#him being wrong about many assumptions before coming up with the actual truth would be entirely in line for him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilyrachelcassidy · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! How are you?

How about tommy shelby being in a marriage with a younger reader , who he often cheats with lizzie , the reader starts living life with parties , friends , shopping and affairs of her own , tommy falls for her but she always rejects his affections .

I never saw something like tjat and i tought it would be interesting

Thank you!

[Additional] summary: Five stages in which Y/N tried to make amends in her relationship with Tommy but failed miserably.

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: coarse language, cheating, mentions of alcohol and drugs, some graphics, ANGST (with happy ending my babes)

Distant

I. rancor

When he opened the front door to their house, midnight walloping on the wall clock, Y/N could immediately tell where Tommy had been. He soon walked into their bedroom, the place that had carried so many memories along with it, good memories actually, those of the time before their relationship had begun to deteriorate. Tommy would stain them now when he would dare to come back to her after the hours' bash, reeking of cigars and courtesans.

The one courtesan she had in particular on the mind - bloody Lizzy.

The envious, little bitch would do anything to demolish the beautiful bond Tommy and her shared, barging and creating a wall of interspace with the last cell of her bloody existence between the two of them. Y/N knew, at the same time, she wasn't barking up the wrong tree and her assumptions about Lizzy were indeed correct; her nostrils could detect a cheap, rancid scent of Lizzy's perfume from miles. And when Tommy would come up late at night, the same scent was invasively clinging to his body, the smell almost smothering for Y/N.

"Are you asleep?" asked Tommy, innocently, as if he had just returned from something that lacked culpability that he was actually dealing with. Taking off his garments, leaving only briefs on, he crawled over to her side of the bed. His breath was huffing down her neck, softly and gratifyingly, but the only thing Y/N could think about was that the mere hours before, it was at somebody else’s neck.

Or other parts of the body Y/N wouldn’t like to think about.

“No, not yet,” she replied, deceptively faking a sweet tone. “Where have you been for such a long time?”

His body tensed marginally, something most people wouldn’t have noticed but a flinch that had become indicative for Y/N within three years. Maybe Tommy could be an excellent master of counterfeiting emotions but his body signs would divulge the truth, guilt stiffening his movements in the slightest.

“Have been off to work with Arthur. Had to deal with Solomons’ people.” He was forging himself under a duvet with her now, one of his arms coiling around her waist.

Y/N’s heart sank; maybe a naive part of her still believed that he wouldn’t lie. “Oh, okay.”

“What have you been up to today?”

And then she told him about the hard way she had tried to busy herself in the vast, barren mansion: she had written some bits for the new novel she had been working on for a couple of months; she had responded to some of his relatives from the extended family who had asked for urgent contact; she had quaffed enormous amounts of coffee while watching the enchanting landscape spreading before their house. She decided to omit the parts when she had felt so lonely, no friends nor family members caring enough to pay a visit, her only companion being Mary - their maid - who owned a rather stiff lip.

In utter earnest, she wished to run away some days, bolting like a stallion in the center of overwhelming grassland and never looking back.

“I was thinking,” Y/N took up again. “Maybe we could go to dinner tomorrow? A new restaurant has been recently opened - ‘L'Arpège’, it’s called. It’s French and I thought-”

“I can’t,” Tommy interrupted, his voice cold but guilty at the same time. “I have a meeting tomorrow... with some clients.”

“Oh...” Another surge of disappointment pierced through her. “May I come with you then?”

“You know, I’d love you to come. It’s just that...” He started fidgeting with words - an attempt to think up an excuse, Y/N realized quickly. “It’s a late-night meeting, Y/N, I just... wouldn’t want to drag you into that. There will be a lot of men, dangerous men. I just think it would be better if... you stayed out of it.”

‘So Lizzy could join you?’ Y/N thought to herself.

She really couldn’t determine what was boiling in her. Anger? Disappointment? She had been far over that emotional state of actually caring for his fabrications after the first time she had caught him cheating, sitting in the pub, his arms tangled around the woman she had learned to abhor.

From that time she had felt numb, indifferent to what he would say. So why, why would those little pangs of pain still sting her so badly, stripping her from the last remnants of dignity?

“I understand,” she said, her voice uncontrollably lower.

“I’m glad you do. So how about I arrange a horse ride for you tomorrow? I’m sure Curly would-”

“I’m okay, Tom. I’ll manage,” Y/N said quickly, butting in, somehow aggressively. But she didn’t pay too much mind to her outburst, really, as unconscious tears started brimming in her eyes. She couldn’t fall apart; not now, not before him. “Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

After a few hours, Y/N was still awake. Sulky tears already settled, their wet traces desiccating on her skin.

Irrepressibly, she wondered what it would be like to free herself from that agony.

Perhaps, there was the only way to find out.

II. replay (three month earlier)

Y/N was walking down the dim-lit, dungy alley making her way over to The Garrison pub, where Tommy was carrying some business meeting with Arthur and Polly.

She wished to make a surprise for Tommy with her arrival, mollifying his work time with her come-up. After all, he had been working so hard those recent days, returning to their home at bizarrely late hours, his face smudged with weariness and lethargy. Y/N pitied him, really, and had hoped to help him with swarms of paperwork; but he would never accept her offer, always explaining that he wouldn’t want to interlace her with his job.

And she understood.

His attitude towards her had changed too; he wouldn’t be that kind, considerate man she used to remember back in the days. Instead, he was pensive and aloof, and no longer would he try to make those little romantic gestures he used to in the beginnings of their relationship. Y/N didn’t blame him, however; she could tell that he was overworked and perhaps occupied with the assemblage of duties he had on his mind.

Nevertheless, that didn’t discourage her from trying to ease his time. She had a whole plan set in her head - promptly, she would get him out of the meeting, excusing his withdrawal with some urgent family case. Then, they would go over to the bank of the river - the place of their first meeting - and would sit at one of the close-by benches, the pale lantern light irradiating while they relished watching the river water glistening in the moonlight. They could munch on a couple of cookies, Tommy’s favorites, which Y/N had prepared especially for him...

Almost nearing the pub, Y/N sighed at the thought. She could already see the luminous lighting of the place, silhouettes casting shadows, contrasting against the dark streets of the gloomy area. The light sound of chatter and drunken jabber could be heard from that distance, livening the rest of the deadly neighborhood that was probably asleep.

Y/N was humming a song under her breath as she approached. A small smile was welcoming her face, the enthusiasm bustling within her. The cookies were pleasantly rattling in her purse as she stopped in her tracks, face to face with the pub window, and she looked in, attempting to spot Tommy in the middle of the teeming crowd.

She scanned the insides of the room: so many familiar faces she used to come upon so many times. They were all laughing and chanting, beer pints happily cradled in their hands, apparently enjoying their heedless time. Y/N’s gaze traveled further, slowly and carefully, over to a distant corner - Arthur was sitting there, laughing at something John had murmured into his ear, the contents of his pint dangerously rocking from one side to another; next to him were also Polly, guffawing, Finn, Ada, and...

Oh, what the fu-

Y/N’s heart spun at an unexpectedly fast pace and dropped into her stomach. Not sure whether she was seeing properly, Y/N pinched herself on the arm, checking if what was displaying just before her eyes was real - but indeed, Tommy was rested on one of the very seats of the mushy sofa. One of his arms was tightly wrapped around Lizzy, from what she knew his secretary, tugging her over to his side, their bodies menacingly close to one another.

For just a moment, Y/N thought - no, hoped - that perhaps she was hallucinating, her tiredness hazing the reality from her. Maybe she was overthinking that. Maybe it was just a friendly hug, Tommy’s drunken stupor rendering him more neglectful of holding his usual, cold composure towards the others.

But she was wrong, she realized, when Tommy leaned towards Lizzy, his grip tightening on her arm, eyes sparkling and warm. And he kissed her, passionately, not the way he would use to do that with Y/N now. His lips zealously landed on Lizzy’s, the hungry desire detectable in the action. Visibly, he was enjoying himself, and so was Lizzy whose hands were roving all over his body, eventually stopping at his head and playing with some random strands of his silky hair.

Y/N's heart was going a million miles an hour, and she suddenly felt it difficult to swallow. Her mouth went dry, and there was a lump of a fist size in her throat. Bitter tears quickly started accumulating in her eyes, and she swore she couldn’t breathe for a moment. All she wanted was to curl into a little ball on the swampy floor and lie there forever.

Instead, she just stared into the window, not taking in whatever she had just witnessed in front of her. The tears were streaming down her face, her eyes becoming puffy within seconds.

So he was cheating. For how long? And why?

Was it because of her? Had she done something wrong?

All of the thoughts gushed into her head like a flowing waterfall, and Y/N hated herself for having that much negativity garnered in her.

Clasping the hand on her mouth and preventing a nasty gasp from escaping from it, she turned away rapidly and ran away from the place. She was taking long strides, wishing to be back at home and able to writhe under a warm blanket, crying until the emotions were sucked out of her. Little was she aware of where she was heading as the tears fogged her vision, the flux of despair washing over her.

He had stopped caring.

He was indifferent towards hurting her, and so naively did she believe in his lies, vindicating him from his get-together with Lizzy.

She had trusted him. And now, she hated herself for being far too gullible.

III. rust

“You sure you wanna do this?” asked Isaiah, his fingers toying with the hem of Y/N’s skirt. His eyes were fully dilated in lust, and he was probably just asking as a matter of precaution, inspecting whether Y/N was actually serious about her quest and whether the revolt against his boss was worth it.

She nodded fervently. “Yes, I am.”

It was all about to begin - tit for tat Tommy had triggered her to do. Within months that had lacked intimacy and communication, Y/N had learned to become impassive. If he didn’t need her, nor did she need him.

“And Tommy won’t find out, yeah?” he asked.

She nodded, breathing deeply. “Certainly.”

At that, he tilted slightly and planted kisses all over her neck, his minty breath tickling the hair on her skin. “As you wish,” he whispered into her ear, his tone shoving a couple of steamy images in her head.

Y/N wasn’t sure if that was what she actually wanted. A part of her, the more moral one, told her warningly that whatever she was intending to do was not good and unfair towards her husband to whom she had sworn unconditional commitment. The other side, however, justified her motives; if he could act promiscuously, why couldn’t she? She really couldn’t decide how to feel.

In the meantime, Isaiah was just casting off his shirt and carefully unbuttoning Y/N’s blouse. He was in the midway of taking care of their clothes, clearly unbothered with keeping up loyalty to his boss. His lips, more chapped than Tommy’s, were all over her skin, igniting a great passion in every place he kissed. The soft moans were slipping from her lips while she laid underneath him, the pressure of his weight making her pleasantly warm.

When Y/N encountered Isaiah for the first time was during one of the Peaky Blinders’ gatherings that Tommy had called up in their house. Of course, one of the participants of it had been Lizzy too, though she had restrained from throwing herself at Tommy in Y/N’s presence.

But Y/N had noticed their sneaky glances from across the room and the fueling smirks on their lips. That was all confirmation Y/N had had to receive.

At that moment, she hadn’t been thinking clearly, plainly acting on her impulses - after the meeting, she had secretly grabbed Isaiah by the robes and hauled him to the guest room where they had made out until the air was sucked out of them. She hadn’t felt guilt nor shame, only a sweet taste of vengeance coursing through her body.

Today was their fourth get-together. Yet it was somehow different than the previous times - they had never crossed the level of carnality other than kissing and touching.

Blame was margining with her reasonable thinking and acutely reminding her that she could be so over that jealousy; she didn’t need to do that to herself in order to punish Tommy. At least for her, she did punish him in her mind.

‘But he cheated too,’ Y/N told herself. ‘So it’s an eye for an eye, basically.’

Isaiah’s mouth was on her belly now, a growl rumbling in his chest, and he was placing kisses all the way from her breasts to her abdomen, the intense want pooling in her lower parts. Y/N found herself reaching down to wrap her fingers in his black hair, gripping roughly and arching her back. The tension within her was unbearable.

His eyes flickered up to meet Y/N’s gaze once more, briefly, asking for the ultimate permission to take her tongs off. The breath was heaving in both of them, their chests falling and raising to the intermittent heartbeats.

“Do it. Please.”

IV. ravage

“Hello, love,” said Tommy, cheerfully, entering the threshold of the office where Y/N was currently working on her novel. A moss woolen sweater was enfolding her arms, gray sweatpants pulled on and strapped around her waist; the homy outfit she would wear only around the house and still manage to look absolutely glamorous. Her hair was twisted in a loose bun, the glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose with a seamless dose of sophistication.

She gave him a half-smile when he approached her, pecking her cheek, but didn’t tear her gaze away from the typewriter where a virtually written page was scurrying to the last dot. Her fingers were briskly flying from one button onto the next one, and when she was finished, she purred in gratification and riveted to her husband.

“Done?”

“Yes.” She stretched her arms above her head, smiling, whereas Tommy leaned on the verge of the desk. “A good day too?”

He nodded in response, a faint smile gracing his lips. “So I was thinking, maybe we should go to that restaurant you were talking about earlier,” he said, without preamble, his tone disclosing a certain assertion, not a hint of invitation Y/N wished for.

He wasn’t asking her out; he was informing her of his plans with her.

A lava slide of anger and resentment swept away her rationality. How the fuck could he kick her around like that, ill-treating her for a couple of weeks, and then deciding on what she should do after Lizzy had probably met up with her other client, consequently cock-blocking him? There was that particular self-assurance with which Tommy had told her, or ‘offered’ her, a dinner that had tossed her patience aside; she wasn’t his possession after all. And she wanted to make a fair point out of that.

Something in her expression apparently crumpled because Tommy was ogling her with interested eyes, a wary eyebrow raised in query. “What do you think of that?”

“Oh, so now you’re asking,” said Y/N in a huff.

He frowned. “What are you on about?”

Unsuccessfully thwarting herself from a word vomit, she stood up so that her face could level up with Tommy’s, her eyes raging. His, on the other hand, were confused and in no apparent cognition of the upcoming tantrum. “In the last weeks, you did nothing to acknowledge our relationship. To acknowledge me. All I did was try to go out with you, or do something together, whatever you wanted. But instead, you dismissed all of that. And I don't understand why it’s so bloody difficult for you to include me in your life.” She took a pause, eyes filming over with hands flinging all over the place. “And now you are inviting me - no - telling me, that you decided to finally find some spare time for me. Oh, how generous of you.”

“You know the company is giving me a hard time. I go the extra mile to make things work, and that’s your effing gratitude?” he said angrily, and now with a hint of indignation tainting in voice.

“Oh please, give me a break,” she snapped, even more furious and glaring. As never, or at least never in front of her, Tommy’s face was incandescent, and his jaw popping from all the heavy clenching. “I saw you with Lizzy back in the days, snogging back in the pub. Were you working then too?”

He blinked, thunderstruck, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something but lacked words for that. The steely glare was locked on Y/N, perhaps transfixed with how he should respond to the crude truth he had no idea his wife had found out about. Ultimately, he pressed his lips together and took a step forward. “Perhaps if you weren’t so incongruous and childish, maybe I wouldn't need Lizzy for anything. And not behaving like a fuckin’ nun, Y/N.”

Ouch. It stung her.

Awfully, as though he had slapped her with full force.

Or maybe that would have hurt less.

Y/N took a step back, tears of rage and frustration trickling down her face. So there he was: pinning the responsibility of his infidelity on her, absolute dearth of shame for calling his wife out and, in lieu, defending his slip with the woman who had been mounting him for no other reason but money. She felt a dull ache in her chest, and her body stiffened. Evidently aware that he had crossed the line, his eyes changed back, the distinctive traces of regret in them. His arm lifted and, for a moment, attempted to take a hold of her hand as a form of placation. But she pushed him away, the spleen raising in her chest. “I’m going back to my parents’.”

“Y/N,” he began, strained, trying to get a hold of her but in vain. She just shook her head and retreated, doing her best to prevent herself from spilling any tears for him.

“Don’t fucking try to contact me. I’m gonna leave and... and-”

“Y/N.” His tone was pleading now, and so were his eyes. He tried to reach for her again but met with another compulsion of rebuff. “I’m so so-”

“Shut it!”

Without bothering to give him a second glance and afraid that he would see how much the conversation had shaken her, she turned on her heel and dashed out of the room. Not completely conscious of what she was doing, she headed to the wardrobe to fetch some of her belongings.

Tommy didn’t chase her, and mindfully so. She wasn’t able to face him right now after what he had told her; so, he had thought Lizzy better. In shade of the relationship, she hadn’t known that she had been razing.

Her shoulder stiffed at the thoughts in her mind, horror and moroseness coursing through her body.

If he really had enough of her, she won’t be a burden for him anymore. She will happily retreat.

V. recovery: a new start

It had been two months since Y/N had last heard from Tommy. Yes, against her plea not to, he had tried to contact her. And yes, he had arrived at her parents’ doorstep a dozen times. But her family was supportive of her and the resolutions she had made, accordingly dismissing Tommy from their house.

The fact was that Y/N reckoned living with her parents as a tad shaky and inconvenient - after all, she had to obey the prevailing rules they had in their household (which some Y/N had thought ridiculous for plentiful reasons). Their watchful and condescending remarks weren’t a charm either. At the same time, however, she felt like she finally unchained herself from the venomous aura of the Mansion she had inhabited a while ago; and it hadn’t felt like home to her anymore.

And so she enjoyed her old childhood room she had left behind years ago, chalk-white walls still reminding her of the times she had drawn at them with the crayons, to enlighten the area.

Y/N was laying face-down on the satin, pukey-pink sheets, a rumbling in her stomach reminding her that she hadn’t had any breakfast yet (although, it was already afternoon). Nose pressed to the pillow, she mentally braced herself for today’s plans - proffered by her father, they had to drop in at the Mansion to fix the rest of the clothing she had abandoned.

Obviously, it wasn’t a very pleasant thought to say at least; but if she wanted to move forward, perhaps start a new chapter of her life she close the preceding one. And she wanted to do both so badly.

The doors cracked while flinging wide open and Y/N’s mom walked into the room.

“Why aren’t you out of bed yet? Are you alright?”

“Yes, ma, don’t worry about that,” she said while staking out a sitting position. She covertly glanced over at her mom who was standing in the door frame, her attire absolutely irreproachable with a corsage, her face genuinely worried.

“Crying again, were you, Cherie?” Had she? Y/N hadn’t noticed before until now when her hand touched the tear-stained face. “We can talk about that if-“

“Ma, no, please. I’ve been over that,” she said, her lip subconsciously letting out a small tremble. “I…just don’t want to talk… about him.”

Mom’s eyes were sympathetic and her mouth was moving, but Y/N had muffled all the sounds coming from the peripherals with her torrent of thoughts. She had been through that so many times; Mom, usually at the end of the day, would attempt to approach the topic in many ways. Y/N would always deny it, however, deciding that it was still far too hurtful to discuss him.

As the three o’clock was rounding, Y/N was already sitting in the rear of the car with her father behind the wheel. They had barely exchanged any word throughout the entire journey as Y/N tried to deal with her volley of emotions - anxiousness, itching dejection, a jot of bitterness? She couldn’t decide, really. But she was keenly aware of a fist-size lump forming in her throat and a sharp ache expanding in her chest.

Before Y/N could notice, a stream of tears was freely rushing down her cheeks. She secretly tried to wipe them off but she knew that her father had caught sight of her emotional outburst in the rear-view mirror. Yet he made no comment to which Y/N was extremely thankful.

“Here we’re sweetheart,” said Father after another half an hour had slipped. Y/N shortly glanced out of the window - indeed, the stony, colossal walls of the mansion were spreading before their sight. Y/N had to quell an instantaneous urge to run away as she slowly, carefully reached for the handle and reluctantly stepped out of the car.

“I’ll be here, yeah? In case you need me.”The Father’s voice distinctly echoed in her ears but Y/N only heard that like through a haze. She merely sent him a grateful smile in response and silently received his form of succor.

‘It’ll all be gone in a few minutes,’ Y/N thought to herself, trudging towards the entrance of the Mansion. So many times had she passed that threshold, so many times had she walked that way. Was it all going to become nothing but a remote memory now?

Soon, she was heavily knocking on the door and was faced with her former maid’s smile who, with a hand gesture, was welcoming her and spurring her to come inside. After a moment of waver, Y/N finally gave in.

Strangely, she had expected the maid to show her a way to the bedroom because she didn’t belong there, not anymore; she was just trespassing like a mere guest did. But when the maid remained at the door, staring at her with a curious eye, Y/N understood the allusion - she was meant to go by herself.

And so she did.

Those stately oil paintings were still strewing the white walls and as Y/N plodded and plodded on through the high-celling halls. Her heels were almost stridently clicking on the floor, contrasting with the prevailing silence and her heavy breathing. Y/N did her best to focus on something else, anything else that could render her less nervous for the upcoming; she decided on counting.

One, two, three. One, two three...

In the next instant, she was standing in front of the mahogany door of the bedroom. It wasn’t going to be easy, she knew as much. Even if indifferent throughout their relationship, Thomas Shelby was a man of honor after all, and Y/N, certain in her conviction, was sure that he was waiting just behind that very door.

She waited a few more jiffs, bracing herself mentally, before finally swinging the door ajar and instantly beholding him, settled on the edge of the bed, and staring blankly at the brim of the glass he was tightly clutching in his hand. As soon as he heard her, however, his head snapped in her direction and Y/N quickly noticed the bloodshot whites of his eyes mixed with the steeliness of his orbs.

Per usual, top-notch elegance was radiating from him, his fossil-gray suit in an intact state and hair precisely sleeked to the back of his head. He had changed, however; he had become gaunt, so gaunt actually that Y/N could practically make out an outline of his ribs through a thin layer of his white shirt; the bags under his eyes, dark and cavernous, were giving the definite reminder of how much of a good night sleep he had missed out on; the wrinkles on his forehead marginally deepened, giving him an older appearance of what Y/N actually knew to be a true one...

It wasn’t the same Tommy Y/N had memorized the last time. Now he looked positively ghastly and it required a great composure of Y/N from quelling a gasp.

“Y/N,” said Tommy in a hoarse voice. Hadn’t she been a short distance from him, she wouldn’t have heard him at all. He scrambled to his feet at once, never tearing his gaze away from her figure as if in the trance. “Could we talk?”

Y/N wavered. Perhaps if he didn’t look as desperate and if she wasn’t so worried (yes! worried!) by his utterly unhealthy appearance, she probably would have rebuffed. But in lieu, she merely nodded and trotted to the chair opposite the bed.

Sensing a thick air between the two of them, Tommy got up and poured himself an ample slug of whiskey, and after a moment’s consideration, he also asked Y/N to which she declined. He took a few gulps before finally looking at Y/N again.

“I’ve missed you,” he croaked finally, which Y/N knew cost him a great deal since it was particularly hard for Tommy to speak of his emotions. The fingers of his free hand were fidgeting slightly on his knee as Y/N glanced up at him, streaked with utter astonishment. She wanted, so badly, to tell herself that his words didn’t matter anymore, nothing anymore did but it would have been a fat lie. She knew for that fact because it was suddenly extremely hard for her to swallow.

“Er-” She started looking around the room, busing herself with something, deliberately not gazing in his direction. “I’ve come to pick up the rest of my things, Tommy. If you want to atone for anything, I think it’s a little too late now.”

Even Y/N surprised herself that she had managed such a cold, collected tone; in fact, it was the opposite of what she was right now - jittery and emotional.

“Y/N-”

“Please, don’t” She chimed in before Tommy could say anything again. “I don’t want to explain anything. You... you hurt me, Tommy.” It was difficult for her to carry that out loud but when she ultimately did, she felt a thunderbolt of plunging emotions on her chest; and then, the tears began accumulating uncontrollably in her eyes. Quickly, she turned her face to the side, trying to conceal her waterworks, though unnecessarily so.

An uncomfortable grunt issued from Tommy’s throat and he took the next quaff from the glass, waiting for her to get a hold of herself. He had always been massively fazed when girls cried in his presence, even give it his wife of three years. Never had he understood why anyone would display their lack of self-possession in such an ostentatious way.

“Sorry,” said Y/N finally, wiping the residue of her tears with a hand. She sniffed a little, her eyes puffy, and Tommy offered her a silky handkerchief which she gladly accepted.

“That's alright,” said Tommy, giving her a final look of what he hoped was sympathy. “But please, let me just say one thing. Before, you know...”

‘-decide to leave you,” Y/N ended the sentence in her head. The mere prospect of abandoning him now, even though she had deliberated that for long days in her parents' room, was suddenly very suffocating.

With a final sniff, still keeping her gaze downcast, she nodded. After all, even though he had mauled her massively, as much as she could do in a final commemoration of their relationship.

“I’ve never intended on making you feel inferior, Y/N,” admitted Tommy, a flint of guilt flickering in his eyes, his fingers starting to draw nervous patterns on his knee again. As for someone who had always kept themself still, he seemed exceptionally vulnerable right now. “Lizzy - that was a mistake. She was a fuckin’ mistake. I... I...” His voice relatively faltered, and Y/N thought for a second that he might start crying. Thomas Shelby crying - the world was fucking weird. “All I want to say is that I’m sorry. God, if I could have turned back time, it all would have... been different. I don’t want you to fuckin’ leave, Y/N. Those past few months made that excruciatingly lucid to me.”

It was one of those moments in Y/N’s life when she didn’t know what she ought to say or even ought to feel. There was seething anger and hiccuping sadness simmering in the pit of her stomach, her head pounding loudly from all the aggregation of conflicting emotions; but there was a certain self-satisfaction raising within her - it was what she had wanted from the very beginning, making him entreat her for forgiveness, implore to stay.

“Tommy,” Y/N said heavily, her entire body tingling. “You know, I can’t do that.”

And then she looked at him again, his eyes conveying a magnetic force. They were staring at each other for some time, the desperation between the two aloft. It was all as if they were strangers to each other anew.

“Please, let me... make amends for that.”

“Tommy-”

“And I don’t mean that you have to move in with me instantly, tough as much as I’d like that. But... have dinner with me. Tomorrow night. No strings attached, just a casual dinner. In the restaurant that you wanted to visit - ‘L'Arpège’.”

“You... you remembered? After all that time?” Y/N took a dramatic pause there, her brows knitted together and almost pressing into one line. That sudden fact clouted her with a startling force.

“I haven’t been entirely ignorant towards you, Y/N. Some part of me... always looked out for you, you know. Though a better part of me was still a jerk,” he snickered and, not quite able to suppress it, so did his interlocutor. Until just now, she hadn’t been aware of how much she had missed that smile. “So what do you say?”

She noticed how his eyes swiveled with tendrils of hopefulness, how his fingers nervously anticipated her contemplated answer. Rationality, which she was utterly bereft of at that very moment, would have told her to say no; give a wide berth from that shit show. But a piece of her yet girlish tempt to discover that new Tommy who was opening himself in front of her eyes, something he had never done before, would be forcing its way to make things work.

At least, try to put them back in their rough maquette.

Y/N sighed, before bestowing him with a coy smile. “I guess, I can find some time.”

Through fucking thick and thin.

XOXOXOXOX

A/N: my dear sweet sweet anon. hi! i’m fine, thank you. foremost, let me just express my utter self-deprecation, seeing as you have sent that request a long time ago and i’m posting it just now. the work load has plunged on me since the beginning of September and I literally dropped my face off the earth for a couple of weeks. but i hope you understand.

the fic wasn’t entirely as i planned that out because a) it was supposed to be shorter, b) because I'm still lacking some twists that would have made the work even longer. so I reluctantly abstained.

ofc, I always love hearing and talking to y’all, so chat with me, request, ask me the most embarrassing questions in the comment section. whatever. and may i remind you - spooktober?! are we going to do something about that!? (a small hint: yes, we are going to either hold a little event or be graced - somehow - with another chapter of my WIPs). Lovvvvveveeee y’all xoxo

#Tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #Tommy shelby #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x you #peaky blinder #lizzie!!!#grr.... i never liked that... woman #plus me trying to refrain myself from using too many expletives which i did anyway #lol

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hansensgirl · 4 years ago

Text

not all who wander are lost.

summary. | He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering.

warnings. | Strangers to lovers, smut, naive reader, mentions of trauma, angst, fluff, slight violence, slight dub/con, slight blasphemy, drinking, DD/LG, daddy kink, corruption kink, ring/hand kink, size kink, creampie kink, teasing, spanking, choking, spitting, manhandling, praise, male masturbation, handjob, degradation, a bit of humiliation, oral sex, virginity loss, marking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 11k

pairings. | Daddy!Destroyer!Chris x Little!Reader.

a/n. | one of the few fics inspired/based off of chemtrails over the country club. please heed the warnings and don’t forget to reblog. ily! thank you so much to @dragon-of-dreams @mypoisonedvine @tenuntilfightcall and everyone else for helping me out with some information! and thank you to my bb sara @asadmarveltrashbag for beta-ing and being there for me during this insane month, ilysm!!

The first time he laid eyes on you, was six months ago.

Meadows like the ones that surround him only exist in movies and Instagram posts. But even those need editing for perfection. Yet, the ones around him made him feel as though he has camera lenses for his eyes. Each piece of grass is a beautiful green, and some had flowers between them. His thighs may hurt but the view is a reward for all the trouble he just went through. A cute cottage lies on the hill he stands on. It resembles one from a Pinterest board but he doesn’t mind.

Birds chirp, sheep bleat, cows low and chickens cluck amongst Ella Fitzgerald's rendition of Summertime. Chris walks a few more steps and onto the porch he goes. This isn’t his destination. Well, technically, it is. But he isn’t supposed to be knocking on your door like he is now, and his heart shouldn’t be beating out of his chest. To the right of this cottage — Chris’s right — is another cottage.

It’s more modern than he’d prefer it to be. It only looks so because inside lives a drug lord who is on the run. It’s truly unfortunate his girlfriend sold him out for immunity. He knocks on the wooden door and takes a step back. Who knows what kind of person is behind it. “Coming!” your sweet voice calls. Chris doesn’t let go of his grip on his gun that’s down the waist of his pants.

Even the sweetest seeming things can always end up being sour.

You struggle not to trip over your own dress. The tail of it drags behind you and sweeps the floor, too. But it makes you feel just like a princess, so you don’t care. On your hip is a basket, and inside is Cotton. Your bunny. She’s been your company for years, and you don’t know what you’d do without her. Barely anyone visits anymore, only because cars can’t handle the long drive up and many people hate nature. But when the occasional knock on your door echoes throughout the house, you can barely keep your excitement inside.

You open the door and gasp. The man… is brooding. And he’s not the type of broody that would grumble insults under his breath or the type that would stalk people, either. He’s the dreamy type, the man your parents say is bad news when really he just needs love. You take in his form. You can tell he’s slightly tired and you just have to give him credit for walking up to your home. He has no flaws, except for the dirt that stains his clothing.

“Hi, do you live here?” the strange man asks, looking around the inside of your home. You jump and you’re not sure why but your skin raises with goosebumps. His voice is deep yet so soft-spoken. For some odd reason, his hand is reaching backwards and you assume that it’s because he has some sort of ache from the walk. You finally register his words and look up at him.

“Y- yes, do you live here?” you stupidly ask. You don’t even realize what you just said until you noticed his puzzled look. “Oh, sorry,” you look down and notice that his black boots are covered in pollen, something that can be oh so bothersome. “‘S’alright, I was hiking a- and I don’t have anywhere to go… Do you think you could let me stay here?” he asks, letting go of the gun. “Uhm, s- sure, what’s your name?” you ask him, moving out of the way.

Naive, so fucking naive.

“Chris, what’s yours?” he asks, stepping inside. You give him your name and he nods. He goes to wipe his shoes on the rug in front of the door but there is no rug. You hand him a rag and he gratefully takes him, mumbling a small ‘thank you.’ “Are you a tourist?” you ask him, setting your basket down onto the floor. Cotton hops out of it and runs off to the kitchen, probably to chew on your apron. “No…” he solemnly answers. He hands you the rag back and you shyly take it.

“O- okay… Are you a photographer? I’ll tell you God’s truth, the most beautiful photos are taken when the sun rises, when it sets and when it’s raining,” you pointedly inform him. You drop the rag into your basket and turn back around, your dress spinning in a slight swirl. His eyes rake your body up and down, taking in every inch of your body. Red cloth with white polka dots covers your body and your mushroom earrings bring the entire outfit together. Chris has to assume that the heavens above or whatever the fuck else is there have handcrafted you to absolute perfection.

He’s never read any stories about Greek gods, but he knows that Zeus would be absolutely infatuated with you. He takes note of how your body tenses up when he makes eye contact with you, and he gives you a small smile.

“I’m not a photographer,” he clarifies, looking around. He can’t believe you let him in just like that, but the more he found, the more he understood why. A lonely, innocent little girl like you doesn’t have anyone to tell you right from wrong. “Then what are you, sir? Are you lost? I can call the Consulate if you’d like,” you offer, walking towards him. “I’m not lost… I’m a wanderer,” he whispers almost hesitatingly.

“But you only ever wander when you’re lost, no?” you confusingly ask him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, before peering out of the window. Luckily, he has a direct view of the other cottage. He really did hit the jackpot. “Not all who wander are lost, little girl. Now tell me, why would you let a stranger inside your home?” he asks you.

Cotton hops from the kitchen to your bedroom, and you stand in place. “I… Well, I’m not sure. You didn’t give me any reason to not let you in or to make me believe you’re dangerous, sorry…” you shyly tell him. “Don’t apologize, just know that not everyone in this world is good. There’s always going to be someone with a little more darkness than the rest of us…”

Chris unzips his duffle bag, and you let out a giggle. “Quite ominous of you, but then again, it suits your whole aesthetic. The cool, bearded man, with his cool words,” you smile at him, but it carries a bit of sadness. “Treat this place as your own, make yourself at home. And if you need anything, I’m always here.”

Chris stays at the window for most of his days. Always with a pair of binoculars and a pack of saltine crackers. Sometimes, he pulls a juice bottle out of his duffle bag, You’ve countlessly offered him something that’s actually filling, such as angel cake and sandwiches. He rejects them all, and you wonder if he’s some sort of super-human. But technology hasn’t invented wireless technology yet, so it’s impossible.

“Uhm, Mr. Chris-Sir? I don’t think those crackers are good for you, they’re all you eat…” you sheepishly admit, carrying a cup of water to him. The mug has a little frog painted on it, but the green paint has chipped away over seven years. You set it down gently, onto the table next to him and Chris just stares out at the cottage. “Bird-watching is so cool, isn’t it? If you see a robin, let me know, they’re so beautiful,” you tell him, before walking off.

At first, he doesn’t take in your words. But once they’ve settled deep in his mind and sunk in, he realizes that you assume he’s bird-watching. He’d honestly take any other assumption, but at least you don’t know he’s spying on the criminal next door. He looks down at the table with a sigh and then notices what you’ve done. Not only did you set a cup of water down, but you also gave him two slices of toast. One has strawberry jam on it, and the other has melted butter.

His mouth surprisingly salivates, but it also doesn’t shock him. Every day he sits there, basking in the beautiful smell of your food and humming. His personal favourite is the smell of focaccia bread being baked. He watches and waits until you leave the room to go tend to the chickens. Apparently, one of them laid a few eggs. He quickly shovels the two slices of toast into his mouth and downs the glass of water like a starved man. Because he is one.

Cotton hopes around once again but all Chris sees is a fluffy white blur. He recalls his memories from when he was younger. Younger him always wanted a pet. Even a fish that would die in the span of two weeks would suffice. But his mom couldn’t afford it, so he dropped the idea. Sometimes, he wishes he had dropped other ideas, as well. Like the idea that he’d enjoy life as an undercover agent, or the idea of sacrificing himself for Erin.

His fingers are sticky with jam. He hates the feeling. He spreads his fingers out and goes to get up from his seat. “Shit,” he curses, realizing that something may happen while he’s away from the window. He stands there, contemplating whether or not he should risk his mission just to wash the fucking jam off of his stupid fucking hands. He calls your name, loudly, hoping you’ll hear him all the way outside the cottage.

“Is everything alright?” you shout, running inside the house. He didn’t expect that reaction, but he’ll take it. You’re holding onto the corner of two walls, slightly bent over. Your chest, your beautiful chest, is the first thing Chris lays his eyes on. He nearly chokes on his saliva, and he just can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. “Uh, hi, I need help,” he gruffly says, his voice a bit deeper than usual. He clears his throat with a loud ‘ahem’ and you begin to stand up straight, much to his dismay.

But he doesn’t think the image of your tits nearly falling out of your dress will leave his mind any time soon.

“Of course… Did you enjoy the toast? I can make you some more if you’d like,” you shyly offer him. “It was good, but I’m fine, thanks though. Can you stay here, right at the window, while I go wash my hands? If anything happens, you have to tell me.” Chris doesn’t leave any room for argument, but your curiosity and naivety get the best of you as always.

“What happens if I don’t tell you?” you ask him, walking towards the window. He blocks your path and suddenly personal space is no longer a thing you need. “You don’t want to know what I’m gonna do if you don’t, little girl,” he warns with a hint of lust in his tone. You nod your head and feel tingles bloom just above your core. You’re not sure whether they’re butterflies or those tingles.

Chris walks past you and you quickly rush to the window. You never realized how beautiful this view is until now. The sun is bright, angled in the most perfect manner so that it doesn’t shine directly in your eyes. The sky is so clear, even with the occasional fluffy cloud that always manages to look like some animal. The window blows gently, shaking the sheer curtains that frame you. You sigh and fold your arms, resting them on the windowsill.

You lay your head on your arms and stare out the window with joy filling your heart.

Chris watches you as you look out the window. You’re slightly bent over, once again. Your ass sticks out, and you subconsciously sway your hips side to side, almost purposefully teasing him. Your white dress has a few strings hanging from the hem, but it doesn’t make you look any less gorgeous. He feels like he’s in a dream.

Not only because of the beautiful scenery, and the beautiful woman in front of him but also because he’s trying his hardest to wash his hands quickly, but his movements are so slow. He looks down and rubs his hands together at a furious pace. Chris hears you gasp and he looks up. “Did you see something?” he asks you, turning off the sink.

“Yeah, my neighbour! I haven’t seen him in months, I need to go say hi,” you tell Chris, before rushing out the door. He only then registers your words once you’ve run out of the house and into the unknown. “Fuck- Wait!” he yells after you. He runs behind you and is so grateful when he notices you haven’t gone too far. But you’re still running and Chris’s target is about ten meters away, so he decides to do what he does best.

He decides to save you.

Chris’s feet hit the ground harshly, crushing the flowers beneath him. Running in socks isn’t fun, but at least he has something to protect him. He calls your name and crashes into you with all the force in his body. You both go down and hit the ground from his fierce tackling technique. You go to cry out in pain and lose your mind, but Chris clams his hand over your mouth. “Shh, be quiet. You’re not hurt, okay? I’m sorry I had to do that, but you can’t go running off like that,” he lectures, throwing his right leg over your body. He frames you down, and you don’t have much room to move. You’re frozen in place, chest heaving, and you furrow your eyebrows at his words.

“Listen, I need you to listen. You may not know me and I may not know you, but when I tell you to do something, you’re going to listen. Understood?” he chastised with a harsh tone. You nod meekly, like a little kid who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “And just so you know, that sweet neighbour of yours over there is wanted by the Feds.” Chris looks over his shoulder and doesn’t see the man there anymore, so he begrudgingly climbs off of your body.

You gulp thickly, out of fear and nervousness. Chris doesn’t seem to want to add on to this newfound information, so your anxiety makes work of it. For all you know, your neighbour could be a murderer. Chris senses your nervousness and gives you a pat on the head, almost as if you’re his pet.

Unbeknownst to you, the sight of you under him, helpless and with his hand clamped over your mouth is something that gets his blood (and hand) pumping. He helps you up, and you don’t even realize it until he brushes some dandelion seeds out of your hair. “Thank you… and thank you for saving me, I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” you shyly speak to him. He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, finding an old cigarette from before he quit.

“‘S’alright, I just need a few things from you,” he gruffly reassured. “O- Of course, anything for my guest and for the man who saved my life,” you beam with a small giggle punctuating your words. He basks in it, almost as though it’s sunlight over a beach. “Ah, you flatter me. Just tell me about yourself, I’m going to be staying for a while,” he says as he turns around to walk back inside.

A bottle of gin is in Chris’s hands. The colourless yet pale yellow liquid swishes inside its rightful bottle. It’s half full, only because last night, he downed the rest. He hasn’t drunk in a while. Since he got over being left for dead. And that’s only six months ago.

He’s shirtless. Only left in his grey jeans and jewelry. His rings clink against the glass bottle and his bracelets hang a little past his wrist. The gunshot wound on his left side had a faint scar on it. He hates it. Every single time he stares in the mirror, that fucking scar just stares back at him.

His father told him it makes him seem more ‘manly’, but it just feels like a point of weakness. Maybe if he was a little quicker, he would’ve saved that bank teller. He would’ve gotten Silas behind bars. He would’ve been able to be proud of himself.

Chris groans at the memories and spins the cap off of the bottle. It flies somewhere across the room, probably hitting one of the wood walls. He mumbles a ‘fucking hell’ and brings the bottle to his lips. The last time he drank like this was three months ago, and he ended up fucking the bartender.

She was bent over the counter, her tits spilled out of her bra and his cock pummeled into her sloppily.

She ended up kicking him out after they were done.

Chris groans again and sits down on the bed, kicking his legs up. His pants are stained with the pigment of dandelions and grass. The splotchy stains are juxtaposed to the grey of his old jeans. They have wear and tear all over them, but he doesn’t care.

Every now and then, he sighs — he sighs quite deeply. The puffs of air come from deep inside his chest. He tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking back to earlier today. He smiles to himself, recalling the way you looked so innocent beneath him.

He’s only known you for a few days, and he already has lewd thoughts for you. Fuck. He just can’t help himself, though. Especially with your innocent doe eyes and pretty little dresses. He closes his eyes slowly, using that memory to fuel his much-needed mental images.

You’re beneath him once again, but you’re naked. His hand is wrapped around your throat, and he’s naked too. His cock is slowly driving in and out of you. He’s teasing you. Your pulsating, wet walls hug his fat cock, and you’re both moaning softly.

“Daddy…” you whisper to him, clenching around his cock. “What’s wrong, baby?” he softly asks you. “Please fuck me harder, please, Daddy,” you beg to him, before biting down onto your bottom lip. “I don’t think you’ll be able to take my cock like that, baby,” he shakes his head.

“I can take it, Daddy, I’m your good girl.”

Chris opens his eyes and his right hand has found its way down his boxers. His cock is all swollen and hard, hard as a rock. He places the bottle of gin down on the bedside table and gets himself all comfortable. Chris slowly begins to stroke himself gently. He goes from the base all the way to the top, and then back down. His thumb occasionally swipes against his leaking tip and all he can think of is teaching you how to make him — your Daddy — feel good.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans, feeling a vein throat against his hand. He moans your name and speeds up his movements. His fingers are slightly sticky, but it’s the type of sticky he doesn’t mind. He begins to slow his hand down, and he sighs, not wanting to come just yet. He hasn’t been this hard in ages, and touching himself feels so fucking good.

“Did you say my name? Is everything alright?” you ask, barging into his room. He jumps and his hand flies out of his pants. You both stare at each other, not even daring to blink. You eventually break eye contact and notice the bottle of gin sitting on the bedside table. There’s only a sixth of it left, and you frown. You don’t like it when people you care about drink. “Uhm…” he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and then takes in your form.

You’re in a nightgown, and it’s sheer as fuck. The gin gets to him and his mind has a slight buzz to it. His heart beats rapidly and his cock throbs with want and need. Chris’s eyes rake up and down your body like how they usually do whenever you’re in front of him. His mother would scold him for ogling at you, but he just doesn’t care anymore.

“I- I am so so so sorry, I should’ve knocked. I just thought you needed help with something because I heard you say my name, but sometimes I just tend to hear random things, so sorry,” you apologize in a panicking manner. You slowly walk back to the door, but you don’t turn around. Your bare feet leave a faint imprint on the floor from the cold sweats that have taken over your body.

“Come back here,” he orders, sitting up on the bed. Chris’s unbuckled belt clanks quietly, and he begins to remove it in one quick motion. You gulp thickly and exhale shakily. You slowly walk to where Chris is sitting, and he pats the spot next to him. You’ve never had such an interaction with anyone, ever. You sit down next to him, but you keep your distance.

Alcohol should not be called alcohol in Chris’s utmost humble opinion. No, it should just stick to its nickname ‘liquid courage’ because it’s more accurate than anything else. He may not seem like it, but he’s just a man who doesn’t have the heart to do much. Adrenaline doesn’t exist for him anymore, not since the incident.

Chris turns his head and stares at your pretty face. You look down, unable to make eye contact with such a God-like man. You have to assume that even Apollo is envious of Chris’s beauty. “How’d you hear me? Because I know these walls aren’t thin enough, and I know I wasn’t being loud, so tell me; How’d you hear me?” he interrogates you like one of Silas’s companions, but this time is slightly different.

Lust is what’s pumping through his veins, not rage.

“Uhm, well… My room was right there, and I wasn’t doing anything but thinking, and since your bed is against the wall, I- I heard you say my name,” you explain shyly. He hums, and you’re not sure whether it’s a hum of delight or disbelief. “Thinking of what?” he presses, inching his body closer to yours.

You continue to stare at his hand, even though you can feel his heavy breathing against your face. “I… Well- I was uh,” you stutter embarrassingly, and it makes you burn up with shame. “Spit it out, little girl, and don’t think of lying to me,” he growls, placing his hand on your thigh. Your gaze follows his movements, and you take in the set of rings that adorn his fingers.

They’re all black and of similar styles. One has a skull, one is completely plain, one has a cross on it and the last one has the word ‘Daddy’ engraved on it. His veins are so prominent. They bulge out with intensity, and you’d just love to trail your fingers along each of them. “Am I going to have to force an answer out of you?” he roughly asks. His other hand goes to the back of your head and he brings your gaze to his face.

You quickly shake your head in objection, and he raises his eyebrows for you to spit your answer out. “I was thinking about you, and the way you tackled me…” you admit to him in a low and soft voice. “You liked the way I was on you, little girl?” he asks, moving his hand to the back of your neck. “Y- Yeah, made me feel all… Tingly…” you whisper to him.

“I want to hear you say it, little girl,” Chris ushers, squeezing the back of your neck slightly. “I liked the way you were on top of me…” you tell him breathlessly. “Good girl,” he praises in a slightly deep voice. He pulls you onto his lap and you gasp. His hard, wanting cock is right under your thighs, and you exhale nervously.

“You feel that, little girl? That’s all because of you, you did this to me. And you’re proud of it, aren’t you? Got me so fucking hard just because of you.” Chris squeezes your waist, and you really can feel it all. He’s not wrong, either. You’re so proud that you’ve made a man like him so desperate for you. “Do you know what I was doing, little girl? I was jerking off to the thought of fucking that cunny of yours until you’re begging me to stop,” he growls in your ear.

You moan softly, and the picture comes to mind, making your pussy gush with want. “Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, placing his hand on your inner thigh. You nod, and he raises his eyebrows in warning again. “Yeah, I want that so bad,” you murmur to him. You and your pussy want him so bad. Chris’s hand inches further up your thighs until he’s just an inch away from your bare pussy.

Your thighs are already slightly sticky from your arousal. “Do you know what jerking off is, little girl?” he asks, pulling his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a pathetic, child-like whine, and he begins to lift up your nightgown until he sees your naked body. “Kind of… Isn’t that when a man touches himself? Like how women touch their… down there?” you innocently ask him.

Chris chuckles at how cute you are. So innocent yet oh so slutty. “Have you ever touched yourself, little girl?” he asks, lifting the nightgown over your head. It’s strewn across the floor behind you, and neither of you cares. But you quickly use your hands to cover your most precious, most private parts. “No, no, I don’t want to see any of that. You’re so beautiful, baby, you’re built like an absolute angel,” he husks, and you feel so flustered that you can’t help but giggle.

“T- Thank you… And I’ve done it a few times,” you inform him. Chris nods and smirks, catching the way your nipples have pebbled up. “Have you ever made someone feel good before?” he questions, trailing his broad hands up and down your body. “N- No, it’s pretty lonely up here…” you almost-ashamedly admit. He coos at you. “Do you want me to teach you how to make me feel good, little girl?” he questions, palming your tits.

You moan softly and rub your thighs together as he pinches and pulls at your hard nipples. You’re so small in his large hands, it makes him even harder. You nod your head fervently, wanting to make Chris feel so fucking good. Chris takes his hands away from your body and shifts you in his lap. He reaches down his pants and pulls his cock out of his boxers.

You gasp, having never seen something as big as that. He smirks and uses his right hand to grasp the base of his thick cock. Chris brings your dominant hand down to where his cock is and guides you to wrap your fingers around him. Chris shudders at your soft touch, and he moans softly. “Good girl, yeah,” he praises. “Wrap your hand around me a bit tighter, baby,” he urges, and you do exactly that.

He groans loudly and a small smile stretches across your lips. “N- Now, you’ve got to move your hand up and down. Start off slowly, go all the way to the tip, and then back down,” he instructs, even though he’s helping you out. His hand brings yours all the way to the tip, and then back down; just like he said. His hand leaves yours and goes back to feeling up your pretty body.

“Now do it by yourself, but in a twisting motion, little girl.”

You listen to his words and jerk him off, feeling yourself get wet as his cock twitches in your hand. Your clit throbs and so do the veins on the side of his shaft. Chris curses, and you bite down on your bottom lip. “Good girl, just like that. Fuck, your hand feels so good around me,” he moans, squeezing your waist. You focus on his cock, watching as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down the side of his dick.

It drips onto your slow-moving hand, and you exhale as your movements grow a bit faster. You look at him, watching as his pupils darken with lust. You can tell — it’s written on his face — he wants you to go faster. Your hand speeds up around his cock, making him a moaning mess. “Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. You like making me feel good, don’t you? So eager to please like the good little girl you are,” Chris husks.

His praise goes straight to your needy cunt and he knows this because he can just tell. Your thighs rub together, your breath hitches, you let out a giggle and squeeze a little tighter around his cock. Chris’s hand goes up to your head and smashes your lips against his. You both moan into the kiss, and you straddle both his thighs to get more comfortable.

You place your other hand on his cock and mimic your dominant hand’s movements. You try to keep up with the kiss, but you just can’t. Teeth clash and so do tongues as Chris moves his mouth against yours. He pants and his chest heaves as you continue to stroke him. “Go faster, baby,” he urges, and he pulls his mouth away from yours. He can feel you soaking his jeans, your wetness joining the abundant amount of rips and tears in the material.

Your hand moves faster, twisting perfectly and occasionally squeezing his most sensitive spots as well. Chris pushes your hands away abruptly, and you’re confused. Did you do something wrong? Does he not like you anymore? What happened? “Shit, wrap your mouth around the tip, little girl. Trust me, you’re gonna fucking love it,” he says, and you quickly do so.

You’ll do anything to please him. His mushroom tip is leaking and a raging red. It’s the same red as the rest of his cock, and you could swear it’s almost purplish. You can tell he’s aching because you’ve been through a similar thing. You drop down to the floor and kneel in front of Chris. Your lips smooth around the tip of his hard cock, and you can taste him as soon as he hits your tongue.

He tastes of musk and manliness, along with a hint of saltiness, and it’s oh so addicting. You keep the tip of his cock in your mouth like it’s one of your favourite lollipops and smile around him. Chris smiles and wraps his hand around himself. He jerks himself off quickly, desperate to come in your mouth. “Fucking shit– god, you’re such a good fucking girl,” Chris rasps as he reaches his climax.,

His balls tighten up and his blue eyes roll back into his skull. White, hot, thick ropes of cum shoot out of his tip and fill your mouth. You’re not sure why, but a moan escapes past your throat, and it only makes Chris’s high much better. Chris places both hands on the sides of your head and holds you there, gently. You swallow all his cum as it fills your mouth and leaks from the corners of your lips.

Chris so desperately wants to push your head farther down his cock, but he knows he shouldn’t. Plus, there’s always going to be more time for things like that. He pulls your head away from his cock and watches as a string of saliva tries to keep the two of you connected. You gently lick your lips, still savouring his taste and he smiles down at you. You can’t lie — you feel giddy. Giddy in a way in which you crave his praise and approval like no other.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that? Thank you for helping me out… I do suppose I should return the favour, right?” he teasingly says, lifting you up into his lap. You shake your head out of nervousness. “No? … Why not, baby?” Chris asks, and you gulp thickly. “Don’t wanna rush it… I- never mind, you wouldn’t understand,” you look down and fiddle with your fingers.

The grooves of your nails are smoothed over by your pointer finger. Some dips and rises make you cringe, and others satisfy you. He looks down at your hands and notices the skin picked on the sides. He knows how painful those can be, and he doesn’t want you to feel any pain at all. “I’ll try to understand, darling, but if you don’t tell me, then I’ll be completely clueless,” he speaks to you lowly. “I like the way your words make me feel…” you shyly admit to him.

“Aw, how do they make you feel, baby?” Chris presses, grasping your two hands together. “All warm and small… makes me feel like I have it all. Hey, that rhymes!” you exclaim, bubbling in the utmost adorable giggles ever. “You’re a natural poet, darling. But tell me more…” he urges, rubbing his coarse thumbs against your soft skin. “I get butterflies, and I feel all shy and safe. Your words make me so comfortable yet so vulnerable…” you describe to him even though words can’t describe what you feel.

“Is that right, baby? You’re so cute… Do you- Do you get all tingly and babyish when I use my words?” Chris hesitatingly asks. His voice is so gentle and soft, a low whisper that is so soothing to your ears and rough edges. You nod meekly and smile to yourself. Your cheeks may hurt from all the laughter he caused earlier today but that doesn’t refrain you from hiding your smile.

Now, Chris is no doctor. He’s no professional, he’s no master. He’s just a broken man, but he knows exactly what you’re talking about. But he won’t explain what it is, because he needs you to learn on your own. Maybe with some guidance from him, but he won’t trick you into thinking something completely off base.

“Let’s get cleaned up, okay? Then we’ll sleep, you need the rest. We both do.”

He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering. But he isn’t. He was never. The stick-and-poke tattoo may seem a bit much, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. Your name is written in your pretty handwriting. The ink is in his skin, and he’s practically marked as yours, now.

The days go by slower, much slower than he’d like them to. But it doesn’t matter now, because his mission is over, and he’ll be leaving soon. But Chris doesn’t want to leave. His wanderlust has found an end as he finally has a place where he’s meant to be. He’s found heaven in the hills, and between your legs.

“D- Daddy…” you whisper under your breath, loud enough for him to hear. Your hands are locked with his, and they rest at your sides. You’re just in a small bralette, and your hard nipples poke through the fabric. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders and your ankles lace together behind his head. Your neck aches from the angle your body is in, but the pleasure blooming from your core is much more powerful.

Chris is between your legs, and he hums against your wet, throbbing pussy. You moan loudly and squeeze your eyes shut from the feeling. He sucks on your clit harshly, and wetness seeps from your hole. “Feels so good… Oh, my…” you pant. Your hips gyrate and you subconsciously grind your wet cunt against Chris’s face. He pulls his face away from your pussy and licks a broad stripe against you.

You moan again and squeeze his hands tighter. His tongue swirls around your swollen and throbbing clit, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your taste is addictive, and he could stay between your legs for hours on end, if not for eternities. His beautiful, lovely rings dig into the sides of your fingers, but you don’t care. Chris may treat you like a delicate doll, but he should know how much you love it when he’s rough with you.

“I think I’m gonna come, Daddy…” you cry out to him before a strangled moan leaves your mouth. Chris pulls away from your pussy once again, but this time he spits on your lips. His saliva drops down your cunt and mixes with your wetness, and he goes back to devouring you. He eats you out like a starved man, and you’re squealing at the overwhelming pleasure.

If he was on death row, he’d have your sweet pussy as his last meal.

His tongue works over your clit and brings you closer and closer to your release. It’s coming fast. A searing, heated feeling takes over your body and abdomen as your back arches off your couch. Chris is as hard as a rock, staring you directly in the eyes, and he makes you come on his mouth.

“Oh- Daddy!” you cry out loudly, your mouth falling open into a silent, voiceless scream. Your eyes roll back into your skull and in Chris’s past words, you look like a brain-dead slut. Your wetness gushes out of your drooling hole, and he laps it all up with no problem. He drinks up everything you give him, and then some. Your hands are still laced with his and your chest rises and falls at a fast pace.

“Shh… You did amazing, little one. Taste so fucking sweet, just like nectar,” he hums like a hummingbird, before smacking his lips. You slowly come down from your high as he strokes your hands with his thumbs. Your lids are slightly heavy, but you don’t want to get any shut-eye. Time away from Chris is practically a sin in your eyes. “Thank you, Daddy,” you gratefully reply.

“You’re welcome, little one. Got me so hard,” he husks as he moves to get up. He carefully handles your body and pulls out a handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans. They’ve been washed and scrubbed but there are still faint dandelion and pollen stains that he just doesn’t care enough about. Though the adorable face you were making whilst washing them is something that’ll never leave his mind.

Just like the mental image of you coming undone beneath him.

“Can I make you feel good, Daddy? Pretty please?” you ask sweetly and Chris knows he could say yes, but he doesn’t want to. Making you feel good pleases him, but he doesn’t want to sound so poetic so he chuckles. “Soon, little one, I need to clean you up properly,” he tells you and you jut your bottom lip out, pouting. He coos at you and you scrunch your nose up at the attention.

“But I’m all clean, Daddy!” you reason, reaching over to palm his hard cock through his jeans. Chris chokes on his saliva at the feeling of your touch. “In a bit, little one, you need to listen to Daddy. Okay?” he rasps with a warning in his voice. “Okay, Dada…” you trail off with a deep sigh punctuating your sentence. You fiddle with your fingers as Chris carefully cleans up your pussy.

The damp washcloth is gentle against your sensitive skin. Each movement of his is carried by gentleness and love. “I have a question, Daddy,” you hum after a few seconds of silence. “Go ahead, mushy one,” he says with a smile. You giggle at the nickname before calming yourself down. “Were you really wandering?” you bluntly ask him. Chris’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets, and you gasp.

“What do you mean, little one?” he asks, looking up at you. “Well… You said you were a wanderer! And that’s how you found me! But you don’t seem like a wanderer, you’re too clever to be one,” you explain with a smile on your face. Chris begins to chew on the inside of his cheek, and the skin has already been filled with bite marks and scars. At this point, he should tell you, right? You already know the deepest, most darkest pieces and part of him.

You’ll love him no matter what.

“Well, I wasn’t wandering. You’re so smart, little one. The smartest baby in the world!” he cheers and moves to get up. He sits in the empty spot next to you and lifts you into his lap. You’re still naked and Chris has his shirt off (as usual), so the skin-on-skin contact has you feeling even sleepier. “Sometimes, we lie to protect people. I lied, to protect you, along with many other people. Myself included, of course,” he starts.

“I was sent here with the sole purpose of bringing in your criminal neighbour,” he pauses “and I did.” You nod along with his words, your mind only allowing the most important phrases to sink in. “I arrested him around a month ago, and I was supposed to leave three weeks ago,” he sadly sighs. You look up in a panic, and you’re in shock. “Two weeks ago, I turned in my resignation. I’m not going anywhere,” he quickly adds and your face lights up.

“I’m staying with my best girl, okay?” Chris smiles and leans in to kiss you. You let him do so because God-damn, you’d let him do anything he wants to you. “T- Thank you so much, Daddy!” you squeal and hug him tightly. He laughs in a beautiful cacophony of sounds, and it’s right in your ear.

Chris feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders as you writhe around in his arms. You wiggle around on his hard cock and Chris suppresses a groan. His hands trail from your shoulders to your waist, down to your hips. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and excitement runs in your veins at his touch. Your head rolls back and you exhale shakily. He grips your hips tightly, and you involuntarily buck your hips against his crotch.

Both you and Chris moan before he moves both his hands to your ass. He gropes you roughly, feeling a bit of your wetness on his fingers. “Oh, baby… What’s all that for? Hm? Didn’t Daddy just eat your sweet little pussy out?” he asks in a slightly worried tone. “Y- Yeah… But I can’t help it, Daddy, you always make me so tingly…” you admit to him, shyly.

“Mmm, I like knowing I do this to you. Gets me so fucking hard,” he groans, slapping your ass. You yelp in surprise, but it gets cut off by a whimper. Chris caresses the hit skin and soothes you down from the shock. He smiles at you and then lands another hit. Then another, and then another.

The sting is addictive, just like he is. It leaves you writhing in both pain and pleasure and yet you still want more. “M- more, please,” you quietly beg and Chris coos at you as if you're a pet. And the truth isn’t far off. The coolness of his rings is both brutal and comforting. It soothes you yet acts as if they didn’t just hurt you. “You want more, baby?” he asks in that sweet yet sultry condescending tone of his.

You nod your head and chew on your bottom lip. “‘S too bad you’re gonna have to take what I give you and keep quiet, baby,” he husks, and you whine loudly. Chris flips your bodies around and suddenly you’re on your back, and he’s leaning over you. He locks lips with you and you try your hardest to keep up with the kiss.

His lips move sloppily against yours, but you don’t mind because you’ll take anything he gives you. You moan into true kiss and Chris wedges his knee between your legs. You’d hump him like a bunny because that’s what the demon on your shoulder is telling you to do. But the last time you did something without his permission, you weren’t allowed to make him come for a week.

You just know you’re soaking his jeans but neither of you cares. Chris kisses the corner of your mouth and trails down to your neck, peppering kisses behind as if he’s leaving a trail on your body for when he’s going to explore you later. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw tickles you and Chris falls even more in love with you as your laughter fills the air.

“D- Dada…” you whisper to him as you tilt your head back. His lips land on that sweet spot of yours and your back arches off the couch. Chris smiles against your skin and begins to suck on that sweet spot. Your breath hitches as he bites, licks and sucks on your skin. He marks you up like no other, and you know how much he loves to know that you’re all his.

“Dada… No teasing, please,” you sweetly ask in your soft tone. And how can he turn you down? “In a bit, little girl, be patient for Daddy.” Chris continues to mark you up until he’s satisfied. The feeling of his teeth against your neck and collar bones makes you even wetter than you already are. Possessiveness is carried in his movements, and it only drives you to be needier.

Chris moves further down from your collar bones to the valley of your breasts. Each curve of yours makes him want to sin without any repentance afterwards. He places a kiss there and then looks up at you. “Please, Daddy,” you whisper so quietly it takes him a few seconds to realize what you’ve said. Chris’s hand wraps around your body to your back.

He slowly unclasps your bralette and drags it away from your body at the same pace. You both maintain eye contact all whilst he undresses you to your vulnerability. Chris throws your bra somewhere behind him and places his hands on your body. “Aw, baby… You’re so cute and small,” he sweetly says in an almost shocking manner. Almost as if he doesn't use the size difference as a weapon to make you all soft and mushy.

“Hm, thank you, Daddy,” you tell him because good girls always have manners. “So good, using your manners for Daddy,” he praises, and you wonder if he can read your mind. Your Daddy can do anything, so it would be no surprise if he can. Chris sits upon his knees, but he remains in his towering position. Gently, and with care, he spreads your legs open until he’s satisfied.

He watches as you clench your needy pussy. He just knows your clit is throbbing, and you’re tingly because he just has that effect on you. “Poor baby… Is this all for Daddy?” he asks, and you quickly nod. “Say it, tell me it’s all because of me,” he growls placing his hands on your thighs. Chris slowly moves his hands further down your thighs. His touch is gentle, and he can feel the goosebumps on your thighs beginning to raise.

“‘S all yours, daddy. It’s all because of you,” you tell him breathlessly. “And this pussy is all mine, isn’t it, little girl?” he asks, inching closer to your wet pussy. “Mhm, only yours, Daddy!” you happily assure him, and he smirks at you. “That’s right, little girl. And since it’s all mine, doesn’t that mean I can do whatever I want with it?” he questions, and you nod with no hesitance at all.

Chris traces your wet pussy with his ring-donned pointer finger. “Oh my…” you gasp at the feeling. It may not be much, but your sensitive little pussy struggles to handle it. You clench around nothing again, and he watches, before chuckling at you. “Such a pretty pussy you have, baby, I can’t fucking wait to ruin it,” Chris growls, and you whimper. “Gonna fill you up with my cum after I fuck you, little girl,” he promises, and you never wanted to be fucked so badly until now.

He wonders if his cock could even fit inside you. Usually, he’d want to eat you out and finger you to prepare you. But he’s now thinking with what’s between his legs, and not what’s between his ears. He trails that same pointer finger on your pussy, and becomes mesmerized with the sight. Chris watches as your hole drools with want and need, whilst you watch him.

His already dark eyes are blown out with lust, and it only turns you on even more. Chris knows you’re watching him. He’s not one of the best agents in the FBI for no reason. He looks up at you, and you lock eyes with each other. He smirks and pulls his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a whine, but you still pout in disappointment. Chris begins to unbuckle his pants, and you’re filled with eagerness.

You smile widely, and he coos. “Aw, you’re such a desperate little slut, it’s adorable,” he chuckles, and you shy away. He pulls down his jeans along with his boxers slowly. Chris takes off his jeans and boxers completely, and throws them somewhere around the house. You watch as his cock bounces up and leaks with pre-cum. You just know he’s aching because of how red his cock is.

He’s big, and you already know that. But seeing him in all his naked glory is just something else. The simple yet not so simple idea of Chris’s cock being inside of you is electrifying. It’s both terrifying and exciting. He grabs the base of his cock and the prickly hair pokes the soft skin of his hands, but he doesn’t care. His left hand goes back to your pussy, and begins to rub circles on your clit.

“Oh… Daddy,” you moan quietly. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, so you involuntarily try to shut your legs and keep Chris out. Your knees touch for a brief moment, and he’s having none of that. He separates your legs and climbs on top of you, all while staring you directly in the eyes. His cock drags against your inner thigh. “Oh, is it too much for you, little one?” he asks with faux pity in his tone. You nod and clench your fists to control yourself.

“Too fucking bad, you’re gonna take whatever I give you, and you’re not gonna complain. Isn’t that right, little girl?” he sneers, and you gasp. Usually, you can’t handle someone who raises their voice in the slightest. But hearing Chris do it makes the butterflies in your stomach fly. “Yes, Daddy,” you hum delightfully, and he smiles. “Good girl,” he praises. Chris presses harder on your sensitive pearl of nerves and rubs you in faster circles.

“Daddy…” You moan and it goes straight to his cock. He looks up at you and just knows you’re beginning to drive up that cliff. He slows down his ministrations on your nub, and you bite back a loud whine. “You’re so needy, baby… Already so close to coming, it’s kind of pathetic…” he trails off and more wetness leaks out of you. You’re absolutely soaked and are a little bit ashamed of it.

“Please, Daddy! I’m so close, I’ll do anything,” you beg, but he just doesn’t buy it. “You’ll already do anything I tell you, baby, begging is so useless,” Chris chortles. You let out a small huff and move your hips in a circle, grinding against his thumb. In a flash of blurry moments, Chris pulls his hand away from your pussy and wraps around your neck. He squeezes the sides of your throat, and you gasp quite loudly.

He raises his eyebrow in warning, and you nod in understanding. “Good girl, I don’t want to put you over my knee when I’m feeling so gracious,” he assures, and you smile. Chris brings the tip of his cock to your swollen, needy clit and his pre-cum begins to mix with your wetness. You both moan softly as he rubs his tip on your clit. Your bottom lip finds a home between your teeth and Chris’s tongue swipes over his.

The sight and feeling of his cock on your silky pussy make him so weak in the knees. “Fuck, baby, do you like that? You like it when Daddy makes you feel good with his cock?” Chris asks in a deep, gravelly voice. “Yeah, Daddy… love it so much…” you tell him through a mushy haze of pleasure.

“You’re getting all dumb and stupid already? You’re so cute, little one,” he purrs, and you giggle at his words even though there’s nothing funny about them. “Do you want my cock, little baby? Say it, tell Daddy you want his cock,” he urges, and you look down to where you’re both nearly connected.

“I wan’ your cock, Daddy. Want it so bad, I need it, Daddy,” you beg, and Chris hums. “Just a little more, little girl, it’s like music to my ears,” he smirks, and you bite your bottom lip. “Sing for me, hummingbird,” he pushes, and you just go with whatever your neediness tells you to do.

“I wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy. I want your cum to fill me up until I’m leaking and all stupid. Please, Daddy, please fuck me. I really want your cock, I need it,” you beg and blood rushes to his face and cock. “Fuck, yeah, I’ll give you my fucking cock, and you better take it like the good girl you are,” he growls, and you whimper. Chris slowly drags the fat tip of his shaft down to your drooling, slutty hole.

You whimper loudly, and he looks back at you. Fear is written all over that pretty face of yours, and Chris knows the exact reason why. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be gentle, okay? If you want to stop just say so, and I’ll listen. I won’t hurt you, darling. I promise,” he gently reassures you. You sigh with an almost heavy yet full heart.

You then nod and Chris thanks you for allowing him to fully make you his. “Wanna hold your hand, Dada… Please,” you ask pleasantly, and he nods. “In a bit, little girl, I just need to be careful,” he whispers. Chris slowly begins to push into your wet, tight cunt. You swallow him slowly, and the sight is mesmerizing.

The tightness of your cunt squeezes him in a strong hug, and he wishes he could be buried deep inside you for the rest of his life. “Fuck- Baby, you feeling so fucking good,” he moans while trying to compose himself. You’re still whimpering from the pain, and your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace.

“C- Can I push all the way in, little one? It’ll only hurt for a bit,” he asks, and he looks deep into your eyes. “Mhm… Wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy, please,” you beg, and Chris tries his hardest not to come right here, right now. He thrusts his hips forward, and bottoms out inside you completely.

Your mouth falls open, and you’re silently screaming. The pain isn’t too much, but you feel as though the wind is being knocked out of you. Chris shifts a bit, and that’s when you start to feel it more. He’s so deep inside you, and he’s splitting you in two. “Breathe, baby, breathe,” he says.

You realize you’re holding your breath and it’s no wonder why your heart was beating out of your chest. “You’re doing so- so well, darling. Your little cunny looks so nice when it’s stuffed full with my cock,” he groans, and you whimper. “Dada, is hurtin’...” you whisper, and Chris wants to pull out because he can’t stand the thought of his little girl being hurt.

“Do you want me to stop, little one?” he asks, but you quickly shake your head in objection. Even though the pressure in your core is dwindling, and even though you feel a little too full, you don’t want him to stop. “No stopping, Daddy, please,” you whine and flail your arms towards him. He shushes you soothingly, and you calm down as soon as he flashes a stern look.

The pain soon burns away into nothing but dust and ash, and you finally see why he was so desperate to shove his cock inside of your cunt. It turns into pleasure and your pussy leaks around him. You’re soaking Chris’s cock with no shame at all. “Oh, fuck, baby… You feel so fucking good,” he moans, and you follow with a gasp. “I like the way y- you feel inside me, Daddy, makes me all tingly…” you admit shyly, and Chris chuckles.

“Yeah? Bet it makes you want to be fucked stupid, right, baby?” he questions with a playful smirk on his face. “Yes, Daddy,” you moan. You’re never aware of your surroundings because you’re too caught up in the moments. It’s something Chris scolds you for, but you never learn. But in this moment, you can feel everything. The veins on his cock throb against your silky walls, and you can feel his balls against your ass. His hot breath fans over you as Chris struggles to compose himself.

He slowly drags his hips backwards, pulling out of your pussy until his tip is the only thing in your cunt. The sudden almost-emptiness is surprising, but you quickly get used to it. Chris then pushes back into your pussy, and you moan loudly. “Fucking hell, little one,” he curses under his breath as he bottoms out again. He begins to fuck into you slowly and gently, careful to not hurt you. Even if he wants to fuck you until you’re crying.

The sound of skin on skin is quiet and almost unintelligible. The squelching sounds from your wet pussy and moans fill the room. Chris gently grips your hips and watches as your face contorts into a frown of pleasure and not pain. “Daddy…” you pant softly as you look up at Chris. “Yeah, baby? Am I hurting you?” he asks out of worry. “N-No, it feels so good…” you trail off as one particular thrust lands near your g-spot. And he knows that.

“Wan’ you to fuck me hard, wan’ you to destroy me, Daddy. Please fuck me like the slut I am…” you gently beg and Chris halts his thrusts. His cock twitches inside of you because of your words. Only he can corrupt an innocent angel such as yourself. “Shit- Little one, I don’t want to hurt you, that’s why I’m being so gentle,” Chris explains, but you shake your head. “You could never hurt me, Daddy. Please, I need you,” you beg for one last time, unaware of what you’ve done to him.

Chris roughly pushes his cock back into your cunt without warning. “Awe, I see. My little princess wants to be fucked like the whore she is, hm? Well, whatever princess wants, she gets,” he growls because beginning to fuck you roughly. You moan loudly at the feeling as with each thrust, his cock pummels against your sweet spot roughly. His pelvic bone rubs against your swollen clit and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Daddy!” you cry out as Chris pounds into your poor pussy. The room fills with moans, groans, curse words and wet sounds that all come from the art you two are making. “Aw, what’s wrong, little girl? Can’t take daddy’s cock anymore? Hm? Well, I don’t really give a fuck, you’re just gonna lie there, and take what I give you like a good fucking girl,” he sneers, and you push at his chest.

“It’s so sensitive!” you wail like a little bitch in heat. “But I bet you don’t want me to stop, do you?” Chris asks as a moan bleeds past his plump lips. “Uh-uh, please don’t stop, Daddy!” you squeal after a harsh thrust. The stretch of Chris’s cock is amazing, and you never want the feeling to stop. Chris’s hand leaves your hip and crawls all the way up to your neck. He wraps his fingers around your throat, and squeezes the sides, making you clench tightly around his big, thick cock.

He lowers his face to yours and watches as you react to the way he’s being rough with you. “Oh, God!” you cry out as he makes his thrusts more powerful. “Actually, it’s just ‘Daddy’, but I’m fine with that too,” he slyly smirks. You’re too fucked out to even laugh at his joke. Your eyes roll back into your skull and your back begins to arch off of the couch. “Awe, are you gonna come around my big fat cock already, slut? How cute,” Chris mocks.

You nod your head and begin babbling like a baby. “But remember, little girl, I have to give you permission to come, okay?” he reminds you, and you whine. Chris’s hand around your throat moves up to grab your jaw, and he stops thrusting into you. “None of that is allowed. Don’t forget your place, little girl,” Chris warns with fury seething through his words. You mumble an apology, trying to formulate the proper words to speak.

“Seems like I really did fuck you stupid,” he chuckles, and you moan at his words. You clamp down on his cock, tempting him to do what you want, like a siren using her voice to lure men into the sea. “Open your mouth up first, little girl,” he orders, and you obediently listen. The searing arousal in your core begins to fade away, and you feel a panic beginning to rise inside you.

Chris drags his hand back down to your throat and rests it there. You watch as he puckers his lips up, and suddenly, he spits into your mouth. You open your mouth even wider and stretch your tongue out. His saliva lands directly on your tongue, and you wait for further instructions before you give in to your desires.

“Swallow it, little girl,” he instructs, and you do exactly so. You open your mouth back up just to earn some praise. “Good fucking girl. The best baby ever,” he smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, Daddy! … Can I have cummies now?” you lovingly ask your Daddy.

“Of course, little one,” he says as he smiles down at you. Chris begins to fuck into you again, deep and hard. With each thrust, he pounds your g-spot and his balls slap against your ass. His remaining hand on your hip moves down to your clit, rubbing your little button with rough circles.

“Daddy… ‘m gonna come!” you moan loudly and Chris fucks you harder. “Come one, baby, come all over my big cock like the good girl you are,” he urges. The building feeling inside you increases, and you feel yourself getting closer to your release. “Fucking come, little girl, wanna hear you sing for me,” he growls. And with one specific thrust, you find yourself coming undone beneath him.

The sight is so fucking beautiful. Watching you as your eyes turn up, your mouth falls open and your cunt hugging his cock just gets him going, and he wishes he could take a picture of you right now. “D- Daddy! Oh, my-” You cut yourself off with a loud moan and Chris keeps on rubbing your clit and fucking you through your orgasm.

You soak his cock until it’s dripping and even then you’re still coming. You moan loudly and Chris can feel himself getting closer to his orgasm. His balls begin to tighten up and a droplet of sweat drips from his neck down to his chest. “Daddy, are you gonna come?” you sweetly ask as he fucks you through your orgasm whilst chasing his own.

“Yeah, baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up with his cum. I’m gonna leave you leaking with my seed,” Chris growls as he fucks you faster. “Please, Daddy… Please, I want your cum so badly! Please fill me up with your cum, Daddy,” you beg and Chris tosses his head back.

“Fuck, yes, yes yes,” he shouts as his balls tighten up again. He quickens his pace until white, hot, thick ropes of cum spurts out from his aching tip. He fulfills his promise and your wish, filling you up with his cum until there’s nothing left. His cum mixes with your juices as he paints your walls with no expertise whatsoever. Chris slumps on top of your body, engulfing you in a bear hug as his cock remains buried inside of you.

You’re both panting and struggling to come down from the euphoric feelings. You look up at Chris make lock eyes with him for the nth time. There’ll never be a day where you don’t get lost in his eyes. They’re beautiful, absolutely beautiful. “You did so fucking good, little one,” he praises, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Thank you very, very much, Daddy,” you slur, feeling yourself beginning to sleep into little space. “Daddy?” you call out, tapping his bicep after a few seconds. “Yeah, baby?” he asks, lifting himself up to get a better view of your face. “Will you really stay?” you ask with a bit of worry in your voice. He sighs with a full heart.

“Always.”

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raayllum · 3 years ago

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3x03 :: ghosts and reality

So I was thinking about 3x03 “Ghost,” an episode that both subverted my expectations and fulfilled them. Back when the the episode titles for Book Three were released before the season came out, I predicted that “Ghost” would have Soren and Claudia confronting their father in prison. I ended up being right with that prediction, and was also unsurprised when Claudia and Soren’s confrontation with their father figure was included the episode.

The way Rayla parallels Soren and Claudia has often reminded me of the way that Katara parallels both Zuko and Azula, and the each character’s relationship with their father is paralleled by one another’s. Which is to say that the confrontations with Viren and Ethari in 3x03 are directly, and poignantly paralleled, and here’s why.

Moonshadow elves are the ones most closely aligned with TDP’s interrogations of truth, illusions, and lies that exists for many of the main characters, particularly for Rayla and Soren, Claudia, and Viren. The three children have returned to their respective homes, finding nothing the way they expected. Rather than having to worry about disappointing their father the way they did in s2, Claudia and Soren find their father in prison, and Rayla finds Ethari imprisoned in his own grief.

And both fathers are concerned and connected, thematically, most strongly with the idea of Reality.

But this is also where they diverge the most strongly.

Both Ethari and Viren erase their children’s reality. Rayla is turned into a Ghost, as Ethari erases Rayla from his reality, even if he can’t quite erase him from hers. Viren, meanwhile, erases Soren’s memory of events by gaslighting him. The differences start even here, however, as Ethari is never able to hide from what he’s done — not with his daughter right there, holding him accountable — whereas Viren sweeps his own actions under the rug.

Ethari and Rayla, for all of their flaws, are emotionally open and honest throughout their initial, half one sided, conversation. Ethari’s main problem is arguably that he is too honest, too consumed by his grief. Viren slips similarly before covering it up again, motivated by his selfish mission rather than by love, however misguided Ethari’s attempts at navigating his feelings are.

Even in the throes of his grief, Ethari acknowledges his and Runaan’s own wrongdoing, while Viren just doubles down on weaponizing Claudia and Soren’s state against his son.

E: Before you left, I told Runaan you were too goodhearted for the work of an assassin, so I know you did not betray them out of malice. But that doesn’t matter. They’re gone. He’s gone. Because you abandoned them.

V: This is disappointing son, even for you.

Don’t get me wrong, what Ethari says is still terribly damaging and shitty, but he’s still operating under an assumption that literally everyone else around him believes, nor is it one he’s constructed. Viren, meanwhile, purposefully crafts himself a way out, even if it means throwing Soren completely under the bus, insulting his son’s intelligence, and sowing seeds of doubt in his reality.

Thus, while Rayla herself is the ghost, Soren’s memory becomes his: a reality that only he can remember and believe in. Something only he can see clearly for what it is as even his sister looks away from him. And by the end of the episode — or even the entire season — that remains true.

But it changes for Rayla, because Ethari comes back around.

Ethari is still operating the same assumption as before when he joins Rayla by the fountain. Nothing about his actual perspective has changed — he is still mourning his husband (and daughter), he still believes that Rayla has abandoned/betrayed them — but he loves her anyway, and shows it by breaking what appears to be the number one rule of the ghosting, and undoes the spell as much as he can on his own.

Ethari refuses to deny Rayla’s reality and does give her a chance to explain herself, and then aids her in her mission, because he trusts that she’s doing the Right Thing even if it still led to dire consequences for their family.

But Viren (and Claudia) only continue to mess when Soren’s understanding of reality as the season wears on, until they all deal the final blow in 3x09 — literally.

Ethari’s illusion was that he didn’t love her still, and in some ways, Viren’s illusion was that he ever loved his son at all.

Other Misc. Notes:

Another interesting thing about this episode is the contrast between Callum and Claudia. Both witness someone they love being terribly mistreated, and while Claudia is initially indignant on her brother’s behalf, she quickly succumbs to her desire to keep both her brother and father in her life, rather than having to choose between them. The way the bars divide her and Soren from each other in various shots is a great reflection of this. Callum, meanwhile, stays indignant and angry on Rayla’s behalf, demanding change, supporting and trying to get through to her.

Where Soren is begging Claudia to believe him, Callum is arguing that Rayla should, and their families respectively follow suit: Claudia sides with Viren, who gets away with his deception, and Ethari sides with Callum and Rayla, encouraging Rayla on her new mission.

There are also arguable parallels to be had, with Rayla, Viren, and Ethari all occupying the position of Explainer, or even defending themselves and their actions. The fact that Rayla and Ethari have to do this for each other shows the closeness they share and a willingness to at least communicate, whereas Viren’s is self contained and wholly in pursuit of convincing his children of what he needs them to do. Other parallels as follows is Viren’s “I’m so glad to see you safe,” Rayla’s “I’m so glad you’re here,” to Ethari, and Ethari’s “I couldn’t bear to let you leave without seeing you one last time.”

To love someone is to bear witness to them, to See them for who they truly are and to love them anyway. To engage in, not erase, their reality. One father learns this and stands by it, as much as he possibly can. The other does not.

#tdp meta #tdp #tdp rayla #the dragon prince #ethari #viren #tdp soren #analysis series #knight sibs #morally ambiguous fam #moon fam #s3 #3x03 #different than my usual meta faire but very fun #analysis #parallels #on the shorter side too which is honestly kind of nice

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Text

Spilled Pearls Extra 1

- ao3 -

Lan Xichen spent a lot of time learning his family’s rules.

They were important to his uncle, who raised him, and that meant that they were important to him. They were his heritage and his birthright, and anyway he loved his uncle and it made him happy which was good enough for Lan Xichen, but that didn’t make learning them easy or anything. Each rule had to be learned both by itself and in context with others; it wasn’t as simple as memorizing a list and calling it done. You had to learn them and know them and then live up to them to the best of your ability, and that was the work of a lifetime – which Lan Xichen, now six years old, had been informed was an awful long time.

Moreover, though his uncle had never said so, Lan Xichen had heard from the other people in the sect that learning the rules was important because following the rules would make sure he didn’t turn out like his father, who had let down so many people in their sect. Many of the elders said things like that when his uncle wasn’t around, though his uncle never did – his uncle spoke well of their father, although in abstract tones, but sometimes he looked sad about it, too, and therefore Lan Xichen was determined to listen and learn the rules well so that he would never disappoint his uncle the way his father had.

Of course, there were other advantages to learning the rules.

The commentary, for instance.

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Talking behind other people's backs is prohibited.

“Unless it’s really funny,” Lan Yueheng said, and – as always – seemed not to notice the way Lan Xichen’s uncle glared at him. “Oooh, actually, let me give you an example, I just heard the best story –”

“If you don’t understand those around you, you will be at their mercy, rather than they at yours,” Wen Ruohan said, perfectly poised and with a sharp smirk, just the way he always was unless he happened to be talking to Lan Xichen’s uncle. “How better to learn to understand people than to know what others say about them when they are not around?” His smirk widened. “Look at what people say about me.”

“What are you supposed to do if you don’t?” Lao Nie asked, grinning wickedly. “Say mean things about them in front of their faces instead? I can do that!”

“I mean, if it’s news, it’s not gossip, right?” Cangse Sanren said, tapping her cheek while pretending to be thoughtful as if it would hide her great big smile. “I’m sure that’s how I learned it, and I was a very good student – no, no, don’t listen to what your uncle says!”

“Well, I wish my mother would do less of it,” Wen Xu said, rolling his eyes. He’d come along to visit with his father again the way he always did – he was always tagging along with his father, really, and his father indulged him more often than he probably should, according to both sects’ elders. Not that Wen Ruohan listened to anyone but Lan Xichen’s uncle. “Sometimes I think that’s all she does! It’s boring!”

“If you mean what you say and say what you mean, then your friends will never doubt you whether you are in front of them or not,” Nie Mingjue said, then frowned. “I mean, I think?”

“Listen to A-Jue,” Lan Xichen’s uncle said when Lan Xichen reported on the discussions, throwing up his hands in disgust. “He’s the only one of the lot of them worth anything.”

“It’s his mother’s contribution,” Lao Nie opined.

“It’s certainly not yours,” Wen Ruohan said. “Anyway, what was wrong with A-Xu’s answer? It was accurate.”

“It has nothing to do with the rule!”

“That’s because I’ve already mastered it years ago,” Wen Xu said cheerfully. Surprisingly cheerfully, given that Nie Mingjue was sitting on him again; maybe he’d gotten used to Nie Mingjue always winning.

Lan Xichen’s uncle rubbed his forehead. “A-Xu, if you really want to go copy the rules on humility a few more times, you don’t have to wait for me to instruct you to do so –”

“He’s right, though,” Cangse Sanren cackled from her husband’s lap. “Madame Wen is an amazing source of gossip, but it does get a bit boring sometimes. You can’t punish him for being right!”

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Do not succumb to rage.

“Unless there’s a very good reason,” Lao Nie said, picking Lan Xichen up in one arm as if he weighed as little as a feather, and Nie Mingjue in the other just as easily, even though he was much bigger. “In the world there are many injustices, and it is your duty to fight against them with everything that you have – if you are wholly above the feeling of rage, then you have forgotten your empathy, and soon will follow the crooked path into indifference.”

“The issue is succumbing to rage,” Wen Ruohan said. “You can be angry, or even furious, but you should always maintain your self-control. Once you’ve mastered yourself, you can master others.”

“He means get revenge,” Wen Xu said knowledgably. “You get angry, then you get even.”

“Oh, rage?” Cangse Sanren asked, rolling up her sleeves. “Well, as it happens, I’m going to go have a chat with your mother, I’ll give you a good demonstration of –”

“You are doing no such thing,” Lan Xichen’s uncle said, exasperated. “Get back here.”

“It’s a waste of time,” Lan Yueheng said. “Getting angry takes time and energy. Why not be happy instead?” He thought about it. “Well, I mean, sometimes cursing a little bit when something goes wrong is nice. Even the calmest concoction needs to blow off steam sometimes to retain its equilibrium!”

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Do not disrespect your elders.

“And I,” Wen Ruohan said, looking positively gleeful, “am the eldest.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Lan Xichen’s uncle said at once. “Xichen, you hear me? Don’t listen to him.”

“There’s a difference between disrespect and disobedience,” Cangse Sanren said. “Being old doesn’t mean being right, it means that there’s a greater probability that they’ve encountered something in their lifetime that will give them an insight you lack. You should honor and respect their insight, but always make your own decisions in the end.”

“I mean, you could always listen to me, instead,” Lao Nie said. “I’m your elder too, aren’t I?”

“Don’t listen to either Uncle Wen or my father,” Nie Mingjue said, looking long-suffering. “They both like to play tricks.”

“Wait,” Lan Yueheng said. “I’m an elder? Since when? That’s a terrible idea!”

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Do not take advantage of your position to oppress others.

“Don’t listen to Wen Ruohan,” Cangse Sanren said.

“Don’t listen to Sect Leader Wen,” Lan Yueheng said.

“Definitely do not listen to Hanhan,” Lao Nie said. “At all. In any way.”

“Probably best not to listen to A-Xu’s dad,” Nie Mingjue said, and glanced over apologetically.

“No, no, you’re right,” Wen Xu said, nodding furiously. “He’s kind of awful about these sorts of things.”

“They’re all being absolutely ridiculous,” Wen Ruohan said. “I’m perfectly reliable on such matters. After all, what’s the point of working so hard to obtain and maintain power if you don’t oppress those that deserve it? If you don’t take advantage, who will?”

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Do not make assumptions about others.

“I used to assume that Cangse Sanren was a normal human being,” Lan Yueheng said. “Goes to show what I know, right?”

“I used to assume that Wen Ruohan was a perfectly normal self-absorbed murderer that would keep his greedy hands to his own people,” Cangse Sanren said, sounding irritable. “And not have perfectly ordinary rogue cultivators followed around by complete weirdos because he’s secretly worried about them like a mother hen!”

“I used to assume that people would be grateful when someone rescued them and their husband from near certain death,” Wen Ruohan said.

“I used to assume that the funniest thing in the world was watching Hanhan argue with your uncle,” Lao Nie said, chin on his hands. “Little did I know that adding Cangse Sanren to the mix made it even funnier.”

“Grown-ups are stupid sometimes,” Wen Xu said. “That’s why you have to verify everything they say for yourself.”

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Embrace the entirety of the world.

“By being righteous,” Nie Mingjue said.

“By taking it all over, as far as I can tell from my father,” Wen Xu said.

“Depends on what you define as the world, doesn’t it?” Lao Nie said.

“Be ambitious,” Wen Ruohan said. “Define it broadly.”

“I mean, I don’t think your arms are quite long enough yet, the world’s pretty big,” Lan Yueheng said. “But I pick you up and swing you around, maybe they’ll stretch a little. Want to try?”

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Do not associate with evil.

“I mean, it’s true, but you have to think carefully about what you categorize as evil,” Lao Nie said. “Just being a man-eating nation-destroying inhuman amoral nine-tailed fox isn’t automatically enough to qualify, right?”

“That’s, uh, a really weirdly specific example,” Lan Yueheng said. “I feel like at least three of the things on that list probably rise to the level of evil? Or have I missed something?”

“Lao Nie said – oh no, not again,” Wen Ruohan said, and patted Lan Xichen on the head before he stalked out the door. “I’m the only evil you should associate with, you hear me?”

“I bet she’s got teeth in interesting places,” Cangse Sanren said. “I’ve got to meet her…hmm? Evil? Does that really matter? It’s going to be funny.”

“She’s not evil,” Nie Mingjue said. “She’s pretty nice, actually. She calls me ‘meatball’ and ‘pork bun’ and says I’m so cute that she wants to eat me right up.”

“I’m pretty sure she means it literally,” Wen Xu said. “Gear up, Xichen! We’ve got to go save Mingjue!”

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Do not tell lies.

“People don’t believe the truth, so why not tell it?” Cangse Sanren said.

“Using the truth makes your misdirections more believable and your critiques more devastating,” Wen Ruohan said.

“Why would you even want to lie?” Nie Mingjue asked, puzzled.

“There’s a difference between not telling lies and not having the slightest bit of tact,” Lao Nie said, rubbing his face. “Maybe you can help A-Jue figure that out.”

“Silence is always a good alternative when you don’t want to admit to stuff you’ve done that maybe, just maybe, might annoy some people,” Lan Yueheng said, looking over his collapsed laboratory with a wince. “Not that I’d know anything about that, of course.”

“Telling a lie will only get you into more trouble later when they figure it out,” Wen Xu said. “Because then they’re angry at you for what you did and for lying about it. It’s just not worth it!”

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Do not disregard the rules.

“Unless they’re really stupid,” Lao Nie said.

“I mean,” Nie Mingjue said, wrinkling his nose. “As a general rule, yes. But it’s different if following the rules would permit injustice to happen, that’s for sure.”

“It’s a matter of picking what rule is the relevant one,” Wen Ruohan said. “Be thoughtful, and you can have the moral high ground in any situation…your uncle is irritatingly good at that.”

“You’ve got to know what the rule is before you break it,” Wen Xu said. “That way you can decide if it’s worth the cost of breaking it or not.”

“If there’s any you think are wrong, you should say something,” Lan Yueheng said. “The rules are a gift handed down from our ancestors and ought to be respected, but each of us has a duty to put in our own thoughts as well – our contribution to the next generation down. Anyway, your uncle will probably be able to put together a reasonable argument as to why changing the rule is appropriate and truer to our sect’s principles than the version carved on the wall. He’s good at that!”

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“I want the rules to be a foundation under your feet,” Lan Xichen’s uncle said. “They should give you confidence in your actions and pride in your family and sect; they should not feel like they are binding you. If they are, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Maybe if it was just Lan Xichen and his uncle, the two of them and maybe also little baby Lan Wangji and the rather unreliable Lan Yueheng and the even more unreliable Lao Nie, Lan Xichen would immediately and unhesitatingly agree, and then never say anything anyway no matter what he felt. He loved his uncle so much, and every one in a while his uncle seemed so sad; he couldn’t bear to be the one to add more pain and burden to his uncle’s shoulders, already weighed down with the expectations of the sect that should have been his father’s responsibility and would one day be Lan Xichen’s.

But it wasn’t just them, and Lan Xichen frowned a little, really thinking about it. “Maybe,” he said after a while. “Or maybe I’d tell Uncle Wen about it, and then he’d find a way to fix it, or to tell you about it in a way that didn’t make you sad. Does that work, too?”

His uncle looked amused.

“Yes,” he said. “That works. Just remember –”

“Don’t listen to him about ‘oppressing others’?”

“Exactly.”

#mdzs #lan xichen #lan quiren #wen ruohan #sect leader nie #nie mingjue #wen xu #cangse sanren #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years ago

Text

Stuck in 1903

Part Two

Masterlist

Summary: Damon and Bonnie had come to your rescue, or so you thought, but it is Kai’s every intention to get close to you again

Pairing: Kai Parker x reader

Warnings: angst, smidge of fluff, mentions of smut, mentions of death, mentions of murder, bad friendships, mentions of poison, swearing

Word Count: 2052

Find Part One Here

divider by @firefly-graphics

If the Other Side continued to exist, then you would be there rather than this subordinate prison world which had been designed for one bad witch. Kai's own kind feared him, you had experienced him mentally draining your energy, he was a chore to put up with, but he could do much more than that, you had learnt from Bonnie. He fed off magic, physically stealing it from bodies and items that harboured any of it, which had poisoned his mind to hunt for power. Your friends had informed you that he had murdered his siblings, well some of them anyway, and had attempted to do so to more of them. And now you knew, with supporting evidence, never to trust Malakai Parker.

Without Damon and Bonnie you had to resort to fending for yourself, which was not at all difficult since this version of Mystic Falls that you were trapped in was quite literally a ghost town. The forever enveloping silence was torture, though the method of ignorance had not been designed for you; it was all for Kai, and that unsettled you. There was one more thing that you had been dreading - the possibility that you could not escape from the remote isolation without the aid of the guest starring siphon himself. This hell was built to contain him for eternity, but now there was magic that he could use to his own advantage nearby.

Your cheek rested upon the side of your hand, mushing the flesh whilst your elbow was poised upon the countertop of the kitchen island in the Salvatore house. All of your concentration validated your deep thoughts, of which you were broken from as a plate was placed directly in front of you, a pancake decorated with chocolate chips and syrup to form a smiley face. Damon was the culprit as he threw a tea towel over his shoulder, expectedly looking at you.

"I'm not hungry." You informed the vampire, who simply frowned at your lack of an appetite. "I ate yesterday, which was technically today." Beneath the table, you crossed your ankles, as you earnt a sigh from your well aged friend; he clearly was not impressed by your behaviour. But you didn't know what he had expected from you, you had been trapped here for longer than you could remember, and alone until you had discovered the man that had been outcast by his own family. At the time you had not known of his murderous tendencies, and had wanted nothing more than to get away from him, and you wouldn't like to admit it but you even missed him a little.

He was annoying and cocky, and withheld crucial information from you, though there was something that contradicted that all. Whenever any one of your friends had suffered the fate of death, they were always attempted to be brought back to life against the natural order of things. It made you wonder and doubt a little if they had even tried to resurrect you. In this separated reality, there was no jurisdiction so that you could know, though each time that either Damon or Bonnie looked at you, you could swear that there was guilt written in their gazes.

"Look I knew being stuck here with Kai must have fucked you up-" he should have bit his lip, his assumptions were anything but correct. And that was proven as you defensively darted out of your seat and jabbed your finger in his face, making him pivot his jaw back. There were many things that were 'fucked up', and supposing that you were one of them because you had died after sacrificing yourself to ensure that they all continued to live just didn't settle right with you. The context of the morbid situation did not help with condoning any reassurance at all, in fact, it gave a spine to your lack of faith in him and the others in the first place. Out of everyone, it was inherently worse to be here with Damon, all he had cared about was his precious Elena as well as himself, and after existing for well over a century, that was insurance that he was never going to change.

"It wasn't him who did that to me, it was roaming this damned place by myself, I had no one. And as crazy as it sounds, I think spending time with the notorious Malakai Parker helped me keep what was to spare of my sanity. If I'm not wrong, I may even say that I've found more being here than dealing with the bullshit y'all cause back home." Perhaps your words were a tad harsh, if Bonnie were in the room you were sure that she'd have a somewhat understanding of what you were saying. Though she was not, and thus you had to deal with the harshness of her best friend all by your lonesome. And it seemed that you had rattled him, apparently he couldn't handle the truth.

"Then why don't you run back to the sociopath? When we discovered that you were here, we found the pair of you attached to the hip anyways. And with him inside of you, I'd never seen you so darn happy, better here with him than tempting me to drink bleach from the way that you constantly complained when you were alive; I swear you were worse than Donovan." It was on your mind's own command for you to take a step back, and away from the toxin that Damon had so cruelly spat at you. Ans the way that he compared you to Matt made you angry; it was though he were ignoring that there were valid reasons for the blond to be the way that he was - after all, the monster before you had practically killed his sister. A laugh renegaded out from your mouth as you realised that you had been right all along, none of them cared. You were just a burden that stopped them from having a perfect life together. If this were a book, then this would be the beginning to your villain arc, and ironically enough Damon saw himself as one of the good guys. Now that was utterly ridiculous after every reckless thing that he had ever done!

"Have it your way then bloodsucker." All along, you should have trusted your guy, and from now on you knew that you would listen to it. And strangely enough, it was calling you to Kai, maybe it was because he was your last resort to escaping this imprisonment that had been meant for him alone. Turning on your heel, you heard Damon flop the towel down on the side and sigh, though you continued to walk, appeasing your better judgement elsewhere. "Wait." He tried to convince you to stay, belatedly understanding the mistake that he had made, but it was no use, you were already on your journey of getting as far away as possible from him.

The Mystic Grill, it remained to be familiar in your eyes as you entered. It was empty and void of drunken assholes and narcissists that you had wasted too much time on. The only person that you missed in the modern alternative was Matt Donovan, he was the only person that didn't treat you as though you were invisible or a nuisance. You wondered how he was coping with your absence, knowing him, he was probably relieved that Damon was gone. But you weren't, because he was here with you instead. Trailing your fingertips over the counter of the bar, out of the corner of your eye you saw a lonely glass of bourbon that was sat there as though it were lamenting you with mockery. You tried to hold your sentimental sob inside, but it was practically impossible. It tore through your body, bellowing out from your mouth as you stifled and fought through your tears.

A hand caressed the landscape of your back causing you to jump and flinch from the unexpected contact. One thing that you had learnt from evading and eventually experiencing the qualms of death, was that you could never be too careful. For no more than a second you had predicted that the intruder to your pity party was Damon, that he had followed you as you tried to distance yourself from him, but alas it was not, instead of being greeted by a fretless vampire, you were condemned by the sight of a powerless witch, of whom had purposely interjected your moment of cracked emotion and wore a brave smile for you. Wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeves, you couldn't help but snap at him. "If you're here to finish what we started then tough luck Parker, you've been here long enough and you have two hands, figure something else out."

His tongue darted out to swipe at his own bottom lip, as he raised his hand, showcasing his offering to you. "I was only going to see if you wanted a pork rind, you look like you could use one." Sighing, you dug your hand into the pungent packet that was littered with dust and crumbs, retrieving a few treats for yourself as you placed them in your mouth. "And now should be when the poison kicks in..." With your hand, you gave him a little shove as you tolled your eyes at his homicidal comedy. "Come on, that was funny! I'm funny!"

"If you say so, there's not very many people around to give you an honest opinion." It was true, the only other human like lifeforms impartially close by were Damon and Bonnie, and well, you weren't going to scurry back to them anytime soon. "And if you had poisoned me, then you would know that I would be fine and dandy in not so long, It wouldn't make a difference if that wasn't the case either, I mean I'm already dead, what could be worse than that?" Kai looked at you with shock; he didn't know that about you, that you had actually suffered a final breath. Now he thought about it, the grand scheme of things he didn't know much about you in general, though he was prepared to learn. He had often found death to be fulfilling, satisfying even, but he'd never thought about its victims being so beautiful. Yet here you were before him, by chance the one force that could motivate and help him find a way out of this jarring hole of reaping misery.

"You're here, that's all that matters." As soon as those words fled from his lips he realised exactly what he had said, and a blush framed his features. "I um - that wasn't what I - you know, yeah..." He scratched the back of his neck as you shook your head at this new side that you were seeing of Malakai. His parents called him Malakai, of course he was going to become a killer, but right now you saw nothing more than an embarrassed boy whose skin had flushed as an affect of his own words. From your experience, everyone was either the killer or the killed - you two were one of each. Like ying and yang, you fit perfectly, it was a balanced divide that was settled on whichever rhythm played out in the air. And to correspond with that thought you walked over to the jukebox, a song beginning to play which made Kai want to cover his ears. "I hate this song." He told you; he really did, if he could murder it, he would without a doubt.

"Then don't listen, just dance with me." You extended your hands out to him, to which he begrudgingly reached for. And as he snapped his eyes open, he realised that was all a memory, and that goddamn song was still playing. All he could think about was you, he had seen how upset you had been to die, and yet you were gone again, and it was all down to your so called friends. One was standing before him as he sat in chains, imprisoned against a chair. "Are you here to punish me?" He asked Bonnie, wanting nothing more than shut his eyes and see your face again.

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wonderful-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Presume (Part 2)

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1k (1,053)

Author’s Note: I originally intended for “Presume” to be a single oneshot based on an idea that a friend gave me (shoutout to @bellaswansrealgf). But the wonderful reader @bluehydrangea-cherry very nicely asked for a second part, so here it is! I hope you all enjoy it!

Part 1

Tom Riddle hated many things in life. Loud noises, people who chewed with their mouth open, melted ice cream, puppies. But above all else, he hated being wrong.

But that’s exactly where he found himself when it came to you.

No matter how well he thought he could read you, he could never hit the mark. Ever since his assumptions about your intelligence were proven to be far from the truth, you’d assume he would stop judging people without knowing them. He continued to guess, however, and came up empty-handed every time.

He couldn’t help himself, really. It was easy to make predictions of what you were like.

He imagined you to be the haughty sort, the kind of girl to brush off anyone who was of lesser intellect. He was surprised to find that you were instead very humble, refusing to acknowledge your smarts unless absolutely necessary.

He also pictured you to be someone who tailed around boys like a lost dog. He was equally confounded to learn that, although you had many admirers, you had no interest in any of them.

He imagined you to enjoy sweetened tea, only to discover that you took yours plain.

He assumed you preferred to sleep in, but then he saw you outside on an early morning walk.

Being proven wrong repeatedly didn’t deter him from being fascinated by you. If anything, he was even more determined to know everything about you. He never paid much attention to you before, but now he couldn’t help watching your every move from afar.

He wanted to know what your favorite food was, what you liked to do in your spare time, how many pairs of pristine white socks you owned, how you managed to look so good without even trying.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do the obvious thing, to actually talk to you.

That would be preposterous. The Tom Riddle talking to a girl? And a beautiful one, nonetheless. Utter insanity.

So he resorted to studying you. Eyeing you as you sat down in class to know where your preferred seating was, paying attention to how long it took you to finish an essay, closely monitoring how many sips you took of your apple juice at dinner before you deemed it too sweet for your liking. He wanted to know you like he knew himself.

If it was under any other circumstance, he would have found his own behavior appalling. Ridiculous, even. Who were you to have him so enraptured to the point of complete foolery? Why were you so special? And how could you make him feel so utterly whipped with just your existence?

He was finally put out of his agony on one balmy morning. You were reading under a tree by the Great Lake, so immersed into your book that you didn’t notice the tall boy taking a stroll not far away.

When you finally lifted your eyes from the pages, you saw that the boy was none other than Tom. The very same full-of-himself wizard that caught your attention some time ago.

“Tom!” you called from your shady spot. You sent him a wave, amused at his startled expression.

He made his way over to you and asked, “Did you need something?”

He didn’t tell you how his heart was racing and his mind was reeling at your simple utterance of his name. The effect you had on him was much more all-consuming than he cared to admit.

You smiled up at him, scooting over to allow him room to sit. “Not really. Just thought you’d like to keep me company. It’s Saturday, so I didn’t think you’d have anywhere of importance to head off to.”

He awkwardly stood there, towering over you. He didn’t dare accept your offer to sit, too afraid that it would turn out to be a cruel joke. Despite his indifferent persona, he didn’t know if he could take it if girl he was so enamored with admitted to wanting nothing to do with him.

“Well?” you prodded. “Hello?”

“Why?” he simply asked.

“Well, you’ve been spying on me for the past few weeks, maybe months, even,” you answered with a smirk. “I assumed you’d want to actually talk to me.”

“You shouldn’t assume,” he replied, not relinquishing his hold on his nonchalant facade. “Not everyone is falling over themselves to have a conversation with you.”

You feigned hurt. “How could you say that? And here I was, trying to be nice and to get to know you.”

Tom was taken aback. Were you teasing him? Did you actually want to talk to him as much as he yearned to spend time with you?

Realizing too late that he could have come off as cold and uninterested, he quickly added, “I only say that because assuming never does me any good.”

You smirked at him. “I know you’re only second best in our year, Riddle, but I thought you would’ve been a little more observant. You can trust me, you know.”

He scoffed at that. “Who says I don’t? I’m not afraid of you. And I’m not second best.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “If you’re not afraid, actually come down and sit.”

“What do you want from me?” Tom longed for nothing more than for your words to be true. He was far too invested in you for any games or tricks. But he was too proud to let you know that.

“For some reason, you took a liking to me,” you stated plainly. “But you aren’t doing anything about it. So, here I am, throwing you a bone and asking to get to know you. Is it truly so hard for your half-sized brain to comprehend?”

He couldn’t stop the upward quirk of his lips as you said that. Even when you were poking fun of his abilities, he found you to be incredibly endearing. He decided to take a chance.

“I suppose I could spare a few minutes,” he said with fake boredom as he finally sat down beside you. He was attempting with all his might to remove any trace of eagerness from his voice. “You might not be terrible company.”

You hit him lightly on the arm. “Riddle, I am wonderful company.

And in time, he learned that to be true.

#Tom Riddle #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfiction

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ayamturd · 4 years ago

Text

yourself│awesamdude

summary: love is precious, love is pure; how insecure thoughts and concerns trouble a scared lover, and how to convince one they are deserving of said love

warnings: descriptive insecure + self-deprecating thoughts, slight angst to fluff

pairing: in-game c!awesamdude

a/n: couldn’t stop thinking of this concept, i wouldn’t physically sleep till i wrote it all out lol

pls know you are loved, that you matter and are important. even if it doesn’t feel like, i’ll say now that i do, i love you. i don’t need to know you to know you deserve love, you deserve to know you are amazing for being yourself and for simply trying your best by existing for what it is <3

wc: (2.1k) - m.list

“Why do you love me?”

It was late. Very late.

The sky was pitch black and the forest held nothing but a ringing silence to screen, the brief sounds of woodland creatures along with lurking monsters occasionally breaking through. While the night was alive by the stir of the wind, the world above was obscured beneath the depths of the newly discovered mineshaft.

You were tired, your body aching and sore from the continuous grind along side your lover for the past few hours now. Unbeknownst to you, the early morn had been replaced with the midnight sky, the twists of the cave’s darkness becoming so lost to your sensitive eyes.

While you were resting on a large boulder, Sam’s stamina was relentless as he worked to mine into the next cave tunnel. He was beautiful, to say the least.

The ever so flicker of nearby torches illuminated only the best of his features, his usual mask hanging low around his neck due to the cramped and tight spaces underground. His brows were furrowed, the gentle concentration that pulled onto his face strangely handsome to observe.

His hair, the dark yet notable green shade, was seemingly drenched with sweat. In spite of how dreadful the thought could come across, it only did him wonders when weighing his locks down to frame his face. It curled around his eyes, the sage emerald-color contrasting his light skin tone while emphasizing the dark glisten of his squinted eyes.

Through his intent and determined grunts with every swing of his blade against the course stone, his stance was firm and strong, each strike crumbling beneath him from pure strength and integrity.

Moments like these were random, but reoccurring. Moments where you could stop to stare at him for hours on end, appreciate him for what he was and all that he did, yet question on why he was still here.

Why someone so talented and earnest in his work could even consider you as someone special, someone worth his attention and love to be with.

You spoke before you could stop to process your words and what possible answer he could imagine. Your curiosity got the better of you, and your insecurity blinded your perception. It didn’t seem like he heard you initially, and as you began to take it as a sign to forget the question entirely, his diligent swings stopped and his heavy panting filled the air.

He carelessly rested the large tool on top of his shoulders, twisting only his head in your direction while wiping the salty sting of raining sweat from his eyes.

“Huh?”

“Why do you love me?” you asked again.

Pushing yourself up, you glanced down while fiddling with your pickaxe, the old wrap around its handle fraying ever so lightly despite its lack of consistent use. You’d need to replace it soon.

“I just- it’s hard sometimes, you know? To think why you’ve stayed with me for so long or why you even want to stay with me altogether.”

You suddenly lost all courage, and couldn’t dare look him straight in the eye from your admittance. There was an unfounded trust your relationship, no doubt, but trust can only go far when comparing yourself to others. This was a question of worth, of importance when believing one has nothing special to give to someone who deserves the world.

“Love…”

Shaking your head, you turned away from him to face the arching gem wall, driving your pickaxe into the thick, shimmering stone with a slam before wrapping your arms around yourself. You bit the inner side of your check, loose and anxious thoughts raging wild to come through in the vulnerable space.

Your hands shook in unpredictable expectations, fingers twitching against your pounding chest.

“I know you’re going to dismiss it as some kind of nonsense, ‘insecurity’ thing and honestly, you wouldn’t be wrong. But I can’t help it when you’re you and I’m me.”

The pause that followed was unbearable. Steady breathes pervaded the tense air, and after what felt to be an entirety in harsh, prolonged silence, you heard the shuffles of his feet when cautiously approaching you from behind.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was serious, yet his voice soft. Like he was cornering a scared and injured animal, he seemed mindful of his volume for your own concern. Another quality to consider: he was too kind than for what you rightfully earned.

There was so much to say, yet so little at the same time. You were at a loss for words on how to explain something so broad and conceptually troubling to see through. How does one explain how little they matter? How meaningless they are in the grand scheme of things to someone that only tries to see the best of them.

Someone that would refuse a truth for the sake of your troubled mentality.

“Well- you know…”

He stood directly behind you now, his radiating warmth encompassing your entire being, leaving you to shudder from the sharp contrast in the freezing underground. Hands hovering your rigid shoulders, he contemplated touching you but decided against it. He dropped his arms to his side with a sigh.

“No, I don’t. What possible reasoning could you have for me not to love you?”

His pleading whisper was left unanswered, your body frozen to the guilt that consumed you from worrying him over your own problematic assumptions. As if he could read you, he began a different approach to break through to you.

“Why do you love me?”

His unexpected question immediately caused you to go in defense. Spinning around, you glared up at him with resistant eyes, the response to trade your unsure gaze with ones that screamed in flipped concern for his own good.

“Don’t do that.”

Sam’s own eyes remained just as hard, the unnatural line from his neutral expression pulling further to create an evident frown. He was just as serious as you.

“I’m serious here. What reasoning do you have to love me? A screw up, that does nothing but hurt others no matter how much I try in opposition to protect.”

Admittedly shaking your head, you unconsciously reached to grab the front of his chest plate, the enchanted armor glowing beneath your bare hands as you forcefully pushed him in disagreement.

You knew what he was referencing to, and how hard the events became for him. No matter if Tommy would never forgive him, he had yet to forgive himself in any reasonable sense.

“You know that’s not true. Mistakes are mistakes that can’t always be avoided or your fault.”

Tilting his head, Sam’s nose scrunched aggressively to your argument with a scowl.

“Can’t it?”

While your face dropped from his jarring snap, he only sighed before bowing his head away, rubbing the back of his head with a tired exhale and dropped shoulders. It was his turn to struggle with his own words as you stared intensely for his explanation.

His voice were soft again, and wavered slightly in the near beginning.

“I’m not perfect, far from it actually. No matter how many times you try and reassure me of the fact, I’ll never truly believe anything there is good to say about me. I only see the worst of myself,” he murmured. Although a majority of his speech could have easily been missed from his airy quiet, your ears were strained and focused solely on him.

As you tried to step closer to comfort him in some way or another, he finished his final thought then, causing you to freeze once more.

“And when that negatively becomes too much, I look to you as my light.”

Sam sheepishly faced you, his bashful grin completely deviating from the conversation at hand. An unexpected heat rushed to your face, causing you fall apart by the mere power behind his words.

He gave an airy chuckle, closing his eyes with a gentle smile and opening to reveal such fragility in all he had to tell, eyes watering from the sight of you.

“You give me more hope than I think I could ever deserve. From your shining smile to the smallest forms of affection, you give me a love irreplaceable by others and unconceivable to consider.”

Biting your lip, your eyes also began to tear from the overly tender conceptions. He knew better than to let your thoughts run wild and interrupt him, so he continued before you could open your mouth in protest.

“I love you, for everything you’ve sacrificed and lost. You are my strength that pulls me through, inspires me to continue even on the hardest of days. You teach me to forgive myself and work through my hardships for a greater objective at play.”

Steadily nearing your emotional state, Sam carefully pulled your hands into his own and caressed your knuckles with his callous thumbs. He squeezed them tightly once, before reaching a singular hand against your cheek, catching the fallen tears that escaped your adoring eyes.

“Even if you unintentionally did, you became that objective to pull me through it all.”

A sob escaped you, and Sam was quick to pull you into his chest. He kissed the top of your head earnestly while resuming to whisper his declaration against your hair.

“I love you and all that you do. Everything that I said now, everything that I know how to express, it does nothing to how much you truly impact by merely existing as yourself.”

“Sam-” you had tried to interject, stop him from tearing you to complete bits as an over sentimental puddle, but he chose to speak over you instead.

“I don��t love you simply because you’ve given so much to me, that you’ve went through notions with my sake as priority. I don’t care for any of that in all honesty. I love you, because you do all that you do as yourself.”

Shudder breathes caused you to shake beneath his firm hold, his only response to pull you inhumanely closer if possible.

“It doesn’t matter why or what pushes you to do what you do, it’s the fact that you exist as yourself, that that beautiful heart of yours goes beyond any and all expectations anyone can conceive of you and never fails to the most of any situation to come.”

“You amaze me, y/n,” he hummed. Pulling you back, he raised a single finger below your chin to lift your face to his. He leaned a near breathes away, with an indescribable admiration that caused more tears to spill.

“Why do I love you?” he re-asked.

His own tears coursed down his dirt stained skin, and you habitually moved to cup both of his cheeks.

“Because you’re able to love me, and not even know the adverse effects you cause to those around you.”

Bringing your forehead to his, he kissed your scrunched nose as he released a small whimper, for he had nothing left to express through words.

“If ever you question yourself again, ask yourself how are you able to love someone like me, and know that that same confounding thought shakes my very core and beats my love-stricken heart for you.”

Bonus:

Pathetic giggles bounced around the gem filled enclosure, the high of work finally wearing you both down into a helpless mess of two exhausted, yet stubborn lovers.

You leaned heavily into Sam’s hold, his own stance faltering from the unexpected weight you gave in as he groaned from the fast movement.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m about ready for some rest, wouldn’t you say?”

Giving out incomprehensible whines smothered into the crook of his arm, you raised a lazy hand to give a subtle thumbs up. Sam laughed loudly, and took your silent gesture as an answer.

“You ready to climb back to the surface then?”

Mellow wails spoke for themselves, and he shook his head in joking disbelief to how drained you easily became.

With you still in his arms, he maneuvered around you to grab both of your pickaxes and gathered resources, them too heavy to physically carry for his next course of action. He pulled out his Enderchest and swiftly packed everything away.

Once everything else was settled, he worked on the actual situation in hand; literally, it being you basically asleep on your feet against his balanced arms.

“Here,” he spoke. Lifting from your waist, he placed you on top of an overgrown gem stone and steadied your footing before quickly turning. He gripped your thighs, and even in your tired state, you instinctively jumped onto his back.

He sighed when adjusting you, before making the trek back up the stair incline.

“To think I choose to love you.”

You yawned loudly, and to his surprise, comprehended his words enough to respond.

“Mmmm, that sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” Head propped between his neck, he glanced down at you with a smirk.

“Maybe, but a problem I welcome nonetheless.”

#dream smp x you #dream smp x reader #awesamdude x reader #awesamdude x you #awesamdude x gn!reader #awesamdude imagine #awesamdude x reader fluff #mcyt x reader fluff #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #dsmp x reader

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seijorhi · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request for Corrupt CEO Oikawa and female assistant? She finds out he’s involved in shady underground business and tries to quit. Non-con smut, pretty please 🥺 I love your fics! I enjoy reading dark content. Your smut is amazing I’m addicted💖

Let me preface this by saying there will probably be a part 2 to this fic

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW implied non-con, blood, violence (nothing too graphic I don’t think?)

The Lion’s Den

The invitation to dinner should have been the first red flag.

You’d left the letter on his desk next to his morning coffee, stacked neatly on top of the reports and documents he’d asked you to prepare the night before. Impossible to miss.

You weren’t exactly sure what kind of a response you were expecting - a call into his office, cool indifference, security guards showing up at your desk to promptly escort you out - but the innocuous calendar invite that flashes across your screen twenty minutes after he arrived wasn’t it.

8:30pm, Da Graziella. Don’t be late x

The name was familiar - upscale, Italian and one of Oikawa’s favourites. He knew the owner, or so he’d told you, always got treated like royalty whenever he set foot inside. You used to wonder about that, why certain people seemed to bow and simper and scrape whenever he was around. Initially, you’d assumed it was because he had money and with money came perceptions of power. Of course, now you know better. It’s the reason why you wrote that letter - the reason why you should decline the invitation as politely as you can.

But you don’t.

Not because you’re scared of him - you’re terrified - but you want this to go as smoothly as possible, and there is absolutely no reason for you to be scared of Oikawa Tooru.

Not unless you knew the truth, and knowing the truth would put you in a very precarious position.

The cursor hovers over the invite for a long moment when you feel a prickle at the back of your neck. Sure enough, when you glance up, there’s a pair of dark brown eyes staring at you from behind the glass wall that separates his office and yours.

Swallowing tightly, you click accept.

Oikawa smiles.

***

It’s a prestigious role, being the personal assistant for the CEO of Seijoh Industries, but it wasn’t the one you’d signed onto the company to do. You were an intern, fresh out of university, eager to put the last four years of your education to good use.

They’d put you in the marketing department with six other grads and told you that at the end of the year there would be one permanent position on the team you’d all get to compete for. The first three months had consisted of coffee runs, minute taking at meetings (so many meetings), excel spreadsheets and grunt work the actual team couldn’t be bothered with, and you were almost positive that things were going to continue that way until your team was picked to lead the campaign for the new launch. For a while it did - meetings, minutes and coffee, rinse and repeat. Except now your meetings included the senior VP’s and him - the CEO. Oikawa Tooru.

Of course nobody joined Seijoh without knowing about its charismatic founder. He was filthy rich, naturally, but he’d built this company from the ground up with his own two hands, made it into the powerhouse that it is. The media adored him, not just for his devastatingly handsome looks, but because he gave back to the community - a philanthropist at heart. He was the perfect poster boy for success in business.

(If only they knew how their poster boy really made his money.)

And he smiled so warmly and thanked you when you passed him his coffee. It wasn’t long until you felt those dark brown eyes seeking you out when the meetings dragged on, the playful glimmer and subtle twitching of his lips saying more than he could get away with - even as the CEO.

Still, you hadn’t expected it when he called you up to his office only a few weeks later to offer you the role of his personal assistant. You can’t quite remember the exact reasons he gave as to why; something about dedication and the diligence you’d shown. You’d caught his attention, and he needed somebody like you since he’d unfortunately had to let his last assistant go.

It was flattering, but being a PA wasn’t the career path you’d wanted at Seijoh. When you’d bashfully tried explaining as much, Oikawa had just waved away your concerns with a pretty smile and a laugh. In marketing, you were a glorified worker drone, one of six. Even if you did get the coveted promotion at the end of it all, you’d still be at the very bottom of the food chain, working yourself to the bone trying to make a mark on a company far bigger than yourself. With him, yes you would still be doing coffee runs and scheduling meetings and all of those mundane tasks, but you’d be working with one of the most powerful men in the country. Oikawa could open doors for you, and he could do it while making sure you received a generous salary for your efforts.

Your parents told you once never to look a gift horse in the mouth.

How could you possibly say no?

***

After handing in your letter of resignation, the rest of your day goes reasonably smoothly. Oikawa’s gone for most of it. His calendar says he’s in back to back meetings all day, meetings which for once you were exempt from attending. It might have been a cause for concern if it hadn’t been on the agenda for days - some disgruntled shareholder that needed to be pacified, or so he’d told you.

You’re secretly glad for the reprieve; you have four weeks left at Seijoh and you’re still not entirely sure how you’re supposed to meet your boss’s eye without quaking - and the last thing you want is for him to become suspicious. But without him hovering, interrupting your work every five minutes as he usually does, you’re left alone with your thoughts.

Why dinner?

Why tonight?

You’re a good personal assistant, at least you think you are - Oikawa’s certainly never complained - but it’s not like you’re irreplaceable. You’ve heard of companies trying to negotiate with higher salaries and benefits to keep good employees, but even an excellent PA is just a PA, and the pay Oikawa has you on is more than generous. You’re good at handling his moods and eccentricities, you don’t mind that he gets irritable and petulant when he’s stressed and you know how his coffee order changes depending on what time of day it is, but that hardly makes you anything spectacular.

If it’s an impromptu thank you for the last year and a half or a farewell from your boss, why not wait until you’re actually finishing up? You’ve given him four weeks notice, even offered to train up your replacement if they manage to find somebody beforehand.

Which leaves you with the possibility that he knows the real reasons behind your sudden resignation - a thought that fills you with a biting unease.

But he has no reason to even suspect such a notion.

He couldn’t have known you’d come back to his house that night, or what you’d overheard - what you’d seen. One week later and you still can’t close your eyes without visions of blood and brain matter splattering across the walls, but-

It’s a popular restaurant. Respectable. You’re reading too much into it, Oikawa’s probably just curious about why you’re suddenly moving on from Seijoh. He’s always been a little blurry on the lines between personal and professional - at least where you’re concerned. And it’s not like the two of you haven’t gone out for meals together before, he’s often dragging out of the office for ‘work lunches’ or a celebratory dinner when a project goes well.

People quit their jobs every day. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Except when you arrive at Da Graziella and the maître d' takes your coat and leads you inside, you realise that the assumption you’d been clinging to was very, very wrong.

There’s not a soul inside of the restaurant save for Oikawa, watching you from the lone table set up in the centre of the room. Bathed in the warm, flickering light of the nearby candles, Oikawa smiles as you falter, your wide eyes darting around the empty restaurant before settling back on him.

There’s a pit in your stomach, an icy tendril of fear that creeps up your spine. It’s a familiar sensation - you’d felt it back at the mansion too, the moment you’d glanced through the crack in his office door and saw him eyeing the handguns in the open briefcase on his desk. You should have left then, before you’d seen anything incriminating, and you should definitely leave now - but it’s too late for that.

It was too late the moment you set foot inside.

You’ve walked willingly into the lion’s den, all you can do now is smile and pray that it’s not in the mood to play with its food.

“Ah, wonderful, you’re early. Would you like some wine to start off with, darling?” Oikawa asks. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

The endearment is new, but you can’t seem to focus on that when your heart is hammering against your chest. Easing yourself into the seat pulled for you, you wet your lips, but even then you can’t quite seem to make the words come out.

No matter, Oikawa chooses for you, murmuring the name of an italian vintage to the maître d' who nods approvingly and disappears, leaving the two of you alone.

“S-sir?” you finally manage to utter, though it comes out as more of a question than a greeting, “I- why is everyone…”

“Gone?” he supplies for you, taking a sip from his own glass. He shrugs leisurely, “I figured that it would be nicer if it were just us two, don’t you agree?”

No.

“Oh, um, yeah… I guess.”

He laughs, the sound like chiming bells and you know that he doesn’t believe you. It doesn’t matter, you’re here and alone and there is very little you can do to change either of those things. “So tense, Y/N. Really, you should relax. I would have thought after almost two years together, you’d know that I don’t bite.”

More images flash to the forefront of your mind; the sneer curling at his lips as he yanks out his pocket squares and uses it to wipe the splatter of blood from his face. One body on the floor, the other squirming away from his outstretched hand. The crunch of bones breaking, pleading whimpers and then-

No, Oikawa might not bite, but that doesn’t set you at ease.

But even now, doubt flickers. He can’t have known you were there, that you’d overheard the talk of shipments and bribes, a deal gone wrong. Nobody saw you come, you have your own set of keys. He can’t know.

He can’t know.

He can’t…

Oikawa’s grin widens, twisting into a smirk. “Well, that, and I suppose that I don’t particularly think what’s about to be said makes for polite dinnertime conversation. At least not where most people are concerned.”

Fear strikes at your heart, constricting until it hurts to breathe, but you will your tense muscles to relax, force what you hope - pray - is a convincing expression of mild confusion and absolutely nothing else onto your face.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

It’s a wonder that he can’t hear the frantic pounding of your chest as he leans closer, dropping his chin onto a propped up arm, “Tell me something, darling. If I’d invited you back to my humble abode instead of this restaurant, would you have come?”

You swallow tightly, the tiny hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. There’s a look in those pretty brown eyes, a glint of something darker, something amused - it reminds you of a cat toying with a mouse and it sets you on edge. “You did leave so quickly the last time you dropped by. You didn’t even stop to say hello.”

Ice douses your system as sheer panic spikes. You’re out of your seat before your brain even registers you’ve moved, knocking it clear from the table in your stumbling haste - but Oikawa’s faster. Long, pale fingers seize your wrist, keeping you in place with a deceptively strong grip.

Those fingers, trailing softly along the barrel of the gun. It’s more than cursory, there’s something almost loving and tender in the way he traces the smooth ridges of the weapon before he picks it up, testing its weight in his hand. Oikawa hums thoughtfully, eyeing the crying man kneeling before him. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Sit back down.” His voice is pleasant, but even as adrenaline pumps through your veins urging you to run, to fight - you know better than to believe it’s anything less than an order. “Good girl,” he purrs as you fumble for your chair.

Back at the mansion, you’d been scared. Horrified at the cold brutality of what you’d witnessed, your entire world seemingly falling out from beneath you. But even with your thoughts a hysterical tangle and nausea threatening to overtake you, your only focus had been on getting out unseen.

This, sitting face to face with a mobster - a man you thought you knew - with all the cards laid bare before you… it’s a whole new kind of terror. He could kill you, with his hands wrapped around your throat or the gun he’s undoubtedly carrying, it doesn’t make a difference. You’re not strong enough to fight him off and the only other person you’ve seen since arriving is the maître d' - you might have wilfully walked into this trap, but you’re not so naive as to believe Oikawa doesn’t have him and any other employees working tonight firmly in his pockets. They won’t come if you scream.

Tears prick at your eyes.

You are utterly alone and entirely at his mercy, and all that you can do is beg.

“Please, please, sir, I… I swear I-I didn’t see anyth-”

A single raised finger stops you. Oikawa tuts, shaking his head. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Y/N. I know exactly what you saw, and I can guess well enough what you overheard. Certainly enough for those irritating little cops to start sticking their noses where they don’t belong if you decided to talk. Do you really think I’d leave my home open for just anybody to waltz in without my knowledge? Please, darling. What kind of a man do you take me for?” he laughs, and you fight back a broken plea, desperately biting down on your lip in an effort to stop yourself from crying.

“But,” he continues, reaching across the table to take your hand once more, “I don’t want you to worry about that, sweetheart. It’s in the past - and not why I asked you here.”

His thumb strokes the back of your palm causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms. Your heart is sitting in your throat, your stomach twisting in knots at the casual, innocent touch. You’re trembling in your seat, on the verge of ears and it feels like he’s testing you, except you don’t have a clue what you’re supposed to say, and you’re terrified that if you get it wrong, he’ll hurt you. “… I-it isn’t?”

Oikawa smiles, “No. I suppose in a way, it’s a blessing in disguise that you saw me for all that I am. It’s forced me to do something I should have done a long time ago.”

After a beat of silence and a gentle squeeze of your cold, rigid hand, you realise that he’s waiting for you to play along. “O-oh, um. What’s that?” your voice shakes, betraying the rapidly rising fear and panic eating away at you, but Oikawa pays it no mind.

“I understand why you resigned after witnessing what you did… it scared you, didn’t it? I scare you.”

There’s no point in lying, not when the evidence is right in front of him, so you nod.

He sighs heavily, but the amused glint in his eyes doesn’t shift. Even now, he’s still toying with you. “You’re a terrible actress,” he declares absentmindedly before his gaze sharpens. “There was always going to be an expiration date on our little arrangement, as much as I might have wished it otherwise.”

There’s something strangely wistful in his expression as he toys with your fingers, but the words, the gilded implications woven between them, fly right over your head. All you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the sharp drag of every breath filling your lungs as you wait for the penny to drop. “We can’t go back to what we had before, but you understand, don’t you, darling, that I can’t just have you wandering around knowing what you do.”

Your stomach drops, eyes widening in abject horror, “Please - please, Oikawa sir-”

He continues as if you hadn’t spoken. “If I offered you a choice; come willingly with me back home without making a fuss or I blow your pretty brains across the restaurant here and now, which would you pick?” he muses.

Fear is a funny thing. It makes the logical illogical, turns rational thought to mush, pushes you into a state of instinct that overrides everything else. Common sense would tell you that the threat of torture and whatever other nastiness that might await you back at Oikawa’s mansion was still the preferable option to the certainty of death at his hands should you refuse, but common sense had long since abandoned you.

As a fresh wave of adrenaline surges through your veins, you rip your hand from his and leap to your feet. This time you don’t give him a moment, kicking off your heels to sprint for the door. Distantly you register the hissed curse behind you. All you can think of is escape, running until Oikawa and the restaurant and everything you’d seen and learned was left in the dirt behind you. You don’t want to die, but you can’t bear the thought of what he’ll do to you if you submit. Will he drag it out, make your death slow and painful? Let you rot in the basement, forgotten by everyone? Will he make you beg and plead for mercy before he ends it?

Fear makes you clumsy - it slows you down.

You make it five steps before a pair of arms constrict around you, one around your waist, hauling you up from the floor, the other around your mouth, muffling the hysterical scream that rips from your throat. Legs flailing, kicking uselessly at nothing, you’re wrestled back inside. Oikawa’s lips are at your ear, growling something but you can’t make sense of the words over your harsh, panicked sobs, the sound of your frenzied pulse pounding in your ears.

It’s only when you’re tossed like a sack of potatoes back onto the table, knocking the air from your lungs that time seems to slow and clarity returns. Oikawa’s looming over you, panting, dark pupils swallowing the iris, yet instead of the fury you expect to see written across his face, Oikawa is grinning - wide and delighted.

“Wrong choice, baby,” he sings, quickly shucking off his jacket before grabbing the top of your dress and ripping.

Your eyes zero in on the handgun strapped to his chest, just within arms reach.

“But it’s okay,” he kisses you, moaning as he forces your mouth open, nipping harshly at your lips when you try to squirm away. “I forgive you, always sweetheart, you just have to make it up to me.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x female reader #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #tw implied noncon #tw blood #tw violence #my writing #yandere fic #female reader #I lied about the smut ok but there’ll probably be a part 2

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crystalirises · 3 years ago

Note

Phil is a famous and powerful Vampire Hunter with three sons, Wilbur, Tommy and Techno. One night Wilbur gets kidnapped by a vampire, he gets turned into a vampire but for years he has hope his father or twin would come to save him. His family never comes, he eventually gives up on hope and around this time he falls in love with another Vampire named George. They want to have a kid but they can't make one themself, so they surprise adopt Fundy. One of the vampire hunters SBI comes to help and everything goes downhill from here.

also thanks for the great writing

Y O U

I don't know who you are, but I love this prompt so much. Like, I want to confess right now that I actually have like... four (???) vampire AUs that all concern Georgebur + Sondy. I just haven't written them cause well, I just talked about them with a friend and 'm lazy to write XD.

But this prompt. YESSSSSSSSSSSS.

It literally just has everything. Wilbur's daddy issues and abandonment issues. Georgebur. Fundy. Surprise Adoption (Kidnapping). Vampires.

Love it.

Anyway, warnings: Blood, Violence, General Vampire Warnings, Possible Kidnapping, Mentions of Death, Abandonment Issues, Grief, and Suicidal Themes

Hope you like this!

“Eret? W-wha…? It’s the middle of the fucking night, man!”

Wilbur rubbed at his eyes, his friend’s hunched silhouette illuminated by the window.

They didn’t respond, and Wilbur could hear alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind.

He climbed out of bed, taking quick notice of the empty bed on the other side of the room. Techno and Phil must be out. Wilbur tried not to let it hurt him as much, his attention focused on his best friend who hadn’t made a single twitch or move ever since they’d climbed through his bedroom window. Worry settled in his gut, a heavy weight settling over his throat, making it hard to breathe. He stepped closer, the faint scent of metal piercing through the air. Wilbur nearly gagged, pressing a hand to his mouth and nose. Blood. He glanced down at the carpeted floor, goosebumps running down his skin as he gazed at the dark pool that was forming beneath Eret.

“ERET!” Wilbur gripped his friend by the shoulders, “What happened?!”

“Wil…?” Eret practically collapsed against him, hands clinging to the back of his shirt like their life depended on it. Underneath the darkness of the room, Wilbur could hardly look Eret in the eyes. Eret shook within his hold, almost like they were struggling against some force. “N-n-no!”

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?! Who did this?!” Wilbur pulled Eret away, but their head was leaned against his shoulder, their breath cold against his neck. It was difficult to see, but after a moment, he found the source of Eret’s pain. There was a dagger lodged against their back, just a few inches off Eret’s heart. He felt a panic course through him. Should he fucking pull it out?! He wasn’t a fucking healer, what the fuck was he supposed to do?! “Shit, shit, shit, fuck, um… I…”

His fingers grasped at the leather hilt, his mind screaming at him to do something, anything! Wilbur took a moment to listen to Eret’s breathing, their shallow breaths were mere puffs against his skin. He could feel Eret’s blood between his fingers, somehow, the blade hadn’t stopped the bleeding. Wilbur made a choice. He wouldn’t let his best friend bleed out. “I’m so sorry, Eret.”

Wilbur pulled the blade, wincing at the squelch of flesh and blood that resonated through the room. It was easy to ignore, since Eret let out the most unholy screech that Wilbur had ever heard in his life. He shuddered at the scream, the pain within its shriek. He swore that it sounded like— Eret collapsed against him, unconscious, but their breath had regained normalcy. Wilbur hesitantly held onto them, attention turning to the blade that he’d pulled from his best friend. Their village wasn’t the safest place, but one could usually walk around without being stabbed.

He held the dagger, blood still sticky against the skin of his palm. Wilbur brought the blade closer, eyes narrowing. It was a blade made of pure silver, the hilt dyed pink with a pink ribbon tied to one end. A chill ran down his spine. He adjusted the dagger, looking at the bottom of the hilt. A silver crow stared back at him. It was his dad’s symbol, but it was Techno’s blade.

He dropped the blade just as a searing pain tore through his throat.

He screamed, sharp teeth biting deeper into his skin.

Jagged claws gripped at the back of his shirt, an inhumane growl tearing through the air as Eret suddenly pushed him to the ground, holding him still as they continued to feed on his blood.

His mind turned to fog, but he could hear the slam of a door in the distance…

“WILBUR!” Someone screamed. But he was dragged away. And then there was nothing.

---

“I’m sorry…”

It was the first thing Eret had told him once he’d woken up, and they’d been saying it ever since.

“Sorry doesn’t change me back, Eret. Sorry doesn’t make me any less of a monster than you!”

“I didn’t mean to, Wilbur!” Eret wrapped their arms around themself, “I was tired and injured.”

“Of course you were fucking injured!” He hissed out, “You deserved to be!”

“I know.” Eret hung their head, “I know, Wilbur. I’ve known that all my life.”

“Then you should have given yourself the mercy of death the moment you first turned!”

“You don’t think I tried?!” They both took a breath. They stood in one of the many great halls of Eret’s home, a castle hidden deep within the forest, far from the prying gaze of any mortal. Eret gestured to the portraits of vampires before them, vampires that were absent from the castle. Wilbur and Eret were the only ones in the castle, and in the past few months, Wilbur wondered where Eret’s servants were. Where were the butlers? The maids? The human bloodbanks? “I’m not ancient, but I might as well be. I come from a long ancestry of vampires, but it wasn’t by choice, Wilbur. My… sire… he was cruel, but he cared for me too much to let me go and die.”

“Where’s your sire now?”

“I don’t know.” Shame danced across Eret’s face, “But I know that I fear death to try again.”

“So you’d rather drink the blood of the innocent? You’d rather be a monster?!”

“It’s been so long, Wilbur. I don’t recall what it is even like to be human.” It was an odd confession, one filled with so much heart that if Wilbur didn’t know that vampires didn’t have beating hearts, he might have fallen for the trick. He scowled instead, disgust ripping throughout his whole being. To think they’d been his closest friend. Instead, they’d turned and betrayed him by turning him into a parasite like them. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I get so hungry—”

“Then fucking control it!” It was unreasonable, and they both knew that. Wilbur should know, in the first few days since he’s turning, he kept attacking Eret since his new stomach needed his sire’s blood. He’d gotten better control… but sometimes the hunger would take over him again. Eret never complained. Not like they had any right to, after all, this mess was their fucking fault.

“My dad will come for me.” Wilbur spoke softly, “And when he does, I hope he kills us both.”

“I hope not.” Eret shuddered, “In truth, Wilbur. I don’t want to die.” Wilbur didn’t care.

---

“You’re new. Intriguing, but a bit too humanlike for my taste.”

He groaned, burying his head in his hands. Eret had apologized, but for the evening they were meant to host a gathering for the renowned vampire families within the continent. Wilbur had been forced to wear a yellow suit that had a collar that scratched and irritated his neck. After an hour of being gazed and prodded at, he’d had enough of the gathering and had snuck away to a secluded balcony. Fuck Eret’s reputation. Unfortunately, a nuisance had followed after him.

“What, and humans are as good as livestock for you?”

“What of you? Do you understand that not all vampires kill those that they feed upon?”

“Doesn’t change that you’re all bloodsucking leeches.” He huffed, turning away to gaze into the distance. In the forest, one could see the stars of the night, but the only lights Wilbur wanted to see were of a village far, far away. It’s been years. Phil wasn’t coming for him. Neither was Techno. He rubbed at his wrists, the silence felt nice… but he knew the other vampire hadn’t left.

“That’s your issue. You still act human when you’re no longer one. Haven’t you understood that you’re trapped just like the rest of us… well, the rest of them?” The stranger moved to stand next to him, placing their arms against the cold stone banister. Wilbur took a moment to glance over, his breath catching in his throat. A pair of warm chocolate eyes stared up at him curiously. The stranger wore a light blue suit, and despite Wilbur’s assumption that all vampires were tall, this stranger was short… shorter than Wilbur. He was dressed finely, carrying himself with a strong elegance that only years of nobility could give. The only oddity was the goggles around his neck.

“...what do you mean?”

“I’ve been alive for centuries.” The stranger sighed, “I’m one of the ancients.”

“So you’ve turned many innocents into monsters.” The stranger let out a low laugh, mirthless and tired. It sounded like they’ve been told the same accusation before. Wilbur squirmed right where he stood. In truth, the stranger was far from what he expected an Ancient Vampire to be. Phil had told them that Ancient Vampires were powerful, and that they barely even looked human at all. His dad had never been wrong… and he would never lie. “But you look… normal.”

“Humans and exaggerations.” The stranger rolled his eyes, arching a brow at Wilbur. “Why do you cling to human beliefs? In the end they are inferior… and some are monsters themselves.”

“That’s not true.”

“What? Do you believe that all human misery stems from the existence of vampires?”

The stranger sighed, casting his gaze to the heavens. “Think. Aren’t we all monsters in our own ways?” He paused, catching Wilbur’s eye. “Vampires, humans… we all are monsters. A vampire who kills for the sake of killing and a father who abandons his son to die… both monsters, hm?”

He stayed silent for a long while, letting his heart finally crack under the truth. “I’m Wilbur.”

The stranger scoffed, a smile playing on his lips. “I’m George Lore. A pleasure to meet you.”

---

“He’s an actual angel.”

Wilbur watched his husband cradle the human boy that they had taken from a nearby village, the poor baby looked pale, his breath coming out in short huffs. George had wrapped an orange ribbon around their son’s neck, concealing the bite marks that would begin their son’s transformation. He had wanted to turn the boy himself, but George had intervened. Wilbur had only been a vampire for ten years, he wouldn’t have the self-control to simply bite and not feed.

“He bumped into me.” Wilbur chuckled, “I just knew he was perfect.”

‘It had been odd. His father had stated once before that vampires couldn’t walk underneath the sunlight, but that had been a terrible misconception, one that Eret and George had both laughed at. The idea had stemmed from - actually, they were an ancestor of Eret - a vampire who had had a very dramatic reaction to the sun after decades of being chained inside an underground vault.

Wilbur laughed mirthlessly. Another lie. Maybe vampire hunters were just full of shit.

He walked through the bustling streets of the city, his pace slow and relaxed. He’d gone with Eret to procure a few fruits from the village market, but while Eret’s back was turned, Wilbur snuck away to have a morning stroll around the wooden buildings and through the small alleyways.

Wilbur had slipped into an alleyway when a bright orange blur bumped right onto him. If he had been human, he would have continued on, slightly irritated but unaware of the crime that had just been committed. But he hadn’t been human for so long, and the world to him was a swirl of motion and color. Slow, the present quickly melting into the past. He gripped the hand that had snuck into his pocket, his vice-like grip nearly bruising as he pulled the orange blur to face him. A pained whine escaped the thief, small and so childlike that Wilbur had nearly let them go then and there. He kept his mercy at bay, eyes narrowed dangerously at the cretin who had dared to—

Wide brown eyes flecked with gold stared up at him in fear. The child had collapsed completely in Wilbur’s hold, practically hanging against the hand that was curled around his wrist. Wilbur adjusted his grasp, easing up so as not to hurt the poor child. But he’d been a bit too late. A river of tears cascaded down the child’s cheeks, small whimpers piercing through the quiet air.

“I’m sorry!” The child continued to cry, “Please don’t hurt me! I just… I was so hungry…”

“You were hungry?” The question only made them cry even louder. “Oh no, it’s alright. Shhhh.”

He kneeled so that he was at face-level with the child. “What’s your name, champ?”

“F-Fundy…” The boy sniffed, wiping his nose on the tattered sleeve of his black jacket. Wilbur took in the child’s clothes, the dirt that clung to pale skin… Wilbur didn’t need to ask to know. He gently let go of the child, careful to keep a hand on the child’s back so that he wouldn’t immediately try to run away. Fundy didn’t move, his bottom lip trembling. Wilbur continued to shush him, moving the child so that he was closer to him, enough for Wilbur to catch him in case he tried to run away. Fundy was hungry. Wilbur knew a thing or two about hunger. The boy was still staring at him. He made a quick decision. Wilbur smiled. He and George did want a kid…’

“He was hungry. I couldn’t just leave him, love.”

Wilbur approached George, his husband had placed Fundy back on the huge bed that seemed to swallow him. He was so small. He ran a hand through their son’s curly hair, catching George’s eye as his husband bit into his wrist. Newly made vampires needed their sire’s blood to survive.

“Well,” George placed his wrist above Fundy’s lips. “He won’t go hungry now that we’re here.”

---

Techno sharpened his dagger.

The glow of the fire illuminated the monster’s face, the dark blood that pooled against their pale skin a constant reminder that the person before him was nothing more than a bloodsucking leech upon humanity. He sheathed his dagger, a part of him eager to pierce through the vampire’s skin and tear out their heart. He couldn’t, not yet. They were bait for the Ancient. His actual target.

“He won’t come,” the vampire muttered. “Not for me. We aren’t kin… o-or are you—?”

“I’m here for Lore.” Techno huffed, “Not Brine.”

The beast raised their gaze, the warm fire somehow weaker against the light of their pure white eyes. It was the mark of the Brine Vampire Clan, powerful ancient vampires that once brought chaos upon the world. But to Techno, this particular vampire was more damning than any other vampire in existence. He knew their face, he knew their name. Wilbur had trusted them once, and look where that had gotten him. Mutilated somewhere, a decomposing corpse that would never find its way back home. “You haven’t killed me yet. I would have thought that you…”

“I wish I’d killed you those years ago.” He had been so close. A few inches off the heart. If only his aim hadn’t been so shaky back then, then maybe Wilbur would still be… “I wish I did.”

Tommy had hated him for being late. Their relationship had never recovered after that fateful night. If Techno hadn’t hesitated. If Techno hadn’t froze the moment he realized where the vampire had run off to. If Techno had run just a bit faster. By the time he reached their house, Tommy had collapsed by his and Wilbur’s bedroom door, skin so pale that Techno worried that the vampire had gotten him too. He’d taken one look at the empty bedroom, the white curtains billowing as the night air came from the open window, dark blood left to dry on the carpet. He’d known. He’d known back then. His twin was gone. Devoured by a beast that he’d failed to kill.

“Techno, I am sorry. I can’t help what I am. You injured me, I was injured, bleeding, and scared. My instincts took over. I never meant to hurt anyone. I never meant to hurt Wil.” His hand clenched against the hilt of his blade. He would not listen to such lies. Twenty years. Twenty years since the monster before him took away his twin brother. Twenty years of blaming himself for failing. Phil never blamed him, of course his dad would never blame him. But on bad days, Phil would confuse him for Wilbur finally come back to them. That’s why he’d dyed his hair.

“Senseless apologies do not bring the dead back to life. It does not mend the frayed relationships of a broken family. It does not erase the years of guilt and sorrow. It does not erase the hurt that you caused. You took away a life, and I should take away yours. Wilbur wouldn’t have wanted me to. He was our family’s poet, the one who could see the beauty of the world despite the monsters that lurked within it. I should kill you for the pain you’ve caused my family.” Techno’s hand trembled. The beast stared at him through the orange flame, a perplexed look crossing their face. Of course, they wouldn’t understand human grief. “I’ll have your head after I have Lore’s.”

He took a deep breath. If there had been any other vampire that could bait the Ancient, then Techno would have gladly used them instead. Being around this particular vampire brought forth emotions that he’d buried years ago. There was still a question that was poised at the tip of his tongue, an urge to ask what Eret had done to his twin’s corpse. Had they buried him? Or had they left Wilbur to rot until nature consumed every piece of his body? He wanted to know, but he feared that the vampire would mock him. So, he kept his question unasked. Ignorance was bliss.

---

“Techno.” He froze, hands poised over the silver-lined ropes that kept Eret’s hands tied behind their back. Wilbur had snuck closer into the empty camp, ears desperately trying to catch every little noise, but the fire had rendered his efforts useless. Techno had used the crackle of wood to disguise his footsteps, using it to sneak behind Wilbur, a familiar blade pressed to the side of his neck. The dagger wavered, but it stayed where it was. He took a chance to look behind him.

It was like looking at a mirror, except he didn’t have pink hair. “Wilbur…?”

A flicker of disbelief danced in those emotionless eyes, it surprised him. A part of him looked at his twin, and he could almost feel his old human heart beat inside his chest. He wanted to reach out, pull his brother into a tight embrace. Techno had grown up… and Wilbur knew he was the same age he was when he’d been turned. He was happy to see Techno again, but… the blade lowered from his neck. Yet Techno hesitated. Suddenly, all the bitterness and pain came surging back. Techno didn’t care for him. To his twin brother, he was nothing but another beast to slay.

He gripped the hilt of the dagger, twisting it away from his brother’s grasp before Techno could even fight back. His family had left him for dead. And now Techno was here to kill Eret and George, maybe he’d end up harming Fundy too. Wilbur can’t have that. He won’t lose his family.

Wilbur bared his fangs, “I’ll kill you. Take a single step, Technoblade, and I will tear you open.”

=============================================================

I didn’t mean to... but like, midway while I was writing this I suddenly decided “nah, don’t make the vampires so one-dimensional.” So yeah, a lot of misconceptions on the side of vampire hunters regarding vampires but some vampires still do kill people and most still see themselves as superior to humans.

Also, yes. Eret is the vampire who took Wilbur because I wanted a bit of angst and I was like: “Hey, make Eret’s betrayal here be the fact that he and Wil are best friends but turns out Eret is a vampire.” Eret never meant to turn Wilbur, but it ended up happening anyway.

Now... about Fundy’s turning... I will leave that ambiguous. While he is in fact an orphan and lives in the streets, it was never mentioned here whether or not he agreed to being turned into a vampire.

Also also, I wasn’t gonna add Techno’s pov but like... “I Didn’t Say Goodbye” from The Mad Ones started playing and I was just: okay, Techno angst time.

I apologize for not adding Tommy but I didn’t know where to put him XD

So yeah, hope you guys liked this!

#wilbur soot #georgenotfound dsmp #georgebur #eret #fundy #philza #technoblade #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp #vampire au

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lunastwilightblog · 4 years ago

Text

The Volturi are the good guys and Bella is the up-and-coming villain

I’m on my computer for this as I know it might be long, but bear with me (insert Emmett pun here) 🐻

So wait - the Volturi are the good guys? But didn’t SM write them as the bad guys?

Well, yes, SM did write Aro and co in as the antagonists of the series, but bear in mind that originally she didn’t write most of New Moon to happen, or the entirety of Eclipse. There was Twilight and Forever Dawn, which we’ll sadly never read. Her vision of the Volturi and their role as the evil villains who wanted to separate Edward and Bella became distorted as she had to flesh them out more and show their role as the governing body.

Then she wrote the Illustrated Guide and revealed their history and the horrors of the world without their authority; with the Romanians being as brutal as they were, the constant terror humans lived with and the fracturing of the world into many unstable and violent vampire-ruled empires (plus with way more children of the moon running about, probably as far west as - at least - central Europe).

When the Volturi were coming to power they were laughed at with the idea of their law, a significant reason the Romanians didn’t take them seriously. But now they are extremely popular.

This isn’t just because Aro created vampires to go out and sing his praises. Volturi rule has been a blessing for both humans and vampires.

For humans it’s the obvious: they are not living their lives in fear, they are not subject to massacres (except if caught in newborn warzones), their population has been able to grow and expand, modern medicine and technology have been able to flourish, society is much more stable, people need to flee areas much less (if ever) so they can stay put and complete research/live to meet their grandkids/etc, and not have to serve a vampire in the local castle.

For vampires it’s actually quite similar: with the human population growing to as large as it is today when at the time the Volturi came to power it was (estimated to be) only 210 million globally, vampires have been able to grow to even greater numbers also, and feed more often than before. If a vampire 2000 years ago killed 5 people in a town it would be an outrage the humans would certainly have noticed, however kill 5 people in a place as big as London, LA, Paris, Singapore, Bucharest... it would likely not be noticed very much, if at all (depending on who you kill).

Humans like to measure things in percentages. Those 5 people is a huge number to a town of 2000 - that’s 0.25% of the whole town’s population. It would be talked about, and relatives of the dead/missing would all know each other. Yet kill those 5 in a city of 12 million (as is London), that’s only 0.00004167% of the population. And chances are, the dead humans’ families don’t even live in the area (or could be in another country entirely) never mind know each other to realise there was a mass murder.

So vampires, as long as they hide from humans, as is the only law (besides no immortal children or consorting with werewolves), they have a lot more freedom nowadays than they did before the times of the Volturi. There are so many people that they can easily get lost in a crowd, move internationally, and not be pressured for allegiance by a local vampire warlord (before meeting Aro, Caius ran afoul of the Romanians, and he barely escaped with his life).

With there only being one authority, and one that does not interfere with your day-to-day life, is a dream come true. As long as they don’t break this law that is very easy to abide by, they can do whatever the f*** they want.

Carlisle would have never been able to get a job as a doctor if he was known to be a vampire, nor could any of the Cullens have entered education of any form. They’d be stuck sneaking into libraries after closing, and googling. Edward would have never met Bella (neither would Edward’s ancestors have immigrated to America - in fact, Europeans may have never discovered America in the first place. The whole Cullen coven aside from Carlisle might never have been born).

So what the Volturi have done (despite many of them having not-so-savoury personalities corrupted by hunger for power or violence) is bring peace to the world, get rid of tyrants, increase the food supply, allow a greater amount of freedom, and the first kind of trials and justice ever seen in their world. Sure, Aro uses trials to find new talent, but it’s still a world away from before.

Which leads me on to the events of Breaking Dawn, and Bella.

So. Maybe controversial, but: the Volturi did absolutely nothing wrong in Breaking Dawn.

They turned up thinking a serious crime had been committed. They stopped to talk (which Vladimir certainly never would have done!), considered the evidence and processed new discoveries and discussed their legality, decided there was no crime to punish, and left with only the informant dead. Yes, Irina had been innocent in the way that she strongly had believed she had been telling the truth and her memories must have presented good enough evidence to Aro initially, but their witnesses had come to see justice being served, and in the vampire world that is execution. Aro could have continued with prosecuting the Cullens for something he now knew was false, or execute Irina instead.

(Side note: she did kind of deserve it too. She didn’t bother to check her evidence, she wanted revenge for Laurent’s death so her accusation wasn’t coming from a place of good intentions but instead she was willing to have her friends and family killed for Laurent. She was also forcing Aro into a position where he had to prepare himself to kill Carlisle, whom we know he cherishes. Remember also that Aro turned down Laurent’s application to the Guard because he’d followed the Romanians for a while, so he won’t have been entirely trusting of Irina anyway, her having been Laurent’s mate).

Anyway. Onto Bella.

So Aro’s impression of Bella after New Moon seems to be positive. Why? Well, through Edward’s thoughts he saw that Bella was able to keep The Secret. He had heard how much she wanted to be a vampire. In addition, Marcus showed him how strong Edward and Bella’s bond is. Both of them knew, that if E & B’s love was almost as strong as Marcus and Didyme’s, that no matter what Edward currently said or thought about Bella being turned it was invalid. If Bella were dying, he would turn her for sure, which happened. Then the obvious, that Edward had already proven he could not live without her.

Bella was trustworthy and probably going to be turned. Alice showing proof was just a formality so Aro could say he had evidence rather than admit he’d just made assumptions (and Alice having had that vision may act as proof that his assumption was correct).

Therefore, from Aro’s perspective, Bella was a human who wanted to become immortal so much that she would rather die than not, and she was already following his law. She was no issue.

Yet.

Bella, knowing the law, should have been very grateful that she was left alive. Edward not being executed and she not being killed or forcibly turned on the spot... Aro had been very nice to them.

And again, in BD, he was very nice to them. Some people will inevitably say that he was weak in not killing them all. I mean, they stood beside Vladimir and Stefan! They have an army of wolves fundamentally opposed to vampires! Aro has lost Good Reputation Points by sparing the Cullens. He held as close to a trial as vampire society has ever had, and rightfully pronounced the Cullens innocent.

So shouldn’t Bella like him? He has spared her life and the lives of her loved ones more than one, and proven that he can be spoken to and conversed with properly and is willing to admit he was wrong. With Aro, we know it’s important to look more at what he does than what he says, and what he has done is be very kind to the Cullens (though who knows about the future?).

Yet Bella was creeped out by him when they met and interpreted him as a threat to Edward’s life. As she loves Edward, she’s always going to be of this mind, and first impressions are important.

Vampires are stuck with the mindsets they had when turned. An example of this is Esme, who was turned after her baby died and she tried to die too. She is permanently feeling maternal. She was turned only days after giving birth. Before knowing this, Bella even describes her as maternal and the mother of the family. Huilen also has a lot of care for Nahuel, being his aunt, because of her love for Pire, and while she was dying, Pire begged Huilen to raise him. Joham does not seem to have this parental love for his son and daughters; he never really knew Pire and was never affected by her love for Nahuel, and did not meet him until years after he was born. He’s only genetically a parent. He doesn’t have the protective mindset. When he was turned, he was a curious scientist (in fact, it was even why his creator turned him). He sees the world and people as things to study.

Anyway.

When Bella was turned, all she was thinking about was Renesmee. She begged Edward to get the baby out and didn’t care for her own life.

And she will be forever stuck in this high alert, must-protect-my-baby mode. Then for weeks as a newborn vampire, she was thinking of Aro as a threat and preparing to fight him. Compounding that, he was a threat to her daughter.

Both of these things will have had a significant effect on who she will have become after her newborn phase ended. It is impossible for Bella to ever like Aro now, even if she tried.

Her dislike of him, and willingness to fight against him, will be forever engrained in her brain.

This is dangerous.

Bella found the Romanians weird, but she didn’t dislike them per se. She would probably be willing to stand with them against the Volturi again.

We can take an educated guess and assume that sometime they will rise up again - and Bella might stand with them (though I highly doubt any of the other Cullens would).

Bella was not a problem for Aro until she stood beside Vladimir and Stefan.

Here is this vampire who can block most of his coven’s gifts, stuck with an intense dislike of him, who he has seen with his own eyes stand with his enemies. He has every right to be nervous now. Her love for her mate is almost as strong as Marcus’s bond to Didyme - how strong is her bond to Renesmee? Likely more. Aro knows the threat in that. He knows that Bella may be viewing him in the way Marcus feels when he thinks of taking revenge on whoever killed Didyme.

Nobody wants the Romanians back in power. Those who lived under their reign and those who have heard first hand stories told to them all know very well that life under Vladimir would be horrible, brutal, awful for all beside his close coven members (though considering he had a very large coven that was often squabbling amongst itself, it was probably miserable for a lot of them too).

But Bella is young. She has no memory of the world before the Volturi, and knows no one with first hand experience of that world other than the Volturi. She will have heard that it was horrible, but she has no emotional or personal connection to the near-ancient past, and vampires who lived during that time are disappearing. No one lives forever.

Then, she is American. Like Garrett, she values freedom, and the Volturi are the only oppressive vampire force either of them has ever known. Despite them being the least oppressive in vampire history, Bella and Garrett haven’t experienced the alternative. They are a government that is at times harsh, is corrupt, and executes people. They go to war and they obliterate their enemies. Bella doesn’t see that the Volturi is the least bad government her world is ever going to get, and that they’ve granted her so much freedom. She is unable to see that because, in her youth, she has nothing to compare them against.

By standing against the Volturi, Bella isn’t just standing against Aro, Caius, and Marcus. She is standing against the peace they have brought between vampires, against humans living without fear, against modern civilisation itself. She stands a representative of the next world order, and Aro can sense it.

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