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1kook · 4 years ago

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new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming.

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education).

But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way.

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms.

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries.

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable.

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows.

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.”

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum.

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close.

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed.

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin.

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone.

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress.

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt.

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite.

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up.

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks.

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.

It’s your turn to mope.

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand.

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses.

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh.

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels.

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad.

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down.

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome.

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities.

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about.

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest.

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover.

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.”

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee.

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite.

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now.

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.”

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold.

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes.

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon.

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her.

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown.

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead.

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear.

It’s the hardest thing about parenting.

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is.

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show.

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years.

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight.

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now.

A second later, “lemme join.”

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick.

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.”

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions.

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit.

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky.

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home.

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts.

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now.

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back.

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice.

Then, and apparently, now.

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck.

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together.

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper.

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt.

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time.

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips.

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you.

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long.

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body.

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him.

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line.

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could.

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you.

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist.

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore?

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?”

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it.

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you.

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat.

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt.

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time.

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully.

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole.

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything.

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can.

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure.

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt.

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time.

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone.

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped.

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas.

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever.

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling.

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence.

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago.

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out.

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch.

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach.

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys.

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever.

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.”

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer.

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off.

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again.

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific.

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position.

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you.

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds.

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him.

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt.

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip.

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh.

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you.

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace.

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out.

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you.

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones.

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year.

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace.

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car.

“What’s up?” you ask.

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—”

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well.

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway.

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy.

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news.

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you.

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #namjoon fic #kim namjoon fic #knj fic #bts fic #bts smut #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader smut #mine

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dannythedog · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 8,619 times in 2022

That's 2,860 more posts than 2021!

6,895 posts created (80%)

1,724 posts reblogged (20%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dannythedog

@cal-a-bungaa

@gretasmokerising

@tlexx

@jackiidk

I tagged 7,231 of my posts in 2022

Only 16% of my posts had no tags

#greta van fleet - 4,854 posts

#gvf - 4,846 posts

#my asks - 4,437 posts

#sammy kiszka - 1,691 posts

#sammy gvf - 1,691 posts

#sam gvf - 1,690 posts

#sam kiszka - 1,684 posts

#josh gvf - 1,166 posts

#josh kiszka - 1,165 posts

#jake gvf - 1,057 posts

Longest Tag: 115 characters

#if you ‘interview’ them and decide not to realease it then that’s just you using your job to have a facetime w them

My Top Posts in 2022:

See the full post

287 notes - Posted May 16, 2022

Here’s a good reminder for the terfs/transphobes that like to try and infiltrate our fandom.

304 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

Support - Josh Kiszka x Reader

Synopsis: Josh upsets reader and doesn't realize how bad it is until he thinks it's too late.

Warnings: general angst, swearing, mentions of the pandemic, money talk

Masterlist

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from my tag list!!

Thank you to @cal-a-bungaa for reading it over

Josh had been distant lately. Sometimes he'd overwork himself and draw away from you, but he always bounced back within the week. This was different. He'd come home late or sometimes not at all, no texts or calls to warn you. You had slept on the couch that first week waiting for him, but even if he did come home he didn't bother to wake you.

Week two is when you started to worry. Had he gotten himself into some sort of trouble? Was he sick or fighting with his brothers? You didn't want to assume the worst because this was Josh you were talking about. Your personal ball of sunshine. The minimal contact started to draw the doubts from the depth of your mind. Maybe that ball of sunshine was burning out.

Halfway through week three you decided to confront him. You couldn't take the unusual silence anymore. The veil he had put up between you two was beginning to be too opaque - you couldn't read him.

He was up before the sun, trying to sneak away from you to go to the studio or god knows where. "Josh?" you called out quietly, stopping him in his tracks. He hummed in acknowledgement but didn't turn to face you. "Where are you going?"

"Studio. Where else?" he said sharply, evidently already over this conversation.

You prop yourself on your elbow, squinting at him through the dark. "Are you okay? It's like you're not here."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he snaps and finally faces you for the first time in weeks. It's dark, but you can see his sour expression clearly. You'd hit an exposed nerve.

"Well, you're never home and when you are you come home late. I just wanted-"

"That's because I have a fucking job and don't just sit on my ass all day. Why do you always do this? I can't spend any extra time on my music because I have to be home when you want. I don't have time for your childish bullshit, y/n. I have an album to write and if it doesn't get done I can't afford to pay the bills. The bills we're supposed to be sharing. Hell, I hardly even live here anymore so they're more your bills than anything! Get off your ass and do something productive today," he spits and slams the bedroom door behind him.

You sit in stunned silence trying to process his words. You had lost your job because of the pandemic and it wasn't easy finding another one at the moment. At least a job that matched your last one. Josh insisted it was okay when you got laid off and didn't want you touching your savings, so he took care of everything. You felt guilty about it and he knew it.

You tried to calm the tears that welled in your eyes, but shame flooded your chest. You felt horrible and like an exploiter. His money was never something that drew you in and you always insisted on equality in the relationship, but Josh showed you how he truly felt about the situation.

Josh's words echoed in your mind as you pulled yourself out of bed. Get off your ass and do something productive today. You looked around the bedroom thinking of cleaning the house, but it was already spotless. Cleaning the house wouldn't be good enough for Josh anyways, so you hauled yourself into the shower. I hardly even live here anymore so they're more your bills than anything! Your gut wrenched at those words, forcing you out of the shower quickly. The combination of steam in the air and Josh's expressions made it feel like you were choking. You had to get out of the house.

Dressing quickly and grabbing your keys, you stumbled out of the house and tried to admire the rising sun. It only reminded you of Josh. Your eyes took in everything as you walked, desperate to find a distraction. A beaten up ATM caught your eye and that gave you the guidance you needed. You slipped your card in and blew out a harsh breath.

Checking: $159.54

Savings: $400.00

A sharp shudder coursed through your body as shame washed over you again. You withdrew everything in your savings and pocketed it. While turning on your heel to head home, a poster caught your eye. EMPLOYEES WANTED!! A sigh bubbled through your throat and you took a number from the flyer before heading off towards your house.

The kitchen was the first place Josh went when he returned home, so you stuffed and envelope full of your savings and set it on the counter for him with a note. After a quick change you set off again, on the hunt for any sort of job that would take you.

Josh had been feeling awful at the studio all day. He was beyond overworked so he decided to take the rest of the day off around lunch. He had hoped you made food since he didn't bring anything with him to work, but was disappointed when he was met with a dark and quiet house.

"Y/n?" He calls and makes his way to the kitchen. "Are you eating soon? I'm hungry." His frown deepens when there's no response. His eyes drift around the kitchen trying to find any sign of you when he sees the envelope with his name on it. He picks it up and recognizes your handwriting right away.

Josh,

I know this isn't nearly enough to help cover my portion, but this is all I have right now. I'll get as much to you as I can. I'm sorry for not helping out around here, I just wanted to try and find a job that was just as good as my old one. You'll get the rest as soon as I can get my hands on it. I'm sorry for adding extra stress on you. It won't happen again.

See the full post

351 notes - Posted January 14, 2022

See the full post

375 notes - Posted May 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

They better start letting young women get hysterectomies if they’re going to ban abortion. None of that “you might want kids” bullshit. If you’re outlawing abortion and men can still get vasectomies, let women get this procedure.

11,580 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #false

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mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

Win Me Back

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader’s ex-boyfriend comes back to town, he finds a way to make amends— with a little help from her niece.

Category: FLUFF

Warnings: None other than a few swears :)

Word Count: 3k (I barely made the limit, folks, that was hard lol)

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is my entry for @homoose ‘s 2k Celebration!! And if this fic seems familiar, that may be because it’s a re-telling of the car-wash scene from Ramona and Beezus 🤭😂 It’s one of my favorite movie scenes of all time, it never fails to make me squeal, and I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!

Also! I tried very hard to find the scene for you to watch incase you haven’t seen the movie, but the ones I did manage to find on YouTube cut out THE BEST PARTS, so I’m sorry 😭 But in case you want to know the ~vibes~ I tried to capture and don’t feel like watching the movie, I made THIS post last night with some dialogue/background from the scene if you’d like to read it! Obviously it’s not required since what I’ve written is quite different, but it is encouraged 😊

I hope you like it!! And if somehow you haven’t followed Moose yet, you should! She’s the sweetest ❤❤❤

***

Y/N found an abundance of upsides to taking neighborhood walks with her niece. For one thing, it gave her a distraction, something to focus on as she made sure eight-year-old Piper wouldn't wander too far from the sidewalk. She found solace in quizzing her on the multiplication table as they made their way around the block, an activity in which Piper enthusiastically flaunted her love of numbers.

It was also nice to stay outside and take in the warm sun and soft rustling of the trees, though every once in a while all of it wasn't enough to keep the memory of Spencer at bay.

After all, it was kind of hard when he was back in town, and after all these years he was reaching out to her like he hadn't broken her heart in the first place.

"You seem sad, Auntie," Piper said, grabbing Y/N's hand as the turned the corner.

Y/N swung their arms together gently, smiling down at her with a tilt of her head. "Why d'you think that, hon?"

Piper gave a little shrug, her ponytail blowing softly behind her. "You don't smile as much. And you always smile when you're with me... And you asked me the same times equation 3 times in a row just now. You're distracted."

Y/N couldn't help the breathy laugh that escaped her. You sound just like Spencer... Instead, she told her, "Aw, I'm sorry, Kiddo. My mind is just in a... confusing place right now. But I'm very happy that you got to come stay with me this weekend, you always brighten my day." She punctuated her sentence with a little boop on Piper's nose, to which she giggled and asked for another math equation.

The two of them continued around the block a few rounds, though on their fourth and final one, Y/N noticed very familiar car parked just outside her house.

Heart jumping into her throat, she stopped in her tracks, and Piper kept going only to be pulled back slightly. The girl turned to her aunt and furrowed her brow. "Auntie, why did we stop?"

"Um... I just wasn't expecting any company today besides you..."

Y/N certainly wasn't ready to discuss everything that was going on with Spencer to anyone, let alone her eight-year-old niece who wouldn't probably understand or care anyway. So she explained it the best way she could, quickly coming up with a plan to avoid him as long as possible.

"See the car parked over there?" Y/N asked, and Piper nodded. "Well, that's an... old friend of mine... And we haven't talked in a long time because we don't really get along anymore. So when we get up to the house, he might try to talk to us, and I'm going to tell him that we're busy."

"He's not mean, is he?"

Sensing Piper's reservations, Y/N reassured her while letting her own contempt for her ex fuel the conversation. "No, but... He broke my heart. And he—"

"Y/N... Hi..."

She nearly jumped, mostly from surprise, but also at the fact that hearing her name coming from his lips and his voice and just him brought back a flood of feelings she'd rather have forgotten. Still, she turned to him and cleared her throat. "Spencer... Hi."

Piper suddenly let go of Y/N's hand, a small scoff escaping her. "Oh. Spencer..."

The two adults turned to look at her with surprise, though it was Spencer who spoke up. "You... know me?"

"Mhm," Piper returned with a nod, crossing her arms. "I heard Mom and Auntie talk about you yesterday, and she says you have a stupid, beautiful face."

"Piper!" Y/N screeched, heat rising to her face. "I... You can't tell people that, I— That's not... I..."

"Oh... I'm sorry, Auntie," the little girl said quietly.

Y/N was fully prepared to dig a hole and stay buried in it forever, and her embarrassment grew even stronger when Spencer spoke up again. "It's okay," he reassured gently, a small laugh sounding from his throat that regrettably gave Y/N butterflies. "You're auntie's definitely right, I do have a stupid face."

Before Y/N could stop the conversation altogether, Piper cut in quickly, being sure to add, "And beautiful."

Spencer's eyes flicked up to Y/N, drawing her in with amusement and charm, a fact which she hated to her core. Because it was working, and that was annoying as hell. "Yep," he said, never taking his eyes off of her. "And beautiful."

And then the corner of his mouth turned up slightly, flashing her the most amused, stupidly perfect smirk.

Piper started talking again, and for the second time that day, Y/N wished she hadn't even said anything at all, keeping this whole situation to herself.

"But we can't talk to you, because you broke Auntie's heart, and we're busy. C'mon, Auntie. Let's go." Piper grabbed Y/N's hand and led her up the rest of sidewalk until they got to the driveway. And even though it might have been childish to completely ignore Spencer as they walked past, not giving him a second glance, quite frankly she was quick to abort the situation as soon as possible.

Unfortunately for her, Spencer was persistent.

They were almost to the steps up to the door when he called out. "Piper! Can I ask you something?"

The little girl turned around, losing grip of Y/N's hand and greeting his gaze without batting an eye. "Sure."

Damn kids and their willingness to be nice to strangers, Y/N grumbled in her head.

"I know... your auntie is an important person to you, right?" Spencer inquired, walking up the driveway with his hands in his front pockets. Y/N swallowed, most certainly not noticing how the sun perfectly highlighted him in a glow that made him look more beautiful than stupid.

Piper nodded.

"Well... She's important to me, too. And I really hurt her feelings, but I want to make it up to her. Would you be kind enough to let me try?"

Damn him, Y/N grumbled yet again. Damn him, damn him, damn him to hell... Why was he so charming?

He'd always known that kids were a soft spot for her, and when they'd dated, they talked a lot about having some of their own one day. Every time they took a walk in the park and they passed a kid, they always gravitated to Spencer, giving him the biggest smiles, and in turn he would give them a high five or perform a little magic trick to make them smile even wider. And Y/N melted into a damn puddle every time.

He knew exactly what he was doing, using Piper as a means to win her back, but even still, she knew that because of his gentle nature, most of it was... well, nature. Deep down, as much as she hated to admit it, she knew that he was a kind person. They may have ended things on bad terms, sure, and Y/N could pretend he was cruel all she wanted— The truth was that no matter how their relationship ended, he was a good man at heart.

And that's why it hurt so much.

Y/N thought for sure Piper would fall into his web, but she was pleasantly surprised when the girl responded with, "I don't know... I don't know if I trust you yet."

You and me both, Kiddo, Y/N thought to herself.

Spencer laughed again. "That's fair. Look, you can say no, but... How about I give you something in return?"

"Spencer, that's no—"

Piper crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, interrupting Y/N before she could finish protesting. "How much we talking?"

"Piper!"

"Well, I was going to offer to show you a magic trick, but I suppose I could work you a deal... I only have a hundred bucks on me, would that be enough?"

Sure enough, Spencer pulled a one-hundred dollar bill from his pocket, and the young girl's eyes went wide. Y/N's did, too, but more likely than not it wasn't a means of excitement.

"You have yourself a deal!" Piper squealed with a jump. She ran over to take the money, meanwhile Spencer looked up at Y/N with a smile.

She didn't return it.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" he asked softly. Kindly.

"Well, I'm babysitting Piper today, so you'll have to come back another time," she returned a little coldly, hoping that she and Piper had just scored a free Benjamin to pig out on ice cream while Spencer was left waiting forever for a conversation that was never going to happen.

Funny how eight-year-olds always had a way of making things more difficult for you.

"Auntie, Spencer and I made a deal. He gave me money, and now he has to make it up to you. Remember?"

Y/N groaned. "Yeah, yeah, I remember..."

"Well, how about I... take you guys out for lunch? My treat? If it's alright, we can go to McDonald's..."

"The one with the play place?" Piper gasped, immediately turning to Y/N. "Oh, Auntie, please can we go? Please, please, please?"

She looked up at Spencer, shaking her head in exasperation as he smiled at her, those sparkling honey eyes reeling her in whether she wanted them to or not. Then she turned to Piper and sighed.

"How fast do you think you can eat?"

***

Y/N was surprised Spencer didn't try to talk to her more on the drive over. Though, Piper did most of the talking, telling Spencer about how much she loved numbers and math, and he even quizzed her on some multiplication equations on the way.

If she wasn't so annoyed with him, Y/N would have melted completely.

It was the getting into the restaurant that worried her the most, though. She knew that once Piper ran off to play while they waited for their food, he would spend whatever short amount of time he had trying to win her back. And she was afraid of two things, mostly that she would end up crying in the restaurant, making a scene and wishing she'd never agreed to go, no matter how heart-broken Piper might have been. But there was also a small part of her, nestled deep into her heart, that was afraid she'd fall for him all over again.

He certainly made falling easy.

When the three of them stepped into the restaurant, it was easy to see how excited Piper was to be there. She gently tugged on Y/N's sleeve before looking up at her. "Nuggets, fries, and Sprite?"

"Apples, too, and you've got yourself a deal," Y/N said.

Piper nodded, not really caring but eager to go and play. So she sighed and nodded, leaving her with a, "Be careful!" as she saw the girl quick-walk over to the play area. There was a decent crowd that day, but thankfully no one in the restaurant seemed to have any grievances or knacks for trouble.

Spencer on the other hand... Y/N scoffed to herself, thinking how he was the most troublesome person in the area.

He proved her point by nudging her with his elbow. "She's a fun one."

"Yeah, she's somethin' alright," Y/N grumbled. "I can't believe you bribed her just to talk to me... If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you were being romantic. But I do know better, and you're just stubborn."

Spencer laughed, but she refused to look at him. "Aw, come on, give me some credit. You know I can be a little of both."

This time Y/N did look at him, squinting in a glare, like she was contemplating. "Eh... five to ninety-five. Leaning in favor of stubborn, of course."

"Obviously." The amusement in his voice made her hate his stupid, beautiful face even more than usual.

Thankfully he kept the conversation short after that, at least until they ordered. Since it was Spencer's treat, she milked his wallet for as much as she could afford to on fast-food. She ordered a large chocolate milkshake and enough food for her and Piper to share for dinner later— and probably lunch the next day, too. The amused chuckle Spencer let out as she was ordering did have her believing maybe she was being a bit childish. But the longer she thought about it, the more she stood by her actions.

He did break her heart after all. The least he could do was compensate through chicken nuggets and French fries.

The only thing she didn't count on, though, was how long it was going to take to make all her food, not to mention getting things done for other people. As she and Spencer made their way to the table, she realized she'd have to talk with him longer.

Spencer took advantage of this, naturally.

"So... How've you been?"

Y/N scoffed. "You show up out of the blue five years after you break up with me, and then have the nerve to ask me how I've been, in a McDonald's? Yeah, I've been great."

He sighed, his eyes flitting down to the table. "I know, I'm... I'm sorry. And I know I should have—"

"Spence, please don't... Look, I know... I know why we broke up, and I came to terms with the fact that your job was just to dangerous for us to be together, but... I mean, you weren't even willing to work it out, you just... ran away. That hurt."

"Y/N... I'm so, so sorry that it happened that way. I think about it almost every day and how much I wish I could have changed it..."

"But you can't change it. And now you... you show up here after all this time to—to what? Win me back? Use your kindness and your charm to reel me back in, like that'll somehow make everything better?"

He looked up at her through his eyelashes, the sight almost breaking her. "Maybe..."

"It's not that I don't appreciate the thought, Spence, because I do... I've dreamt about the day you'd come back and apologize, begging me to take you back... But I can't get hurt again. And you have to understand that."

"I do... Just..." His hands reached out across the table, gently touching hers. The feeling sparked something in her, something nostalgic and warm...

Something that felt a lot like home.

He was going to continue his speech, but a knock on the glass separating them from the playroom on the other side jolted them apart. It was Piper, a stern look on her face. "Don't try anything, Mister... You're still on thin ice."

She turned away then, running back to the slide when Spencer sighed. "I thought we had a deal."

Y/N laughed, nodding at Piper through the glass. "Even a hundred bucks and free food isn't enough to win someone's trust." Spencer looked over at her and waited, visibly swallowing. But Y/N flashed the smallest of smiles before finishing, speaking quietly, yet with all the truth and firmness in the world. "You have to work harder than that."

"Duly noted," Spencer replied, his gaze never straying from hers. "Looks like me and my stupid, beautiful face have some work to do."

Y/N rolled her eyes, leaning back in the chair as Spencer grinned like a fool... A stupid, beautiful fool. "Oh, alright... You know what... If you weren't paying for my mountains of food and giving me a ride home, that thin ice you're on would have just shattered under the weight of that comment."

"Oh, come on, it was funny."

"No, it really wasn't."

"Yeah, it was."

He stared at her, smiling until her forced frown slowly and reluctantly transformed into a smile of her own.

***

"Thank you for lunch, Spencer! And for the hundred dollars!" Piper skipped past him and up the driveway, stopping to turn and wave with her Happy Meal toy in hand. Y/N was carrying a bag of leftover food and half a milkshake, her stomach already regretting every choice she'd ever made.

"You're welcome, Piper," Spencer said, smiling at the girl. "And thank you for letting me get a chance to set things right with your auntie. You really helped me out today, I appreciate it."

"Sure thing. Just don't break her heart again, or I'll break your stupid, beautiful face. It'll turn into a stupid, ugly face then."

Y/N mentally face-palmed herself, turning to Piper and telling her to go inside and wash up. The girl gave Spencer one final wave and a smile as she did so, leaving the adults alone once again.

"Thank you..." he said quietly, shifting on his feet. "For giving me a chance. I really want to make things right with us... Make up for the way I hurt you, and... try harder. You deserve that much."

Years of heartache and trying to get over him begged Y/N not to believe it, but deep down she knew he was being truthful. He wasn't the type of guy to come around like this—especially with all the work travel he did—just to manipulate her into heartache again, with empty promises and hurtful intent.

She knew he was really willing to try to make things right, and that was a big start.

"Thank you... for saying that... And for making Piper's day. I know you didn't really mean to bribe her, but the fact that you did it anyway is absurd, so... I guess I have to give credit where credit's due."

Spencer laughed, and this time Y/N didn't hate the feeling of the butterflies in her stomach fluttering at the sound. "Well, I'm glad I could at least amuse you today. Does... this mean my romantic to stubborn ratio shifted a little bit?"

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately, taking a sip of her milkshake. "Hmm... twenty to eighty."

"Still leaning in favor of stubborn, I suppose..."

The smile they shared in that moment felt more like the ones they used to share back then, officially kickstarting the slow, meticulous mending of their love.

"Obviously."

***

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cazzyvintage · 4 years ago

Text

Every day, it feels like I've lost them again

Synopsis: Sam shouts at Zemo for the things he has done. Though Zemo doesn’t show it the words hurt him deeply. Later on the reader finds Zemo and talks to him about his past.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Bit of angst, Sad Zemo, mentions to his family’s death and his attempted suicide

Author note: I had plans for another Zemo one shot but then I watched a sad Zemo edit which made me cry and here we are

Cross posted on my Ao3 account under the same name

MASTER LIST

The streets seemed silent as you sadly walked home. The only sound was your footsteps dragging along the floor. The silence between all of you was piercing. Today had been an enormous failure, and you all were feeling it weighing down on you. Pushing down your hopes for things to improve. Zemo had somehow found out where the flag smashers would be, from a trusted source, he said, so you all went charging off to talk to them. It was a trap. Zemo didn’t know it was a trap either, though Sam still believed otherwise. You all had barely got out of there safely. It had been close, too close for your liking.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Zemo says, hating the stone cold silence coming from everyone.

“But there’s not,” Sam spits back angrily, “That was the one proper chance we could've had to talk to Kali, and we failed”

“You shouldn’t be so pessimistic,” Zemo argues back, rolling his eyes.

“Pessimistic. Are you for serious, pessimistic,” Sam says shaking his head at Zemo, “You hear this guy I’m the pessimistic one”

“Leave it Sam” Bucky mutters trying to push him along, but Sam refuses.

Sam steps towards Zemo, standing just a few centimeters away from his face, his eyes glaring daggers at him. Zemo stops walking, clenching his jaw and tilting his head to stare back at Sam, not breaking eye contact.

Both you and Bucky glance at each other, not really sure if you should stop this or let it happen.

“You could have led us to our deaths today, Zemo, which I am sure was your intention. You make it clear that you wouldn’t hesitate to see any of us off to our funerals. All because you got butt hurt about the avengers preventing Ultron from destroying the earth at the cost of your country.”

The breath leaves your mouth as the words slip out of Sam’s mouth. Your lips, slightly ajar, turn to look at Sam. He’s breathing heavily, glaring at Zemo. Zemo’s lips curled down into an angry frown and his eyebrows furrowed. You could see his fists curl up, something Bucky must have noticed as well, and he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder to pull him away from Zemo.

“Sam this isn’t the time”

Sam finally gives in and pulls back, but Zemo steps forward, grabbing onto his jacket. Bucky reaches for his gun, but Zemo waves his hand at him, motioning him not to.

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Sam.” is all he says, letting go of Sam’s jacket roughly and storming off.

It would be hours later till you saw him again. During that time your mind was often thinking back to Zemo. When you really thought about it, you realised you knew nothing about him. Heck, until recently you didn’t know he was a Baron. All you had been told was that he was a Sokovian who wanted to split the avengers up because of what they did to his country. Being a Baron, you supposed that made it more personal for him. Still, it felt like something was missing. Something didn’t add up.

You laid in one of the many guest rooms tossing and turning while all these thoughts flooded your mind. Eventually you gave up on the idea of ever getting sleep tonight and got up. If you weren’t sleeping, you might as well get some midnight snacks. Heading into the main room, you notice the door leading to the back was open, letting a chilly breeze float in.

Heading over to check it out, your eyes lie upon Zemo sitting on top of a fallen over tree trunk in the back patio, looking up at the night sky. His coat was wrapped around him to keep him warm, and his face was expressionless as he looked up to the night sky that was scattered with the stars. He hadn’t noticed you staring at him, his mind was far from where his body was.

After a few moments of just staring at him, you broke the silence, “Zemo?”

His head instantly snapped to you, surprised to have been caught unaware.

“Oh, hello y/n, can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, taking his question as an invitation to go over and sit next to him, “No, to many thoughts in my mind to go to sleep”

“Ah, a common problem for an insomniac”

“I assume you have similar reasons, since you are out hear”

He looks away from you, smiling weakly at the floor, “Yes something like that, sleep comes rarely to me”

Your eyes flutter down to the ground, not really sure what to say, “I’m sorry to hear that” you whisper

You both sit there in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t an awkward silence like what you were used to. No. It was a comfortable silence. You were both thankful just to have someone beside you at that moment. You shudder slightly as the wind picks up, making the hairs on your arm stand up. Zemo notices and slowly shrugs off his coat, placing it around you. You smile politely up at him in thanks.

“May I ask what your thoughts were?” Zemo asks gently, glancing back over to you

“You probably think it was about our failure, right?” you say and Zemo nods his head slightly

“They weren’t, actually. I didn’t suspect us to accomplish anything. It seemed to good to be true. No, I was thinking about what happened after. Between you and Sam”

Zemo’s face instantly shifted, his mouth pulling into a frown and his eyebrows furrowing, “Ah” is all he says

“What Sam said was way out of line. I can’t understand the pain you must feel about losing Sokovia”

Zemo hums to let you know he heard but doesn’t say anymore, his gaze just returns to the sky.

You didn’t want to push him too far. Over this time you had gotten to know him and almost considered him a friend, but you couldn’t help but be curious. You wanted to know more about him.

“But there’s more isn’t there. Something we don’t know,” you say gently

You can see him swallow and his fingers dig into his palms as he tenses at your question.

After a moment he finally responds, “Yes, you’re right. I... I had a family who died that day. My father, wife and child. I told them to go out of the city to the countryside. That was where my father lived, you see. I had to stay behind as I was a part of this Sokovian kill squad. Even as royalty, I still had duties. I had faith in the avengers. They would sort everything out. But they didn’t. When the battle was one they just returned home, leaving us with the hard task of finding all the dead. I assumed my family would be safe, yet it took me two days after to find their bodies.”

Your body gets overwhelmed with coldness as you hear his story. The memories of the battle flooded your mind and you could feel a bitterness creep into your mouth. You could have stayed behind to help. Why didn’t you? Your eyes water slightly as you sympathise with him and feel the guilt lie on your soul.

“Oh god Zemo, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked,” you are quick to respond

“No...it’s okay. If I didn’t want to tell you, I wouldn’t have said anything”

You look up to the night sky and reflect over his words. All the pain that Zemo must feel, holding onto, and you did not know. None of you did. You were sure if Sam knew he wouldn’t have said the things he did. You knew what Zemo did was wrong, but damn you couldn’t help but empathise with him.

“If you want…” you start, hoping what you were choosing to ask wouldn’t be going too far, “would you like to tell me about them?”

Zemo finally looks away from the sky, his eyes looking to the ground. He swallows again, slightly sniffing before speaking.

“My Son, Carl, he was four when he... when he died. He always did this cute thing where if he didn’t like the food on his plate he would pretend he was gifting the food to you to show his love for you”

You chuckle slightly thinking about it, “That does sounds cute”

“He was the most precious thing in existence. He always wanted a sibling like his friends had. He loved the idea of being an older brother. Every morning when the mail arrived, he asked if he had a brother or sister delivered to him. Me and my wife… we were planning on having more kids. We knew he would've made the best big brother. We hoped for a girl, you know, to even things out”

“What was she like?”

“She was so beautiful. Like the goddess Venus. Many men tried to win her affection, but she settled for me. I had never felt like a luckier man. She was so kind, so generous, so loving. My perfect angel”

The tears that had been threatening to fall from Zemo’s eyes broke the dam and fell down his cheeks.

“If I could, I would give up everything I have, everything I own just to hold them in my arms again”

A sob breaks out of him and he holds his hand up to his mouth as his eyes crinkle up as more tears fall. He tries to wipe them away, but he can’t stop crying. You put your arm around him and pull him into a hug which he gladly accepts. He wraps his arms around you and buries his head into your shoulder as he sobs.

“I miss them so much”

You say nothing, just rub your hand on his back reassuringly. He takes a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I tried to end my life after I completed my revenge. So I didn’t have to live another day without them. But I failed. I spent the next seven years without them. And everyday it feels like I’ve lost them again,”

“What do you plan to do… after we have finished here?”

You can feel Zemo’s body tenses in your arms as you ask that question, “I think you know, y/n”

You pull back from him to look into his blood-shot eyes. “Zemo, I know this is so very hard for you, but please don’t. I know with your wit and cunning you can think of a way to escape all of this safely. I will not pretend to know your wife, but if she is anything like what you have told me about, I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to either. She would want you to find some happiness in life,”

Zemo finally moves away from you, standing up off the tree log and taking one last look at the sky before then looking back at you. He’d stopped crying by now but the tear stained cheek and dark under eyes were evidence of what had just occurred. The side of his lip tried to twitch up into a slight smile but it faltered,

“Thank you, y/n”

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i-ship-therefore-i-am · 4 years ago

Text

my kingdom come undone

I wrote a thing. Inspired by this post by @lanzhanshands about an AU where Lan Zhan is forced to kill Wei Wuxian. (Ugh, how DARE) 2500 words, wangxian

Warnings: self-harm, suicide, violence, death, blood

my kingdom come undone

if I am doomed to death, then at least I could be killed by you

Wei Ying has lost control.

The buildings themselves are starting to crumble, the very earth beneath their feet screaming with rage, as if to shake them all off, to free itself completely of the living. Cultivator or servant, old or young.

Even the Jiang clan is no longer being protected, just swarms and swarms of puppets lashing and tearing them all to pieces.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji barks, voice booming above the fray. There is no way he has not heard it, and yet there is no reaction, no pause in his playing, not the tiniest flicker.

There’s nothing in his eyes anymore, nothing left but the resentment, leaving them dull and flat and lifeless. His skin pale and deathly, the telltale black lines crawling up over his neck. It’s clear he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore, that he’s not Wei Ying anymore. That his control is gone.

Lan Wangji’s greatest fear unfurling right in front of him.

Wei Ying is the eye of the storm, the relentless, rotting resentful energy is thicker and more violent the closer Lan Wangji comes, pressing through and grunting slightly at the impact against his chest, his thigh—the burning, mournful screech of it. He does not stop.

Does not dare stop.

Once close enough, he pulls Bichen free and attacks. “Wei Ying! Stop this now!”

They fight, Wei Ying with just his flute to counter and parry, slipping under and away from Lan Wangji’s strikes, and for a while it seems their same endless draw, but Lan Wangji knows himself to be the superior swordsman. Especially now.

He has been holding back.

“Wei Ying,” he tries one more time, ignoring the curl and burn of resentful energy whipping against his body. “Stop this.”

Please.

The spread of Wei Ying’s lips reveals blood-stained teeth, and when next his flute lifts to his lips, the shrill, shrieking note is for Lan Wangji.

Meant to kill.

He barely dodges and deflects the resentful energy made solid and lifts his sword with deadly intention. There is no more time to hold back.

Lan Wangji’s strike hits home, Bichen sliding relentlessly into Wei Ying’s chest, going all the way through, and Lan Wangji’s wrist is twisting on instinct, muscle memory of endless practice brutally finishing the move. Blood immediately gushes from Wei Ying’s mouth, his entire body jerking.

The dark energy pulses and screams with rage, the wind and dust picking up, stinging Lan Wangji’s eyes and cheeks.

They have seen Wei Ying pull an arrow straight from his chest and continue on as if nothing, but this time he will not. Wei Ying’s limbs are already twitching, muscles spasming erratically.

Yet his empty hand lifts, striking out, latching onto Lan Wangji’s wrist, the skin so cold and cracked against his own. It isn’t an attack though, but something much worse.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, soft and garbled, and for that tiny moment, his eyes are once again his own. So warm and full even as they are red-rimmed and pained.

Everything seems to freeze, everything else dropping away. For Lan Wangji there is nothing but Wei Ying.

He thinks there must be tears on his face, but he doesn’t care, hasn’t let it make him hesitate.

There is the slightest smile curving Wei Ying’s lips as he looks back at Lan Wangji, his face impossibly pale, blood gushing down to the ground. He nods once, as if to accept his fate, Lan Wangji’s judgment, and then his eyes drift shut, leaving him looking almost peaceful.

“Lan Zhan,” he mumbles one more time, a faint echo like a distant ghost.

He slumps, his fingers falling away from the back of Lan Wangji’s hand, but before Lan Wangji can even think to reach for him or pull back his sword, or save him, save him, save him—the world explodes, the Stygian Tiger Amulet shattering into countless pieces, a single name a piercing shriek in the wind.

Wei Wuxian! Wei WUXIAN!

Resentful energy bursts outwards, a solid, punishing wind, knocking people to the ground. Lan Wangji stumbles back, leaning hard into it, arm lifting.

Behind and around him, the puppets fall quickly, docile now without anyone to command them, cut down quickly by survivors or merely melting back into the ground with a mournful wail that shudders the earth.

Moorless. Uncontrolled. Their master dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

The blast knocked Lan Wangji back, far enough for Bichen to slide free of Wei Ying’s chest. When Lan Wangji recovers enough to look, Wei Ying is crumpled to the ground, boneless and ungainly.

His eyes are open again, now unfocused, inert.

Empty.

There is cheering, somewhere in the distance, which makes no sense, rattles irritatingly against Lan Wangji’s skin, but he can’t really focus on that, instead staring at the body at his feet, the slow drip of blood off the end of Bichen where he still holds it.

He’s waiting, maybe. To feel something?

Waiting for Wei Ying to rise and smile and do one more impossible thing?

But the stillness and the silence only grow and grow and grow and the waiting is now a writhing, furious thing, something cracking in half inside of him, withering and decaying.

No. No. No. No.

It slowly grows, the wail that wants to rip out of his throat. The furious rage at the world that led them to this. Every misstep, every wasted moment, every missed opportunity.

He wonders what his own eyes look like, if there is anything but emptiness to see. If he can possibly survive one more moment of the inescapable, sheering pain.

Lan Wangji does the only thing he can think to do to make it stop and lifts Bichen, the blood and metal catching the light.

“Wangji, no!”

But his brother’s voice is soft and distant where the blade is blessedly sharp and close to his neck. One quick motion is all it takes.

He falls to his knees, sword tumbling from numb fingers as he reaches for Wei Ying and death.

Refusing to let Wei Ying again go where he cannot follow.

***

Xichen must flood his body with every fleck of spiritual power he has to keep his gaping neck together, to keep blood flowing in Lan Wangji’s body and not out. There are others too, maybe. Outnumbering him.

He does not want to be saved. Fights against it. Rages with what little strength he has.

“Wangji, stop it!”

He doesn’t want to.

But it is the one time Lan Wangji’s strength fails him. He has done, as always, what is necessary. Denying himself all else. He has always been strong. But not in this.

Even in this one final wish is he denied.

But there will be moments. Opportunities. No one can be watched at all times.

The first time he truly wakes, now in a bed in Cloud Recesses, there are small arms wrapped tight around his thigh, a child’s body curled trustingly against his.

A-Yuan.

Lan Wangji lifts his eyes to his brother, sitting calming nearby, but eyes sharp. He has played a dirty trick and knows it, watches to see what will come of it.

Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut, feeling tears streaming down his face, soaking into his hair and the bandage still wrapped around his neck.

He puts his hand down on the small child’s head and nods.

Perhaps living will be the true punishment deserved.

***

The scar is a rippled, monstrous thing. Bichen’s blade is sharp and efficient, but Lan Wangji’s fight against being saved has warped and stretched the wound, his refusal ripping it open time and again. It takes most of his voice with it.

He can speak, but his words are rough and incomplete, each syllable a painful struggle. He’s always had little use for words, now he will have even less. He saves whatever words he has all for A-Yuan, who never flinches at the bruising sound. Who never stares at the scar, who touches him freely without fear.

A constant reminder of the only other person ever to do so.

“Body?” is one of the first words Lan Wangji manages to force out to his brother.

He braces himself to hear of a callus punishment, Wei Ying’s body burned and cremains spread recklessly, giving his soul no place to find peace, no place to tether it.

“There was no body,” Xichen says.

Lan Wangji gives him a sharp look.

“The resentful energy…it seemed to rebound back. It devoured him.”

When he is able, Lan Wangji drags himself upright behind his guqin and sends his questions out into the ethos.

Are you there?

Are you at peace?

Do you hate me?

Inquiry has no answer for him, year after year, and he begins to understand that Wei Ying is not just gone from this world, but gone from existence.

Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.

***

Lan Wangji walks the world, first to share it with A-Yuan, to let him see things for himself and not as described in books and lectures through others’ agendas. To let him learn his own judgment and beliefs. And later to bring whatever justice and order he can to the forgotten, the people the sects either do not see or do not wish to see.

He wears the scar unflinchingly. Refusing to hide it from sight. Not proud, not embarrassed. Just another part of him.

People learn not to call him a hero if they don’t wish a sword drawn against them.

They fear him now too.

As they should. He is a ghost. Just one more corpse at Wei Ying’s disposal. And perhaps this transformation is the Yiling Patriarch’s one last great feat.

***

When Wei Ying is born back into the world, Lan Wangji is there to stand by his side, to keep this world from destroying him yet again.

Lan Wangji had never known what to say to him before, how to speak to him, and now even less, so his silence seems right. Wei Ying never asks about the injury that took his voice, just gives him long looks, his eyes lingering on the scar. It is hard to know what he remembers and what he doesn’t.

Lan Wangji keeps him safe, helps him unravel the mystery of a sword ghost that becomes a blade that becomes a murder and spilled secrets of using the Yiling Patriarch as a scapegoat for power grabs and petty revenge. Of each manipulated step that dragged Lan Wangji’s blade into Wei Ying’s heart.

He stays by his side and keeps him safe, always knowing it is not his space to occupy. That he does not have the right to it. He is a shield and nothing more.

Meaning he does not deserve to feel anything like pain when Jin Guanyao holds Wei Ying by the throat, Bichen gleaming a mere inch from the throb of Wei Ying’s pulse in a failed attempt to free him. When Jin Guanyao laughs and strikes out mercilessly.

“I always knew it would end here again, Lan Wangji, with your sword buried deep in Master Wei’s chest. How I look forward to seeing that again.”

“Never,” Lan Wangji whispers and seals his spiritual power without daring to look at Wei Ying.

When it is done, each bitter truth dragged out and unfurled and Wei Ying finally free, Lan Wangji follows him out onto the road.

He stops at the first curve.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, looking back to see why he hasn’t followed.

He unsheathes Bichen, closing the distance between them, watching for alarm in Wei Ying’s eyes, but there is only curiosity and trust.

It cuts worse than anything else.

Reaching out, Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hands and carefully wraps them around Bichen’s hilt.

“Lan Zhan, what are you—”

Lifting the blade towards himself, Lan Wangji falls to his knees in front of him. Sizhui is grown and safe. Wei Ying is free. He has paid as much debt as he can without this.

Wei Ying looks between him and the blade, his face paling. “Lan Zhan, you can’t be serious.”

“Wei Ying,” he rasps, leaning towards the blade. Yearning for it. “Please.”

“No!” Wei Ying says, not dropping Bichen in the dirt, but swinging the blade away, tucked safely behind him. “Why would I—Do you really want to die this badly?”

He feels himself sway. “It is what I deserve.”

It’s what I did to you.

“No, it’s not,” he says hotly. “How could you ever deserve that!”

Lan Wangji lowers his face, staring down at the ground.

“Lan Zhan. You think I—? I don’t blame you, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying drops to the dirt in front of him, his hands taking his. “Deep down, I always knew I could count on you to stop me if I went too far. I don’t remember much, I really don’t. But I don’t doubt that I needed to be stopped. That you did the right thing.”

Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut, throat burning from too many words, stretching him to his very limit. “I failed you.”

“No, Lan Zhan, no.”

There’s a long, protracted silence and Lan Wangji forces himself to just wait. He feels like he’s been waiting forever. Like this is all he has ever done.

Wei Ying’s fingers on his throat make him flinch, but if he wishes to strangle him instead, he will take that as well. But the fingers are gentle instead of rough. Far too gentle.

“Tell me how this happened, Lan Zhan,” he says, voice so soft.

Lan Wangji presses his lips together, shaking his head.

“If you will give me something, give me that.”

Everything inside him revolts against it. But what right does he have to deny Wei Ying anything? “I tried to follow you,” he says, each word a struggle, like he might soon feel blood on his tongue, his vocal chords screaming in agony. “But you are always going where I cannot follow.”

On his wrist, Wei Ying’s hand trembles. “Lan Zhan,” he says, voice nearly broken as his own. “Lan Zhan.”

He forces his eyes up, and Wei Ying is crying.

“It wasn’t fair to ask it of you. I see that now. I never thought…”

That killing him would be as good as killing himself?

“I didn’t know what I was asking of you.”

And then Wei Ying’s arms are wrapping around him, pulling him in close, relentlessly drawing him into the eye of his storm.

Lan Wangji grabs him back immediately, burying his face in his shoulder, so weak, so unable to resist. “Wei Ying,” he says in his garbled, bruised voice.

He is alive, he is alive, he is alive.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says, over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”

Something inside Lan Wangji is cracking wide open, when he thought there was nothing solid left to begin with. Just ruins and shards.

Wei Ying does not stop, words endlessly tumbling. “You must know, you must know, that I cannot live in a world without you in it, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji’s body trembles, the soft roundness of longing he has denied himself for so long struggling to be free, to pour over the sharp edges.

“Stay. Stay. Stay,” he begs.

Slowly, Lan Wangji lifts his hand to the back of Wei Ying’s head, fingers burying in his hair.

He nods.

***

He dreams of it always. Waking sweating and crying, Wei Ying’s name ripping from his ruined throat. The phantom feel of dust in his eyes and blood slick on his hands.

Wei Ying is always there, gathering him close, lips pressing to his cheeks, his forehead, his throat. Arms and legs wrapped around him as he murmurs quietly to him in the dark, his bright heat burning everything else away.

“I love you, Lan Zhan. I love you. I’m here and I will never go where you cannot follow.”

Each time Lan Zhan lets out a shuddering breath, and digs his fingers into Wei Ying’s back, pulling him impossibly close. Focuses on the steady thud of Wei Ying’s heart against his chest.

And chooses life all over again.

.fin.

#the untamed #fic #wangxian #tw: suicide #tw: self harm #AU #this kept wanting to turn into a fifty thousand word epic #but I held firm #still want to write WWX's impression of this LWJ from the other side though

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dumbikawa · 4 years ago

Text

Being Stressed About Exams & HQ Boys Comforting You

GN!Reader | Comfort/Fluff | Warnings: stressed reader

Characters: Atsumu, Oikawa

A/n: This is extremely self-indulgent as school has been kicking my butt and the future post-graduation is very terrifying lol

ATSUMU

You stare at the computer in front of you, the text you’re supposed to read for class beginning to swim together as your eyes fill with tears. Everything is happening too fast and you feel completely unprepared to take any of it on. What if you spent all of this time and money on schooling only to fail so close to the end? What if you finally do finish, but then can’t find a job in your field? Should you have studied something else? The questions become more exhausting and constant the closer it gets to exams.

Small droplets roll off your cheeks and begin to pool on your keyboard. You haphazardly wipe them away before powering off the computer and tucking it back in your bag. Out of sight, out of mind, you figure. It’s not like there’s any use in trying to finish it tonight when you can already feel another wave of stress induced tears coming on. Those have also become a regular thing.

You click the volume button on your phone so that the sounds of music fill the room before leaning back in the desk chair, testing the limits of how far you can recline before gravity takes over. Atsumu had made this study playlist for you when he first noticed how stressed you were. It contained a mixture of your favorite songs, his favorite songs, and a few ‘motivational’ songs he pulled from his work-out playlists. It was a bit of a weird Frankenstein mash up with the large variety of genres, but it quickly became one of your studying must haves.

Over the sound of the music, you couldn’t hear the shower click off and the door to the bathroom swinging open. When Atsumu steps out, he sees you sitting where he’d left you, although, in a more dangerous position than you’d been in before as he notices the way the desk char teeters back and forth. His attention is quickly caught by the music choice, though, recognizing one of the songs playing as a favorite of his he added to the playlist he made for you a couple weeks ago. A smile breaks through his face as he hurriedly jumps into a pair of sweatpants before approaching your quiet figure.

As he comes up behind you, though, he notices a slight glisten upon your cheeks and a few fresh tears that tumble from your closed eyes. His upturned lips quickly sink as worry floods through him. Exams had been taking a toll on you, it wasn’t hard to tell, but he would never get used to seeing you cry.

“Baby,” he whispers, gently wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “What can I do for ya? Food? Cuddles? Cry it out?” You nod, resting the chair back on the ground and practically launching yourself into his arms.

Atsumu catches you with ease, his strong arms holding you against his chest. His hand rubs up and down your spine, sending shivers racing down you back, but there's no ulterior motive to his gentle touches. He continues the soft touches as he guides you to the bed, only letting you go for a second before allowing you to bury yourself in his side again.

“What if I can’t do it?” you whisper, trailing your fingers across Atsumu's toned chest. “I’ve studied for so long, but what if it doesn’t work out? What if--What if I don’t actually know anything and I crash and burn and--”

Atsumu shushes you gently, placing a few comforting kisses to your forehead. He notices your breathing beginning to grow heavier as your anxiety takes over. There's a few moments of silence as you try to match your breathing to his, the two of you taking slow, deep breaths in sync.

“The future might be unsure and stressful, but I know you’re going to do your best and make it work. All you can do is continue to work towards your goals and handle everything as it comes. Not to mention, I’m always going to be here to remind you of how strong you are even if you don’t see it.”

A new wave of tears begins as his words echo through your ears. You bury your face in his chest as your arms wrap around his waist in an attempt to pull yourself as close to him as you physically can be. Somehow he knew exactly what you needed to hear and a part of you wonders if he’s ever repeated those sentiments to himself when things felt unsure.

He continues to whisper reassurances as you fully relax against him, your tears finally beginning to dry up. You lift your head and offer him a weak smile.

“Thanks for letting me cry on your abs,” you sniffle, allowing yourself to truly laugh.

Atsumu feels lighter as he watches you smile and joke, hopefully being able to forget about the more stressful parts of life for a while as he holds you close. There’s been countless times where you eased his worries about the future, so he’s just happy that he can return the favor and create a safe space where you’re allowed to simply be.

OIKAWA

The cup in your hand is warm and comforting as you trudge towards your bedroom, a sense of dread washing over you as soon as your eyes land upon the laptop you left sitting open on the bed. With finals coming up, you thought it would be a good idea to transfer the notes you had written down during lectures onto your computer, figuring it would make them easier to access and that the process of going back through the information would be a good way to ensure you remember the material.

What you didn’t realize, however, is how absolutely time consuming and exhausting it was going to be. Your neck hurts from constantly looking back and forth between the paper and computer screen, your back hurts because somewhere along the way you abandoned any semblance of healthy posture and decided to go full cave gremlin in the way you hunched over your work, and instead of absorbing the information for a second time it seemed as if your brain had completely abandoned you and gone on autopilot. Shoving the computer off the bed and taking a nap feels like the best course of action right now, but you know if you stop now there’s no way you’re going to want to finish later.

Begrudgingly, you settle back onto the bed and take a large swig of coffee before stretching your fingers and placing them back on the keyboard. It couldn’t take that much longer right? All you have to do is push through and get it done.

And, for the next few hours, that’s what you do. You jump back in where you left off and race through the next few, gruelingly long chapters. The daylight outside quickly dwindles away until you’re forced to turn on the bedside lamp when you realize the sun has sunk far below the horizon and is beginning to cast bizarre shadows around the room. It was no bother, though, because you’re so close to being done. The issue is that neither your brain nor your body could keep up anymore.

Your fingers keep hitting the wrong keys, typing made up words that have you constantly backspacing and starting sentences over again for a third of even a fourth time. The breaking point comes when you go to take a sip of your now cold coffee and look back at the screen after attempting to type an entire paragraph from your notes in one go. Little did you know your finger placement was off, yet again, and the entire paragraph is an unreadable mess that even spell check doesn’t want to touch.

The tears that sting your eyes make you feel stupid. It was entirely too dumb to cry over something as superficial as misspellings that could be easily fixed and cold coffee. But once the tears start they won’t stop. Suddenly, you’re not crying over the notes or even school work in general. You’re crying about the crushing weight of change that's soon to come once you finish with classes and how impossible everything has begun to feel.

You’re too exhausted to focus on anything anymore, letting the hot tears run down your cheeks freely, which is why you don’t hear the rushed footsteps of your boyfriend who could hear your hiccuping breaths from down the hall.

He doesn’t say anything when he sees you curled up on the bed, your face buried in your arms. Oikawa sits on the ground closest to you and lays his head near yours as he begins to run his slender fingers through your hair. It doesn't take a psychic to tell you've been stressed with the quickly approaching exams, and from the collection of notes littered all around to the half closed computer the dots practically connect themselves.

The slight dip on the bed near your head alerts you to his presence, but you don't move. His hands guiding themselves over your scalp is quick to relax your body, but your mind feels like it's about to burst any moment as the thoughts continue to race.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers against your temple, planting soft kisses after every word, “and you deserve to take a break. Remember when you used to have to tell me that all the time?" The feeling of his quiet laughter against your skin makes you smile, along with the memories of simpler times before either of you had barely begun to grasp how harsh the world could be.

"I picked up dinner for us, it was an apology for coming home late," he admits, kissing the top of your head. "But let's go heat it up and you can either tell me everything you're worried about or we can try to forget all about it for now and watch a movie. I'd really like it if you talked about it eventually, though. I know I'm not going to be able to fix it all, but that doesn't mean I can't try."

You turn your head to the side, exposing your tear stained cheeks that are quickly wiped away by Oikawa's calloused thumbs.

"I will," you say, voice heavy. "For now could you just hold me?" There isn't a second of hesitation as Oikawa slips his arms beneath your figure and presses you tightly against him.

"Movie it is," he announces, laying you on the couch with the remotes so that you could put on whatever you want. Your brain would never stop the constant anxious thoughts, but losing yourself in those chocolate brown eyes made it easy to imagine a future where it all works out somehow. Little do you know, Oikawa sees the same thing reflected in your eyes as he wonders about the right time, perhaps a couple years from now when you've both settled down in your careers, when he can finally buy that ring he's been looking at.

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kataraslove · 4 years ago

Text

katara: “do you hear that?”

aang: “sounds like it’s coming from over there...”

for kataang week day 3: post canon @kataang-week

newly wedded aang and katara (now sporting a cute little bob) were travelling across the world for their honeymoon. on their way to the kingdom of omashu, the two decided to stop and revisit the cave of two lovers. as aang and katara leaned in for a quick kiss by the entrance of the cave, they heard a blood-curling scream come from inside. immediately pulling away, the couple shared a suspicious look with each other before deciding to investigate.

katara cautiously grabbed her pouch as aang drew out a small flame to lead the way. however, the waterbender stopped her husband to remind him that the tunnels were filled with fluorescent crystals that glowed in the dark.

“oh yeah,” aang recalled. he looked down at the flame dwindling in his palm. “i’ll put it out when we get further in there. if we hear screaming again, we’ll be able to find out where it came from.”

“you can also use your earth bending this time around.”

aang nodded. “that i can.” the gentle lines of his face - reserved especially for his wife - quickly switched up to the avatar look, the signature look that he bore whenever there was danger and people in need of his help.

“let’s go.”

(continued under the cut, 2.4k words)

the broad sunlight of the summer day was reduced to a small crevice against their backs, as the two lovers made their way into the shadows of the labyrinth. their primary light source came from aang’s flame, which had grown brighter the farther they travelled. the avatar could not help but become a little bit mesmerized with the vivid red and orange hues that danced in his left palm, the warmth that occupied his hand having stretched out to his entire body. the flame synchronized so perfectly well with his heartbeat. fire is life, he recalled the words of the sun warrior chief. not just destruction.

aang nearly chuckled out loud. firebending came so naturally to him now - almost as natural as his airbending. to think that there was ever a time that he had outright hated the element and vowed to never learn it, even if it had meant jeopardizing his avatarhood.

however, a small voice crept to the back of his mind, uncomfortably reminding of the exact reason as to why he initially refused to learn the element at the age of twelve. it was the same reason that brought shame and guilt inside his gut - even eight years later - whenever the memory unexpectedly crossed his mind. what he had done to katara on that day, how he had refused to listen to jeong jeong’s advice and lost control of his fire, the image of her fresh burns - it was all there, forever smeared across his brain and heart as a painful reminder. no matter how many times katara had insisted that good had come from that day through the discovery of her healing abilities, aang could never wash away the trauma associated with that event.

he inhaled sharply. it won’t happen again. he wasn’t twelve anymore, and he had full control over all the elements now. fire was energy, he had learned, and life.

sparing a glance at katara, who had been awfully quiet since they got into the cave, he noticed that his wife was chewing anxiously on her lower lip. the trouble in her beautiful features was easily detectable by the bright flames within his hand. he moved closer to her, his shoulder gently bumping hers in an attempt to comfort her. “you okay?”

she met his eyes, and he could see the hint of fear reflected in them. “aang, i’m worried.”

“you have nothing to be worried about,” aang reassured her with a small smile. “whatever it is, or whoever it is, we can take ‘em.”

katara shook her head. “i’m not worried about the who. we’ve probably dealt with far worse than whatever is lingering in this cave. but i - aang, what if it’s bad?”

he frowned, confused. “what if what’s bad, then?”

she studied her hands carefully. her hands were the hands of a fighter, of a healer. the same hands who had resurrected an avatar back to life and saved a firelord from near death, while dismantling another firelord from the throne. he felt the sudden urge to draw her hands in his own, to hold her tight enough to ease away her fears.

“what if there’s a bunch of dead bodies stashed away in this tunnel, rotting away for days or even weeks?” she answered in alarm, eyes widening at the dark path ahead of them. “or, what if there’s a bunch of people lying around in pain, on the brink of death, and I don’t have enough water to save them all?”

his eyes turned to the road ahead. he saw nothing, except for earth and more earth. but he knew better than to dismiss those kind of fears.

“that wouldn’t be your fault.” he responded gently. “we’ll do our best to help, to make sure that whoever is out there is safe and unharmed. but if they do happen to be harmed - or worse, dead - and we’ve tried everything that we could,” he shuttered out a breath at the imagery. “i don’t want you to blame yourself for whoever you can’t save, katara.”

“and i don’t want you to blame yourself, aang.” she placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked on. he tried to ignore the immediate sweep of panic churning in his stomach at her proximity to the fire. if he envisioned a future with both katara and firebending, he would have to get used to accepting that she would be around the times when he required the element.

“i know you feel a sense of responsibility, as the avatar, to ensure that the world is kept safe,” she continued on. her voice softened, a sad tone. “i know it upsets you when it isn’t.”

“wasn’t i the one consoling you just a second ago?” aang joked, deflecting.

“we’re consoling each other.” katara insisted with a small smile. the corners of her mouth dropped at her next statement: “i know you don’t like to talk about it, aang, the stress and pressure that you feel. but i also know how it keeps you up at night. why you choose to sometimes spend long periods of time meditating.”

just like that, she had flipped the switch on him in the way that only she knew how. katara was undoubtedly right. of course he had seen and experienced his fair amount of injustice and morbidity; they all had. but the guilt of not being able to do anything about it - to know that people all over the world were counting on him to end their suffering and plight and despair, while there were many days when all he could do was sit in lavish cushions arguing endlessly with politicians who could not relate to the earth kingdom boy who had nothing to eat, or to the water tribe girl who had lost her parents, or to the air nomad who was the sole survivor of an entire culture - ate away at his heart and mind at every minute of every hour. even now, when he was supposed to be enjoying his blissful vacation with his wife.

“aang.” he felt katara lightly pull his chin towards her, forcing him to look at her before his mind could wander down the same dangerous road that it had so many days and nights before. she stopped the two in their tracks, the light from his palm illuminating their darkened features.

the fire reflected back in the indigo of her eyes, embodying the energy and intensity and life that was katara, his best friend, his saviour. suddenly, he was transported back to a time during the war, when he had just been a fidgety twelve year-old boy staring up at his fourteen year-old best friend. his heart thumped furiously against his chest the closer he inched to her face. when their lips met, he felt electricity course through his veins and wondered if the warmth that pooled in his stomach was what love felt like.

as he caught her lips in his own again, this time at the age of twenty, he could confirm - a memoir to his twelve year old self - that the warmth was indeed love. but love was also so much more, he came to realize over the years. love was the cautious hands of a fourteen year-old girl spending weeks at his side, healing him from his coma, sobbing in despair and frustration when he would not wake up. love was the way that he had thrown his arms around her waist, and she around his neck, relief flooding each other’s veins at the knowledge that they were both alive and safe and together after his defeat of ozai and her defeat of azula. love was the way her hand fit so perfectly in his, palm pressed to palm and fingers intertwined, as the two watched the early formations of republic city from their home, vowing to leave a lasting legacy on a world where benders and non-benders of all types could live together in safety and harmony.

love was also the brief kiss in an abandoned cave that said a million more things than he could ever say in words.

when the two pulled back, he noted the way that her eyes twinkled up at him under the fluorescent light. the crystals shone overhead, leading them down a familiar path, just as how it had done when he was twelve. aang checked his left palm and realized that he had extinguished his flame during the kiss.

katara’s smile reached her eyes when she grabbed for his hand, pulling him along. “funny,” she said, bemused. “that thing you said when we were kids. guess it held up all these years, didn’t it?”

“what thing?”

“oh, you know,” she replied with a casual shrug, a mischievous glint forming in her eye. “you choosing to kiss me over dying - ”

he groaned. she was never going to let him live that one, was she?

“did i say that?” aang feigned innocence. “i can’t quite recall. maybe what my awkward twelve-year old self had meant to say, instead, was that the thought of not being able to kiss you is just so unbearable that i would rather have chosen death.”

“mmhmmm. sure you had.” a blush slowly crept up her cheeks, betraying her sarcastic tone. success.

“good thing that hasn’t happened yet, though. the not being able to kiss you anymore part.” he paused, adding as an afterthought: “the death part, too, if we’re being honest.”

“don’t speak so soon. what if there’s a serial killer in here?” she hushed him, looking around conspiratorially.

“you’d rather a serial killer kiss you instead of your own husband? ouch.”

she smacked his arm. “aang! i’m serious. with the recent bender supremacy uprisings going on in major cities of the earth kingdom, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. what’s stopping a bender supremacist from kidnapping a bunch of non-benders in omashu and dumping their bodies in this cave right now?”

“well, for starters, we would’ve heard by now if that were the case, wouldn’t we have? there’d be rumours, like with what happened with hama. so far, there hasn’t been any reports of mysterious non-bender disappearances in the cities where the uprisings are taking place. definitely not any in omashu.”

a dark look settled across katara’s face at the mention of the estranged bloodbender. “an earth bender supremacist could be dragging bodies from the city and burying them in the rubble of the tunnels. no one would even think to look because the legend says that the cave is cursed.”

aang scratched his head, suddenly very wary about his surroundings. his eyes scanned everywhere around him, from the plethora of crystals that provided them light on top to the solid stone that held the cave in place, trying to spot any semblance of a decomposing body. just as before, he couldn’t detect anything unusual.

while he knew that katara’s suspicions had merit to them, his mind still hesitated over the idea of a bender supremacist trapping people in caves. he would have heard something by now, if that were the case. besides, they were drawing all of these inferences from a scream that he wasn’t even sure came from a human. the high-pitched sound could have belonged to a species of wolfbats, for all they knew. and even if it were to emerge out of a person, who was to say that it was connected to the victim of a bender supremacist murderer? it could have been from a lost and hungry traveler stuck in the cave for days, unsure of their way out. or perhaps it was from someone whose foot was trapped under rubble, screaming out in sheer pain. maybe it even belonged to a villager being chased by an angry spirit.

he walked over to one of the walls, running his hand over the sharp rocks that pricked at his skin. or perhaps, he thought bitterly, gritting his teeth, it was his own refusal to accept that he was failing the world again that led him to dismiss such possibilities. given the political climate, it was entirely possible that bender supremacists were using their bending to hide bodies within the cave. he just wasn’t aware of any of it because it was all taking place underneath his nose, while he remained in blissful ignorance with the women he loved on what was supposed to be his vacation.

aang closed his eyes. he focused on the vibrations emitting from the ground, trying to detect if there was anything that could give him a clue, like a direction to the source of the scream. he was even searching for the large footsteps of badger moles or the fluttering wings of wolfbats. while he was no toph, his earthbending had vastly improved over the years to the point where he had gotten very good at perceiving the world around and underneath him through vibrations. but this time around, he was sensing absolutely nothing.

well, not entirely nothing. aang noted that some parts of the earth below his hand felt kind of fresh. and quite warm. it didn’t take an earth bender to realize that their texture and temperature were evidently different from the rocks comprising the rest of the cave. this new formation of rock - whatever it was - also felt very familiar to him, almost like he had dealt with this type before.

his eyes widened in recognition. it was rock that had hardened after the eruption of a volcano. and not just any ordinary eruption; a special kind of eruption that didn’t require any volcano whatsoever.

lavabending.

“hey, katara. would you be able to come over here? i think i found something.”

aang’s words were interrupted by the sudden howl of a blood-curling scream. this time, he had felt the vibrations perfectly through the earth, and spirits did they hurt. he winced in pain, his ears ringing, reflexively removing his hand off the ground.

the screaming did not seem to stop the longer the seconds passed. multiple more emitted from the path ahead in unison, echoing off the chambers of the cave. his heart pounded. there was no denying that the cries had unmistakably belonged to humans.

katara already had a stream of water out from her pouch. she had sprang into action, pointing in the precise direction that the noise was coming from.

“this way,” she shouted, running ahead.

be careful, he couldn’t help think as he trailed after her.

this art was adapted from the following comic panel in imbalance part 2:

#kataang week 2021 #kataang #kataangtag

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mistersshelby · 4 years ago

Text

removing the dagger

hi yes it's me, yes i know i haven't updated my masterlist in ages, yes i am aware i have an unfinished wip that i promised to post months ago, i'm just a stupid fanfic writer begging her audience to love her!!!! anyway!!! i have two other things in the works that I'm hoping to finish, but in the mean time this is one shot i based on ivy and tolerate it from taylor swift's album evermore. i hope you like it, i missed y'all!!! send me asks pls i'm lonely

pairing: tommy x reader

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

“We’ll be entertaining guests this weekend.”

You looked up from your breakfast plate in shock, wondering if your husband was addressing you or someone else. You gave the room a quick scan. No, it was indeed just you. “Alright.” You said hesitantly, “Who will be attending?”

He hadn’t looked up at you from his newspaper at the other end of the table. He felt miles away rather than a meter or two. “Just some business partners and their wives.” He finally looks up. You’re so unused to his direct attention you have to stop yourself from flinching away from his gaze, “You should go into town. Buy yourself a new dress.” Just as quickly as his gaze had met yours, he drops it again.

You draw your attention back to your breakfast plate, spreading butter on a scone before biting into it. “Do you need anything while I’m out, dear?”

“No thank you, love.”

The endearments don’t mean anything, this you know. It’s a formality. You’re husband and wife, and you speak to each other that way, but the words are empty. The truth is, day in and day out you watch him, you know all his routines. You hand him items before he can reach for them. Buy the book you know he’d been wanting for ages, but never got around to go to the store for. Refill the liquor cabinet before he can get to the bottom of a vodka bottle. And still. And still, he doesn’t see you. Not really. You leave the breakfast table to get ready to go into town and you know he won’t notice you’ve left until the maid clears your plate.

***

Another evening filled with pleasantries, pretty gowns, fake smiles. Men complimenting you and informing your husband how lucky he is to have such a beautiful, young wife. Your husband simply thanks them and doesn’t even look your way.

It’s not until he walks into the room that you feel you’ve been startled from sleep. He looks the same as you remember. There may be a few more lines around his eyes and mouth, but otherwise the same. Except now he looks like a walking weapon. That’s what the war had turned him into. You had kept tabs on him once you found out he had made it home from France, alive. The things you heard, the things this man that you used to love so dearly had done, well you suppose it didn’t surprise you. Tommy had always been too clever for his own good, almost too resilient. It made sense that France would have chewed him up and spit him out, kept most of the love and kindness he possessed.

But then his eyes find yours through the crowd and when he locks on you the same love and desire that had always been there, burns there now. No, the war couldn’t burn out his love for you. Your abandonment and consequential marriage that he read about in the paper couldn’t burn it out either. He’d love you until his dying day. And then he’s in front of you and words fail you, “Thomas,” You finally manage, “You… look well.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “It’s good to see you.” And he ever so gently lifts your hand and presses his lips to your skin. A chill runs through you and it takes all your effort not to snatch your hand away. His knowing grin tells you he’s noted his effect on you.

“And who are you?” Your husband interjects, noticing the affront that was greeting you before himself.

“Thomas, this is my husband, Benjamin.”

Tommy looks your husband up and down for longer than is polite before reaching his hand out to meet your husband’s, “A pleasure.” He murmurs.

“How do you know my wife, mister…”

“Shelby.” Tommy fills in for him, and then glances at you, “Your wife and I were--”

“Childhood friends.” You interject before he can finish and force a smile.

Tommy stares at you for a prolonged second before turning back to your husband, “Yes. Childhood friends.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Benjamin exclaimed, “You grew up in Oxford then, yeah?”

The confusion is evident on Tommy’s face so you jump in quickly, “Yeah! Both grew up in Oxford, isn’t that right, Tommy?”

Tommy looks annoyed at having to lie, but nods anyway, “That’s right.” He speaks with Benjamin for a few moments about business and you find yourself staring at him, the freckles on his cheeks you used to kiss so tenderly. His hair that you used to run fingers through. His eyelashes that used to tickle your skin when he fell asleep. His voice that used to whisper adorations in your ear while other women looked on with jealousy.

“I hope you won’t mind if I steal your wife for a dance, sir, I’d love to catch up with her for a moment.”

Benjamin gave him a disarming smile, a smile you hadn’t seen since he had courted you and it made your heart ache. He lifted his glass to Tommy, “She’s all yours.”

You managed a small smile as Tommy took your hand and led you to the center of the room. You could feel tears burning the back of your eyes at the familiarity of his touch. No one had touched you like this, well, since Tommy left Small Heath.

“Oxford, eh?” Tommy started, “What else did you have to lie about to become such an esteemed lady?”

You frowned, “I did what I had to do. It appears you did the same.”

He shakes his head, “I never lied about where I came from out of shame to achieve the lifestyle I wanted.” His voice is bitter, and you won’t lie, it stings coming from the only person who had made you feel like you were worth something.

“I’m not ashamed of Small Heath.”

“Everything about who you’ve married, to what you’re wearing, to the house you live in, to the lies about me suggest otherwise.”

“I didn’t lie about you because I was ashamed, Benjamin gets… jealous. It was just easier not to explain.”

“Does Benjamin have reason to be jealous?”

You looked into those blue eyes you had adored so long ago and saw the same longing and lust sitting there. Your lips part and you pause, trying to find the right words to convey that you were sorry for how things ended. That you wished things could have been different. But he senses your hesitation and his eyes go cold, those familiar walls that you had worked for years to tear down are back up in full force. You suppose it’s what you deserve.

“Forget it. Stupid question.”

“Tommy--”

“No, don’t. You’re obviously very happy here.”

And you realized as he said it that he was so incredibly wrong about that, “I’m not.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your eyes begin to water before you can stop them, “I’ve never been more unhappy in my life.”

Concern floods Tommy features, “Is he hurting you?”

You almost laugh, “No, no he’s never raised a hand to me. He’s never even raised his voice to me. He just… rarely remembers that I exist is all.”

“Well he’s an idiot then.” The corner of your mouth turned up just a bit at his crassness. “Can’t imagine having you walk around this house day in and day out looking like that and not giving you the attention you deserve.”

You have to bite down hard on your lip to keep the tears lodged in your throat at bay, “Do you have a smoke?”

He frowns, “I can’t imagine Benjamin allows a lady like you to smoke.”

“Tommy, please, he won’t even know we’re gone.” Sure enough, when you look over he’s immersed in conversation, “Come outside with me.” You tug on his arm before he can respond, weaving through guests who didn’t give you a second glance.

Once outside, you gulp in the cold air and lean against the stone wall behind you. Tommy joins a few seconds later, “Are you alright?” He asks as he reaches into his pocket and takes out his cigarettes.

“Can you tell me about Birmingham? What’s it like now?”

While you smoked, he talked about his family and the business. How Polly was doing, and Finn who you could still remember being born. Arthur and his anger problems. John and his relentless jokes. And when your cigarette was nothing more than a useless stub, you noticed there were silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

Tommy glanced at you and then dropped his own cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe, “Why are you here if it makes you so sad?”

The reason you had married Benjamin was because you had promised yourself you would never have to go hungry again. You would never have to worry about someone breaking in and slitting your throat for a loaf of bread. You wouldn’t have to stare at dresses in shops anymore knowing you would never have enough money for it. You never wanted any children you bore to feel that pain either. So you had done what you thought was needed to obtain this lifestyle and now that you were here, it didn’t feel the way you expected it to.

You can’t answer him and instead you look up at the sky and snow starts to fall on your face. “It’s snowing.” You announce to Tommy. He says nothing and you get the feeling he’s annoyed with you. “We had our first kiss in the snow. Do you remember?”

He scoffs and pushes himself off the wall, “I’m not playing your games tonight, I shouldn’t have come here.”

“And why did you come here?” You call after him as he walks away, “Why the fuck did you come, eh? To rub it in my face that I made the wrong decision?”

He turns back to you and he has that cocky smirk on his face, “Listen to that Birmingham accent. Does your husband know his lady’s got such a dirty mouth?”

You don’t know why this is the remark that does it, but you take a sharp intake of breath and your lungs shudder with sobs as the tears pour down your cheeks. The smirk falls from Tommy’s face and he reaches for you, but you pull away. “Love, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Darling?” Your husband stands in the doorway and both you and Tommy freeze, “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death out there in the cold.”

You close your eyes for a moment, schooling your features before you respond, “I’ll be just a minute dear, Mr. Shelby was just leaving. I was seeing him off.” Every trace of the tears was gone from your voice. Tommy would be impressed if it didn’t mean that you had clearly needed to practice seeming happy and upbeat when you were breaking inside.

It’s so easy how quickly he loses interest, Benjamin, and turns back to go inside without another glance. “Why did you come here?” You ask Tommy again.

He sighs, “I had hoped that seeing you happy would give me the closure I needed. Unfortunately, seeing you choose misery over me has only made me feel worse.” He says bitterly. Your face crumples and he steps away from you, “Goodnight, my love.”

When he’s gone you wish to scream and cry and you hate him for coming here and shattering the glass walls you had built around yourself to tell you that you were fine. You were fine with your finery and your loneliness and the gin you drink when Benjamin isn’t home. How he ignores the smell of it on your breath. His deliberate silence when you know he can feel your cries shake the bed at night. You thought you had packed Tommy Shelby neatly away in the far corner of your mind where you wouldn’t find him again. Wouldn’t remember what it was like to feel loved. To feel alive. But you remember. And now he’s gone again. Just like when he left for France. Just like when you wrote that final letter to him that you were to be married.

And so you walk back into that house of stone. You murmur to Benjamin that you’re tired and you’ll be retiring early. And he just nods, barely hearing you, like he always does. And you settle into bed and stare at the wall as the house goes quiet. And finally the bed shifts with his weight and his breathing settles and he doesn’t reach for you. He never does.

Goodnight, my love.

***

The mud of the road squelches beneath your shoes and you're conscious of the way everyone in Small Heath stares at you, walking around like this, but you’d had no choice. No trace of your old wardrobe before you married Benjamin existed. He hadn’t allowed it. You didn’t want any reminders, anyway. Besides which, you had told Benjamin you were out for lunch with a friend and had dressed appropriately. When you swing open the door to the Garrison, you don’t see any Shelbys, but everyone stares at you nonetheless. You imagine word will travel fast to Tommy that you’re here.

Sure enough, as you finished your first drink, you heard the doors swing open and a hush fell over the occupants of the bar. You didn’t look up when he sat next to you. “What are you doing in my bar?” He said, his voice was demanding and cold.

“Having a drink.” You said as the bartender slid you another.

Tommy took it from your hand and dumped it on the floor, “Don’t give her another one.” He said to the bartender. “I asked you what the hell you’re doing here, don’t try my patience.”

“I was drinking that.” You said through clenched teeth.

“You’re drunk, you’ve obviously been drinking all day, surely Benjamin darling noticed that before he let you leave the house, eh?”

You turned to him, eyes bloodshot and unfocused, “I came here… Because you never told me… If you remembered our first kiss.”

He stares at you for a few moments, “You came all the way to Small Heath to ask me if I remember our first kiss?”

You blink, “Why are you just repeating what I just told you?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Yes, I remember it. Now will you go home?”

“I am home.”

“This isn’t your home anymore, you made sure of that.”

“How is what I did any fucking different from what you did? I married him to fuckin’ survive. That’s it. And you would’ve done the same in my place.” While you were talking you kept trying to get the bartender’s attention, but he was purposely ignoring you now, “Will you please tell your bartender to get me a drink?”

He leans in close to your ear and you still, “You could have married me. I could have given you everything if you had just waited.”

You turn your head to look at him and your lips are just inches from his, “I didn’t think you would come back, Tommy. So many men were dying every day, I didn’t think you would come back and I was running out of time to find someone else to marry. I’m sorry.” You don’t know if it’s the alcohol that makes you brave, but you lean into him just a little bit and he doesn’t move away. So you close the distance between you.

The kiss is quick, and you pull away to gage his reaction. But his eyes only dart from yours back down to your mouth before his fingers graze your chin and gently pull you to him again. You can’t believe how alive it makes you feel to be kissed, really kissed, by someone who wants you.

“You’re drunk.” Tommy says finally, pulling away.

“So what?”

“So you wouldn’t be cheating on your husband if you weren’t drunk.”

You snort, “I would do just about anything to feel the way you made me feel again.”

He shakes his head at you, “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N. So, what? You’re just going to have an affair with me and I’m supposed to be satisfied with that?”

“What do you suppose we do instead?”

“Leave him and marry me.”

He’s so sincere, and for a moment you allow yourself to think that you could. “You know I can’t do that.” You say quietly.

He nods and lowers his head, “Then I’m not sure how I can help you, Mrs. Davies.”

His use of your married name feels like a blow, “I know you feel the same as I do when we kiss, isn’t it worth it just for that?”

“I don’t do well with sharing.” He practically snarled in your face.

“I’m his in name alone. You own me, body, soul, and spirit, Tommy. You always have.”

Suddenly, he straightens as if he’s just now realized where he is. “Come with me.” He says quickly, sharply. You practically run after him and when you get outside, you see his horse. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

“Where are you taking me?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you ever just listen to me for once?” And without asking permission, lifted you up by your waist enough to get you on the saddle. When he comes up after you, you hesitate before wrapping your arms around his waist to keep yourself steady. It reminds you so vividly of just a few years earlier, you allow yourself to sink into the memories. It doesn’t take you long to realize he’s taking you to your old haunt. An abandoned house in the middle of the woods, overgrown with ivy.

“Why are we here?” As he helps you down from the horse, your faces nearly collide as your feet touch the ground. He seems to want to kiss you, but holds back.

“I waited here for you for days when I got back.” He says, walking away from you and towards the house. “When you stopped sending me letters, I had a feeling you had changed your mind, but I still hoped.”

You blink, “You never got my letter?”

He turns back to you, now leaning against a half demolished wall, “Did you send me a letter to tell me you were marrying that wanker? I honestly thought it was kinder that you hadn’t.”

You swallowed, “Yes, I sent you a letter.”

“And what did it say?”

You sigh, suddenly you’re frustrated with him, “That was years ago, Tommy, can’t we move on?”

He laughs, but it’s cold, “For you it was years ago, I’ve been living in this hell you left me in ever since. I didn’t get to move on to palaces and dinner parties and expensive champagne. I came back here and started another war, all in the hopes that one day I could provide for you and you would come home. And all the while you’ve been sleeping in another man’s bed.”

You look down at your feet. You understand the anger and the resentment he holds. After all, you knew when you sent that letter if he survived the war he would never forgive you. But here he was, some sort of dark, fallen angel, standing in front of you. Spreading over you again like ivy, the same way he had when you were younger. “I know I can’t take back the pain I’ve caused,” He was already scoffing and turning away from you, “But I’m here now. And so are you. And all I know is that being with you again makes me feel something and I haven’t felt anything since I sent out that letter.”

“So just like that, you think everything’s fixed?” He storms up to you, trapping you against the wall behind you. “You think you can just pop back in, say you’re sorry, and everything’s all better?”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed with his display of anger, “Of course not, Tommy, I’m not stupid.” You reach your hand out and delicately trail your fingers down his chest, “I just think… That it’d be a shame to deny each other what we both want.”

Without warning his hand clamps around your wrist and slams it against the wall behind you. It doesn’t hurt, really, but he did catch you off guard so you wince anyway.

He leaned forward until his lips brushed your ear, “Who said you could touch me without explicit permission?”

A chill went down your spine at the sound of his voice and you find yourself smirking, “Don’t need permission to touch what belongs to me.” You still know exactly what to say to piss him off.

He shoves you against the wall again, “You think this is fuckin’ funny, eh?” He leans down to look you eye to eye, “Am I laughing?” He pushes himself off the wall and turns away from you, “Always a fuckin’ joke to you.”

“Tommy, I thought… I’m sorry, I thought we were teasing--”

He rounds on you, “I don’t fuckin’ joke when it comes to you, do you understand? None of this is funny to me. It may be all a big joke to you with your fancy house and your upper class husband, but I lost the one thing in my life that had value and I don’t think it’s fuckin’ funny for you to shit all over the marriage that you thought was good enough to abandon me for in the first place!”

It’s all so absurd you nearly snort, “Do you think this is fun for me? Do you think I like living with the knowledge that I gave up the love of my life for someone who is rarely home, and when he is home doesn’t even spare me a second glance? My husband hasn’t kissed me in six months.”

“And so now you think you can have both?”

Tears shine in your eyes as you gaze up at him, “Can’t I?”

You can see the internal battle going on behind his eyes, caught between wanting you and not being able to truly have you. You knew he would give in to you, though, and maybe you felt a little guilty about that but you couldn’t afford to let your mind go there. You just needed someone to touch you, someone to really, truly desire you.

And Tommy gave in. He pushed you against the wall again, his mouth finding your mouth in a lust-filled frenzy. You moan in equal parts surprise and delight as his hands roam your body, pulling you up until your legs wrap around his waist, back firmly pressed to the wall.

You might pay for this sinful offense against your marriage one day, but today you will simply relish the way Tommy tastes.

***

“You’re quiet this morning.” Benjamin notes a week later during breakfast. “Actually, now that I think about it, I can’t remember the last time I heard you say a word. Is everything alright, darling?”

You look up from your plate where you had been pushing your egg around aimlessly and force a smile, “Everything is perfect, darling, why shouldn’t it be?”

He watches you closely for a moment, miles away on the opposite end of the dining table. You don’t believe he’s watched you like this since courting you. Then, in a flash, the moment is broken and he returns to his paper, “We should have dinner, just you and I. I have that business trip coming up and I’d like to spend some time with you before I go.”

You try not to narrow your eyes too deliberately at him. A proper lady never thinks too hard about her husband’s motives, she just acts delighted to be considered. But this was unlike him and you would find out why. “That would be lovely, dear.”

***

Your arm rests delicately on Benjamin’s as he takes you inside the restaurant he had made reservations in. He was going on and on about the lobster and how you should get one too and what drink to pair it with and it was all so fucking boring your eyelids grew heavy with sleep. You hadn’t seen Tommy since that day at the abandoned house.

Afterwards, he had taken you on the horse until you were a mile away from the house and insisted on being dropped there.

“I can take you further, he won’t see me.”

“It’s alright, Tommy. I like the walk.”

He had hopped off his horse with you and cradled your face in his hands, kissing you goodbye, “I’m still upset with you.” He said and kissed you again, harder. He bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to make you yelp, “This doesn’t change anything.”

But it changed everything, hadn’t it? For you, at least. You understood Tommy’s anger and resistance though. Maybe this would be the only taste of him he’d ever allow you again while you rotted away in that mansion of stone. “I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage, your foreheads still pressed together, before lightly pushing yourself off him and walking down the road without looking back.

Eventually, you heard his horse walk away and you did your best not to cry.

“Darling?” Benjamin’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. The two of you now sit at a small table in the corner. You’re buttering a roll absently, you couldn’t remember picking up the bread. “Darling, are you alright? I’ve been asking you to pass the butter.”

“Yes,” You said, reaching across the table with the butter dish in hand, “I’m sorry, my mind ran away from me.”

“And what were you thinking about?” He asks, taking the butter from you.

You blink, shocked that he would ask you such a thing, “Sorry?”

“What’s got your mind so occupied that I can’t seem to keep your attention?” He smiles when he says it and you realize he’s… teasing you.

“Oh, it’s nothing darling, I was just thinking about a dress I wanted to buy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t listening to you.”

He sighs greatly and for a moment you’re scared. Somehow he knows. He must know, otherwise-- “I realize that I haven’t been the best husband as of late. I don’t know what you spend your days doing, what you like, what you don’t like. I don’t kiss you in the morning or the evening when I come home from work--”

You’re shaking your head, “Benjamin--”

“You’ve been the perfect wife. Taking care of the house and entertaining guests, going out to the shop when I need something even if I haven’t asked. And I’ve ignored you. Aren’t you angry with me?”

Your eyes water and you sit back in your chair, looking down at your lap. Taking a breath you look back up at him, “You’re my husband.” You shrug, “I do what I must even if I don’t get anything in return.”

He hesitantly covers your hand with his own, “I’ll be better. I promise.” He sits back, “That friend that you went to lunch with the other day, what was her name?”

The fear returns all over again as you lightly dab at your eyes, “Martha, she’s a friend from Oxford.” The lie comes easily, too easily.

“Is she married?” Before you can answer, his eyes light up, “Oh! She must be that gentleman’s wife, the one who was at the party last week. Shelby, I believe his name was.”

Slowly, you nod, “Yes, that’s right. Martha’s husband is Thomas.”

“You should invite them for dinner, after my trip!”

Oh, fuck. “Oh, Benjamin, that’s so sweet of you dear, but you don’t have to--”

“I do.” He covers his hand with yours again, “I want to learn more about you. Your friends. What better way to do that than get to know the people you grew up with?”

You force a smile, “That sounds lovely.”

He smiles back, “It’s settled then! You iron out the details while I’m away and then just let me know which evening, alright, dear?”

“Of course.” You say, still forcing that smile. How the fuck were you going to get out of this one?

***

“Are you out of your mind?” You had summoned Tommy yet again by drinking at the Garrison and he had stormed in here ready to toss you over his shoulder and kick you out himself. But you had managed to get him to share a drink with you and you told him your new predicament.

“Well, yes, but that’s hardly the point.” He looks so annoyed with you, you almost laugh, “Please, Tommy. I’ll never bother you again.”

He snorts, “Yeah, that’ll be the day.” He knocks back the rest of his whiskey and then pushes the glass to the bartender, signaling for another, “This is really what you want?”

You bite your lip, “He seems sincere. Like he really wants to try.”

“But do you love him? Do you love him the way you love me?”

No. There would never be a love for you like Tommy. You look down at your hands. Either way you answer, Tommy will be hurt. But at least this way he could go on thinking that you’re happy. That you don’t need him. Maybe this way he’d fall in love with somebody else. The thought sent daggers through your heart, but you knew you had no one to blame for that but yourself. He should be happy, he deserved that. “Yes.” You lied.

His eyes shuttered and he looked away from you, “Alright. I’ll help you, then.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you.”

“Now get the hell out of my bar.”

You manage a small smile and nod, sneaking out without another word.

***

The door buzzed and you nearly smiled, “That’ll be the guests, darling.” You moved behind Benjamin, squeezing his shoulder as you passed, “I’ll get it.”

When you opened the door and saw Tommy standing there with a tall, beautiful woman, you couldn’t deny the hurt that rushed through you. You had asked him to bring someone, you reminded yourself, you had told him he needed to bring a fake wife.

You step aside to let them through, “It’s good to see you, Tommy. Martha. Come in.”

“Your home is so lovely,” The woman said. You weren’t sure if you just felt like she was staring daggers at you or if she was. How much did this woman know of you and Tommy? Just from the way she looked at Tommy, you could tell she had feelings for him. He had probably fucked her at some point. You ignore the painful tightening of your stomach at the thought. Tommy, for his part, seemed bored by her.

“Thank you.” You gestured for the maid to take their coats and you couldn’t help the way your breath caught as Tommy took his off. Then his hat. And his gloves. Those hands and those rings and-- You looked from his left hand to hers. They were wearing wedding rings. You supposed it shouldn’t have surprised you, they were supposed to be married. But the sight painfully stole all the breath from your lungs. You wondered if this was how Tommy felt when he saw you. You turned away from it and guided them into the drawing room, immediately going to get a drink while Benjamin bored them with talk of business.

You didn’t expect for it to hurt so much, seeing him with someone else. Even if they were just fucking, you felt like you couldn’t breathe as you stumbled into the kitchen. The kitchen staff ignored you as you braced your hands on a table, looking down at it and trying to catch your breath. They were used to you having breakdowns here. The staff liked you because you treated them like people when Benjamin wasn’t around. When he was on his trips, you’d invite them all to eat with you in the dining room and they were some of the most fun dinners you’d had since marrying Benjamin. So they let you cry in here and didn’t speak a word of it.

When the kitchen doors open abruptly, you stand immediately, expecting Benjamin, but it’s Tommy who stands there instead. “What are you doing back here?” You asked with annoyance.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, and you hate the concern that floods his face.

“You shouldn’t be back here, Benjamin might come looking for me--”

“I told him I would go look for you, he seems quite charmed by Lizzie, he won’t come looking.”

“So her name’s Lizzie then? She’s lovely.”

He’s quiet a moment, “So you’re sulking in here because I brought another woman here, something you asked me to do.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“We should go back out there,” You begin to walk around him, but his hand clasps on your upper arm and pulls you back.

“Does it hurt? Knowing I’m fucking someone else?” He whispers in your ear.

Tears sting your eyes and you realize he’s done this on purpose. He wanted to hurt you. You look up into those ice blue eyes to show him yours that are shining with tears, “Are you happy now?” You wrenched your arm from his grasp and left the kitchen, putting on a smiling face as you left.

Tommy watches you closely for most of the evening and you think that normally Benjamin might notice his predatory gaze, but Tommy was right. He’s enamored by Lizzie. They share touches and longing glances, even when you place your arm on top of Benjamin’s to signal that he’s yours. He just pats your hand and draws his arm out from under yours all without looking away from Lizzie. So when Tommy excuses himself for a smoke, you follow him out, not even bothering to excuse yourself.

“Ol’ Benjamin is really giving it his best shot with you, eh?” Tommy says immediately when you walk outside. You don’t say anything, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your anger. “Can’t say I blame him,” He continues, “Lizzie’s a great fuck.”

You close your eyes, “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing, love?” He makes the endearment sound condescending and you hate him for that.

“You’re trying to get me angry so I’ll admit that I lied to you about loving Benjamin.”

“I saw the way you looked at the wedding rings when I took off my gloves,” He inhales on the cigarette in his hand, “I don’t need you to say it.”

“Then what, you’re just rubbing it in because you’re a sadistic fuck?”

“So you are angry, then.”

“Yes!” You threw up your hands in exasperation, “Yes, I’m fucking angry that I thought maybe Benjamin did love me only to see him touch and look at that woman in there more than he’s touched me in over a year! And I’m fucking angry that you are also fucking her! I’m jealous, I’m fucking burning with how jealous I am that she gets to touch you and I don’t! Is that what you want to hear, you fucking prick?!”

God help you, he has a cool smile on his lips, “Yes, sweetheart. That’s what I wanted to hear. Would you like to go make your husband terribly jealous?” He reaches a hand out to you.

You’re frowning at him and you shake your head, “I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do, I’m helping you get what you want.”

“But why?”

He lowers his hand, “Do you want the truth or the lie?”

You swallow, “Truth.”

He brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek, “Are you sure? It’ll break your heart.” He says softly.

You smile sadly and bring his hand to your chest, right above your heart. Your eyes glitter with unshed tears as you look at him, “Already broken.”

You almost miss his sharp intake of breath at your admission. You suppose he’s happy, happy that you were in so much pain after shattering his heart. “So?” You say.

“The truth is that,” He swallows, “The only thing that hurts me more than you not being mine is seeing you so fuckin’ sad. So let me help you.” You look up at him with those big sad eyes that practically scream at him how much you love him. He can’t stand to look another second, “Come on.” He offers you his hand again.

You place your small hand in his and he brings you back inside, not even dropping your hand as you pass your husband and Lizzie who are looking even cozier than when you left. He brings you to the drawing room in view of the dining room and finally drops your hand to go to the gramophone.

You feel Benjamin’s eyes on your back, but you don’t turn, focusing on Tommy.

A smile breaks out on his face, “I knew you’d have it.”

He holds up a record that the two of you used to listen to so often, you had had to replace the record a couple years back. A small smile forms on your lips, “Tommy, are you sure?”

When the two of you were together, you had taken a dance class together, mostly as a joke, but then you surprised yourselves when you had so much fun with it. Soon, you were choreographing dances together and Tommy was spinning you around that abandoned house. It seemed lifetimes ago and you couldn’t believe that the man who went to France and came back ready to kill any man standing in his way would still know or want to dance with you like when you were barely adults. But he’s beaming at you now, hand extended and the song is starting.

Biting your lip to hide your smile, you curtsy to him before taking his hand and he did a slight bow in response. And then he’s whisking you around the room. You can tell he hasn’t done this in a while and neither had you, but as the song picks up you lock eyes with him. You hadn’t seen him this happy since before the war. The sight sends such a thrill through you, you laugh, and suddenly you’re both in sync.

The weight of both Benjamin’s and Lizzie’s stares nearly break you, “It’s just me and you,” Tommy whispers, noticing how the light had dimmed from you just a little, “Focus on me.” And you do, losing yourself in the music and Tommy’s touch. Tommy dips you, your head falling back and upside down, you can see Benjamin and Lizzie, their eyes on you just like you thought. Tommy pulls you back up and you nearly crash into his chest as the song ends. He clutches your hand to him and your foreheads nearly touch as you both breathe hard.

There’s footsteps behind you and you turn to look to Benjamin, a smile still on your face, and his hand collides with your cheek. There’s only silence for a few seconds and it takes you all of those seconds to realize that Benjamin has hit you and before you’ve reached that conclusion, Tommy’s fist is already connecting with Benjamin’s jaw.

“Stop, stop.” You reach for Tommy to pull him off your husband, “Tommy, that’s enough!”

He had only punched Benjamin twice before you were able to pull him off and then he’s looking at you, “Are you alright?” There’s such concern in his eyes, he even brings his hands up to your face, eyes darting back and forth to assess the damage.

But your husband is still here so you push him away, “I’m fine, you should go.”

He’s looking at you like you’re crazy, “I won’t leave you with him.” He says quietly enough that you’re sure you’re the only one who heard him.

“Yes you will.” You look at him with cold, calculated calm. Your husband is still lying on the floor with stupid Lizzie coddling him, “You both should go.” You repeat.

Tommy is still staring at you and Lizzie has risen from where she was crouching next to your husband, placing a hand on Tommy’s arm, “Thomas, let’s go.”

You hate the familiarity of the touch, you’re able to tell she’s done it several times before. “Listen to your wife.” You say bitterly and that ice in his eyes is back. He simply backs away from you, Lizzie pulling him out the door.

“You humiliate me.” Benjamin says, now sitting upright and dabbing at blood at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. It gives you sick satisfaction that Tommy had made him bleed.

“You humiliate yourself.” You say coldly.

“You danced with him like… Like you were some whore.”

You flinch at the insult, “I told you I knew him from Oxford, we took ballroom together. We were simply reminiscing.”

“You think me an imbecile,” He chuckles, “I saw the way you looked at each other. You’ve never once looked at me like that.”

Now you laugh and the sound makes him flinch, “Benjamin, when we met I looked at you like the sun and the moon set on your command, do not insinuate otherwise.” Your voice shakes with anger, “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to touch and talk to me the way you talked to Tommy's wife all goddamn night. That’s why I danced with him. I wanted to make you jealous, I didn’t think you’d hit me.”

He’s shaking his head, “That doesn’t change the fact that you once bedded that man and then brought him into my house.”

You stare at him blankly, “If I recall correctly, you were the one who invited him here. And I daresay, Benjamin, with the way you were with his wife I have no doubt what you do on those business trips. I will not be made the villain when all I’ve done is begged for your love from day one.” He looks away from you at that and you relish how you’ve made him submit to you after being submissive for so long, “I’m going to bed, you’re welcome to wallow here in your weakness if you’d like.”

***

Tommy drives in silence with Lizzie next to him, quietly fuming. He has half a mind to turn around and drag you from that house himself, but he knew you’d never forgive him for that. “Was a bit daft to dance with her like that in front of her husband, don’t you think, Tom?”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the only indication of his agitation, “Was a bit daft to flirt with her husband in front of her for three straight hours, don’t you think, Lizzie?”

“He advanced on me--”

“No,” Tommy’s shaking his head, “No, don’t give me that bullshit. You knew what she meant to me and you went in there to purposely hurt her. Well congratu-fucking-lations Lizzie, you won.”

“As if you didn’t enjoy seeing her hurting after she left you.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know.” He said dangerously.

“Fine, Tommy,” She says, slumping in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest, “Let her destroy you again, went so well for you the first time.”

He doesn’t respond as he knows there is some truth to what Lizzie is saying. He would let you destroy him again, he would give you his last breath if that was what you wanted.

***

When you wake the next morning, Benjamin is gone. The maid told you he left in the early hours of the morning and handed you a note.

I know what he is and I know what you are. Don’t be here when I return.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Who had told him? How had he figured it out?

The answer was obvious. It had to have been fucking Thomas, trying to force your hand after you refused to leave with him. You crumpled the note and ran back upstairs to get dressed. You figured you had a few days until Benjamin came home, maybe you could still sort it out. The first order of business was going to yell at Tommy.

***

When he sees you walking down the streets of Small Heath looking murderous, he wonders what he’s done. Maybe this is a response to the previous night, but you hadn’t seemed homicidal when he left you.

“What the fuck did you tell him?” You greeted him by shoving him against the nearest building. He raised his arms in bored surrender, not wanting to cause a scene, but you didn’t seem to care about that, “Did you turn around and come back and tell him everything? Do you think I’ll run off with you now that I have nowhere to go?” Tears run down your cheeks now and he frowns in concern, “Well I won’t. I’m fucking done with you, Thomas Shelby. I don’t care if I have to beg on the streets--”

“What are you talking about?” He interjects finally. You look him over, eyes darting over his face and you can see there’s genuine confusion there. He didn’t do this.

Rubbing at your eyes, you sit on the nearest surface, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay, “He knows who you are. Which means he knows who I am. He’s kicking me out.”

He gently puts a hand on your elbow, “Come inside. Please.”

For once, you let yourself be guided. He brings you inside the building that says Shelby Company Limited on the outside and then suddenly the rest of the Shelby family is staring at you.

“Tommy,” Polly says softly, staring at you with a hand on her heart, “You told us she was dead.”

You blink and then turn to Tommy who won’t look at any of you, “She was.”

Tommy Shelby had told his whole family that you were dead rather than go through the humiliation of explaining that you had left your old life behind in favor of another. Left him behind. You supposed, in a way, you had died.

Polly’s gaze drifts to your hand where you’re fiddling with your wedding ring. “Oh, Tommy. Tell me you haven’t killed someone’s husband.”

“Not yet,” The words send a jolt through you, “Stay here.” He orders, squeezing your shoulder.

“Tommy, wait,” He turns back to you, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to kill him before he ruins you and then you’ll have your pick of any lord you’d like. Maybe one of them will actually love you this time. Isn’t that what you want?”

It feels like a dig though you’re not sure he meant it to be one, “No.”

Sensing the energy in the room, the rest of Tommy’s family dispersed, leaving the two of you alone.

“What d’ya mean ‘no’?” There’s a bit of anger in his voice, “You don’t want to be with me, you don’t want to be a lady anymore, are you gonna live on the streets?”

“For your information, Thomas, if I wanted I could make a living for myself,” He scoffs. “But you’re wrong.”

“About what?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes glittering with tears, “I do want to be with you.” After finally uttering the words, you brace yourself for rejection.

He stares at you and then rubs a hand over his face. He begins shaking his head, “You don’t mean that.”

You walk to him and reach your hands up to frame his face. You expect him to move away from your touch, but he doesn’t. When you gently stroke his face with your thumbs he closes his eyes and you truly understand how you had broken this man in front of you, “I do,” You say again, “And I’m sorry for ever making you think you didn’t deserve me.”

Finally, he does push your hands away and walks to the window on the far side of the room, his back to you, “I still want to kill him.” He says softly.

You frown, “Tommy--”

“If you weren’t in that room last night I would have kept punching and kicking and gouging his eyes out with my bare hands for daring to put a hand on you.” His voice is dangerously low, “Is that still the kind of man that you want?” He finishes bitterly.

He would kill a man for you. The thought sends a thrill through you. “I’ve spent the last few years of my life with a man who didn’t even attempt to learn my favorite type of jam, Tommy, do you understand?”

“It’s strawberry.”

You raise your eyebrows, “What?”

He finally turns to you, “Your favorite jam, it’s strawberry. I used to wait in line for hours in the summer when strawberries were in season to get some for you.” He smiles a bit to himself at the memory, “It was always worth it for the smile and kiss on the cheek you gave me.”

Tears finally cascade down your cheeks as you recall the memory, “I’d forgotten about that.” You say softly, “Tommy, it’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

“You told me minutes ago that you wouldn’t run off with me, that you were done--”

“I know,” You say, “That’s when I thought you had betrayed me, that you wanted to force me to be with you--”

“I would never force you to be with me.” He says fiercely, “I would never force this life, this fuckin’ hell, on anyone.”

You shake your head, “I know what you’ve become since you came home. Knowing all of that, knowing what you’re truly capable of, I still choose you. I know you’re my only chance of real happiness.”

He stares at you for another few moments, “So you’ll marry me, then? The whole bit?”

You smile, “I imagined this whole bit to be much more romantic, but yes, I’ll marry you, Thomas.”

“You can’t change your mind once Benjamin comes back, it’s me or you figure out your own way.”

“I’m not choosing you because of the money. I’ve had the money, all it did was make me miserable.”

He steps to you and runs a thumb over your lips, “You’re really mine then, eh?”

“You know,” Familiar mischief lights up your eyes, “Benjamin won’t be back for a few days… What do you say we drink his expensive wine straight from the bottle and fuck on every surface we can.”

Tommy finally cracks a smile, “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

You laugh and go up on your toes to kiss him. He immediately dips his head to you, breathing you in deep as he kisses you. His tongue slides along your lip until you open to him, awarding him with a soft moan. His tongue strokes against yours and you feel hot need for him pooling between your thighs when he pulls away.

He relishes the pout on your face at his absence, “Save it for Benjamin’s bed, princess.” He smirks and tugs you out of the building, lifting you onto your horse. And as he rides, your arms wrapped around his waist, you only wish you had had the wisdom to choose Tommy Shelby first.

#mine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby x reader

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years ago

Note

i saw your post about Charles and what his personality past and part in the story line so i was wondering if u could do the same for vlad? :)

Ah, well, I can at least let you know what I’ve seen so far? I haven’t delved too far into Vlad, and some of his general impressions can be confusing, so I’ll do my best to make it sensible and unbiased! Here you go lovely <33333

Fair warning, there will be mentions of a lot of JPN app content since Vlad and his boys aren’t around much in the ENG app yet.

My general sense of Vlad is basically discount vampire Sasuke Uchiha.

What I mean by this is to say–according to what I’ve read so far–his clan/family were murdered by vampire hunters in cold blood when he was just a young boy. Presumably as a result of that traumatic event, he harbors a sizable enmity towards humanity and kind of lashes out on them in weirdly specific moments of violence. Another aspect of his motivation is something that’s mentioned within Comte’s route; which is that Vlad went through the timespace door on his own one day and allegedly saw a devastated future, where nothing remains of life on earth more or less.

I guess the reason I find him to be so perplexing is that he speaks about his actions in terms of efficiency, while most of the things he does just feel like unhappy outbursts (v often a product of unresolved trauma symptoms, I’d wager.) I also say this because he appears to have no larger pattern to his fury beyond the original event of his loss. Most of the human beings he attacks aren’t much of a threat to him and hurting them really doesn’t bring him any dividends beyond revenge.

For instance, he insists his disdain for humanity and insistence on controlling them is for the sake of ensuring they do not destroy the future–the horrifying wasteland he witnessed when he traveled through the timespace door. However, I’m not really sure how his current movements really speak to that goal? I mean sure, maybe he’s relying on Faust to create an immortal human so that humans will be forced to care because it will be their future too, but he doesn’t allow Faust to draw his pureblood blood for experimenting. (One can most certainly argue this was more about a lack of trust, and perhaps for plenty reason: Faust is vindictive enough to try to turn the tables and exert control over Vlad, or act on his own whims with his findings.) But if that’s the solution he’s waiting on, turning the rivals of the men in the mansion doesn’t really bring him any closer to that vision either? I mean, what good does it do to bring back Gilles de Rais–a prominent French serial killer? How would unleashing him on the populace help humanity “realize the error of it’s short-sighted and wasteful ways” and move to a brighter future?

Can’t help it, I ask these questions as I read.

In Comte’s main story, Comte hammers home that Vlad is not somebody to be taken lightly. One day when MC goes out to buy flowers, Vlad poses as a human florist to sell them to her–which is how Comte finds out he’s in France, and that he’s made contact with MC. When prompted, Comte describes him in a very particular way; and I think people really overlook this when they talk about their relationship. He says that Vlad is frighteningly pure in terms of the way he thinks and acts. The way I understood his description (given what I’ve seen of Vlad) is that Comte really does mean it point blank: Vlad is very simple in terms of why and how he does things. The issue with this is that nuance and context are lost on Vlad as well–and that’s where the problems start to flood in. Vlad is angry at humanity for what they’ve done to him. Baseline? That’s fair, they killed his damn family. However, Vlad thinks that by extension he has the right to decimate the general public and attack people completely uninvolved in his hurt.

And that isn’t right either–it’s ignoring so many factors here. He’s ignoring how much vampires use and toy with humans as pawns, it’s ignoring the massive power imbalance between him and his victims (this really isn’t a case of self-defense most of the time, nobody but Comte/Leo is a sizable threat to him), and he’s ignoring whether or not a person even did anything to deserve his retributive violence. While murder is never okay, it is perhaps more understandable when we see Jeanne’s frenzied and violent belligerence in response to a man who murders a boy’s mother for the sake of his own amusement/convenience. Vlad literally sees almost every single one of the rivals he created begin to heal/improve and murders them in cold blood because they are no longer of any use to him. That’s uh……..that’s a little messed, not gonna lie to you chief.

While part of me understands the efficiency here–he doesn’t want to leave any traces of his involvement, he doesn’t want any loose ends–it’s also just kind of foolish and cruel ultimately. From my understanding of the narrative, all the people he turned had some visible sign that indicated their origin to Comte. So even if he claims it was for the sake of concealment, it was more likely about his personal convenience. Which…..also yikes.

[Comte clearly does not trust Vlad to be reasonable, and I think there’s plenty of good reason enumerated above, but I actually don’t sense quite so much hatred? I think he’s just given up on the idea of Vlad growing up, even if he doesn’t like giving up on people. And considering Vlad’s behavior, I think it’s overkill to say that Comte just abandons him because he doesn’t care lmao. Even when Comte expresses real anger at the end of his own route, it was more because Vlad was fine with endangering MC’s life just to get back at him. I think Comte’s unhappiness with Vlad has more to do with Vlad’s treatment of human life as meaningless and worthless. It’s fascinating but also kind of sad? Vlad’s traumatic experience results in behavior that is a direct exacerbation of Comte’s trauma, and as such--no matter their potentially fond history--they can’t stomach each other.]

In Comte’s route, Vlad also has Shakespeare abduct MC and take her to the cathedral. Later on in the castle, we see an immediate display of Vlad’s shocking powers: he has the ability to manipulate people’s desires/thoughts. I’m not exactly sure how this works, but he is able to give MC visions of the mansion and Comte coming on to her–which shocks her into realizing it’s all just a dream. It’s not reality; it’s all manufactured by Vlad.

After that...weird introductory note...Vlad gives MC the rundown on his life together with Comte, which as always is subject to a question of bias. My assumption is that he did not lie, only because he was trying to convince MC that he was “right.” Furthermore, he does not omit the most damning evidence of his erroneous judgement, which suggests a continued inability for him to see where he went wrong.

We get a series of three flashbacks. The first is them as young kids. I don’t know if Vlad had already experienced the horrors of his family being destroyed, but this particular flashback focuses on Comte. His parents, in an effort to teach him that vampires and humans have no ability to co-exist, send away all of his teachers/mentors/nannies/the servants--pretty much everyone and anyone he was closely bonded to. Think about it this way: we can see that Comte is very sociable and affectionate by nature. He was living in a house full of people, all of whom cared about him and looked after him in their own way. Now the house is entirely empty. Naturally Comte is very very upset, and Vlad appears to try to cheer him up with little success.

[When I look back on this scene I don’t think I initially registered the sheer dissonance of Vlad’s reaction, versus Comte’s catatonic misery. There was a very solemn feeling to that memory, and the correct choice in terms of extending comfort is to hold his hand believe it or not. There is a sense that he feels very alone. When young boy Vlad enters one can argue that it was the proper thing to do; he was trying to cheer up his playmate and friend. But at the same time, I think I need to double check. Because I’m beginning to wonder if I was wrong. What if Vlad was happy to see someone as alone as him, and that joy is accordingly dissonant for that reason? He can’t see what Comte needs or how he’s hurting because he’s so glad he isn’t alone anymore in a way.]

The second flashback is the war nurse scene that I have spoken at length about. The important thing to focus on here is Vlad’s surprise that Comte would opt out of turning her out of respect for her wishes. The way Vlad frames the situation is starkly different from Comte’s. Comte sees himself as an outsider, somebody who invaded her life as a result of the timespace door and therefore has no right to suddenly change the course of her fate. He had no idea if she even wanted to live (considering the horrors she’d have to cope with and remember) or leave that time period at all, for that matter (considering the only thing keeping her going was helping the wounded/victims). Comte really was listening to everything she had to say, and he was taking her concerns and motivations seriously.

Vlad simply says: if you want her, take her. It’s as simple as that for him. And in one way that’s not entirely wrong--assuming Comte would have every intention of looking after her and actually cares a lot about her. But what’s being ignored here is her agency and the fact that they really don’t know each other that well? Something like that could begin and be rocky, if it doesn’t end in complete disaster. Worse, I get the feeling Vlad is perfectly fine with the notion of turning her and if things don’t work out, just kill her or get rid of her. Again, the simplistic thinking comes into play here: it ultimately comes down to Vlad being self-centered. He’s thinking only in terms of satisfying his needs, he doesn’t seem to have any concept of a larger pair or group feeling. There’s an inability to bend/be flexible for the sake of maintaining a greater harmonious feeling.

[For the record, I don��t think this makes him irredeemable? Only that it makes it very hard to live with him or love him, probably. There’s an inability to live at a joint pace? It’s always answering to what he wants without room for anything else most of the time, which to me is not living and it’s not love ;;;;]

Following their escape back to their own time, Vlad explains how he wants to use the door to turn geniuses and control humanity. He eventually wants to create a surveillance state, which would mean everyone is forced to move with his explicit approval, more or less. (He almost reminds me of Louis XIV, can’t tell if that’s what they were going for.) I have my doubts that his abilities could extend that far, but human history shows us that we are plenty susceptible to fascist and totalitarian rhetoric. In a shocking display of anger, Comte draws the line at controlling humanity and forcing them into a regime in which, and this is Vlad’s description not mine, “we (purebloods) would be like kings.” There’s definitely a concept of evolutionary superiority at play here, which echoes what I mentioned earlier; vampires seem to have this awareness that they’re apex predators in a sense, and enjoy the power that comes with that. Unfortunately, that probably makes for a fairly toxic/uncomfortable larger species culture, which is exactly what Comte and Leo hate lmao.

Vlad does not seem to find any issue with this sort of outlook, and asks MC to decide which of them--Vlad or Comte--is right. Who is more realistic, who best understands the future? As expected the MC replies that it's Comte, and Vlad goes from beseeching to big mad at record speed. He's p much that gif of the teddy bear that smacks its head down on the tables and then has the angry eyebrows.

This is where Comte intervenes, firing a warning shot that grazes Vlad's cheek and demanding he let MC go. In response, Vlad shoves MC into the turbulent timespace door--p much guaranteeing MC's death. (Essentially timespace is a void of sorts, a human being could never survive in that environment for long. Vlad fully knew this, and yeeted her anyway.)

So uh, yeah. Disagreement? Death. Moving on? Death. Nuanced approach to reality? Death. Beginning to think he doesn't really have a lot of patience or open-mindedness or any other kind of problem-solving approach.

He raises flowers and gardens like a fiend, and he openly plucks any single flower with a blemished leaf. Even if a single petal is slightly damaged, it will be removed and destroyed. So one could argue his extremism reflects a kind of perfectionism as well. No room for errors or troublesome dissent. No ugliness of any kind. I mean in all of his interactions with Faust and Charles this is the overt undertone. Don't ask more of me than I'm willing to give. Behave like good children, mommy's busy. Is that insubordination? boss music begins

One thing I actually don't understand very well is his decision making in Dazai's route. Dazai finds out about what Vlad's doing in a nanosecond when he senses MC is in danger, and yet Vlad makes absolutely no move to eliminate Dazai? He just watches from the shadows. Even when Dazai grills Charles about his loyalty to Vlad, no retribution.

My best guess for this specific situation is that Vlad does derive some level of satisfaction thwarting the future of human beings/former humans. Dazai--being somebody with no great desire to live, no rivals to speak of as far as we can tell, and no larger aspirations--is a life that is easily extinguished. There's no satisfaction in it. When Vlad's clan was murdered and he saw the future decimated, it could be that he felt humans had invaded and eradicated every potentiality that was important to him. Where he might have lived happily with his family, that future was ripped from his grasp. Where he might enjoy his flowers and the creation of an immortal for the rest of conceivable time, that too was ripped from his grasp with a desolate future.

So much about who Vlad is is about control, so it's very possible his lashing out is an extension of that. Dazai does not awaken any of the disdain he feels, and he does not succeed in overthrowing Vlad's control over Charles, so Vlad simply lurks in silence.

And last but not least, I've seen the preview to Vlad's newest birthday event story. The contents are incredibly revealing, in that MC wishing him a happy birthday and offering him a gift has him saying that it was "the best birthday ever." Granted idk if that’s sweet or just...beyond sad, but here we are. It’s only compounding my curiosity about the wound on his chest--I really do wonder if he was attacked and locked away by vampire hunters or hostile human beings or something. I say that only because that line speaks to a lot of isolation, and given how little he seems to care about turning people/subjecting them to his whims it feels odd. Why the isolation or lack of people who care about him? Is it a perceived lack where his actions alienated all the people who wanted to be close to him, or is it a more involuntary lack?

When she says let’s celebrate again next year, he seems a pleasantly shocked by the notion, and remarks “Ah yes, it’s a promise c:”. The preview was also mega horny: “You make me feel so loved, I don’t think I can be gentle with you tonight. If you enjoy it so much, then I won’t stop. I want to see you completely lost for me. I’ll teach your body what it means to be loved by a pureblood.” Aaaaaand pretty sure the CG was alluding to him licking the good stuff from her basement, though not entirely sure given it was only the preview.

The brief POV they give us is also very revealing:

“You always keep your promises, and I think I underestimate all the time how much you saved me. You are good, only you are good in this world.”

“Will we continue to make promises to each other in the future? Well in that case--you will always, always be mine, my vampire.”

Tbh he’s...v sweet? In his own way? Honestly he feels like a crabapple that is just so sick of the world and wants softe wife to take comfort in. While granted that’s not really my thing, I know a fanbase appeal exists for these types--so if that’s your thing, have at it!

So now that we have reached the end of my ridiculously long analysis (when am I ever brief, I’m so sorry. If you made it all the way here you deserve a cookie at the very least, if not the right to chase me with a bat) perhaps it’s more clear why I said discount vampire Sasuke Uchiha? “My clan is gone, every other second I’m going to be in retraumatization insanity, when I’m not I’ll be seeking power/hobbies, planning the demise of people who wanted the best for me, building a team to my advantage and unquestioned control, and eventually settling for a lifelong love who sees the best in me despite my more difficult moments and perceived hollowing loneliness. Not the most ideal comparison, but I will say if Vlad was not already named the historical figure, would have pointed and yelled Uchiha.

That’s all from me folks, hopefully this was a fun way to get introduced to him? And again, hope I didn’t alienate--I fully respect what people do and don’t enjoy o7

#asks #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp meta #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp faust #ikevamp charles #ikevamp dazai #i hope this was helpful!#i had too much fun writing it jkahlgkjhgdf i love meta #but thank you for submitting <33333 #oh discount vampire sasuke uchiha we really in it now #rambles #not incorrect quotes

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holidaywishes · 4 years ago

Text

and now we’re here

Requested: 👍

Summary/Request: This one is a collab with @kayleafs221! We flash back with (Y/N) after Freddie left her and to her finding out she was pregnant

Author’s Note: We have a part three! I wasn’t going to do more than two but @kayleafs221 wants ✨drama✨ so we’re gonna see what we can conjure up together. We teamed up to see how much drama we could fit in so hopefully it fits the bill. @kayleafs221 also mentioned that she wanted to structure this sort of how New Moon was written so we went with it! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I’ve got one last chapter in me to make it all fluffy and bring these two back together! Stay Golden, loves! <3

masterlist

the other masterlist

It had already been a month. You kept telling yourself you shouldn’t be so devastated but he hadn’t called or even texted. You were alone. He had left you completely alone and he wasn’t coming back. You found yourself curled up in his large hoodie on the bathroom floor for the umpteenth time while your chest tightened with every sob and gasp you took as if he took your lungs with him; falling asleep clinging to the last piece you had of him.

Month 2

You had no choice. You had to throw yourself into work, it was all you could do. Even when you were home, your laptop was out. You let yourself be distracted in any way you could but even that was no use. You had been sick all week and your boss had made you stay home. You didn’t know what to do as you sat on your couch refusing to watch movies because they were all the same. Always a happy ending and the thought of love and sex made you sick, sick to your stomach. You were determined to do something productive, maybe going for a walk would make you feel better. A walk by the beach. It was just as you remembered it. Beautiful. Peaceful. Suddenly your mind was flooded.

“I’ve been traded to Toronto. I leave at 4am.” What bullshit was that? How could he leave so suddenly and not even be phased? Not have any remorse for any of it?

“Stay in touch Freddie.” You were so stupid to think that he would care enough to keep whatever this was going long distance. You had to face reality, that you didn’t mean anything to him. It came again, the dizziness, the shortness of breath. It couldn’t be stopped this time. There was only black. You woke up to the incessant sound of beeping, beeping, what was all that beeping? Your eyes were met with an uncomfortable brightness. This isn’t the beach, you thought to yourself, before rubbing your head, “What?” you started to say, confused as to how you ended up in a hospital bed

“Ah, Miss (Y/L/N) I see you are awake,” the nurse checking your vitals said, “I’ll get the doctor for you, I’m sure you have many questions.” Sitting yourself up, you watched her leave the room before finding the clock and realizing that it had been two hours since you went to the beach. You couldn’t believe you were unconscious for that long, this was crazy, “she’s still groggy” the nurse said, directing the doctor to your bedside

“That’s normal,” the doctor explained with a smile, “well, we’ve run some tests and you’re severely dehydrated”

“Dehydrated?” you asked, “I don’t un– I mean I haven’t been out of bed for a couple weeks but I’ve just been dealing with some things”

“Seven” he smiled, checking the paperwork in front of him casually

“Excuse me?” you replied, furrowing your brow

“Seven weeks,” he added, “my guess is that you haven’t been drinking a lot of water”

“I haven’t really been up for it” you cowered

“Well, please do,” the doctor said, “for your baby’s sake”

“I’m sorry what?” you exclaimed, “Baby?” you said, shaking your head

“Yes,” the doctor repeated, “you’re about seven weeks along. Give or take a couple days. All women handle their pregnancies differently, which might account for your drowsiness and any mood swings you may have been experiencing”

“I’m not pregnant” you scoffed, readjusting yourself in your bed

“You are” the doctor returned your scoff, seemingly annoyed at your behaviour

“I can’t be…”

“The results say otherwise”

“But I haven’t had sex, I haven’t left my bed in.. like two months”

“Which is about seven weeks”

“But I… I can’t be pregnant”

“Is there anyone we can call for you?”

“No… there’s no one” you lowered your eyes as the realization came over you.

Month 3

After you were released from the hospital, you tried to make the pregnancy easier on yourself by reading a million books and telling your parents what you needed or letting your mom tell you what she thought you needed

“You know what I think will really help?” she said, “telling the father…”

“Mom…” you whined

“He deserves to know, too.” She was right, of course, as all mom’s usually are so you agreed to reach out but you deleted his number when you convinced yourself it was better to forget about him, forcing you to search him out online; a huge mistake really. There were stories about girls who he’d slept with and left ‘in his wake,’ none of which you could be sure of their validity, but then you’d find pictures of him hanging out with Auston Matthews or William Nylander or any of the younger teammates in clubs and bars and you could only imagine that their behaviours spilled into his, so you let it go.

Month 9

“But what happens when that kid is born with red hair and freckles? Or when he’s a natural athlete?” your sister asked

“What do you mean?” you scoffed

“You can’t hide that,” she tried, tilting her head as she continued, hoping you’d get her point. “He’s gonna know. If there’s a picture, he’s gonna know. He’s not dense…”

“The kid probably won’t be a red head. So he’d never know..” you said knowing very well it could be a possibility. She huffed when she realized she wouldn’t get through your stubbornness. As time went on, you realized that there was no use denying it, Jackson was already excelling at every sport he tried. Knowing this, you kept him as far away from ice as possible. You knew it was wrong but you just couldn’t risk it, especially after so many of the Ducks already knew you. Whenever you thought about reaching out and telling him the truth, something was being said about him. He seemed to be a magnet for negativity.

“Possible Frederik Andersen injury a very troubling turn for Maple Leafs”

“Maple Leafs placing all their faith in Frederik Andersen”

“Andersen Said What Every Maple Leaf Fan Is Thinking”

“Maple Leafs goalie Frederik Andersen fined $2K for embellishment”

“Toronto Maple Leafs: Andersen has been a Disaster”

Every headline seemed to be worse than the last and you knew that if you were feeling stressed just reading them, then he was probably shutting himself away to hide from everyone after living with them. This was a normal thing for goalies to go through in the NHL but there was something about the way Toronto was treating Freddie that made you want to be there for him. But you couldn’t make a decision like that so easily anymore. It wasn’t just about you and your feelings anymore, you had your baby boy to think about and the older he got, the more you could see his personality grow and the more his personality grew, the happier he was; you couldn’t imagine taking that away from him. You couldn’t take that life away from him. But watching Freddie’s career hit highs and lows, noticing he was alone through most of it, your heart broke for him. You hoped that, somehow, your love would reach him. You hoped for his happiness even before your own. Even so, you would protect your son through everything, knowing that meant it might cost you the truest of love.

Toronto 2021

“Why did you lie to me?” Freddie said under his breath. You could tell he was angry and there was no getting away from this.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t lie. I told you I had a one night stand with some guy– why are we even talking about this again?” You tried your best to keep the story straight, hoping to appease him

“You lied about Jackson not being mine!” he started to shout

“I didn’t…” you stammered. There’s no way. He couldn’t know. You had made sure of it

“I did the math… I saw your post and I went back because something didn’t… add up…” he admitted, “and the math didn’t fit with some one night stand. That kid in there, who looked an awful lot like me as a kid, he’s mine. And you lied about it. You kept it from me, kept HIM from me!”

“HE’S MY SON!” you cried. Everything was falling apart and you weren’t sure what to do anymore. There was no getting around this, you had to let out what you’d been holding in from that night, “and you left me! YOU LEFT US!”

“BUT HE’S MY SON TOO!” he countered and you furrowed your brow, shaking your head as you tried to think of what to say next.

“I made a choice, Freddie. I looked at how quickly our life together changed and I… made a choice. I couldn’t put a child through all of that. Moving at the drop of a hat, having to say goodbye to friends and homes and cities whenever your job called for it… You never looked back, you never reached out. After two months of waiting, I woke up alone in a hospital and you didn’t even care to call. So I did this. I HAD TO” you confessed, sorrow filling your eyes as you watched his face soften. “So yeah, I lied. But I didn’t lie to hurt you. I lied to protect him. No matter what. I make no apologies for that.”

“How was I supposed to know that you were in the hospital?”

“It doesn’t matter, Freddie,” you sighed, “the point is, you left and I was alone and I couldn’t wait for you.”

“So what now?”

“I don’t know,” you started. “If this had happened before you got traded, our life would’ve been so different. I pictured it, you know,” you smiled, “our life. With Jackson. We looked so happy in my daydreams”

“We could be happy like that,” he whispered, moving close to you, “in real life”

“I can’t change his life for you”

“I don’t want you to change his life,” he smiled, closing the gap between the two of you and you felt your heartbeat in your head, making it hard to think straight, “I just want to be part of it...”

“He doesn’t know who you are” you said through bated breath

“Let’s tell him then” he exclaimed

“No,” you insisted, putting your hands on his forearms, “if we’re going to do this, we have to take it slow”

“Slow?” he asked, leaning down to your ear, “how slow?”

“I just don’t want him to feel overwhelmed,” you replied, your hands drifting up his arms, “just... start by introducing yourself to him... We’ll have lunch”

“I can do that” he smirked, pushing your hair back before laying a kiss to the exposed skin of your collarbone

“You have to be patient”

“I can do that” he repeated as a moan left your mouth

“I don’t know if you can” you chuckled, finally pushing him away from you

“I can”

“I’m serious”

“So am I!” he laughed, placing his hands on your hips to stop you from turning around, “he’s my son and I will do anything to get to know him”

“He can’t know you’re his dad yet,” you said again, “I know it seems weird but, please, just don’t fight me on this”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it”

“Good” you joked, cocking your eyebrow before he smiled at you. That smile always broke you, always made your heart louder than your head, and, right now, you were more than happy to listen to it. He met you in the middle, pressing a kiss to your lips before his hands pushed your body into his and suddenly, it all felt so perfect. Like no time had passed. He was yours again and you were determined to keep it that way.

#Frederik Andersen #Frederik Andersen fic #Frederik Andersen imagine #freddie andersen #Freddie Andersen fic #Freddie Andersen imagine #Frederik Andersen request #Freddie Andersen request #Frederik Andersen angst #Freddie Andersen angst #masterlist #the other masterlist #nhl #hockey #tml

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 5 years ago

Text

edge

pairing: harry styles x reader (au)

warnings: smut, dom/sub, exhibitionism, degradation, spit play, choking, face fucking, spanking, ring kink (if that’s even a thing ..?), orgasm denial, unprotected sex, subspace, aftercare, very fluffy and cheesy ending (like seriously so cheesy and cliche pls don’t bully me i didn’t know how to end it)

word count: 4.7k

synopsis: harry and y/n are a cam couple

author’s note: i hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

It started by accident, really, with a simple, offhand comment one night.

Already two-and-a-half bottles of wine deep, Y/N was close to tears with one glance at their pitiful bank account, and Harry was trying his best to comfort her and assure her that everything would end up fine, but he had absolutely no way to promise her that. Their part-time jobs did very little to cover their monthly expenses, and their next loan payment for school was coming up; needless to say, they were feeling overwhelmed.

And what better to do than drink and complain about your problems when you’re feeling overwhelmed?

“Maybe I should go into porn,” she sighed, and he rubbed his hand under her shirt, trying to soothe her. They knew that they were taking a risk moving across the world for uni, with no backup plan and nothing to fall back on, but in the end, it will, hopefully, be worth it. In the end, they would have a brighter future, despite the mountain of debt, but the middle part, the part where they struggle and contemplate giving up, is so difficult to get past.

“I—I’d do it with you,” he hiccuped, resting his head against her shoulder.

“Maybe we should do our own videos,” she said, “I heard that people can make a lot of money doing that.” Not noticing that he had gone quiet, she continued, laughing and raving. “Could you imagine? Oh, what if we did one of you going down on me? Harry, babe,” she moans lightly, “that would be hot.”

He smiled widely, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head at the thought; he felt a rush of blood in his groin. They had talked about recording themselves and posting it online before, so the idea wasn’t something they were unfamiliar with, but it normally only happened when they were tipsy, and they never talked about it in any detail like she was. Now, the thought of her recording him between her legs or vice versa, for them to enjoy over and over, made arousal burn in his belly. He could imagine how the camera would shake as she came on his tongue, her hips bucking wildly, hand pulling at his hair. He holds back a moan.

“That would be so hot,” he said, “we should totally do it.” He downs the rest of his wine and pulls out his laptop.

“No,” she giggled, “no, no…”

“‘M doin’ it,” he said.

“Don’t do it,” she argued weakly, making no actual move to stop him. While she seemed to be on the fence about the idea, she had a slight grin on her face, her heart nearly racing out of her chest.

“We are so doing this,” he said, exploring the page. He gasps suddenly and taps on her leg, making her nearly spill the glass of wine. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N—”

“What? What? What?” She mocked him. With mischievous smirk on his face, he faces her, a slight purple hue to his lips.

“What if we did cam?”

And the rest is history.

Now, they dedicate their Friday nights to do cam videos. It started off as something they did on special occasions, quick little teasers that lasted no longer than ten minutes, but they ended up getting a lot of money for it. It helped pay their school loans and get a head start on their savings, and it gradually turned into a regular occurance.

By the time they are ready to begin their live one evening, it’s nearing ten o’clock. They’re on their bed, pillows and comforter long gone, leaving nothing but faded floral sheets, stretched tautly beneath them. Y/N is nestled into his side while Harry’s on his knees and fiddles with the computer, brows pulled together and lips puckered slightly. She’s tired, her swollen eyelids closing every few seconds. He kisses her forehead, wrapping an arm around her. Their laptop, with the main webcam, is propped up on a stool right behind the footboard, and the secondary camera, a cheap handheld camcorder connected to the computer with flimsy wires, which is used for close up shots, is thrown off to the side. Harry leans back on his heels.

“Ready?” He asks with a teasing smile. Even with such a small gesture, his grin is still infectious, with cute little dimples and laugh lines. She returns the smile. It’s a redundant question at this point, whether or not she’s ready, but Harry asks every time. It never felt like a chore; it was something they both enjoyed, and if they were to grow tired of it, they would stop. They were finally financially stable enough to be able to make the decision.

While initially they decided to start doing cam for the money, it became something that they both enjoyed doing. She always got this little rush of excitement in the seconds before they finally went live. This was the last moment of secrecy they would have for the next hour or so. To many, the thought of some strangers watching her and Harry at their most intimate would make them apprehensive, but she always got this exhilaration from it.

“Always,” she says, stealing one last kiss from him.

It’s a tradition of theirs to hit the “Go Live” button together, cheesy as it is, and tonight is no different. Their faces light up the screen, and they both grin, arousal building with each thrilling second. There is only a moment of calm before dozens of familiar usernames flood the screen.

“See some new ones,” Harry comments under his breath. She rests her cheek against his shoulder, toying with the rings on his fingers. The introduction part is always the most awkward; there is no decorum or set way that they have to be done, and not feeling comfortable using their first names, she and Harry found it difficult to find their rhythm and interact with the viewers. It felt a bit unforthcoming for them to just dive in without saying anything.

“What are we feelin’ tonight, lovie? Soft and vanilla or rough and dirty?” Harry asks, like he normally does.

Comments fill the screen; a lot of them describe what they would do if they were there, but most of them have similar responses: rough and dirty.

The couple very rarely genuinely ask the viewers what they want to see because the most important thing, to them, is that they are enjoying it. What’s the point of doing it if they aren’t enjoying themselves? Sure, they sometimes cater toward the audience (that’s the easiest ways to make any money), but for the most part, they stick to what they both know the other would enjoy. Harry gives her a soft smile, leaning in a little closer. No matter what she wants, it’s all the same to him; as long as he is with her, he likes just about everything.

“Rough and dirty,” she smirks, tongue curling over her teeth teasingly. “I want you to fucking wreck me.” She whispers that part, low enough for only Harry to hear. He hums appreciatively, leaning back.

Ding!

“Be careful what you wish for.”

He kisses her, rough and gnawing, their teeth knocking together with his tongue slipping through, gently prying her lips apart. He bites on her tongue, and she lets out a small whimper, trying to hold off a smirk. Even after all this time being together, since they were just teens, he still knows what makes her tick and ache and melt; he knows exactly where to kiss and bite and lick to make her fall apart. She tucks her arms beneath his own, draping tightly around his waist, her fingertips tracing along the plain of his back, and he shivers.

His hand wraps easily around her throat, another thing he found early on that she enjoyed. He can feel her breathing pick up. She tugs at his bottom lip, suckling at the skin. He digs his fingers deeper into her neck, pressing harshly onto her pulse point. Eyes rolling back, she moans, strained and muffled, breaking slightly, and wraps her hands around his wrist.

“Open,” he beckons, and she does as best as she can, jaw still confined within his strong grasp. Her tongue dips out, ready and willing. “Good girl,” he says, loosening his grip on her throat. A breath of air slips past her swollen lips. Spit dribbles out from his puckered lips onto her greedy tongue. She closes her mouth quickly to keep it all in, his hand tightening around her neck once again. She sighs, head tipping back.

“You know the rules, babylove. Don’t swallow.”

“Mhm,” she nods, voice muffled. Her fingers dip into his boxers, nails tracing over the inked skin. She can trace the outline of his tattoos from memory at this point, every curve, point, and shadow etched in her brain. She pinches the extra skin at his abdomen lightly, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to her swollen lips.

“Wan’ my cock, huh?” He raises a brow. “Should I make you beg?

Ding! Ding!

“No,” she mumbles, pouting slightly. “Wanna make you feel good.” He hums appreciatively, tapping her cheek lightly.

“Taught you well, lovie,” he says. “Down.” He guides her onto her onto her elbows as he adjusts onto his knees, her hands moving back under the elastic band, the tips of her fingers teasing his skin. “Le’ me see,” he coaxes, fingers tugging on her chin. Sure enough, his spit is still in the divot of her tongue. “Good girl, you can swallow now.”

Ding!

Her fingers tease up his thighs and into his boxers, cupping his balls suddenly. He bites his lip, slapping her on the cheek. It’s not enough to do anything more than a slight burn, but it leaves her tingly with her eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t be greedy, slut,” he spits, yanking her head back by her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “Just want you so bad.”

She tugs his boxers down, but only enough for his hard cock to slip out. She normally starts off slow, teasing him until he can't take it anymore and pushes her all the way down, using her as he pleases. That’s not the case tonight. A part of her wants to take control, to suck him until he’s nearly falling apart, his knees weak. She takes nearly all of him in her mouth, and he gasps with surprise, his hands combing through her hair, guiding her. She gags on him, her bottom lip pressed tightly to his balls. He tugs her back.

“Watch the teeth,” he hisses. She gasps for air, lips lingering on the red, nearly purple, tip. His hips buck. He breathes out through gritted teeth, shaky and heavy.

“Sorry, just wanna make you feel good,” she says, pressing a wet kiss to his hip. She runs her tongue over the divot of his hip bone.

“Want me to fuck your mouth, lovie?” He asks, his fingers tracing over her tender lips. She nods, and he can feel her trying to move, but he holds her back by the hair, grip tight. “Beg,” he says, brows cocked.

“Please, H, want you to fuck my mouth, use me,” she moans, mouthing over the head of his cock. He holds himself steady, teasing her, just barely letting her feel but not allowing her to fully take him in her mouth. A pool of spit slides down her lips and into his hand, wetting the skin even more, before it falls onto the mattress. Her hands travel up the back of his thighs and onto his partially clothed bum, giving him a cheeky squeeze.

“M’kay, relax, babylove,” he says, brushing flyaways from her forehead, the skin already sticky with sweat. “Hold still and look at me. You know the rules.” She looks up at him, wide eyes never breaking from his as he guides his cock down the length of her throat, squeezing and stroking. She barely winces as he thrusts his hips, shoving himself deeper with every move. Her tongue runs along the bottom ridge of his cock, tracing every vein.

Ding!

She squeezes the skin of his thighs, guiding him further down her throat. The filthy wet sounds make her clit throb and her arousal seep into the sheets. There’s absolutely nothing better than seeing him above her, lost in pleasure, his chest flushing red, nearly incoherent: all because of her. There’s also something incredibly intimate about it as well; he always insists on keeping eye contact until there are tears in her eyes. With one hand gripping her hair tightly while the other gently caresses her cheek, he guides himself into her warm mouth. He nibbles on his lip.

“Take it, baby,” he moans, stuffing his cock deeper in her mouth. He traces his fingers along her throat, feeling the muscles swell and contract beneath them. Saliva dribbles from her lips, down her chin and the length of his shaft. She chokes and gags, but she doesn’t let up.

She barely reaches the base, her nose only just grazing the curls before he’s yanking her back, a string of saliva trailing from the head to her swollen lips, which breaks under the force of her gasps, and his cock twitches at the sight of her looking properly wrecked, eyes wide, blown with lust, her lips swollen and wet from spit and pre-cum, and chest heaving.

“Bend over,” he says, tapping her cheek. “Made such a mess, baby,” he says after she moves up, running a hand over the wet patch that formed on the sheets. Like a good girl, she turns until she’s facing the headboard, her glistening pussy on display to their hundreds of viewers. She shakes with anticipation.

Harry doesn’t deter from his normal routine, not touching her until she’s nearly in tears. She can feel the heat from his hand hovering over her skin, and she can feel hungry eyes on her; a small part of her wants to shrink away, but with Harry right beside her, it makes her feel like the strongest, sexiest woman in the world. Harry finally runs a finger along her slit after a few tense minutes and roughly presses into her clit. Her hips buck into his hand, and she presses a cheek into the mattress, moaning with relief.

“Such a good little slut,” he hums. “So wet for us, baby.”

Us.

When he says that, her pussy clenches and a rush of arousal threatens to slip down her trembling thighs; she sinks further into the mattress, sliding down until her chest is pressed tightly to the sheets, and her thighs spread even further until the joints of her hips ache with overexertion, but the pain is welcomed.

“Keep 'em on or off?” He asks.

“On,” she answers, the feeling of his cool rings against her heated skin is comforting almost. Her stomach tingles when he slips two fingers inside her pussy, with his thumb massaging at the tender skin between her holes. He easily finds that spot inside her, the spot that makes

Her orgasm comes painfully soon, her clit throbbing and begging for attention as he fucks her so close to oblivion, his rings adding extra friction to her sensitive walls. The scent of her arousal is thick in the air as it slips down his hands, traveling either down to her belly or her thighs. She’s so close, close enough to taste it; she just needs one more push until her high completely swallows her, bathing her in a warmth that only he’s been able to give her, but she is, perhaps, a little too optimistic. With every helpless jut of her hips, the more frequent moans, and the tightening of her walls, Harry knows the signs of her impending orgasm, but he can’t let her have it that easily.

A pained yelp slips past her lips when he suddenly pulls away and smacks her clit with wet fingers, the fervent climax drifting away until a dull ache, of yearning and lust, is all that remains. He spanks her sensitive pussy and lands two more on her bum. She groans, savoring the sting from his rings, cold yet burning.

“Not yet,” he says, running his hand along her prickled skin. He spanks her, harder than before, and she groans with pleasure. He wants to see the raised imprint of his hand on her smooth skin.

She can feel herself slipping. It starts off slow, a slight fog behind her eyes, and then it drifts and settles, spreading to her limbs. It feels like being high, swaddled in a soothing haze, and you can only feel yourself. The external earth doesn’t exist, and in that moment, it’s just her and Harry. Her world muffles, the sporadic chimes coming from the laptop ceasing, and the mattress disappears from beneath her, leaving her floating and vulnerable, with nothing to hold her other than him.

Harry.

He has always been able to make her teeter on the edge of pain and pleasure, and with her senses are in overdrive yet dulled at the same time, she feel that edge slip away into the abyss, with each slap delivered to her ass, they’re dulled just a little bit more. Like an addict, she yearns to feel the first one, the one that made her legs tremble, the one that sent tingles up her spine and a burning to her supple skin.

“More,” she says, inching closer to him.

“More?” She can hear the smile in his voice. She stretches her arms in front of her, back arching further than ever before. He lands another slap to her ass, lower and closer to her dripping pussy. He kisses the welts that raised over her skin from the rings, but she can barely feel them, nothing more than a welcomed prickle.

He spits on her pussy and slips three fingers inside this time, stretching her further than before, and with the extra friction from his rings, she tightens up almost instantly, the burning fire from before coming faster and stronger than before.

“Fuck,” she moans, long and drawn out. His free hand spanks her again, and she hisses, her arms giving out. Pleasure rushes through her veins, threatening to envelop her, and she can feel herself give in once again, sinking into him and accepting anything he has to offer. “Close,” she whines, but he pulls away again, slapping her clit roughly. She cries out, wanting to shy away from him, but her body betrays her, and she backs into him, craving yet another stolen high.

“Move t’ the side, button,” he says, tapping her leg, and she does, turning until they’re parallel to the webcam. He only teases the head of his cock through her folds for a moment before he slams into her with little warning, her warmth swallowing him easily. This is something he could never get tired of: the feeling of her hot, wet walls gripping him and of her arousal slipping down his thighs.

Ding! Ding!

His near brutal pace knocks the wind from her chest, making her drawn out cries of pleasure break and split. As he pounds into her, his hips smacking harshly against her raw skin, the remnants of her ruined climaxes leave her walls overly sensitive to every rough thrust, but she backs into him, meeting his hips, eager to finally come undone. He digs his nails into her tender skin, and she lets out a breath.

There has always been a fine line between pain and pleasure, and Harry knows exactly how to dangle her right at the very edge.

“Takin’ me so well,” he coos, but she can’t even fathom his compliment in her addled mind, let alone respond. He wraps his hands around her throat and pulls her head next to his. He wants to feel her, the heat of her breaths, the salt on her skin, the tremors of her thighs, everything. Her body grinds back against him, whether consciously or unconsciously, he doesn’t know. Her eyes are closed, features pinched, chasing her high.

Y/N can feel everything, every rush of blood flowing in her veins, every stroke of his cock inside her, every bead of sweat that drips from his skin and onto her back. She can feel everything, yet nothing at all; it all blurs together into a blanket of warmth and euphoria, and he’s at the center of it all: holding her and pleasing her and giving her everything she never knew she desired. She can barely speak, nothing more than a few broken whimpers filling the thick air, lost amongst his heaving breaths and the chimes from the laptop, which is at the back of their minds at this point.

She hooks her arm behind her, around his neck, her fingers carding through the sweat-drenched locks. She tugs on them painfully hard when he hits her weak spot, and he groans. Her heart is nearly racing out of her chest when yet another taunting orgasm tightens her stomach.

“Need cummies,” she whines, her words slurring, head falling to the side. He nestles his nose into the crook of her neck, hips grinding his cock deeper inside her.

“No cummies, yet, lovie,” he says. “Wait f’ me.” He can feel her struggling to hold her orgasm back, the walls of her pussy fluttering, milking him; he groans, feeling more blood rush to his cock when she squeezes him even tighter. “Relax,” he coos, scratching his nails along her scalp. He slaps her clit, making her twitch and buck even more, and he spreads his fingers around the swollen skin of her pussy, teasing where they’re connected. He lets go of her neck, and she nearly collapses without his support, leaning heavily on her elbows, back arched.

“Please,” she whimpers, shaking her head, “Can’t hold it.”

She slumps onto the mattress, her quivering knees slipping out from under her. Her hips buck, a long, drawn out moan slipping out as toe-curling orgasm washes over her, bathing her in warmth and relief and pure bliss. He comes soon after, hands gripping her hips tightly. Her shallow breaths are barely audible in the thick air, amongst a cacophony of chimes from the cam and his own heavy breathing. He rubs along her back, pressing sporadic kisses to her spine, following the ridges up to her neck.

“Babylove?”

She doesn’t answer, only a weak whimper and a sigh leaving her as she shifts beneath him, causing his softening cock to slip out, their releases pooling beneath them. He quickly closes the laptop to keep some semblance of privacy, and he tries to ease her onto her back, but she’s unresponsive, head nestled deep into the bed, but her breathing becomes more stable, muscles lax.

“Y/N?” She hums and turns onto her back. He cups her cheeks, trying to look into her eyes. They’re half-lidded, and she can’t seem to focus on much of anything. “Can you get up f’me? Need t’ get ya cleaned up.”

She finally looks at him, her pupils dilated, like she’s faded, lost in an empty mind. She blinks and looks down at his hands on her arms. Her brows furrow, and the tremors return, starting in her hands and spreading to her legs. They’re not pleasant, like before when she felt like she was floating; these ones make her blood run cold. Her high lessens, her head still foggy, but the feeling returns in her limbs, leaving her skin burning and bruised. When she meets his gaze again, there’s a sinking feeling in her stomach, shame and dread.

In her current state of mind, she mistakes the concern in his eyes for anger, and tears fill her eyes. She disappointed him; she was being greedy and dirty and bad. She covers her face with her arms to hide the tears that slip out, knees tucking to her chest.

“‘M sorry,” she cries suddenly. His heart stops for a second. What on earth could he have done to make her want to apologize? He tugs her arms away from her face.

“For wha’?”

“You said no cummies, and I couldn’t hold it—” Her face crumbles. “I was being a bad, bad girl.” She mutters to herself, biting her lip, which quivers pitifully. “Please, please, don’t be mad,” she begs, hands clinging to him. Before, she felt absolute euphoria, a high she didn’t want to come down from, but now, her skin aches, and there’s a pang of guilt and shame in her belly that she can’t seem to soothe. She doesn’t even feel it when her teeth break past the skin of her lips.

“Hey, none of that,” he says, easing her bruised lip from her teeth. He runs a thumb over her knuckles. “‘M not mad, never, lovie,” he reassures her. “C’mere,” he says, tugging her into his arms. “Look a’ me.” He rests his forehead against hers. He’s had to coax her out of a subspace only a handful of times, but she has never crashed this hard. Never has she been this shaken, nor has it ever happened during a cam. He just wishes he noticed sooner; he should have known not to go as rough as he did, especially when she was feeling tired to begin with. When she’s in her subspace, she tends to take it a little too far, thinking she can take more than what she would normally handle.

“Better?” He asks her after a moment, and she nods, but her hands still quiver at her side. “Be right back, yeah?” He lays her back down gently and goes into the washroom to draw a bath. When he comes back, he finds her with her hands over her face, shoulders shaking.

“Can ya walk?”

“Yeah,” she says, scooting up off the bed, but her knees buckle, and they barely make it to the bathroom.

“I gotcha,” he says. “Jus’ gonna getcha cleaned up, feelin’ all better.” Her bum, the skin raised with welts made by his own hand, barely touches the water before she’s wincing. There’s a tinge in his stomach, but he continues to help her in, holding her under the armpits.

“In ya go,” he whispers, nursing her like she’s a toddler. The water is hot and comforting against her aching muscles. The lavender oil he tossed in leaves her skin silky with a tingeful burn on her bum and thighs. She clings to his arm, which has now wrapped tightly around her middle, pressing into her tender breasts.

“Come in with me,” she says. He sinks to his knees and cups her neck, elbow dipping in the water.

“Be right back, button,” he says, kissing her forehead lightly, “Jus’ need t’ change the sheets.”

He returns not a moment later and joins her in the tub, washing her body with a sweetly scented scrub. She comes fully down in the bath, with his arms coiled tightly around her, one over her chest and the other around her middle, their fingers toying together. The water’s run cold, but they don’t make any move to get out any time soon, basking in the warmth of each other.

Despite how many years they have been together, he still finds it difficult to believe that he can be so comfortable with another person.

She puts her heart, body, and soul fully in his hands and trusts him not to break it.

He trusts that she’ll do the same for him.

And when she snuggles into him and presses a tired kiss to his cool skin, after he gets them dried and in their bed once again, he knows that there is no other person in the world he would trust more with his heart than her.

—

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes smut #ellie writes fluff #ish #gif not mine #credit to owner

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sserpente · 4 years ago

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Synopsis: After his lucky escape, the Tesseract takes Loki on new adventures--but unfortunately, his journeys through space do not go unnoticed and he soon ends up on TVA’s radar. The deal is a simple one: Become a recruit and help the Time Variance Authority fight time crimes to earn your freedom again eventually or die. Loki accepts the challenge. It would not be long until he could use their own weapons against them, after all. If only that, however, were his only concern. Least of all did he expect that with his reluctant arrival at TVA, a woman would step into his life and wreak havoc in his heart. He does not know what it is about her that he seeks her presence like a bee hunting for honey--but he is determined to find out.

A/N: Gaaaah, I haven’t nearly pre-written as many chapters as I would like to have pre-written before starting to post but I just can’t wait any longer! I finally want to share this story with you guys, I am so hyped about it! So, without further ado--enjoy the first chapter of “Pastel Blue”! I hope you like it! ♥

Chapter 1

Tick Tock. That clock on the wall was driving her crazy, it had been ever since she had been assigned to this dull office. She spent most of her time in the lab, working in midst of dangerous and highly sensitive equipment and delicate devices.

Tick Tock. She was going to smash it—with a big hammer, perhaps, or even better, a jackhammer. It was ugly too. Made of wood and obviously antique, late 18th century probably. What had Mobius been thinking?

Oh yeah, him. Mobius M. Mobius, her I-am-not-your-father-but-I-will-treat-you-like-my-daughter supervisor and babysitter, thank you very much. Granted, he was old enough to be her father, taking into consideration that in her mid-twenties, there wasn’t much need for a parental figure in her life anymore.

Tick Tock. She sighed. The pile of paperwork she had been handed this morning had seemingly not shrunk by even an inch. She could swear she had not been stalling today. Breakfast, work, lunch break, work… Tick Tock. She rolled her eyes. No. This was unreasonable. Grunting a few not so decent swear words, she gathered the spreadsheets and dozens of handwritten notes, sending the calming ruffling of paper through the air and exited the room without so much as thinking about what Mobius would think about her wandering places around the TVA during work hours again.

Besides, the kitchen and common room right around the corner of her desired destination was equipped with the best coffee machine modern technology had to offer. Hot chocolate with mint and a hint of vanilla? Oh yes, please!

At this time of the day, the lab in question was deserted. Pens, pliers and other small tools lay scattered all over the metal tables as if someone had just finished their work for the day. Some of the devices in here could cause major damage if activated accidentally or even at the wrong time. Now there was the thrill, the proximity to endless possibilities.

After turning a few laps around the tables to see if anything had changed or improved at all since the last time she was here (which would be yesterday), she eventually made herself comfortable at the huge desk fully equipped with a cup holder, sockets and a fancy table lamp. The chair was the best part, enabling her to swirl around whenever she felt like she needed a refreshing spin.

She had just pulled out her burrow from her hair, having twirled it around one of the lighter strands. Her guess was the sun had bestowed its warm kisses upon her chocolate brown hair in the summer. Leaning over her papers, she got back to work.

But it was only five minutes until she heard the heavy metal door with the see-through glass panel being pushed open, followed by someone clearing their throat.

“Jess, do you have a moment?” Mobius asked. Jess tilted her head, the slightest frown accompanied by a gentle smirk decorating her face. What, no chastising for changing work locations today? She swirled around on her chair, expecting to see the man in question in his grey suit and the signature scar across his nose stare her down with arms akimbo. Instead, he was holding on to the door tensely, right next to him, seemingly out of place in the threshold, a man with raven hair and the most stunning pair of blue eyes she had ever had the pleasure to lock her gaze with. Her eyes were blue as well—Loki’s, however, seemed to shimmer green in the artificial light of the lab. She didn’t get much daylight, all the way down here.

“M?” Jess smiled. She rose, ignoring the slight trembling of her knees as she approached the two, keeping a safe distance. Her heart skipped a beat with every single step, her chest resembling a magnet pulling her towards Loki like a powerless needle.

“I’ve told you, repeatedly, to stay in your own office.” Ah, there it was.

“I have asked you, repeatedly, to re-locate my office here.” She retorted with a smug expression, eyes darting over to Loki. Mobius shook his head. “An introduction is probably redundant. Jess, this is Loki.”

He was wearing the orange prison clothes TVA had manufactured a few years back. She had to admit, orange suited him rather well, bringing out his cheekbones and the dark hair framing his flawless face. His lips were thin, his jawline to die for. She would be lying if she denied his attractiveness. Loki was a god, after all. Most prominent to his appearance, however, were the shackles around his naked wrists and the metal collar hiding most of his long neck—a chunky but firm reminder his powers were all but a myth as long as the light was blinking bright red like a traffic light screaming stop at him like a sleep-deprived police officer.

Loki lifted his chin, allowing pride and confidence to flood his aura. Out of all the people he had encountered in this strange place so far, alterations of his very own self on an old-fashioned projector included, she was by far the oddest. Jess, so he learned, wore a colourful choker around her neck as well as two bracelets of the same kind. They reminded him of sugar pearls. If he had asked her about them, she could have revealed to him that they were indeed candy necklaces—and that she wore them because Mobius had stressed there were no edible snacks allowed at work. The elegant pieces of jewellery hanging down her earlobes, however, appeared to be non-edible. Two delicate silver charms, holding what Loki identified to be moonstones. They suited her, complementing the long brown hair and the outstanding colour of her eyes. Blue—just like his.

“The God of Mischief.” She completed, the fraction of a second after he had studied her conspicuous appearance. She added a court but polite nod. “I was kind of hoping to meet you one day.” And so she was. The rumours had spread across the entire facility like wildfire, reaching even the Minutemen based in different timelines. Loki, the Norse God of Mischief, had stolen an Infinity Stone and escaped his respective timeline—a timeline reaching all the way back to 2012—creating a new branch of reality entirely. Unsupervised, he could have caused serious damage to the very fabric of time and the multiverse. He had to be stopped, had to be captured, had to be persuaded.

Mobius had expressed his interest in getting the infamous Trickster to work for him frequently. Loki was skilled, intelligent, witty, a talented fighter and most of all, one of the most capable users of magic the multiverse had to offer. His stories of victory and defeat were known to most of the TVA and yet, they resonated with her to an extent her colleagues could never fathom. Above everything Loki had had to experience—above all Loki will have had to experience—there was a thick layer of loneliness clouding his aura like a blanket of ice-cold snow. It was a suitable comparison, given his heritage.

“I didn’t just hear that.” Mobius intervened. He sized her up like an unpredictable teenager. “The God of Mischief has retired. Loki here has just agreed on working for us.”

“With you,” Loki interrupted. “Not for you. Reluctantly.” That would leave her wondering what exactly it was Mobius had offered him in return.

Jess chuckled. “Now that is a matter of opinion, trust me. I would know.” Raising an eyebrow, she gave Mobius a challenging glare.

“I need you to cover a shift.” He responded matter-of-factly. Jess’ eyebrow rose even higher. “Reese just jumped back from 1792.”

“And?”

“He almost made his personal acquaintance with the guillotine. They’re patching him up in the hospital wing right now.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Jess took a step back, realising just what kind of favour, no, requirement Mobius would ask for. Reese had been in the TVA for more than three decades—he had not aged a day since his accession as a matter of fact—and his experience and excessive excitement over the Avengers had made him the perfect candidate to keep an eye on Loki while he was still not to be trusted—if he was ever going to be trusted, that was. He was the God of Mischief, after all.

“I’m on probation, remember? What makes you think I should cover for him of all people?” Loki rolled his eyes and for a moment, you almost felt sorry for excluding him from a conversation that was clearly about him.

“Call it an experiment. Prove to me that we can rely on you and I’ll end your probation.” Jess resisted the urge to shake his hand off her shoulder when he leaned forward to touch her in a fatherly manner.

“Sir, do you have a moment?” A Minuteman had appeared behind them. Jess had never quite figured out how they moved so quietly. Their shoe soles must have been made of feathers. In turn, the stilettos she usually wore to smuggle a few more inches to her height were loud and made satisfying noises ricocheting through the hallways when she walked, emitting confidence and even smugness. She needed that boost every once in a while.

Mobius nodded. As he released Jess’ shoulder and pushed past Loki—who did, much to her amusement, not move an inch for the senior manager—he pointed a finger at him. “Behave.”

The lab door fell shut behind him, drowning all noises from the outside like a soundproof recording room. Jess gaped at Loki for a second, her body once again threatening to overwhelm her with the magnetic pull she felt towards the Trickster, fascination setting her veins ablaze.

“You do not look human.” Loki suddenly said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Jess pouted.

“Excuse me? I am hoping you meant that as a compliment, I am as human as I’ll ever be.” Loki frowned, then responded with a hum.

“I take it you hop timelines for him too then, fixing the damage others have done.”

“Me? No.” Jess shook her head. “I am not a Minuteman. I wish I was, trust me, but I have got nothing to do with that, unfortunately. I work in the linguistics department, spending all day translating protocols and time recordings from all sorts of languages. Now I know what you’re thinking. With its technology, shouldn’t TVA be able to translate everything using a smart computer program?” She shrugged. “Well, technically you’re right. But there’s a bunch of languages out there that simply don’t exist either here on Earth or any other known realm. We’re only human—and a computer program is only as smart as its creator. It can’t translate a language that does not consist of words, for example, that would go against the very human comprehension of its programmer.”

“Then how do you speak them?” Loki probed.

“That’s my superpower. I don’t know why I can understand them, I just… do. And what did it get me?” She raised her hands in a dramatic motion. “Paperwork. Lots of paperwork. The only way for me to get in on the real action is this place here. Take a look at this.” Loki watched her move towards what resembled a toaster, shaped like a metal suitcase that had been left open. Smiling, she reached for a shining red apple on the table and placed it on the black surface before activating the switch. She had seen the scientists do this dozens of times before. In fact, she was sure she could handle most of the devices in here in her sleep. As the small machine hummed to life, it sent a deafening vibration through the room and then, just like someone had hit fast-forward with a remote, the apple shrivelled and rotted.

“Pretty cool, huh? It works the other way around too once it recharged. They haven’t figured out how to make it work for living beings, including humans, just yet, though. This is just a prototype anyway, the real thing is supposed to help re-animate the dead for a short amount of time to solve time crimes and shit. I swear I’d get a major in science if I lived another life. My father was one. Before he died, that is.” Jess wasn’t quite sure what made her open up to the God of Mischief and tell her about her personal family drama. She usually babbled when nervousness got the better of her but this was a new level of openness entirely. They all knew her story, after all, but apart from Mobius, they all pretended they didn’t. “You see? TVA is not all bad, even if it may seem so at first. M can be an arsehole sometimes, I know. He calls our main timeline in which everything began,” Jess continued with a dramatic voice, “the Null-Time Zone. I never figured out why and he won’t tell me.”

“Because you don’t listen, Jess.” Mobius answered, holding the door open with the Minuteman who had asked for his advice impatiently but mutely waiting for his turn again behind him.

“So?” She probed, pointing at the God of Mischief with her chin, her arms crossed. “If I am to play babysitter for a while, where am I staying? Where is Loki staying?”

“Your place.” Jess blinked, incredulousness spreading on her face like a clean swipe of butter on warm toasted bread.

“My place?”

“Your residential unit is supervised and equipped with modern alarm systems, just in case you decide to make trouble again, remember? We’ll position security outside the door in addition to that, killing two birds with one stone. Besides, it’s only temporary. Reese should be up and on his feet again in no time. The blade only grazed him before he made the jump back.”

“That does not sound reassuring!” Jess stood up straight to prove her point and yet, even compared to Mobius, she was nowhere near tall enough to make an impact with her body language at this time.

“You can take the rest of the day off as compensation. Show Loki to your unit. Make yourselves acquainted. I’ll send security to collect him in five minutes—to the second!”

~*~

She seems familiar almost… like part of me has known her forever. It was a thought which jumped into Loki’s mind and implanted itself in his head like a parasite. A mere mortal, how could there possibly be a connection between them? But it wasn’t just magnetic fascination and intrigue. Loki felt a need to keep her in his presence much like she was about to be his cherished bride. Irritation crept up the back of his neck as he followed her through the branched corridors and back to the modern lift he had had to use upon his arrival.

He would only love to know just what it was that had gotten her on probation. Abuse of machinery for her own selfish purposes, perhaps? A prank which had gone too far and done damage to the organisation? Murder? No. Despite her toughness, he could not imagine the delicate mortal standing next to him in the elevator being capable of killing anyone.

When the elevator doors slid open again, the young woman gave him an almost sheepish smile. She hardly appeared worried by having to escort him all on her own, across empty hallways which were only too inviting to overpower her and escape. Something held him back. She did, so he realised with another wave of irritation electrifying his body.

“…the most dangerous missions they usually leave to Justice Peace and Death’s Head. Ever heard of them? They are like celebrities around here.” He heard her say just then. But Loki couldn’t possibly take less interest in this so-called Time Variance Authority. All he needed to know was that it was yet another, partially human-led secret organisation imagining with the naivety of a child that they held power over him. SHIELD had made this mistake in the past and they had paid the bitter price. TVA would be no different.

“The units here are labelled with our initials and the department number. This one.” Jess pointed at the first door coming into sight to their right and quite apparently, Mobius had not made any empty promises concerning Jess’ safety and surveillance. As they turned around the corner, they were greeted by a grimly looking security officer clutching one of those small devices Loki identified as a Taser, one which of the like Darcy Lewis had once used on his brother. He kept a straight face even as Jess unlocked the residential unit using her fingerprint and entered but gave him a provocative smirk before following her.

His own chambers back on Asgard—another life entirely, so it seemed now—were a reflection of who he was with their green accents, the countless books, the tidiness and the ancient parchment rolls on his dark mahogany desk from Vanaheim. If anything, analysing her personal living space to the very last grain of dust would satisfy his need to learn just why he felt so drawn her, perhaps.

The first item of furniture he took in was the long bookshelf towering all the way up to the ceiling, every inch filled with clearly read books about as thick as his wrist. He made a note to study the titles later. A coffee table full of empty peanut shells and a new package of peanuts still sealed neatly in their plastic bag, a caramel sofa on which he found more sealed peanut bags as well as a golden cushion with cheesy pom-poms. A drawer, a TV with large speakers and another electronic gadget resembling a fridge and two separate doorways which led to a bathing area, so he presumed, and her bedroom. Even with the overall lack of more furniture in the room, Jess had somehow managed to add her very own personal touch to the sterile residential unit.

“The bathroom is to the right, you’ll find refreshments and snacks in the fridge next to the TV. My bedroom is out of bounds. I hope you enjoyed the tour.” She chuckled, grabbing a blue leather jacket from the hook on the entrance door behind them. “Big meals are eaten in the cafeteria at certain times of the day though. Mobius wants to strengthen the team spirit but the cooks never say no to a late breakfast or a midnight snack if you ask them nicely.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t you feel like a prisoner in this place?” A lackey for someone else to take the credit for your hard work, he added silently. He knew two of that kind—one being his brother, the other his alleged father. Loki suppressed a begrudged growl. Just in that moment and before she had a chance to reply to his provocative remark, there was a vigorous knock on the door.

“That’ll be your cue.” Jess announced. Loki had to force himself not to turn his head and catch one last glimpse of her as the grimly looking security man escorted him back to Mobius and, other than Jess, kept pushing him forward like cattle and yet, he was convinced he could feel her curious gaze resting on his back long after he had turned back around the corner, stepped into the elevator and even when he was reluctantly reunited with Mobius near the lab where they had first picked her up.

He was speaking to the same Minuteman who had interrupted them earlier—quietly, vividly and so engrossed in the seemingly heated conversation that he noticed Loki and his new bodyguard approaching only after his exceptional hearing had picked up shreds of information he made another mental note of using against them, sooner rather than later.

“You do realise that they’ll come after us with a vengeance, right? That could be the end of TVA once and for all, you know very well what he is capable of.”

“Let that be my concern. This is just a temporary solution—one which I am very curious about.”

“But it already—“

“I realise it already happened and that’s exactly why I’m doing this. All we need to do is stop it from happening again by observing the situation intently, stitch up the loop and we’ll be safe. This isn’t my first rodeo, Dave, you of all people should know this.”

“And what about the Tesseract? Wouldn’t it be smarter if we—“

The security officer cleared his throat, announcing their arrival.

“The Tesseract,” Loki interrupted with a glare, strutting towards them like the king he was born to become and despite his shackles, “belongs to me. It called out to me, it is mine.”

“You’ll find a lot of people in this facility who will disagree with you on that. Trust me. We’ll make sure you won’t get your hands on that cube again.” Dave snorted. “I hope you like your new lodging. Now come on, mischief maker. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

~*~

A/N: And Scene! So what do you think, what do you think, what do you think? 🤯 I’m so excited to dive into this story! I literally recorded myself on my phone in the middle of the night a while back when all the ideas I had finally came together so I hope I’ll be taking you on an exciting journey with me!

Chapter 2

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