoon felt like BTS and you were the only people in the whole world he could trust, aside from his family.

“... then Jin tripped over Tae and busted his ass and we couldn’t stop laughing.” Namjoon recounted dance practice and watched your sleepy smile spread over your face. “We decided to call it quits for the day and here we are.” he finished.

“Mmm.. I’m glad you had a good day.” you mumbled from your half-conscious state.

“Thank you, Y/N. You should really get some sleep.” Namjoon told you.

“You’re right… I can’t keep my eyes open. Thank you for calling me, Joonie. I love you.” you spoke slowly, eyes threatening to drift shut.

“I love you too, Y/N. Sweet dreams.” Namjoon said, but his words fell on deaf ears as your eyes had already closed.

Namjoon knew he should’ve ended the call, but his eyes watched your peaceful expression, a hint of a smile lingering on your lips. He watched you take deep, even breaths. He studied the way your eyelashes fluttered when you stirred. Namjoon’s chest tightened as he gazed upon your features. That was the first night Namjoon came to the realization that he was in love with you.

Of course, you’d known you were in love with Namjoon much sooner than the dense man had realized his own feelings. You never showed it though. You didn’t want your feelings to make things weird, as Namjoon’s presence in your life was the only thing keeping you centered. Namjoon was where you went when you were angry, when you were scared, when you felt alone. He was your anchor in a world that tried to sweep you away into an empty abyss. He was your home.

Namjoon was the only person in the world who seemed to understand you completely. You’d never really felt like you belonged anywhere, constantly yearning for a place that felt safe. With Namjoon, you belonged. You were safe. Protected. You were valued and revered and you could let your walls down and melt into your best friend’s embrace, knowing he’d always catch you. You knew there were millions of girls who wanted his heart, who were in love with the idea of him. You knew who he really was though.

You were the one who stayed up talking him through his dark moments. You were the one who held him and stroked his hair when he fell apart. You were the one who listened without judgement, who understood him just as much as he understood you. You were the one who never used him, never left him, never let him feel abandoned. You were the one who waited up, pretending you couldn’t sleep just to hear his voice for a few fleeting moments as his day wound down into the quiet night. Everything Namjoon gave to you, you returned with vigor.

That’s why, when his plane landed in your city, you were the first thought on his mind. You were the one he wanted to run to. You were the one he wanted to wrap up in his arms. And that is exactly what he did as he arrived at your apartment, dressed to blend in, knuckles rapping at the door excitedly. You flung the door open, jumping into his embrace as he pulled you tight against him and shut the door behind your bodies. You breathed in his scent, your senses flooded with Namjoon. You could finally breathe again.

You felt your body go pliant in his grasp. His strong arms held you close, his breath tickled your ear. His heart beat just as fast as your pounding one. Your best friend was finally home. Well, he didn’t live with you but in your presence was the place Namjoon felt the most himself, so he might as well have been home. Namjoon was completely overwhelmed with emotion at finally being by your side again. He didn’t know what came over him. He didn’t have time to use rational judgement, didn’t have time to think. Everything in his being needed this. He needed you.

As soon as your feet had touched the ground, before you could release yourself from Namjoon’s grasp, his lips found yours. In that moment, time stopped. Your heart stopped beating for a moment, then immediately began hammering in your chest. You kissed him back after a moment of letting the situation sink it, everything inside of you seeming to reach for him. You wound your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and his arms tightened around you, pressing your body against his as his lips worked against yours.

Had it been minutes? Had it been hours? You weren’t sure. Time wasn’t real when you were in Namjoon’s arms. All you knew is it was far too soon for your liking when he pulled away to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. His chest rose and fell rapidly and his eyes met yours. You shivered at the intensity, the adoration in his gaze.

“I’m in love with you.” left his lips before he could even register what he was saying.

Even though he’d only realized this fact a few months prior, Namjoon had been in love with you the better part of a year. It really hadn’t taken long for you to wrap yourself around his heart so completely that he couldn’t possibly want anyone else. He’d been waiting ever since that rainy night in the car to come home to you, to wrap you up in his arms, to risk it all and tell you exactly what you’d meant to him.

“I had a whole speech planned. It was going to be much more romantic. But I can’t think right now. All I know is I’m completely in love with you, and I really hope you feel the same way or this is going to get really awkward-” he began.

“I love you too. I’m in love with you, Joonie. I’ve been in love with you. You’re everything.” you sighed contentedly, leaning your head against his toned chest, listening to his heart beat like a hummingbird’s.

His fingers tenderly snaked their way under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His lips found yours once more. This kiss was slower, more intimate. This kiss held everything the two of you couldn’t express with words. All the heartache while you waited for him alone. All the longing you’d felt, thousands of miles apart. This kiss was a thank you for your continued friendship, a promise of so much more to come, a whisper of love drifting between your connected lips. It was everything you’d both been holding back for almost a year.

Your whole body trembled and tears forced their way down your cheeks against your will, and Namjoon moved his lips to your cheeks, kissing them away. He knew. He understood. He felt it too. He led you to the couch, consuming you in his embrace, letting you be at ease for the first time in months. Namjoon finally let out the breath he’d been holding since, well he wasn’t sure how long. It felt like he was breathing for the very first time.

“Please say you’ll be mine.” he whispered, almost inaudibly, as he trailed kisses along your ear.

“I’ve always been yours, Joon.” you whispered back.

And it felt like the beginning of something good.

taglist: @blkjmn

#bts #bts fluff #fluff #namjoon #rm #rap monster #joon #kim namjoon #bts imagines #namjoon x reader #rm x reader

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jadelotusflower · 4 years ago

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November Roundup

Some writing success this month - I finished and posted a new chapter for Against the Dying of the Light, and made progress on The Lady of the Lake and Turn Your Face to the Sun. I didn’t work much on my novel, but I did do some editing on the first third so that’s progress.

Words written this month: 6647

Total this year: 67,514

November books

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo - joint winner of the 2019 Booker Prize (with The Testaments by Margaret Atwood) this was an engrossing and interesting read. Stylistically unusual formatting and scant use of punctuation that is a bit jarring at first, but you quickly adapt as you read. There’s no plot as such - instead the story is formed by vignettes of twelve black women and their disparate yet interconnected lives. We have mothers and daughters, close friends, teachers and students, although the connections aren’t always obvious at first - we can be exposed to a character briefly in the story of another with no idea that she will be a focus later on. It’s very skillfully done, to the point whereupon finishing I wanted immediately to re-read (but alas, it was already overdue back to the library). There is so much ground covered that we are really only given a glimpse into the characters lives, but there is a diversity of intergenerational perspectives of the African diaspora in the UK, and I highly recommend.

The Evening and the Morning by Ken Follett - after finishing The Pillars of the Earth I had intended to read the sequel, but this was available on the library shelf and I had to place a hold on World Without End, so the prequel came first. Set sixty years before the Conquest (150 before Pillars) it primarily addresses the growth of the hamlet of Dreng’s Ferry into the town of Kingsbridge, through the lives of a monk with a strong moral code, a clever and beautiful noblewoman, and a skilled builder, working against the machinations of an evil bishop. Sound familiar? This is Follet’s most recent work, and I do wonder if he’s running out of ideas as this covers very similar thematic ground.

Ragna is a compelling female character, but once again the romance-that-cannot-be with Edgar is tepid, Aldred is a very watered down version of Prior Philip, and there’s no grand framing device such as building the cathedral to really tie to all together (although things do Get Built, and it’s interesting but not on the level of Pillars). This is the tail end of the Dark Ages and it shows - Viking raids, slavery, infanticide - and while it seems Follett’s style is to put his characters through much tragedy and tribulation before their happy ending, I wish writers would stop going to the rape well so readily. But at least the sexual violence isn’t as...lasciviously written as in Pillars? Scant praise, I know. But Follett’s strength in drawing the reader into the world and time period is on display, made even more interesting in this era about which we know very little.

Women and Leadership by Julia Gillard and Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala - I have a great deal of respect for Julia Gillard, Australia’s first female Prime Minister who was treated utterly shamefully during her tenure and never got the credit she deserved, perhaps excepting the reaction to her iconic “misogny speech” whichyou can enjoy in full here:

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Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala was the first woman to be Minister of Finance and Foreign Affairs in Nigeria, was also the former Managing Director of the World Bank, and currently a candidate for Director-General of the WTO.

This is an interesting examination of women in leadership roles, comparing and contrasting the lives and experiences of a select few including (those I found the most interesting) Ellen Sirleaf, the first female President of Liberia, Joyce Banda, the first female President of Malawi, New Zealand’s current Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, and of course, Gillard and Okonjo-Iweala themselves.

November shows/movies

The Vow and Seduced: Inside the NXIVM Cult - I’ve been following the NXIVM case for a while now, when the news broke in 2017 I was surprised and intrigued that it involved actresses from some of my fandom interests - Alison Mack (Smallville), Grace Park and Nikki Clyne (Battlestar Galactica), and Bonnie Piasse (Star Wars). Uncovered: Escaping NXIVM is an excellent podcast from that point in time that’s well worth a listen. There’s been a lot of discussion comparing these two documentaries and which one is better, but I feel they’re both worthwhile.

The Vow gives a primer of NXIVM as a predatory “self improvement” pyramid scheme/cult run by human garbage Keith Reniere, from the perspective of former members turned whistleblowers Bonnie Piasse, who first suspected things were wrong, her husband Mark Vicente who was high up in the organisation, and Sarah Edmondson who was a member of DOS, the secret group within NXIVM that involved branding and sex trafficking. Seduced gives more insight into the depravity and criminality of DOS from the pov of India Oxenburg, just 19 when she joined the group and who became Alison Mack’s “slave” in DOS - she was required to give monthly “collateral” in the form of explicit photographs or incriminating information about herself or her family, had to ask Mack’s permission before eating anything (only 500 calories allowed per day), was ordered to have sex with Reniere, and other horrific treatment - Mack herself was slave to Reniere (as was Nikki Clyne) and there were even more horrific crimes including rape and imprisonments of underage girls.

Of course each show has an interest in portraying its subjects as less culpable than perhaps they were (there were people above and below them all in the pyramid after all) - Vicente and Edmondson in The Vow and Oxenburg in Seduced, but what I did appreciate about Seduced was the multiple experts to explain how and why people were indoctrinated into this cult, and why it was so difficult to break free from it. This is a story of victims who were also victimisers and all the complications that come along with that, although I’m not sure any of these people are in the place yet to really reckon with what happened and all need a lot of therapy.

Focusing on individual journeys also narrows the scope - there are other NXIVM members interviewed I would have liked to have heard a lot more from. There is also a lot of jumping back and forth in time in both docos so the timeline is never quite clear unless you do further research. I would actually like to see another documentary one day a bit further removed from events dealing with the whole thing from start to finish from a neutral perspective. The good news is that Reniere was recently sentenced to 120 years in prison so he can rot.

I saw value in both, but you’re only going to watch one of these, I would say go for Seduced - if you’re interested in as much information as possible, watch The Vow first to get a primer on all the main players and then Seduced for the full(er) story.

The Crown (season 4) - While I love absolutely everything Olivia Coleman does, I thought it took a while for her to settle in as the Queen last season and it’s almost sad that she really nailed it this season, just in time for the next cast changeover (but I also love everything Imelda Staunton does so...) This may be an unpopular opinion, but I wasn’t completely sold on Gillian Anderson as Thatcher - yes I know she sounded somewhat Like That, but for me the performance was a little too...affected? (and someone get her a cough drop, please!)

It is also an almost sympathetic portrayal of Thatcher - even though it does demonstrate her classism and internalised misogyny, it doesn’t really explore the full impact of Thatcherism, why she was such a polarising figure to the extent that some would react like this to her death:

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But I suppose it’s called The Crown, not The PM.

Emma Corrin is wonderful as Diana, and boy do they take no prisoners with Charles (or the other male spawn). I was actually surprised at how terrible they made Charles seem rather than both sidesing it as I had expected (but perhaps that’s being saved for season 5). It does hammer home just how young Diana was when they were married (19 to Charles’ 32), how incompatible they were and the toxicity of their marriage (standard disclaimer yes it’s all fictionalised blah blah). The performances are exceptional across the board - Tobias Menzies and Josh O’Conner were also standouts and it’s a shame to see them go.

I was however disappointed to see that the episode covering Charles and Di’s tour of Australia was not only called “Terra Nullius” but the term was used as a very tone deaf metephor that modern Australia was no longer “nobody’s land/country”. For those who aren’t aware, terra nullius was the disgraceful legal justification for British invasion/colonisation of Australia despite the fact that the Indigenous people had inhabited the continent for 50,000 years or more. While the tour was pre-Mabo (the decision that overturned the doctrine of terra nullius and acknowledged native title), there was no need to use this to make the point, especially when there was no mention at all of the true meaning/implication of the term.

The Spanish Princess (season 2, episodes 4-8)- Sigh. I guess I’m more annoyed at the squandered potential of this show, since the purpose ostensibly was to focus on the time before The Great Matter and give Katherine “her due” - and instead they went and made her the most unsympathetic, unlikeable character in the whole damn show. (Spoilers) She literally rips Bessie Blount’s baby from her body and, heedless to a mother’s pleas to hold her child, runs off to Henry so she can present him with “a son”. I mean, what the actual fuck?

I’m not a stickler for historical accuracy so long as it’s accurate to the spirit of history (The Tudors had its flaws, but it threaded this needle most of the time), but this Katherine isn’t even a shadow of her historical figure - she’s not a troubled heroine, she’s cruel and vindictive, Margaret Pole is a sanctimonious prig, and Margaret Tudor does little but sneer and shout - the only one who comes out unscathed is Mary Tudor (the elder), and it’s only because she’s barely in it at all. It’s a shame because I like all of these actresses (especially Georgie Henley and Laura Carmichael) but they are just given dreck to work with.

This is not an issue with flawed characters, it’s the bizarre presentation of these characters that seems to want to be girl power rah rah, and yet at the same time feels utterly misogynistic by pitting the women against each other or making them spiteful, stupid, or crazy for The Drama. I realise this is based on Gregory so par for the course, but it feels particularly egregious here. (Spoilers) At one point Margaret Pole is banished from court by Henry, and because Katherine won’t help her (because she cant!) she decides to spill the beans about Katherine’s non-virginity. Yes, her revenge against the hated Tudors is...to give Henry exactly what he wants? Even though it will result in young Mary, who she loves and cares for, being disinherited? Girlboss!

This season also missed the opportunity to build on its predecessors The White Queen/Princess and show why it was so important to Henry to have a male heir - the Tudor reign wasn’t built on the firmest foundations and so needed uncontested transfer of power, at the time there was historic precedent that passing the throne to a daughter led to Anarchy, and wars of succession were very recent in everyone’s memory. At least no one was bleating about The Curse this time, which is actually kind of surprising, because the point of the stupid curse is the Tudor dynasty drama.

But it’s not all terrible. Lina and Oviedo are the best part of the show, and (spoilers) thankfully make it out alive. Both are a delight to watch and I wish the show had been just about them.

Oh well. One day maybe we’ll get the Katherine of Aragon show we deserve - at least I can say that the costumes were pretty, small consolation though it is.

#november roundup #long post

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readingwritingcrying · 5 years ago

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I am finally here with Good Omens prompts!! Okay, so let me know if you don't like this and I can try again, but I D E S I R E more crowley sickfic content :) maybe he has a fever and doesn't even realize because mortal stuff is so foreign to him that he can't figure out why his head hurts and he's dizzy until Aziraphale points it out? :)

HELL YEAH I CAN!! I need more Crowley sickfic in this fandom so hear is this fic! I had an idea in mind for this prompt and somehow, my keyboard decided to take a different one and run with it but I hope you like it!

When Crowley showed up late, it was fashionable, if a bit unusual for a lunch date with his – with the angel. A lunch appointment. A casual meet-up, maybe.

They had made reservations at the Ritz for 8:00 sharp, and according to Crowley’s mobile, it was 8:20 when he came sauntering in to sit across from Aziraphale.

The angel had ordered an appetizer and was picking at it nervously before his eyes settled on Crowley, and in an instant, the tension left him. “Oh, there you are, dear, I was about to get worried!”Crowley rolls his eyes, which was utterly pointless with his dark shades covering the demonic things, but Crowley knew the message got across just the same. Aziraphale seems to understand him some way or another these days.“Mn, yeah, no reason to be worried,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Lost track of a bit of a nap, that’s all.” Which was not necessarily true, but also was not a lie.Crowley, of course, being a demon could lie. In fact, he might say he could do it rather well considering that he had kept hell off his tail for, oh, ‘round six thousand years until the Armageddon’t became a thing. But while he could lie well enough to the uninterested party-and he’ll certainly did not care about him on any deeply personal level-he couldn’t bring himself to lie to the angel.So yes, he had indeed overslept a bit in what could be considered a nap. The only bit that was anything of note was that he didn’t actually mean to take a nap in the first place. He had been stalking through his flat, inspecting his plants when he had felt a bone-deep tired start to set in.He sat only for a second on a bench more concrete than comfort, and suddenly he had slept a little over a day. Crowley just wanted to sleep at least a thousand more, he felt so exhausted.

But leaving that out wasn’t really lying after all.

Aziraphale sighed. “I never did understand the appeal but, well,” he gestured to the food in front of him, “I suppose to each their own, my dear. I’m just glad you decided to wake up this century!”

Crowley could tell the angel was trying to settle any weird feelings with the jest, but somehow his mind was just a little… drifty. But he was pretty certain a smirk would do the trick, as it usually did when he wasn’t sure how to respond anyway.

Thank someone for sunglasses.

It did indeed do the trick, and Aziraphale smiled, easily settling down easily into the pattern they had managed for so long. He began with some small talk about his shop and the customers he had scared off, and even explained the newest novel he had found himself immersed in.

On the other hand, Crowley felt completely lost in what he was supposed to be doing. It was all he could take to try and make the right noises, or look like he was paying attention to the angel (which was a skill he had mastered, letting him talk about books for ages that Crowley couldn’t care less about if it weren’t important to Aziraphale).

He didn’t even notice the waiter ready to take their order until Aziraphale cleared his throat pointedly, murmuring a soft, “Crowley, dear?”

“Oh, just some wine, really. Whatever you’d recommend,” Crowley grumbles, waving off the waiter. He was hoping that since he usually didn’t eat much anyways, it didn’t seem off, but the truth was the thought of even trying anything made his stomach turn. It was confusing to say the least.

Something was wrong, Crowley thought, and the worried looks Aziraphale was constantly giving him when the angel thought he wasn’t looking only confirmed as much. The dinner seemed to pass by in somewhat of a fog. He felt absolutely miserable, but not in any way he was used to. He wasn’t upset but he still felt like absolute shit. It was all he could do to keep himself awake and mostly alert, giving the occasional one word answer whenever Aziraphale trailed off in a way he was clearly meant to respond to.

It was when a dull ache set in behind his eyes that things truly got out of hand. Even his own voice started to feel like it was drilling into his head, and the shining lights of the restaurant made him wish to by somewhere, anywhere else. Like his bed, or Aziraphale’s couch.

It was a relief when Aziraphale was finished. He was delighted with the meal as always, but there was something of a worried tone in his voice as he praised the food. Even then, he didn’t say anything about it. For all of Crowley’s going too fast, Aziraphale knew by now that something a little too caring or personal before the demon was ready, and he would be scared off.

Sometimes he was annoyed at the angel’s caution around him, like he were a not-quite-tamed animal. Other times, Crowley was grateful for it. Right now, Crowley couldn’t decide, because his brain felt like it was being baked and pounded into mush at the same time.

“Shall we go then?” Aziraphale asks, straightening out his jacket.

“I was gonna pay the bill, angel,” Crowley grumbles. Even if he was being rather awful company - not that he was the best anyways, Aziraphale really deserved better for h- well, for somewhere’s sake – he could at least give him that much.

Aziraphale shook his head, eyes crinkling in the way they did when he found something particularly peculiar, or even perhaps silly. “Oh, really Crowley,” he huffed. It was much more endearing than exasperated. “I believe I’ll manage this one time. But maybe you could, well, give me a lift?”

If it wouldn’t hurt his head so much, Crowley would have laughed. Instead, he smiled, just a little bit. Because the angel was still so shy, and never mind how he felt, he wasn’t about to say no when Aziraphale so rarely outright asked him something like that. “’Course I will,” Crowley said, willing away the strange urge to shiver.

He was rewarded with the sight of Aziraphale smiling brightly at him as he stood up. Crowley stood to join him.

And oh, fuck.

The restaurant was suddenly spinning. Crowley shook, feeling chilled and far, far weaker than he should. His vision was being encroached by darkness, and he stumbled weakly back, catching himself on the table with a clamber.

Nosey eyes were quickly miracled away and Aziraphale was by his side. “Crowley? Crowley, what is it, are you hurt?”

“Angel, I don’t know what’s happening, I feel awful, I’m scared,” Crowley says. Except he didn’t, and instead, all that came out was “Nnghh.”

Another wave of vertigo overcame him and when he blinked away his spotty vision, they were in the bookshop, Aziraphale immediately beginning to pace with nervousness that practically rolled off him.

Crowley sits himself down on the couch – if one could call nearly falling onto it without any sense of gracefulness sitting – and puts his hand to his head. It was hot. His body, however, felt freezing, and he curled up back into the fabric, trying to conserve his warmth as he shivers.

Aziraphale approaches him, still fidgeting anxiously. “Please tell me what’s wrong, dear. You’re frightening me,” he asks softly.

“Angel, I-“ Crowley doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s happening, and what if he’s going to discorporate? Or worse? It would be more than inconvenient, what with hell wanting his blood and all, there was no way he’d make a quick return topside. That is, if he ever managed it. He didn’t want to leave his angel. Not when they finally had a real chance.

Before he realized he was even doing it, Aziraphale had taken off his glasses, setting them down gently, and had begun to wipe away his tears. Crowley’s eyes were blown completely yellow, without a white bit to be seen; a sure sign of his distress. Crowley leaned into his hand, a somewhat strangled whimper escaping his throat. Aziraphale shushed him softly, and Crowley managed to find his voice.

“I don’t know why, Aziraphale.” The tearful tremble was still thick in his speech, although later he would never admit to being so emotional.

The angel looks troubled by this. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling then?” Crowley nods slowly.

“I’m… tired. Everything hurts, angel, can’t think straight… my head hurts. And it’s bloody freezing in here,” he complained, his body shuddering to prove his point.

Aziraphale’s face pinched further. “It’s warm here, my dear… you’re, well, rather feverish, it seems.” Crowley stares at him blankly. It was most certainly not warm although his forehead was delightfully cooled by the angel’s hands still resting on his face. When it was clear that he wasn’t getting the point, Aziraphale spoke again. “Crowley, I believe you might be sick,” he states carefully.

He blinks. “Demons don’t get sick, angel,” Crowley says.

Maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale was onto something. He certainly felt ill, after all. But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, getting sick was something… human. And Crowley could tell, even now, weak and pitiful as he felt, he was still very much a demon.

“Perhaps, but we’ve spent all this time around them, well… it could be possible, couldn’t it?” Aziraphale ponders. “Unless you have a better idea?” His eyebrow is raised in a way that looks innocent, but holds a challenge to it, almost daring Crowley to disagree.

He just shrugs. “Guess so.” He hadn’t been around anything holy enough to worry and if this was what being sick was like then… well, that was that. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to do any more than just accept it.

Pushing himself up with his arms off of the couch, he takes a clumsy step forward, feeling horribly dizzy again. He stumbles, but instead of falling, he’s steadied by a soft pair of hands. “Dear, what are you doing?” Aziraphale asks. “You’re in no state to be walking around like that.”

“Gotta get home, ‘Zzzira,” Crowley explains. He’s leaning on Aziraphale quite heavily, letting his eyes close to stop the room from spinning. His stomach had started to spin with it. “Just need a bit of ressst,” he hisses, forgetting to stop the odd way he speaks, although he hardly notices it.

“Oh, Crowley,” murmurs Aziraphale, his voice unbearably tender. “I can just make you a bed here. I would be far too worried to let you go off alone when you can hardly walk.”

Crowley tries to argue his case, but all that comes out is stammers, and so when the angel sweeps him off his feet (literally, figuratively he had managed that 6,000 or so years before) he doesn’t struggle. Instead, he moans at the disorienting feeling, pressing his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. He holds Crowley tighter.

Crowley was too light, too easy for the angel to carry.

Aziraphale sets him down on the bed – sheets, predictably in a familiar tartan pattern. Immediately, Crowley pulls the blankets around him, grateful to the warmth they provide. His shivering subsides from full body shudders to just a slight bit of shakiness. Aziraphale leaves but is back just as quickly with a cool glass of water and a few white pills.

“Take these,” he instructs, guiding Crowley into a sitting position. When did it get so hard to do that? His confusion must have shown on his face. “Your fever is rising quite a bit dear, you might not be feeling better any time soon, but this should help,” explains Aziraphale.

Crowley considers this and takes the pills with the water before laying back. His eyes feel heavy.

Someone is tucking him in, and it must be Aziraphale, and his hair is being stroked. Crowley mummers softly, “Please stay,” as he begins to drift off.

He thinks he hears a response of “Of course, my love,” from his angel, but maybe that’s just the fever talking

#good omens #good omens whump #Ineffable Husbands #otp: ineffable #Crowley whump #anthony j crowley #good omens fic #sickfic #sick crowley #good omens fanfiction #whump #hurt comfort #hurt crowley

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rkcheri · 5 years ago

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﹡ 𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒❺ EPISODE 8 ━━ 𝗥𝗢𝗬𝗔𝗟𝖥𝖫𝖴𝖲𝖧 ◆ COACH CHERI .

first place comes as a surprise -- not because mijoo didn’t see it coming, no, it definitely wasn’t that. but because she’s learned time and time again not to put her expectations too high, no matter the talent and hard work that pulses between veins and exhausted bones and beads of sweat that trembled against desperate entities.

( a part of her wills expectations to be thin, but they rise more and more as names are called and their team has yet to come -- she sees sunmi’s team place last and her heart falls, remembering throughout the episode how hard their team worked and how much her best friend was trying, although harshly, to help them. and the way that same heart flutters at the sight of mason, his smile as his team, trc -- antidote -- receives third place )

she wants to hope the best for them, she wills it in every way she can, dashing hearts, crossing fingers -- sprinkling mythical fairy dust in every corner of her mind up until the winners are announced. they’ve worked hard for this, but mijoo has tasted victory once before and lost it all in the same breath. it’s why, watching the show in real-time with nayoung, she’s on edge; fingers clutching tightly to her member’s as they baek jiyoung recited the first place of the night and ultimately, who would be departing from them.

it’s bittersweet -- a perfect win with a devastating loss paired with it.

mijoo didn’t see it coming, she couldn’t -- wouldn’t dream of assuming who out of the five would leave them but there he goes, his whimsical smile last seen moments before his name is called and mijoo has her breath caught between a gasp and a choked up sob.

she barely hears the rest of the monologue go by -- negating her attention elsewhere now, fingers loose from nayoung’s hold to grab her phone and immediately text a message to hyojin.

( after she had left their last run through of their stage, she had distributed her cell phone to each -- inciting that if ever they needed someone to talk to, whether to calm their nerves or to recommend a good chicken place, she was always free to message. emergency or not, mijoo left her line open. only now, it seemed she would have to reach out first )

﹡* ❪ SMS ☎︎ ┊ 김효진 ❫ ⨯

… 💌 ᵎ i just saw the last episode, you did amazing, hyojin-ssi! … 💌 ᵎ this may be the end for you on the mgas, but please know that a good opportunity is always around the corner! … 💌 ᵎ if you still feel bad, i’ll treat you to ice cream next time, yes?

it’s the least she can do, she knows loss well. she’s felt it to the bone -- seen it in the eyes of her team many moons ago. mijoo had hoped to never feel it again, but as she sees the rest of the taped episode go by, she knows this is the last she’ll keep her hopes up so high.

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but first place was first place and mijoo still thought winners deserved to celebrate. it’s why, when the topic had come up among the coaches -- all in favor of ice cream cake -- it was decided instantly, that while the winners could have their cake, it wouldn’t be fun to just let them eat it like that, right?

a plan is set into motion: a small prank to congratulate them on all their hard work. while mijoo wasn’t one to overly praise, she did think such achievements deserved their own rewards. so, when the day came -- she comes flying into the room, singing her own little tune, a little too happily, a little too ‘clumsily’ she comes, swinging this way and that as she comes closer and closer to the little group until her words stop and she’s ready to hand over the cake to the first to come her way.

and it’s a one-two exchange, one she doesn’t usually mess up but -- oops! there goes her fingers and oh no! there goes the cake.

by the way her facial expressions pull into a look of horror, mirrored heavily upon the other’s faces, mijoo can’t help the way her lips threaten to spill into laughter rather than the exaggerated ‘o’ they fell into at the get-go.

it was priceless, watching them in unison stare in horror as the cake fell from grace -- kyungsoo was hilarious as he stood, arms outstretched, like the cake would just reverse back and fall into his hands, instead -- even to mijoo’s eye, she felt her own stomach plummet at the sight of a delicious cake going to waste but alas, all in the name of comedy. an entire gotcha! moment that spills into laughter as she tries to stop the giggles from over taking her. it’s quickly relieved when seolhyun and wonwoo come in after her with another cake, resolving the fiasco that was the ‘fallen cake’ mission 001. ( that doesn’t save her from sighing, in the end, as she cleans up the rest of the cake, piling it into the box it had fallen from )

time moves on, all is forgiven ( at least that’s what mijoo thinks ) as they’re giving their slices and seated across from one another. enjoying their time, their victory in the end when eric suggests calling hyojin and mijoo finds herself growing lighter. another bittersweet feeling taking over as she forks one helping after another between her lips as she hears the tone beep, waiting for the receiver to answer: and he does before long, and mijoo can’t help but smile at the sight of him beaming at them without fail.

it sucks, that he’s not there with them but she hopes it’ll pass, the guilt.

( it will, she thinks, it has to )

“don’t worry, hyojin-ssi! when this is all over, we’ll go out for cake, all of us -- together!”

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in the same breath, cake and all, they’re still as serious as ever. it’s a determination that mirrors the one mijoo had felt the week before but this time, she feels the chills. the determination to do better than the last, to prove that last week wasn’t a fluke -- that they weren’t just going to be complacent because of this win.

song choices are hard to come by. when they agree on one, they’re far too contemplative on another. and by some force, mijoo finds herself throwing in the suggestion of adding a feminine element, they have been dominantly suggesting male songs, and while they had one girl: pretty heejin-ssi, she thought it would be interesting if ... -- perhaps ... “a girl group, maybe?” and she waits, with expectant eyes as the group digests her words.

( they end up agreeing on she’z ‘luv’ and mijoo couldn’t have been more ecstatic -- if the mimicing of the iconic L-O-V-E hand movements wasn’t a tell-tale sign )

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as choreography goes, mijoo is no where near as athletic as any of the team. watching, and grimacing, when seolhyun brings up the idea of doing squats in order to build the muscle and endurance in order to pull of the more complicated movements at the beginning of the performance.

purposely pretending not to notice the look seolhyun passes her way when she brings it up -- personally praying she’s not forced to participate for team morale. ( thanking god when the day passes and she seems to be saved from the torture that would come to her thighs )

in the days leading up to the performance, while she’s not as busy seolhyun or wonwoo, she’s still confined by her own practices; running back and forth from the practice rooms to the vocal lessons that when she’s able to come visit the team while the other coaches are away, it’s at a time when they’re doing the dread squats seolhyun had suggested and mijoo can’t help but laugh ( trying with utmost care to not sound like some wicked stepmother as she did so ) at the sight: one by one, the four of them were lined up doing squats all while harmonizing various parts of their song ( a practice mijoo had suggested after the four had finished singing flo-rida’s low for the millionth time ) ; phone in hand as she filmed footage to send to the coach group chat she shared with seolhyun and wonwoo.

an attached ‘🤪🦵🦵 LEG DAY FOR DAYS’ comment sent along with the video shortly after.

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perhaps, saying all was forgiven was spoken too soon. let it be known now, mijoo wasn’t partial to scary things.

she did not take kindly to being scared.

whether intentional or not, all she can remember is the memes that followed her ridiculous screams during royal survival. honestly, she had thought her screaming career had ended then and there. dusted her hands of anything scary and that was that.

but here it is, in plain sight -- hidden beneath smiles and false senses of securities as she and ella are walking, talking simultaneously -- an unfortunate rookie move in this case -- as the door is pushed open and --

“boo!”

she’s immediately collapsing on the floor, crawling backwards into the hall, screaming at the top of her godly lungs, “DEMONS! DEMONS!” -- her might propelling whatever sound could come from her all while pointing a finger into the room. it was a dirty trick and one mijoo probably should have saw coming but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still feel hurt by it.

her hurt is shown in the case of pouts and the tears that were rounding tear-ducts as she’s helped up from her fetal position at the other side of the hallway by suwoong. she’s still sniffling, fingers to her heart, hoping to calm it’s racing pulse, all while mumbling, “i forgive you but that was really, really mean.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

one day, it’s a day of reminiscing -- and while most days, all mijoo does is avoid it. today, she finds her peace and laughs at the memories that flood her.

they’re wonderful memories, days that started her journey -- that led her all the way to here. she opens up like a book untouched, dust in the air as she breathes in the memories and laughs along the way. “my favorite performance?” she sighs, head shaking. “it’s been years. let it be known that i participated way back when in 2013 during the first mgas, so i’m not sure how relevant the performance is these days but it was our final performance. i was on a team with eclipse’s haseul, too. we performed after school sunbaenim’s ‘because of you’ and surprisingly, i rapped. i know, shocker, right? but i think that’s my most memorable because it definitely pushed my limits. we were fighting for our dreams, much like you guys are now -- and the only way we knew to win was to fight it with every inch of our potential.”

“just like how i see you guys do, every single day you come to practice. just like how i know you guys will when you get up on that stage saturday.”

and while it’s not a promise for the better, mijoo knows ( she digresses, hopes ) there’s no regrets to follow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

it’s too soon -- smooth sailing is an assumed default and mijoo is a fool to take to this carefree nature.

when they come for another visit, to supervise the practice again, the team announces they’ve changed the plan for the finale. this shocks them all.

enough that mijoo finds herself making a face, one that doesn’t hide her skepticism as they show her just what they meant by changing the performance.

and of course, it was a joke.

but maybe, just maybe, it was the first time, mijoo almost felt the flame of frustration strike a chord in her ( one that was quick to be extinguished once the laughter had put a dent in the wall and allowed the flood of jest to overcome them one by one ).

again, mijoo comes with a pout -- and a, “yah! that was mean! i thought you guys were really serious!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

in the days leading up to the performance, she’s more and more scarce as her own schedules take time away from helping but she does what she can. and she hopes that’s enough. on one of the last days, she lingers to the side; not saying much rather than watching them proceed again and again. not to the point of exhaustion but she can see their profiles well, see the improvement flexed into their bodies at each performed segment.

they’re trying their hardest, much like last week.

hopefully, this final time, victory treats them just the same.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 ∙ @rkella, @haseulrk, @rkmiya, @rkmason@rkwon, @hyojinrk, @rksuwoong, @rkkyungsoo, @rkheejin, & @ericxrk

#rkmga5 #solo #rkmga5finale #rkella #rkwon #rksuwoong #rkkyungsoo #rkheejin #ericxrk #rkmason #haseulrk #rkmiya #small mentions here and there!#gif!credit: miyanegifs/mijoo75

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urlocalkpoptrash · 6 years ago

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BTS Reactions| Helping Them With Their Insecurities (Maknae Line)

Genre: Angst/Fluff.

Warnings: Talk of extreme dieting, and exercising.

A/N: OKAY. I did not mean for Jimins to be SO long. It could have been its own blurb, tbh. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, little flowers. 🌸

Music Recommendation: All We Do By Oh Wonder.

- - - - - - - -/

Jimin

You rolled over to find the warmth of your boyfriend, but you were only awoken to the feeling of an empty bed. A small pout started to form on your lips, you had assumed he was using the restroom, or getting a late night snack from the fridge, which you had began to notice was happening less and less. You closed you eyes, curling up in the heavy duvet. You had drifted to sleep for another 45 minutes, but you were woken up by the sound of the front door closing. You rubbed your eyes, looking around to see Jimin still wasn’t there.

“Babe?” You called out tiredly, pulling the blanket from your body.

You could hear the sound of his shoes tapping on the hard wood floor as he walked to the bedroom you two shared.

Why is he wearing shoes?

Your bedroom door opened slowly, as if he was afraid to face you. He walked in, and immediately you could smell sweat. You raised a sleepy brow, curious as to why he would be sweaty.

“Uhm? Care to explain?” You dragged your hand down through the air, pointing out his damp body.

He cleared his throat, leaning back on his heels a few times before he finally had the courage to face you.

“I went to the gym for a late night work out session. I couldn’t sleep,” he lied with grace, almost getting passed you.

“You already went to the gym today, Jimin, for three hours,” you swung your feet over the bed, standing slowly to keep your balance.

“I know, but, you know the tour is coming up, and I just, I don’t know, you know,” he stumbled over his words, taking a small step back.

“I don’t think I know, Jimin,” you took a step forward to keep the same distance you two had before he stepped back.

“I’ve gained a few pounds, and I can see it in my face,” he said, shamefully.

A small gasp parted your lips. You were afraid that this would happen again, even after he swore it wouldn’t. You took another step towards him, grabbing his wrist gently. He looked in your eyes, and you saw all the self doubt, and insecurities in his eyes.

“Baby,” you spoke with caution and love.

“I want to be your mirror,” you dropped your hand from his wrist, standing in front of him with your arms at your sides.

“What?” He frowned, obviously confused.

“Look at me, and tell me everything you tell yourself every time you look in the mirror, but say it as if you were saying to me.”

A look of pure horror plucked the confusion from his delicate features. He shook his head, his beautiful locks moving side to side.

“I-I can’t do that,” he put his hands up to surrender.

“Jimin. You’re not going to hurt me,” you straighten your posture a little more, hoping to look more confident.

He knew he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this one, no matter how much he whined or begged.

“Your cheeks are getting chubbier... and not the good kind,” his voice was small, almost impossible to hear.

“Your waist is staring to fill out more,” he swallowed holding his hands in front of him.

“You’re fat,” his voice broke, and the seal was shattered. His eyes watered, and second later tears streamed down his face.

You took a step forward, and pulled him into your arms. He crumbled down to the ground, taking you with him. You wrapped you body around his, trying to touch every visible part of his skin. Silent sobs racked through his body as you held tighter, kissing his hair. You stayed that way for at least an hour before he finally calmed enough to listen to you speak.

“Jimin, baby, the love of my life. How did you feel when you said those things to me?” You asked, stroking his hair.

“Awful, cause you’re none of those things. You’re perfect, every part of you is perfect,” His voice muffled by the skin on your neck, where he had found safety.

“Every time you say those things to yourself, think as if you’re saying them to me, because you are absolutely perfect to me. Every single hair, line or pore on your body is a masterpiece. I’m fine with you working out, and eating healthy, we can do that together. I want to do that together, but you need to promise me you’ll be safe...because I can’t lose you, Jimin. You are my world, please...” your voice taking on a begging tone near the end, but you didn’t care. You needed to hear how desperate you were to keep him safe, to keep him at all.

The next couple months were rough, but he stayed honest with you when he was struggling. You went to the boys a few times, and they helped as well. The thing with being insecure about something, it is not a natural habit. It is a taught behavior, you aren’t born hating yourself. Just as you learned to doubt yourself, you have to learn how to love yourself. It’s a journey.

Taehyung

The crowd was chanting their names, over and over as they walked around the stadium, thanking the army’s. You sat in tae’s dressing room, which is where he preferred you to be right after the show. You had his towel, two cold waters, and an ice cold wash cloth ready for him. You could hear the boys panting as they walked down the hallway, going into their respective rooms. Tae stumbled in, with his face flushed from the performances. You stood up quickly and helped him to lay on one of the couches.

He had lifted his head when you went to sit down, so he could place his head in your lap. You draped the cold cloth across his forehead as he sipped on the water, not wanting to drink it to fast.

“You did so good, Tae. Those notes you were hitting were so beautiful,” you praised him, dabbing some of the sweat from neck.

“I sounded awful, y/n. I messed up every single song. All my notes were flat, and messy,” His response came off strong than he intended.

You didn’t take it to heart though, you knew that when he was feeling this way he would lash out.

“Tae. This was by far one of my favorite concerts of yours. Your voice was so authentic and real. The audience really felt that. You always try to be perfect, and I think it stops you from being yourself, from enjoying how much they love you.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing his face. He knew you were right, but it didn’t stop him from feeling that way. You took his hands from his face and brought them to your lips. You kissed each of his fingertips, and ended with kissing each palm.

“You were great. I promise,” you whisper, as he looks up at you through his lashes.

Jungkook

“Jungkook, are you even listening to me? I told you that you keep over stepping, and throws off the shot. Start again.”

Even you could see the frustration in kooks innocent features. He was called the Golden Maknae for a reason, and he loved living up to that name, but today just wasn’t his day. The cameras began to roll again, and kook made sure not to over step, but it caused him to tumble a little over his own feet.

“Cut! Everyone take five.”

Kook stormed off the stage in embarrassment and anger towards himself. You hurried from your chair on the sidelines and followed behind him quietly, giving him a little bit of space. He shoves the doors open to go outside. Luckily, we were at an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere so there was no fear of being noticed. He leaned against the building sliding down till his butt hit the ground.

You found your place beside him, still not touching him. He wasn’t naturally one for affection unless he was in the mood, or just being clingy. He leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes silently. The night sky was clear, stars burning brighter than most nights. After a few minutes of silence you reach over and grabbed his hand, and to your surprise, he intertwined his fingers with yours, giving you hand a soft squeeze.

“What going on in the beautiful head of yours, baby,” you pulled out the big guns, you pulled out the ‘baby’ card.

You glanced over to see his cheeks burning red, you tried your hardest not to grin, it wasn’t the time to be in awe of your adorable boyfriend.

I hate disappointing them...” he opened his eyes to see you admiring him, another round of shy blushing graced his cheeks.

“You’re not disappointing them, kookie. You are one of the hardest working people I know, and it is SO rare to ever see you have an off day, but it’s going to happen. Every day you come to work and you work your ass off. I see you trying so hard in there, but sometimes you need to loosen up. Enjoy what you’re doing, cause I know how much you love dance. Stop thinking about it as a job every once and a while, and just dance because your body loves it,” you make small circle on the back of his hand with your thumb.

“You’re right. I get so caught up in being perfect, that I’ve stopped enjoying what I do.” He sighed, bringing your hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your hand.

“It’s been more than five minutes. Let’s go back inside, and I want you to dance because you love it, not because you need too.” You smile, cheek red as he sets your hand down.

With ease he pushes himself off the wall, grabbing you by the forearm and pulling you up. He was a lot stronger than he knew, he pulled so hard that you almost flew from the ground, but he was ready with open arms to catch you. He pulled you close, and hide your face in his neck, leaving behind little pecks on his skin.

“Y/N...” he whispered.

“Yes, Kook?” You asked, running your nose along his skin.

“Can you say it again?” He asked, sheepishly.

“I love you, baby.”

He giggled happily, pulling back to see your face. He dipped down and pressed a sweet kiss to your always wanting lips.

#bts reactions #bts imagine #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook #bts v #kim taehyung #taehyung #Park Jimin #Jimin #bts jimin #ggukie

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maximumphilosopheranchor · 6 years ago

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Mary Queen of Scots’ letter to Anthony Babington approving his plot and Elizabeth I’s assassination, 1586

“Trusty and well beloved / According to ye zeal and entire affection which I have known in you

towards the common cause of religion and mine, having always made accompt of you as of a principal and right worthy member to be employed both in the one and the other: it hath been no less consolation unto me to understand your estate as I have done by your last, and to have found means to renew my intelligence with you, then I felt grief all this while past to be without the same. I pray you therefore from henceforth to write unto me so often as you can of all occurrences which you may judge in any wise important to the good of my affairs: whereunto I shall not fail to correspond with all the care and diligence that shall be in my possibility.

For divers great and important considerations, which were here to long to be deduced, I cannot but greatly praise and commend your common desire to prevent in time the designs of our enemies for the extirpation of our religion out of this Realm with the ruin of us all. For I have long ago shown unto the foreign Catholic princes, and experience doth approve it, the longer that they and we delay to put hand on the matter on this side, the greater leisure have our enemies to prevail and win advantage over the said princes, as they have done against the king of Spain, and in the mean time the Catholics here remaining exposed to all forces of persecution and cruelty do daily diminish in number forces means and power. So as if remedy be not thereunto hastily provided, I fear not a little but they shall become all together unable for ever to arise again and to receive any aid at all, whensoever it were offered them. For mine own part I pray you to assure our principal friends that, albeit I had not in this cause any particular interest (that which I may pretend unto being of no consideration unto me in respect of the public good of this state) I shall be always ready and most willing to employ therein my life and all that I have or may ever look for in this world.

Now for to ground substantially this enterprise and to bring it to good success you must first examine deeply.

1. what forces as well on foot as on horse you may raise amongst you all and what Captains you shall appoint for them in every shire, in case a chief general cannot be had.

2. of what towns ports and havens you may assure yourselves, as well in the North west as South to receive succors from the lowe countries and Spain and France.

3. what place you esteem fittest and of greatest advantage to assemble the principal company of your forces at; and the same being assembled, whether or which way you have to march.

4. what foreign forces as well on horse as foot you require (which would be compassed conform to ye proportion of yours) for how long paid, and munition and ports the fittest for their landing in this Realm from the three foresaid foreign princes.

5. what provision of money and armour (in case you want) you would ask.

6. by what means do the six gentlemen deliberate to proceed.

7. and the manner also of my getting forth of this hold.

Upon which points having taken amongst you, who are the principal authors, and also as few in number as you can, the best resolution, my advice is that you impart the same with all diligence to Bernardino de Mendoza ambassador lieger for the king of Spain in France, who besides the experience he hath of the estate of this side, I may assure you will employ him therein most willingly. I shall not fail to write unto him of the matter with all the earnest recommendations that I can; as I shall also to any else that shall be needful. But you must make choice for managing of this affair with the said Mendoza and others out of the realm of some faithful and very secret personage unto whom only you must commit yourselves, to tend things be the more secret which for your own security I recommend unto you above the rest.

If your messenger bring you back again sure promise and sufficient assurance of the succor you demand, then thereafter (but no sooner, for that it were in vain) take diligent order that all those of your [?] on this side make so secretly as they can, provision of armour, fit horse and ready money, wherewith to hold themselves in readiness to march so soon as it shall be signified unto them by their chief and principals in every shire.

And for better coloring of the matter (reserving to the principal the knowledge of the ground of the enterprise) it shall be enough for the beginning to give out to the rest, that the said provisions are made only for fortifying yourselves in case of need against the puritans of this Realm: the principal whereof having the chief forces of the same in the low Countries, have (as you may let the brute go) designed to ruin and overthrow, at their return home, the whole Catholics, and to usurp the crown, not only against me and all other lawful pretenders thereunto, but against their own Queen that now is, if she will not altogether commit herself to their only government. The same pretexts may serve to sound and establish amongst you all an association and confederation general, as done only for your own just preservations and defence, as well in religion as lives, lands and goods against the oppression and attempts of the said puritans, without touching directly by writing any thing against that Queen, but rather showing yourselves willing to maintain her and her lawful heirs after heir, unnaming me.

The affairs being thus prepared and forces in readiness both without and within the Realm, then shall it be time to set the six gentlemen to work, taking order, upon the accomplishing of their designing, I may be suddenly transported out of this place, and that all your forces in the same time be on the field to meet me in tarrying for ye arrival of the foreign aid, which then must be hastened with all diligence.

Now, for that there can be no certain day appointed of the accomplishing of the said gentlemen’s design, to tend that others may be in readiness to take me from hence, I would that ye said gentlemen had always about them, or at the least at court, a fewer stout men furnished with good and speedy horses, for, so soon as the said designing shall be executed to come with all diligence to advertise thereof those that shall be appointed for my transporting, to tend that immediately thereafter they may be at the place of my abode, before that my keeper can have advice of the execution of the said designing, or at the least before he can fortify himself within the house, or carry me out of the same. It were necessary to dispatch two or three of the said advertisers by divers ways, to tend that, if the one be stayed, the other may come thorough; and at the same instant were it also needful to assay to cut of the posts ordinary ways.

This is the platt which I find best for this enterprise, and the order whereby you conduct the same for our common securities. For stirring on this side before you be well assured of sufficient foreign forces, it were for nothing [but] to put yourselves in danger of following the miserable fortune of such as have heretofore travailed in like occasions. And to take me forth of this place, unbeing before well assured to set me in the midst of a good army, or in some very good strength, where I may safely stay on the assembly of your forces and arrival of the said foreign succors, it were sufficient cause given to that Queen in catching me again, to enclose me forever in some hole, forth of the which I should never escape, if she did use me no worse, and to pursue with all extremity those that had assisted me, which would grieve me more then all the unhap [which] might fall upon my self. And therefore must I need yet once again admonish you so earnestly as I can to look and take heed most carefully and vigilantly to compass and assure so well all that shall be necessary for effectuating of the said enterprise, as with the grace of god you may bring the same to happy end: remitting to the judgment of our principal friends on this side with whom you have to deal herein, to ordain [and] conclude upon this present (which shall serve you only for an overture and proposition) as you shall amongst you find best: and to yourself in particular I refer to assure the gentlemen above mentioned of all that shall be requisite of my part for the entire execution of their good wills.

I leave also to your common resolutions to advise (in case their design does not take hold as may happen) whether you will or not pursue my transport and the execution of the rest of enterprise. But if the mishap should fall out but that you might not come by me being set in the Tower of London or in any other strength with greater guard: yet notwithstanding leave not, for god’s sake, to proceed in the rest of the enterprise: for I shall at any time die most contented, understanding of your delivery forth of the servitude wherein you are holden as slaves.

I shall assay that, at the same time that the work shall be in hand in these parts to make the Catholics of Scotland arise and to put my son in their hands, to the effect that from thence our enemies here may not prevail of any succor. I would also that some stirring in Ireland were labored for, and to be begonne somewhile before that any thing were done here, to tend the alarm might be given thereby on the flatt contrary side that the stroke should come from.

Your reasons to have some general head or chief, me thinketh, are very pertinent, and therefore were it good to sound obscurely for the purpose the Earl of Arundel or some of his brethren, and likewise to seek upon the young Earl of Northumberland, if he be at liberty. From over sea the Earl of Westmorland may be had, whose house and name may much, you know in the north proves [?]: as also the Lord Pagett, of good ability in some shires hereabout; both the one and the other may be brought home secretly: amongst which some more of the principal banished may return if the enterprise be once resolute. The said L. Paget is now in Spain, and may treat there all which by his brother Charles or directly by himself you will commit unto him touching this affair.

Beware that none of your messengers, whom you send forth of the Realm, carry over any letters upon themselves, but make their dispatches be conveyed either after or before them by some other. Take heed of spies and false brethren that are amongst you, especially of some priests already practiced by our enemies for your discovery, and in any wise keep never any paper about you that in any sort may do harm: for from like errors have come the only condemnation of all such as have suffered heretofore, against whom could there otherwise have been nothing proved. Discover as little as you can your names and intentions to the French Ambassador now Lieger at London: for although he be, as I understand, a very honest gentleman, of good conscience and religion, yet fear I yet his Master entertaineth with that Queen a course far contrary to our designs: which may move him to cross us, if it should happen he had any particular knowledge thereof.

All this while past I have sewed to change and remove from this house, and for answer the Castle of Dudley only hath been named to serve the turn: so as by apparance within the end of this summer I may gone thither.

Wherefore advise, so soon as I shall be there, what provision may be had about that part of my escape from thence. If I stay here, there is for that purpose but one of these three means following to be looked.

The first that at one certain day appointed in my walking abroad on horseback on the moors betwixt this and Stafford, where ordinarily you know very few people do pass, a fifty or threescore men well horsed and armed come to take me there, as they may easily, my keeper having with him ordinarily but eighteen or twenty horsemen only with daggers.

The second mean is to come at midnight or soon after to set fire in the barns and stables, which you know are near to the house, and whilst my Guardian his servants shall run forth to the fire, your company (having every one a mark whereby they may know one another under night) might surprise the house, where I hope with the few servants I have about me, I were able to give you correspondence.

And the third, some that bring Carts hither ordinarily coming early in the morning, their Carts might be so prepared and with such Cartleaders that being just in the middest of the great gate ye Carts might fall down or overwhelm, and that thereupon you might come suddenly with your followers to make yourself Master of the house, and carry me away; so you might do easily, before that ever any number of soldiers (who lodge in sundry places forth of this place, some a half and some a whole mile off) might come to the relief.

Whatsoever issue the matter taketh, I do and will think myself obliged, as long as I live, towards you for the offers you make to hazard yourself as you do for my delivery, and by any means that ever I may have I shall do my endeavor to recognise by effects your deserts herein. I have commanded a more ample alphabet to be made for you, which herewith you will receive.

God almighty have you in protection.

Your most assured friend forever )-(.

Fail not to burn this present quickly.”

Source

In bold - the lines that refers to Elizabeth’s assassination.

P.S. I modernized spelling a bit. There were words I didn’t get though hence the question marks.

#Mary Queen of Scots #Mary Stuart #Elizabeth I #Anthony Babington #sources #also note she planned to kidnap her son #and refers to previous times she plotted against Elizabeth

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restorerjourney · 3 years ago

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First week in Mazatlán

Buenos Dias! Jesús te ama!

The first week had a lot of ups and downs, but we are so thankful that God has been with us every step of the way.

Before departure: It’s been a whirlwind cleaning up, running errands, and saying our goodbyes here. It started off pretty bad as our red-eye flight to Phoenix, Arizona was the worst flight ever. We had to endure 5 hours of freezing cold with no blankets so a lot of us couldn’t fall asleep. Then what was supposed to be an hour layover ended up being a 5 hour layover. Finally we arrived to Mazatlan and we were warmly greeted with a big hug of heat and humidity. For those not familiar with YWAM, they are bases that created all over the world. Each base is different depending on what kind of building God provided. The one in Kona, Hawaii looks like a college campus since we were given acres of land, in Mazatlán, it was a hotel! So we get amazing ocean views and have access to see the skyline at night! Now it is not a 5 star hotel and it is pretty rundown, but I could feel the love poured out to this building to make it a home to any missionary who visits here. An A/C room is like heaven on earth here and although we have one in our own room, we are only able to use it from 9pm-9am, so we would have to find a public room at the base to have a/c. Another adjustments are the stairs since our base is a hotel and the elevator is small. The food here thankfully is so much better than what it was in Kona. Our dining schedule was another huge hurdle we had to adjust. Meal times were at 7am, 1pm, and 6pm. If you don’t make it on time within 30 minutes, all the food would be gone. Another hurdle was rooming situation. All 9 girls had to be in one room with one toilet and 2 showers. There have been many funky smells which are intensified with the humidity and hair balls in our room but we organized a cleaning system so we could keep our sanity. Lastly the water issue. Thankfully we have filtered water provided at the base but when we brush our teeth, we are not recommended to use the sink water. Also if we go out to eat there is a chance we could get diarrhea and many of us have already. So to sum it all, our team felt overall this week being a time of sanctification and discipline as we adjusted here.

Our schedule is super packed so our week has felt so full, but I am so thankful that our leaders prioritized carving out time for us to have alone time with the Lord and debriefing with our team. Before coming here, God really spoke to all of us the importance of unity and the debriefing session really allowed us to not only share but communicate our struggles and interceded for each other.

We had two days to do orientation and get acclimated to our living situation. Wednesday we did our first ministry which was bible distribution. We all carried 5-7 bibles in our backpacks, rode the back of a pickup truck, and walked in the heat to do house visit and distribute bibles. We split into small groups and I was with Sunny, Martin ( our spanish translator), and Grace. We were lost at first but then we found a house with a man staring at us. We gave him a bible and his mother came out with a wrapped wrist. She was 82-years-old who suffered from a multiple chronic fractured wrist, swelling in her legs and feet, and cataract in her right eye. She couldn’t afford medical care so we offered to pray for her. I’m not going to lie, it was not easy to pray for her cataract to be healed as an optometrist. It’s like asking God to reverse an 82-year-old from wrinkles and gray hair but I felt God impress my heart if I was going to dwell in my unbelief or obey. As I prayed for her, I felt the Lord leading me to share how God saw her as his darling little daughter. After prayer she teared up and shared with us how touched she was by our prayers. We asked if she knew Jesus and she said she did. We hugged and said our goodbyes. We then visited another house where we found a woman named Maria as well who was isolating herself since she had COVID. We prayed for her and Grace prayed for her since she had compassion for her situation since she herself had COVID last year. We gave her a bible and encouraged her. It’s always fun when we come home after dinner to hear everyone’s experience as we debrief together.

Thursday’s highlight was when we got to choose which ministry we wanted to be involved in that YWAM Mazatlan was already partnered within their community. There was soccer ministry, hospital ministry, bible distribution, Stone Island ministry, skateboard/surf ministry, children’s ministry,and government ministry. Children’s ministry, hospital ministry, and government ministry were canceled because there were COVID outbreaks so I ended up choosing soccer ministry. What happened to work out was that soccer ministry was actually a type of children’s ministry. We were able to play scrimmage with the local children which was great because there is no language barrier. After the local pastor shared a quick bible story and then we gave ice cream to the children. It was so fun to see the children laugh and have a great time.

Friday’s highlight was when we went to visit Stone Island’s ministry. Stone Island is not an actual island but a peninsula but looks similar to an island. There the population is majority indigenous mexicans and you have to take a 10 minute ferry from Mazatlan. There the people are living in huts with not much to live on but are one of the friendliest and humble people that I’ve met. We split into small groups and I went with Grace, KC, Bethel ( our translator), and YK. We listened to the voice of God and asked Him which way to go. It was crazy how looking at hindsight, the Lord really directed our steps to go to the specific people He has called us to meet. When we approached the hut and made eye contact with them, YK got excited because they had a lot of parrots and she had 2 parrots back at home but one died recently. She asked if she could see them and they immediately invited us. As we sat the grandfather recognized KC who played with the children yesterday so without him we wouldn’t have made a quick connection with the family there. They offered to give us food and we ate chicken and coke with them. One of the ladies there shared about her eyelid condition which she had suffered for over 10 years. She had a congenital tear duct issue and has received multiple surgeries here in Mexico but they just made the condition worse. What was heartbreaking was when she showed us scars on her leg, neck, and forehead where they took pieces of her skin tissue to use for her tear duct surgery but ended up lying to her and selling her skin grafts. We prayed healing for her and after we prayed YK started to tear up and share what God has revealed to her..about how Jesus loved her so much and his heart grieved her situation and that He was with her. She teared up and was so touched. Her father also teared up and they asked how long we would be here and invited us to their home for dinner next time. They were so generous, pure, kind, humble, and beautiful that I felt so privileged to get to meet.

Saturday was our day of rest and it was just so nice to be able to do laundry since it gets so humid here and we can’t rewear some of our clothes. At night we went to the street market and ate mexican corn. While we were there a few children approached us and were so excited to talk to us because we were korean. They were huge fans of a korean band called BTS. They were so excited one girl started to cry and they all wanted to hug and take photos of us. We asked if they knew Jesus and we prayed for them.

Sunday we went to a local church in Stone Island and two of our members shared their testimony. I’m not gonna lie, it was so difficult staying awake during service because it was so humid and hot that day. This past week's outreach experience really has opened my eyes to see how weak I was and depending on my condition and external circumstances...it really affected me and my ability to love others. It was convicting to see how my love was conditional and a humble experience.

Prayer request:

1.Unity: We are already experiencing spiritual attacks from the enemy towards some of our members but praise God that we experienced breakthrough every single time we bring to light our issues during debrief. Please pray that we would continue to remember to love our team members as ourselves and to fight for our unity.

2. Divine appointments and salvation for the people in Mazatlan: We do believe there are many people ready to receive Jesus. Please pray that we would have a greater fear of the Lord more than man.

3. Health: Please pray for protection from COVID, stomach/digestive issues, back, shoulder, neck, and skin issues that we have been facing.That these ailments would not hinder us doing kingdom work her.

4. To focus our eyes on Jesus and have him involved in all that we do.

Praise Reports:

-We are seeing God’s promises already fulfilled in us! We are experiencing unity like never before. We have experienced supernatural healing and it’s amazing to see our team members be transformed by the love of Christ. Jesus is so so good!

Gracias!

Alicia

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multipleservicelisting · 4 years ago

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Who is Jonathan Braun? Trump’s Last Minute Pardon Still Faces Accusations of Violence

President Donald J. Trump’s late-night commutation of a 10-year prison sentence being served by a drug smuggler named Jonathan Braun made the action sound almost routine. The White House said only that upon his release, Mr. Braun would “seek employment to support his wife and children.”

What the White House did not mention is that Mr. Braun, a New Yorker from Staten Island who had pleaded guilty in 2011 to leading a large-scale marijuana smuggling ring, still faces both criminal and civil investigations in an entirely separate matter, and has a history of violence and threatening people.

According to lawsuits filed in June against Mr. Braun and two associates by the New York State attorney general, Letitia James, and the Federal Trade Commission, Mr. Braun helped start and worked as a de facto enforcer for an operation that made predatory loans to small-business owners, threatening them with violence if they refused to pay up.

Federal prosecutors for the Southern District of New York in Manhattan also have a continuing investigation into that operation, a person with knowledge of the investigation said Friday.

As recently as two and a half years ago, Mr. Braun was accused of throwing a man off a deck at an engagement party. Federal prosecutors said in a court proceeding that he threatened to beat a rabbi who borrowed money to renovate a preschool at his synagogue. “I am going to make you bleed,” he told the rabbi, according to court documents, adding, “I will make you suffer for every penny.”

How much Mr. Trump and his aides knew about Mr. Braun’s past and his current legal troubles is not clear. In its announcement of the pardon this week, the White House appears to have substantially overstated how much of his 10-year sentence Mr. Braun had completed, saying he had served five years when he had only reported to prison a year ago. (The White House announcement also misspelled his first name, calling him Jonathon.)

Mr. Braun’s family had told people it was willing to spend millions of dollars for lawyers and others to try to get him out of prison, according to two people who have been in contact with the family members in recent months.

No one registered under federal lobbying laws to make Mr. Braun’s case to the Trump administration, though registration would not necessarily be required for legal representation. The White House announcement of the wave of 143 pardons and commutations early Wednesday, just hours before Mr. Trump left office, did not cite anyone who had backed the commutation of Mr. Braun’s sentence.

The lawyer Alan M. Dershowitz, who represented Mr. Trump in his first impeachment trial, said he “played a very limited role” in Mr. Braun’s clemency push, “almost exclusively” advising his father about the clemency process, and was paid “a very small amount of money” for his assistance.

Mr. Dershowitz said he believed Mr. Braun’s argument for clemency was “meritorious,” because Mr. Braun cooperated with prosecutors “for a good many years, and was told that his cooperation would be recognized and he didn’t get that recognition.”

His case is the latest evidence of how far the pardon process under Mr. Trump had strayed from the rigorous Justice Department guidelines and screening that previous presidents had largely relied on for clemency recommendations.

“Jonathan Braun has threatened small-business owners with violence, death and even kidnapping,” Ms. James said. “A federal commutation will not protect Mr. Braun from being held accountable in New York for the civil charges against him.”

Interviews and court documents paint a portrait of Mr. Braun as a major drug smuggler who once beat one of his underlings so badly with a belt that Mr. Braun told others he had left the victim “black and blue.” In another instance, he threatened violence against a woman who worked for him who was threatening to cooperate with prosecutors.

In response to questions about the pardon, Mr. Braun’s lawyer, Marc Fernich, declined to discuss how Mr. Braun had gotten his case in front of White House officials or who had represented him. But Mr. Fernich praised Mr. Trump’s action.

“Mr. Braun’s 10-year sentence was grossly unreasonable — an extreme statistical outlier — on the facts and circumstances of his case,” Mr. Fernich said in an email message. He said he applauded Mr. Trump’s “courage in correcting what was a grave injustice.”

A spokesman for Mr. Trump did not return an email message seeking comment.

Mr. Braun was indicted in 2010 and entered a plea deal in the drug case the next year after initially fleeing the country for Canada and Israel before turning himself in. He was not sentenced until 2019 and did not have to report to prison until last January.

While free on bail after his guilty plea but before reporting to prison, he plunged into a new enterprise, helping run an operation that made loans to small-business owners at extremely high interest rates. According to the suits filed last year by Ms. James, the New York State attorney general, and the Federal Trade Commission, Mr. Braun regularly threatened those who had trouble repaying the loans.

“I know where you live.” Mr. Braun told a small-business owner who he claimed owed him money, according to court documents filed by Ms. James.

Mr. Braun told the business owner he knew where his mother lived.

“I will take your daughters from you,” he said, according to the suit.

Mr. Braun is accused in the suit of telling another business owner: “Be thankful you’re not in New York, because your family would find you floating in the Hudson.”

Previous presidents relied on a Justice Department screening process for pardons that ensured they were being given in an evenhanded way and that those with money and connections were not receiving preferential treatment. But Mr. Trump largely disregarded that process and wielded his clemency powers unlike any previous president.

The Constitution gives presidents the ability to issue pardons and commutations, a brake on the criminal justice system and a way to show grace and mercy. But Mr. Trump doled out clemency to friends, allies, donors, witnesses who did not cooperate with investigations that involved him and his campaign, and those who could help him politically.

“When the Justice Department process is short-circuited, and there’s insufficient vetting — if you don’t take the time to look at someone’s history and potential other exposure — this is what you end up with: a process that appears corrupted by money and influence,” said Daniel Zelenko, a white-collar defense lawyer at Crowell and Moring and former federal prosecutor and enforcement lawyer at the Securities and Exchange Commission.

The full story of Mr. Braun’s arrest, indictment and sentencing spans a decade and, according to prosecutors’s statements in court and filings in his case, often unfolded like a crime thriller.

In 2009, agents from the Drug Enforcement Administration raided a house on Staten Island that Mr. Braun’s drug trafficking network used to stash large stockpiles of drugs. Mr. Braun, who was in Florida at the time, learned from his underlings about the raid.

Immediately, Mr. Braun rented a car and with at least one associate drove 25 hours to the New York border with Canada.

“In the dead of night, dressed entirely in black and utilizing a motorless boat, Braun was ferried across the river into Canada, and remained there for several months, hiding out in one of the properties owned by his Canadian associate,” according to court documents filed by the Justice Department.

Clemency Power ›

Presidential Pardons, Explained

President Trump has discussed potential pardons that could test the boundaries of his constitutional power to nullify criminal liability. Here’s some clarity on his ability to pardon.

May a president issue prospective pardons before any charges or conviction? Yes. In Ex parte Garland, an 1866 case involving a former Confederate senator who had been pardoned by President Andrew Johnson, the Supreme Court said the pardon power “extends to every offense known to the law, and may be exercised at any time after its commission, either before legal proceedings are taken or during their pendency, or after conviction and judgment.” It is unusual for a president to issue a prospective pardon before any charges are filed, but there are examples, perhaps most famously President Gerald R. Ford’s pardon in 1974 of Richard M. Nixon to prevent him from being prosecuted after the Watergate scandal.

May a president pardon his relatives and close allies? Yes. The Constitution does not bar pardons that raise the appearance of self-interest or a conflict of interest, even if they may provoke a political backlash and public shaming. In 2000, shortly before leaving office, President Bill Clinton issued a slew of controversial pardons, including to his half brother, Roger Clinton, over a 1985 cocaine conviction for which he had served about a year in prison, and to Susan H. McDougal, a onetime Clinton business partner who had been jailed as part of the Whitewater investigation.

May a president issue a general pardon? This is unclear. Usually, pardons are written in a way that specifically describes which crimes or sets of activities they apply to. There is little precedent laying out the degree to which a pardon can be used to instead foreclose criminal liability for anything and everything.

May a president pardon himself? This is unclear. There is no definitive answer because no president has ever tried to pardon himself and then faced prosecution anyway. As a result, there has never been a case which gave the Supreme Court a chance to resolve the question. In the absence of any controlling precedent, legal thinkers are divided about the matter.

Find more answers here.

Mr. Braun then fled to Israel where he took refuge for several months, hoping to avoid being apprehended as he continued to run his drug operation from an encrypted Blackberry phone, the documents say. In the fall of 2009, Mr. Braun returned to the United States, where he was arrested and jailed.

When he was indicted in 2010, he was charged with operating a marijuana ring that was one of the major distributors in New York City, smuggling in and selling $1.72 billion worth from 2007 to 2010.

“It is neither an exaggeration nor hyperbole to state that the defendant and his criminal enterprise generated illegal proceeds exceeding the gross domestic product of a small country,” the Justice Department said in a 2010 filing.

His lawyers sought at that point to convince a judge to release him on bail but prosecutors successfully kept him in jail, laying out how Mr. Braun had told others that he planned to flee the United States if he was released on bail.

“Braun specifically told a cooperating government witness that he would ‘never do time in jail,’” prosecutors said in a court filing. “Braun went on to explain that ‘for 10 grand, I could get a fake passport’ and be ‘on a beach somewhere where there is no extradition,’ still ‘making money.’”

In arguing that Mr. Braun should remain in prison, the prosecutors laid out a gruesome episode in which he beat a younger man working for him who had been given the job of guarding $100,000 worth of marijuana being kept in a house in California.

After Mr. Braun learned that the marijuana had been stolen, he called the man and demanded he give him $100,000. The man refused. Mr. Braun and one of his enforcers booked flights to California, arriving there the next morning. They broke into the house where they found the man in bed.

“Braun then took off his belt and proceeded to viciously whip his worker with the belt,” the court documents say. “At one point, the ‘kid’ tried to get away from Braun, but Braun’s enforcer pushed him back down onto the bed so that Braun could continue the beating. In Braun’s own words, his brutal assault left the ‘kid’s’ entire body ‘black and blue.’”

Mr. Braun pleaded guilty in 2011 to two counts of conspiring to import a controlled substance and money laundering. As part of his plea, prosecutors allowed him to be released on bail and live at home while awaiting sentencing. His sentencing was delayed repeatedly.

Legal experts and defense lawyers say that defendants are typically on their best behavior when they are out on bail and awaiting sentencing. But Mr. Braun continued to flout the law, according to the suits later filed against him by the New York State attorney general and the Federal Trade Commission.

In 2018, Bloomberg News wrote a series of articles about how Mr. Braun had emerged as a leading short-term lender to small businesses. While structured to try to avoid usury laws, the rates Mr. Braun changed were as high as 400 percent a year. The New York attorney general’s office opened an investigation in response to the articles.

The next year, a judge held a sentencing hearing for Mr. Braun on the drug trafficking charges. At the hearing, prosecutors laid out two recent episodes in which Mr. Braun had violently assaulted others. One allegation said that Mr. Braun had thrown someone off a two-story balcony at a Staten Island engagement party in the summer of 2018.

The other allegation related to how Mr. Braun had lent money to the Brooklyn rabbi for the preschool. The rabbi had fallen behind on the payments and Mr. Braun reportedly threatened to beat and humiliate him.

“I am coming to Crown Heights,” Mr. Braun said, according to a lawsuit filed by the synagogue. “I will hang papers all over the lampposts in Crown Heights stating that you are a liar and a thief. I am going to tell people that you are running an illegal operation and a scam.”

Fearing the rabbi would be attacked, the synagogue wired Mr. Braun $1,000 and hired a lawyer. In a subsequent call between Mr. Braun and the lawyer, Mr. Braun called the lawyer a profanity, according to the suit filed by the synagogue.

Shortly after Mr. Braun’s commutation was announced, Mr. Dershowitz said he received a call from Mr. Braun and his father.

“Everybody was very grateful. There were a lot of tears going around,” Mr. Dershowitz said, explaining that the father called again on Friday before the Jewish Sabbath. “And he said he is going to continue to call me every Shabbos, so I should expect a call.”

Kenneth P. Vogel and Ben Protess contributed reporting. Susan C. Beachy and Kitty Bennett contributed research.

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