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elysianslove · 4 years

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secrets that you keep; iwaizumi hajime

synopsis; in which his best friend is secretly a camgirl. part 1, part 2

pairings; iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

genre; smut

trigger warnings; i highly recommend reading the first two parts before this. they’re only drabbles that introduce everything! anyways, this is absolute filth. don’t read this if any of the stuff mentioned could trigger you, please! masturbation, camgirl stuff, one mention of the word ‘daddy,’ self choking, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, a lot of choking, accidental breathplay, not proofread unfortunately

she knows.

does she?

it’s an ongoing inner battle he’s been having for weeks now, ever since he’d been directed to that trending video of yours. he sees you in his dreams, hears you loud and clear, moaning and crying for him, and worst of all, he feels you, so perfectly, against his, around him, and it’s overwhelming in the worst way possible. even maintaining eye contact is tiresome at this point.

but he does wonder whether you know or not, more often than he should— were you deliberately calling out for him, in hopes that he’d find this video somehow? or had you said it because you’d assumed this is your safe place, that there’s no way he’d be able to find these videos? had it been a slip up? or, more accurately, multiple slip ups? what were the chances anyways, that it had been an accident, or unintentional, or intentional and he had been losing sleep over it, or that he wasn’t the hajime you were crying out for?

his heard hurt. awfully. there’s already the constant worry of regulating his breathing around you and cleansing his thoughts of anything he’d seen of you the moment you meet, but this added dilemma is in no way helping. every day that you text him for a coffee date, or a night out after a rather stressful week, or a night in at your apartment, and he agrees, his mind diverts immediately to where it shouldn’t as soon as he lays eyes on you. and the worst part of it all is how aware he is of how wrong this is. he knows it’s wrong to choose the revealing shirt over the other when you ask him for his opinion, just because he wants that effortless glance at your cleavage. it’s also so wrong of him to give a higher rating to that obscenely short dress than that other, knee length one because of the way your thighs squeeze when you sit. it’s definitely wrong of him to offer clasping your anklet, the one he’d gotten for you, the one that had been the dead giveaway to your secret online persona, just because your legs feel so soft against the rough pads of his fingers, when he resists the urge to trail upwards, upwards, upwards—

it’s fucking ridiculous.

he can’t believe just how deep of a rabbit hole finding one of your videos is, how it’s impossible to climb out and away, and even worse, how he keeps falling deeper. the one time he decides to jerk off to porn. it’s really ridiculous.

about a week ago, three weeks after finding that video of yours someone had uploaded— which had been taken down because of copyright, and hajime personally thinks that’s fair, considering there’s a reason you pay people to watch your videos and look through your photos, otherwise you would’ve taken the liberty to post everything for free yourself— hajime gives in, and subscribes to you. it’s with a randomized account name, something he tried his very best to make as anonymous as possible, so that it would in no way lead back to him. he doesn’t check in on your account as often, also having taken the time to turn off notifications and not have anything sent to his email, and it’s mostly out of shame. he already feels dirty enough having seen this much of you, even more that he’s fantasized about you. he’s not about to make it worse for himself.

every once in a while, though, especially days where he’s sure he’s completely free of responsibilities, he logs on, and finds your page. it just so happens that tonight, you’re hosting a live stream. swallowing his pride and shame, literally so, he shifts on his bed, sitting up straighter, and clicks to join.

he’d been a little late apparently, because you’re already bare, sitting on a chair. your legs are lifted up, knees bent and hooked over the chair’s arms, the camera angled to show everything, from your cute eyes to the flesh of your ass. there’s a vibrator in your hand, buzzing lightly as it hovers by your clit, dipping between your folds, sliding back up again to rub lazily at your clit. beneath you, on the chair, is a small damp spot, leaking from your cunt. hajime stops himself before his jaw falls slack at the sight of you, and instead, he clears his throat, gritting his teeth and watching carefully.

you’re not so talkative during your videos, just exclamations of pleasure and (the most beautiful of) noises, so he hadn’t expected you to be during your lives. to his surprise, you are, and it’s filthy.

whimpering lightly, you press the vibrator harsher on your clit, your other hand traveling up to squeeze at your breast. “m’so needy,” you admit with a soft pout, adding, “want you to tell me what to do, mmh.”

he’s assuming the ‘you’ is the audience, whoever’s willing to speak up, and it’s then that he notices the chat option. his eyes flicker curiously to it, hands twitching where they sit fisted at his lap as he sees the chat explode with orders and commands and suggestions for you.

one writes, stuff urself full, and hajime gapes.

another commands, wanna see u cry tn, and hajime privately agrees.

someone else writes, gonna squirt princess?

hajime’s hands twitch again, and he frowns, digging his nails into his palms. you’re ignoring all the suggestions, and it’s obvious because you’re reading through them, mouthing some of them, giggling at some, curiously gasping, ‘oh,’ at others, eyebrow quirking. the vibrator trails down to your hole again, and you experimentally dip it inside slightly, shivering visibly as the vibrations rush through you, and the moment he hears you moan so loud, he thinks, fuck it, and his hands reach for his keyboard.

choke yourself.

fuck, fuck, fuck, he did not just do that.

his heart is racing embarrassingly fast beneath his ribcage, loud and pathetically deafening in his ears as he watches your eyes read through the rest of the messages, and you’ve stopped mouthing them, your eyes are widening— which one are you at now? are you just going to ignore him? why wouldn’t you? of course you—

“you’d like that, huh?” you teasingly slur, a lazy, cheeky grin painting your lips, your teeth biting down on your lower lip and your hand— your hand—

it’s trailing upwards, upwards, upwards, until it finds its way around your throat, resting lightly, and just as he sees your fingers squeeze at the sides of your neck slightly, carefully, you pout at the camera, looking straight at him, and asking, “like this, daddy?”

a low fuck wheezes past his lungs, and his hand quickly presses down at the bulge in his sweatpants, squeezing and rubbing at his clothed dick as he watches you, entranced. people watching you with him have taken to thanking him for the idea, and to praising you, calling you a good girl, cursing, rapidly typing out something along the lines of you’re so hot i wanna fuck you so bad, and god, hajime hates that he relates to something as stupid as that.

your hips roll and your head falls back, hand not once leaving your throat. if anything, your grip tightens. you click on the vibrator, and the buzzing becomes louder, your moans with it, as if you were competing. you cry and gasp and sob, writhing in your own hold, your thighs tensing and your hole clenching around nothing as you harshly rub the vibrator against your clit. your cunt gushes and drips as you bring yourself closer to your orgasm, as you cry out a string of, “m’gonna cum, so close, so close!” and a mixture of lewd curses, until finally, you cum. you’re sent over the edge, legs swinging on the chair, high pitched squeals falling from your lips— which hajime can’t decide are real or not, or whether he wants them to be or not. you thrash and cry, tears, as promised to some other watcher, dripping down your cheeks.

the last straw however, is your comedown from your high, sobs hiccuping and muscles twitching, eyes half closed and body limp as you mewl out, “hajime, hajime, hajime,” like you’re not even aware you’re doing it. like it’s subconscious.

hajime swears again, a deep, low, “fuck,” and looks down to find a damp spot on his lap. he really came from barely any friction, all because of you. this really is as ridiculous as it gets.

the next time he sees you, there are the faintest of bruises on your neck. it’s not so obvious that just anyone would notice, but ever since becoming hyperaware of everything that is you and everything that you do, it’s hard not to have them be the first thing he sees. to ensure that the atmosphere between the two of you remains easy, he flicks at your neck and tuts with a smirk, asking you jokingly if you were in your hoe phase.

“so vulgar, hajime,” you sarcastically retort, teasing him. “you like calling me mean things?” and he has to avert eye contact because all his walls crumble so quick.

it’s just the two of you tonight, in his apartment, all your other mutual friends having cancelled at one point or another. it’s not an unusual occurrence; more often than not, the two of you are alone. however, it’s been a while since you’d been alone, privately. a while meaning ever since hajime had discovered your side hustle of a sort. he hadn’t been purposely avoiding this— no, maybe he has, but to be fair, he’s still yet to recover from the initial shock.

it also doesn’t help that since today had meant to be a relaxing night in, you’re dressed casual, but in the hottest fucking way possible. he hopes he hadn’t been blushing as hard as he thinks, and feels, he was, when you’d first stepped into his home. on your hips is a short, black skirt, flowing out to your upper thighs, where just above your knees start a pair of dark thigh highs, squeezing at your thighs and accentuating your legs as you strut around his apartment, feet bare of any shoes or slippers. he can’t decide whether it’s cute or just plain hot. somehow, with you, it’s both. your shirt is off the shoulder, a dark, navy blue bardot, and beneath it, peeking out to rest at your collarbones, is a black bralette. he can barely just see the intricate lace designs, but it disappears and dips beneath your shirt before he can see more of it.

you’re spread out on the couch, laying along it on your stomach, a pillow tucked in your arms and beneath your head, your clothed legs bent and swinging up in the air. he sits right by you, thigh right by your head, his body as tense as ever. it’s impossible not to be you, not with you in such close proximity to him when only a few days ago he’d watched you make yourself cum, and had heard you whimper out his name after. who can blame him, really?

with your eyes trained on the screen, he hadn’t been expecting you to speak up.

“iwa, what type of porn do you watch?”

he nearly chokes, eyes widening as he spares you a glance. your legs continue to swing innocently, your eyes unmoving, your voice unwavering. the suddenness of the question certainly threw him off, but it’s your nonchalance that really shocks him. but, considering everything, it really shouldn’t have.

“uh, what?” he offers weakly, wincing slightly at the barely there crack in his voice.

you sigh, shifting to sit up. you plant yourself on your knees, spreading them apart slightly to get comfortable, and shrugging at him. “i’m just curious,” you say. “or,” your eyes squint cautiously, your head cocking to the side slightly, “do you not watch porn?”

challengingly, his arms lift up to cross at his chest, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes momentarily glance at the way his biceps bulge. it makes his confidence spike slightly, nervousness ebbing away. “what type of porn do you watch?”

you gasp dramatically, joking, “take a girl out to dinner first, my god.” he laughs, relaxing lightly at the banter, before his eyes fall back to you. you inch forward curiously, cautiously, still on your knees. now closer to him, you ask again, “seriously, i’m really curious! confirm my suspicions for me.”

“oh?” he quirks an eyebrow. “so you think you know?”

at this, you offer him a knowing smile, eyes slightly half lidded. you’re somehow even closer now, leaning towards him with your hands resting on the small space between you and him in the couch, helping you in lifting yourself up slightly on your knees as you say in a low voice, “baby, i think everyone knows.”

at the sight of you by his side, he feels himself shiver, and an idea invades his mind before he can even process it. “oh, do you now?” he’s not sure where this boldness is emerging from, especially with how cautious and shameful he’d been and felt for weeks now, but he accepts it either way, because the way you’re staring at him like that, he never wants to let it go. and although he wants to drag out this intense eye contact even longer, in order to do what he wants to do, he has to break it, reaching for his phone instead. unable to contain your curiosity, you peak over, watching with confusion as he types out a link.

the blood drains from your face when you recognize your page on his browser, and he’s logged on— he’s subscribed.

“what type of porn do i like to watch?” he wonders rhetorically. the phone is pushed aside, and he sits up straighter so that even on your knees, he looms over you. his eyes are skimming over you, along your body, up to your neck, to your lips, to your shocked, wide eyes. and just as his hand trails up to your throat, his palm resting at the base and one finger tapping lightly, he says, “the type where my favorite girl cries out my name when she cums for the world to see.”

the hand around your throat—

“you,” you breathe out, and finally, finally, when your brain makes sense of everything, your body relaxes, sags against him, leaning more into him until his hand’s properly wrapped around your throat.

with your mind hazing over, you reach over, and kiss him.

he meets you halfway, as if having expected it, lips pressing harshly against his. his hand tightens as he pulls you closer, lifting you up slightly and bringing you closer to him as his mouth parts, breathing you in, and kissing you deeper, lewder. you shiver and gasp, hands grasping at his wrist and forearm, not to push him away but rather to urge him closer, as you kiss him back just as eagerly. it seems like hours, with his hand around your neck, tight and a daunting reassurance, and your lips wet and hot against his, but eventually, his hand slides down, the other mirroring it, finding their way to your waist, squeezing and bunching at the skirt as he, with complete and utter and shocking ease, lifts you up off the couch.

you gasp as he stands up with you, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist as he pulls you to him. as he blindly walks the two of you to his bedroom, he breathlessly asks in between your kisses, “is this— you sure this is okay?”

with a sharp tug at his hair, you jokingly spit out, “iwa shut up.”

he tosses you onto the bed, allowing you a minute to strip yourself of your shirt while he slips out of his own, before quickly falling above you, caging you in with his arms as he kisses you again. “not iwa,” he quietly asks of you.

for a moment you’re confused, before everything clicks again— your slip ups— and your legs lift up, wrapping around his waist and pulling his hips closer to yours just as you mewl out, “hajime, please.”

god, he is way easier than he thought he was.

his entire body shudders above you, one hand lowering to push at your skirt to grind his hips down against yours until his clothed crotch meets your bare cunt and— holy fuck, holy fuck.

“fuck, you slut.”

you gasp at both his words and the feel of his bulge pressing down against your clit, his lips meeting your neck instead. “you do like calling me mean things,” you say, and he scoffs, his hand traveling upwards to squeeze at your breasts instead.

“you like me calling you mean things,” he notes, and you let out a muffled moan as he pinches at your nipples through the bralette, lips biting and sucking at your neck.

“i do,” you pant, arching up into him. “i do, i do.” his hands are fumbling at your chest, and god, they’re so large, so big and warm and harsh, it’s fogging up your brain.

“yeah, yeah, fucking whore,” he growls, pushing himself slightly on his knees, hands tugging at the bralette. his fingers dip past, gripping the fabric tightly, and as he says, “can’t fucking— take this shit— off,” he tears through it, knuckles whitening as he pulls it away from your body, or what’s left of it. the frills of the ruined bra fall off the edge of his bed, and he watches your wide eyes and gaping mouth follow it, so he grabs at your jaw, twisting your gaze away from it and grunting a low, “shut up.”

you pull away from the kiss, breathing heavily as you say, “that was so fucking hot, hajime,” before kissing him again. he parts his mouth as you lead him to you again, tongue easily meeting yours.

it’s a messy kiss as he slips himself out of his sweatpants, taking his boxers with it and discarding them somewhere in his room. his cock slaps against his stomach, a single string of precum messily staining his tan abs. your eyes are quick to gaze down, lips painted a dazzling grin as his hand finds his cock, squeezing at the head and smearing his precum along.

“knew you were fucking big,” you gasp, eyes trained on him as he strokes himself above you, and he is. he’s so big, thick and heavy, and veiny and your mouth waters at how that’s going to feel when inside of you, stretching you out so good, so much better than any of the toys you had at home. “i thought,” a squeal hiccups out of you as both of his hands grab at your hips from beneath your skirt, one sticky and warmer than the other, “about you all the time.”

your confession draws his attention, and when he’s pulled you close enough, two of his fingers trail to your cunt, quirking an, “oh?” just as he dips his fingers inside. the lack of resistance he’s met with is surprising, and he chokes out, “did you stretch yourself out before coming here? fuck yourself on some fake cock?”

tightlipped, you moan, brows furrowed and back arched into him. god, his fingers were not enough. “yes, yes,” you gasp, head falling back. despite not needing to, he still fingers you, his thick digits fucking into you slowly, driving you insane by the second. “yes, i— pretended t’was you,” you whine loudly. at your words, he curls his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist and pressing his palm directly on your clit.

“do you always?” he lowly asks, dipping closer to you as he fucks his fingers deeper. his fingers were inside of you, the cunt he’d spent over a month marveling at through a screen, the pretty pussy his dick had drooled over for hours. you’re real, as real as ever beneath him falling apart, making a mess of your black skirt, drenching it with your arousal.

you moan out a hum, nodding dumbly as his fingers vibrate with the intensity of speed inside of you, your toes curling in your thigh highs and face twisting to press into his mattress. “always,” you cry out, like a promise. “always think of you— hajime!”

it’s an unexpected orgasm, hitting you so fast and quick that it’s outright dizzying. it has you lifting your hips up into his fingers and palm, grinding and trembling, your legs falling and spreading open, shaking wildly by your side and above you as he fucks you through the orgasm.

“hajime, hajime, hajime,” you chant, words trailing off into tiny sobs and shuddering breaths as your hips slowly fall back onto the bed, body still trembling with aftershocks.

you’re fucked out beyond words already that you genuinely don’t feel a thing until he’s pressing inside of you, the fat head of his cock stretching you out. he’s really no match for your toys, and if seeing him hadn’t been enough confirmation, the feel of him pressing inside of you definitely is. he doesn’t ease himself in slowly, urgently grabbing the back of your thighs with either hand, keeping your legs spread for him as he bottoms out.

“fuck, fuck, knew you’d feel so good,” he grunts, brows furrowed harshly as he digs his fingers deeper against the flesh of your thighs, forcing your legs closer to your chest, and somehow pushing himself even deeper within you. you whine and mewl, toes curling and uncurling and legs trembling. “knew it the moment i saw your pretty pussy creamin’ around that thick cock.”

at the reminder that he’s watched and witnessed you, multiple times, that he’s subscribed to you willingly and curiously, you clench down around him. you feel him twitch inside of you, groaning loudly as he falls closer to you, your legs falling to his waist.

“you like knowing i was watching you?” he sneers, his hand reaching up and gripping at your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing a pout on your lips. your eyes nearly fucking cross as he rams into you, his fingers digging into your jaw. “you like that i fucked my fist every night to you? to your pretty cunt and your pretty noises and your pretty face— yes, good girl, that one.”

your eyes do cross this time, spurred on by his words, your tongue peaking out through the small gap he allows with how harsh he’s gripping your face. he’s pushing out little mewls and cries from you, but otherwise, you quite honestly feel braindead.

“fuck, you’re a gorgeous little slut,” he gasps. “all mine to fuck and use.”

you’re quick to nod rapidly, whining and moaning for him as you grip at his biceps. you’re choking on your breath as you struggle to keep up with him while he fucks you into the mattress, so fucking hard and rough that you’re sure there’ll be an indentation of you once you leave. you can feel your cunt gushing, and you can hear it too, squelching loudly with every thrust of his hips, every time his cock fucks into you. your skirt feels sticky and gross, and so does the rest of you, but you’ve never, never, felt this euphoric, this blissed out.

your stomach tightens impossibly, the tension gradually increasing as your walls tightly squeeze and clench at his cock. slowly and surely, the pressure within you increases, your hands flying to hajime’s arm, the arm whose hand grips your face, which quickly moves to your throat at your simple gasping warning that you were close.

“gonna cum, gonna cum, hajime, fuck!”

he tightens his grip, pressing harsher on the sides of your neck as your eyes shut tightly, your head falling back once more.

“yeah, come on, show me how pretty you look cumming on a real cock,” he whispers by your ear, using the hand that’s around your throat to lift up your head, before roughly pushing it back down, squeezing tighter. “you like it this rough?— shit, shit, you’re tightening.”

you scream, voice cracking and broken as he slams into you again, his hips grinding against yours momentarily, pelvis hitting your clit— and you’re gone, thrashing in his hold, fat tears streaming down your cheeks as you sob and heave, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him, hips shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. it’s not a few seconds later that he’s spilling inside of you, accidentally pressing his palm down against your throat as he cums, blocking your airway momentarily.

“hngh,” he gasps deeply, cock twitching inside of you as he cums, hips barely grinding. you’re gasping, a little painfully, struggling to take in any air as he blinks dazedly, before he finally takes notice. “shit, shit, i’m sorry.”

his hand flies away from your throat, and you inhale sharply, coughing lightly as air fills your lungs all too suddenly. the strength of this man, holy fuck.

“i’m so sorry; are you okay?”

chest still heaving, you fall onto the bed, body relaxing as you try and regulate your breathing. “s’okay, i’m okay,” you reassure him, hands reaching up to pat at his cheeks and comb through his messy, sweaty hair.

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and it’s so endearing that you nearly forget he’s still inside of you. but you feel the shift of his cock, feel his cum slowly start to ooze out of your cunt, and he winces from the oversensitivity, shifting away to instead pull out of you. his soft cock falls from your cunt, a steady flow of his cum following. hajime has to physically resist from reaching out to fuck it back into you.

“i’m sorry i wasn’t careful ‘nough with the—“ he makes a gesture with his hands around his neck, “—the choking.”

you laugh lightly, tiredly, hands slowly caressing at his sweaty biceps. “stop apologizing,” you reassure him again, shrugging with a small smile as you add, “just be more careful next time.”

his breath gets caught in his chest, and he only softly exhales when he falls on the bed, to your side, carefully repeating, “next time.”

from beside him, you lift yourself up on your side on your elbow, palm cradling your head, trying your best not to wince in pain. “hajime?”

he spares you a glance as he mumbles, “hm?” opting to stare at the ceiling and contemplate whether what had just happened was real life or not.

“do you wanna do a video with me?”

he all but chokes.

end note; please this took me like 4+ hours. please please please don’t flop, and more importantly, i really hope i don’t disappoint. i know this has been a long awaited piece, so i’m praying and hoping you guys love it.

love you all, mwah <3

#haikyuu smut #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime smut

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allywritesforfun · 3 years

Note

hey i really enjoyed your nightly routine post with wilbur? i was wondering if you could do something similar but in the morning instead?

awe my love! I'm glad that you enjoyed the nightly the routine... here is the morning routine!

{Morning Routine} Wilbur Soot x Reader

summary: you and wilbur made a nightly routine video that blew up more than you have thought, so now its time to do a morning routine!

pronouns: not mentioned

word count: 2280

trigger warnings: swearing, mention of a knife for going chop chop, this was too cute for even me to handle and it came from my hands

a/n: my god is this long! I really got carried away. I could've made this into two parts but whatevs

a/n pt 2: takes place after the “Nightly Routines” but not directly connected

regular masterlist

wilbur masterlist

You deeply groaned as you fluttered your eyes open. This was not a great time to wake up. You really wanted another hour of sleep, but you knew you had work to get done today.

You looked behind you. You smiled at the sight of Wilbur in his sweet slumber, his arm lazily draped over your waist. Wilbur very much loved to be in bed with you. If he could, he would spend all day there, just you in his arms and some soft lofi in the background.

That was something very rare to get. Being a streamer and musician, Wilbur was busy almost all the time and rarely took a day off. Mornings and nights were dedicated to you. However, there were times that you would stream with him, or stop by the office to give him food, but nothing was compared to waking up with him.

“Oh shit,” You whispered, “We’re supposed to do morning vlog today.”

You looked around for Wilbur’s camera, which was no where to be found. You settled on stretching over to nightstand and unplugging your phone. You looked back at Wilbur to make sure he was still sleeping. You could tell he was by the gentle raise and fall of his chest and subtle “Ah-woo”. You just knew that was the perfect way to start the vlog. You recored him for about ten seconds of him doing his ‘not really a snore but definitely something’ and giggled almost the whole way through.

You would think that after living with him for two months and the multiple sleepovers that you’ve had with him, that you would be used to it by now. But even today you still giggled just like you did when you first woke up with him.

You snuck yourself out of bed and made your way to the kitchen. Once arrived you did the intro, “Good morning chat! It is currently about 6:30 in the morning, and as you realize, I am the only one awake. As you saw, Wilbur is still sound asleep and that how it is every morning. So we’re going to vlog our morning routine today, which I promise is way more interesting than the nightly routine vlog. So, Wilbur is literally the best person ever and deserves the world. And his world, besides me of course, is his morning coffee. So I’m going to use our Keurig to get his coffee started.”

You stopped the recording and decided to get some of your creativity out. You weren’t musical like Wilbur and can't draw for shit, so videography was your way of being creative. You set your phone the in the corner and opened up the blind to let a little bit of light through. It still looked basic so you moved your plant to the background, which added the perfect look. You started brewing and hit record.

While that was going, you measured out the creamer and syrup and grabbed your sippy cup for your chocolate milk. No judgement here. We all know chocolate milk tastes better in sippy cups.

The brew came to a slow stop and you grabbed the camera, “Wasn't that a satisfactory angle chat? Now, I am more of an iced coffee person, so in the morning I have water or chocolate milk, and today is definitely a chocolate milk day.” You raised your cup to the camera and fake ‘clinked’ it, cutting the recording when it was closest to the camera. You finished up making Wilbur’s coffee and set it on the living room table.

You looked at the time, 6:50 am, now was a good time to get Wilbur up. You always let his coffee sit out for a little bit, that way he could drink it the second that he woke up. You threw some napkins under your drinks and moved another plant over there. You wanted your place to look aesthetically pleasing, even if it was a little bit staged. You did a transition with your cup, this time now on the table.

“Okay chat, we all now mr. simpbur is a snuggler so we don't have breakfast in the kitchen, instead we share on the couch, that way we can get all of our snuggles in before he has to leave for the office. I have everything set up, normally I would prepare breakfast too, but I feel like cooking with Wilbur this morning. We’ll do this about once a week for some bonding time, so let's go get him up,” You decided to keep recording, just in case Wilbur woke up from your loss of presence.

You creaked the door open, Wilbur was still asleep. He adjusted his body for that he was hugging a pillow, who you assumed was your replacement. You laid down next to him and just took a moment to admire him. It was moments like this that you forgot that you were internet personalities. This was you. This was Wilbur. Both of you living your life without needing to exaggerate yourself. This was Wilbur at his purest form. He was all relaxed, not even aware that he was being recorded.

You scooted closer to him and intertwined your legs with him. You brushed his bangs with the back of your hands and gently placed your lips on your forehead. He stirred a little bit, but not enough to wake him up. You took the pillow from him and wrapped your body around his, “Wilbur, my love, it's about seven, you need to get up.”

You could tell he woke up by him pulling you closer and burying his head only you neck. You gently massaged his head and twirled his curls between your fingers, “Come on Will, I got your coffee made already. We need to start breakfast.”

He shook his head and kissed your shoulder, “Mine.”

You laughed, “Yes Will, and ‘yours’ is hungry, let’s get up and eat.”

He slowly nodded and pulled you closer, “Mmmm... I love you.”

“I love you too, simpbur.”

He snapped his head up at the nickname and saw the camera, “Fuck-that’s today?”

You giggled and detached yourself from, “Say good morning to chat.”

He shook his head and buried it in his pillow out of embarrassment. You stop recording and put your phone on the stand. Just seeing Wilbur all flustered was enough to make you go back to bed. You laid back down with him and pulled him on top of you.

“We’re gonna have to re-record that part,” Wilbur mentioned.

You rubbed his cheek with your thumb, which he happily leaned into, “No bubs, we gotta keep it in. It was a very cute moment.”

He shook his head aggressively, “No! That was embarrassing!”

“Too bad, it’s on my phone so I get to chose what goes in.”

He huffed and grabbed your hand, accepting defeat, “You said you made my coffee?”

You two got up and sat down on the couch. Wilbur took you into his arms the second he took his first sip, his personal way of saying ‘thank you, you’re the best person to ever exist’.

“What are you feeling for breakfast?” You asked.

“You,” Wilbur joked, kissing your temple.

You gently pushed him, “No actually, I really want yogurt, so pick something that goes well with that.”

“Can we just make a fruit plate?”

You excitedly nodded, if it wasn't for Wilbur, you would not be eating healthy. He really made sure that you were going to live as long as he did. Neither of you could live without the other. If something crazy didn't happen to you, you were going to die from a broken heart.

Wilbur grabbed your phone and started recording, “So um, good morning chat, I’ve had some coffee and more awake now. What you just saw- no you fucking didn't. We’re on the sofa right now and we decided on a fruit plate with yogurt this morning, trying to be a little healthier considering we had ice cream at one am last night. So we’re gonna make that off camera, because if you guys get us to six million subs, we’ll do a cooking stream!”

“Oh we are now?” You questioned. “I was never told about this.”

Wilbur laughed and kissed your temple, “Well you know now, that's good enough innit?”

You shook your head and placed your hand over the camera, Wilbur stopped the recording. You go the fruit out while Wilbur prepared the sink for rinsing and knives for chopping.

You made the plate look all nice and took it back to the couch. Wilbur placed his arm back over you and grabbed the remote with is free hand while you centered your phone.

“Okay chat, we’re gonna eat and watch tv for a bit, then you're gonna get ready with us. Wilbur has a test shoot at the office today, so we gotta make him look all pretty and obviously personal hygiene is a must... so yeah, brb.”

You two set up another game show to watch, it sorta became your go to show. Especially because there was no storyline and you could talk when you wanted. This was a pretty chill morning, you two enjoyed each other's presence.

When you finished up, Wilbur took the dishes and you went to the bathroom and cleaned up a little bit. You heard Wilbur go into his closet, so you started recording, “Okay chat, last thing we do before he leaves is actually get ready. Wilbur is getting changed right now so I’m gonna brush my hair out. I can get a little aggressive with the snarls and Wilbur always thinks I'm ripping my hair out so I always do it when he's not around to make sure he doesn't get worried.”

You set the phone in the corner and set it up to record a time lapse. You heard off in distance some light pop type of music, so you knew that Wilbur got his speaker out.

“Are you playing copyrighted music?” You called.

“It’s released Lovejoy!”

You smiled, you always got giddy seeing how happy Wilbur was able to make himself with his own music. You set your brush down and started to wet your toothbrush, Wilbur slid into frame, already jamming out to his own music.

You covered your mouth with your hand stifled your laughter. Wilbur laughed with you and tugged on your waist, trying to get you to dance with him. You aggressively shook your head no, you hated dancing. You would think by now that you would be used to Wilbur and his random dance breaks, but you never came around.

You looked down in shame as Wilbur attempted to get you to spin around. Once you made it clear that you were not in the mood to dance, Wilbur turned down the music and waddle over to the counter.

You grabbed the camera, “If someone wants a very tall British man, you can come get him. Warning: not fun dance outbreaks.”

“Oh come on now, y/n!” Wilbur wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head on yours, “Stop pretending like you don't like to dance.” “You know I hate dancing,” You reminded him.

“Well chat, apparently I’m not allowed to have any fun in the morning? But anyway, that was a joke, but- we do really have to get ready. Should we do this Disney Channel style?”

You laughed and shook your head, “No, I think I just want to make sure you don't miss your meeting.”

“That’s at nine! We have time! Please let me have fun with you! It’s going to be such a stressful day!” He pouted with the cutest puppy dogs eyes.

There was no way that you could say no to him, “Alright, what fun we having?”

Wilbur said nothing and prepared his toothbrush like yours, “Last one to finish brushing their teeth has to do the dishes tonight.”

You hated dishes. You were winning this one. You didn't even wait for a countdown. You instantly grabbed your toothbrush and turned on the water with lightening speed.

“What?!” Wilbur yelled. “That’s not fair!”

You did your best to bump him away, but it literally did nothing. Both of you were laughing very hard but Wilbur quickly caught up. You both fought with your hands, trying to cup a decent amount water. You both managed to get the water into your mouth and you turned to face Wilbur, it came down to who could rinse the fastest. You two just stared at each other, wishing the water around. You were dead serious. You were not doing the dishes tonight. Wilbur kept flaunting his hands around trying get himself to go faster, which ended up in him completely breaking out in laughter and spitting all over your face. It took you by surprise and all that you could you do was laugh to yourself, you eventually spit the water out in the sink, raising your hands in victory.

“I am so sorry, love!” Wilbur took your hand and guided you into his arms, gently running his hand up and down your back, “I didn't think that would be that hilarious.” “It’s okay,” You laughed and looked back in the mirror. You were completely drenched shoulder up, “It was fun. Better to happen to me than you, you look really nice today for the shoot.” “Thank you,” Wilbur blushed and turned you around, “I think that is enough recording for today. All that we have left to do is leave so... thank you for watching! Subscribe now and remember, cooking stream at six mil! Bye guys!”

#wilbur #Wilbur x reader #wilbur soot #Wilbur soot x reader #mcyt #YouTube #vlog #mcyt x reader #my god is this fucking cute #fluff #cute #dsmp #dsmp x reader

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joyfulhopelox · 3 years

Text

"I've never cried over a broken dryer before"- "and you better not start now"

gif not mine cr. belongs to owner

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: got nothing to say for myself really, just listened to a song, the idea hit me and i haven't written anything non science related in a decade so i gave it another go....that being said i realised i am awful at emotions lol. Side note i am from the UK so if some things seem off i apologise

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (College!AU/ University!AU)

Warnings: ? mentions of skin? terrible fluff and flirting attempts

Word count: idk, it would not stop ~4k

A bop. A bop and some alcohol. That is all you needed after a long tiring week of studying for finals and cramming for your practical assessments. This week had been the last week of exam season and you were more than grateful that it had ended. You did not particularly care about how you’ve done on the assessments. That was not your present self’s problem, that was something for future you to worry about. Presently you just wanted to take a nap and head out with your girlfriends on a night out to just dance and drink all the stress away.

You weren’t a drinker, not by a long shot. You barely touched alcohol once or twice a month, and that happened mainly when you would have a get together with your friends. It was hard not to get sucked in when everything around you was so loud and chaotic it made you want to be part of the chaos not just an observer. You’ve done the whole ‘being sober whilst your friends got drunk’ and you swore to yourself it would never happen again. Funny how nights out looked disgusting and cliche when you were actually awake to witness them. From the group who ended up dancing on the tables, to the group who dispersed to hunt for one night stands, to the group who decided to pass out at the bar or in the toilets and then you, the sober one left to pick everyone up and send them back home safely and make sure than no one got into a fight. You sometimes wondered how the hell you got home alright when you ended up actually drinking on these nights out as none of your friends seemed willing to stay sober and watch over you. For once, you were not going to question your luck and just roll with it.

Before you settled for a nap though you knew you had to go downstairs to do your washing. Being a student during exam season meant you were surviving on microwavable food, lots of caffeine, sugar in all sorts of forms and that your tiny dorm room looked as if a hurricane has passed through it with dirty clothes all over the place and bedding that has been left unwashed for at least 2 weeks. You felt disgusting and unfortunately the neat freak in you kicked in, unsuppressed anymore by your pre-exam anxiety. With a sigh you started undoing your bedsheets and stashing them in a basket along with other bits and pieces of clothes. Making sure that you got your laundry detergent and your key card you started lugging the basket out of your room praying to the Gods that the lift was not broken.

Living on the 8th floor had its perks, but not when you were in a sleep deprived hurry. All you could do is check the numbers going down to the lower ground hoping that the lift would not stop at any other floor. But of course your luck would run out, on 3rd floor the lift slowed down and stopped, making you release an angry huff. ‘Of course it would’ you muttered to yourself as the doors opened only to reveal a tall men impatiently tapping his foot. Huffing he too got into the elevator making you aware of his stature. He may have not been as tall as some of the men you’ve seen but he was clearly working out as his muscles made him look way broader than his stature permitted. A gym rat, you rolled your eyes and tried to move the laundry bag and yourself into the corner, the space feeling too cramped for your liking. The dragging sound of the bag made the person turn around and give you a curious glance which you dismissed quickly. You weren’t interested in conversing with strangers on a normal basis let alone a gym rat. Nothing against them, you just had nothing in common and your tired brain did not want to make up a polite small talk.

‘Lower ground?’ the person asked you, surprisingly the voice was soft and clear, something you had not expected of him. It made you glance at him, ‘yeah’ you nodded after composing yourself. The person nodded making their long bangs fall into their eyes which prompted the next two surprises for you; in an attempt to settle his bangs out of his face he not only revealed a muscular defined arm which you’d have to admit was kind of attractive- you’d have to be blind not to notice, but also an array of random tattoos all over his arm and hand. The other surprise hit you a moment later after you realised you’ve been staring at him for a second too long and you sniffed and turned your face away. The smell of alcohol was coming off of him strongly as if he’s been drinking for a few days straight and his pores exuded it. It took you all you had to not cough. Frat boy, gym rat- this guy was ticking all the ‘no no’ boxes and so regardless of how good looking he was he did not deserve second thoughts.

Your prayers being answered, you reached lower ground quicker than expected and you prepared yourself to rush out of the lift. However, the clothes basket was heavier than you’d thought so instead of a swift exit like you’ve planned, you closely resembled Santa dragging his toy sack.

‘Would you like some help with that?’ the guy who’d turned around and observed you amusedly as you struggled extended a hand in your direction. You huffed and dropped the basket on the floor and couldn’t help but notice the basket he held in one hand and how the effort made his muscles and veiny arms that much more noticeable. Hot.

‘’S all good thanks’ however, you were not going to accept his help. You just wanted to get these damn clothes in the wash so you could go and nap away the remainder of your post exam stress. The guy held your gaze for a second too long before he raised an eyebrow and looked unconvincingly at your basket and your face, which was red by now you’d presume. Then shrugging he carried on walking towards the laundry room getting further and further out of your view, and you could have sworn there was an extra spring in his step. That fucker.

After monumental efforts you managed to drag everything to the laundry room only to notice that it had been left propped open by an empty bottle. Entering with difficulty you made your way to the closest washer available and dropped the laundry basket on the floor with a relieved sigh. Bending down to start putting your clothes in, you could definitely hear a snicker behind you. Whas that….? Of course it was, you were the only two souls in there. Everyone else was probably either enjoying some much needed sleep or partying the evening away already. Deciding to ignore him you continued to pile your clothes into the machine and soon enough you got distracted so much so that you did not realise you had started humming.

‘Nice voice you got there, but do both of us a favour, leave it for when you’re on your own will you?’ another snicker from behind. Flustered you whipped around, ‘what?’ his gaze on you held a smouldering effect making you feel as if you were pinned down by just its sheer force. His dark eyes, whilst amused, were also narrowed on your form as if commanding you to listen to what he was saying. Your breath hitched and as much as you’d tried to shrug off the feeling and the temptation to not listen to him and turn around, you found yourself unable to. Trying to hold his gaze your eyes wavered for a split second when the tip of his tongue peeked out from between his lips to wet the lower one. A gesture so fleeting, done as if by habit, but paired with the intense gaze it had your throat constrict and your instincts had been to follow his moves, your own tongue coming out to lick your own suddenly dry lips.

Had you intended to do this to toy with him? No. Has it worked? Judging by the way his eyes travelled slowly and purposefully down your face towards your lips, you could swear it has. Refusing to give him more vulnerability than that you turned around with tremendous efforts and continued pilling clothes into the washer completely missing the way he stared at your ass that was now on display. Biting his lip he gave you another once over before returning to his own washing.

You couldn’t help to glance his way every time you would turn around to pick up more clothes out of the basket. He was sporting a concentrated face, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his broad shoulders and the way his arm muscles were defined by the effort were making you breathless. However, what made your head spin and your heart to skip too many beats for it to be healthy was what happened next. You blame your bad luck - or good luck- for glancing at him only to catch him grab his shirt and give it a tentative sniff and a shrug. So he knew he reeked, but your snicker turned into a hiccup as soon as he had grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

Normally a situation like this wouldn’t phase you, you have seen plenty of men naked. But this one, this one was a special one. His bunny like features, defined nose bridge, jawline and floppy but rugged hair were a complete contrast to his defined jawline and...oh lord….were those six or eight abs??

‘What in the name of abs are you doing?’ sputtering you turned to fully face him. What a mistake. He did the same so now you had a full frontal view, first row, VIP seat to his naked upper body. That was definitely a six abs package. Shrugging, which by lord made everything tense up in ways you did not need to see, he threw the longsleeve into the wash and slammed it shut. All that did not take more than 5 seconds but to you, it seemed like a slowed down eternity in which your eyes got a good view of a muscular anatomy.

‘What, it’s dirty and i’m doing my washing?’ he stated as if it was plain as day and absolutely normal to get naked in the laundry room.’In the name of abs? Should i be calling you a peeping Tom?’ A slow forming smirk that made him look dangerously mischievous made its way onto his face.

‘Pffft, what? I said in the name of gods, what are you on about? Why would I be looking at you, whilst you think it’s perfectly fine to strip in a public place??’ he laughed at your clear distress but chose to not to mention your choice of words. ‘Hardly public is it? There’s just you and i in here’ he rebutted whilst turning around to scan his laundry card onto the machine and pressed start. You scoffed indignantly, ‘what am i chopped liver? I’m not goddamn blind’ you mumbled, not for his ears but instead chose to say out loud, ‘what about the poor souls who will see you in the lift back up? Is that not a public place?’

Unbeknownst to you he had clearly heard your previous statement, his smirk once again widening, so you had actually been looking. Good. Clearing his throat he put on as much of a serious face as he could ‘I think it’s unfair to call them poor, this is not cheap accommodation, if they live here it is clear that they are anything but poor’ he knew what you’d meant by poor, but just the annoyed tick in your eyebrow that appeared at his statement was worth it. Choosing to stay silent instead of taking the bait, you returned to your laundry. Only to curse out loud- you had finished it and upon scouring your belongings haphazardly you realised your card was missing. Vaguely remembering you had only taken your room card you groaned, this was not how you’d intended to spend your afternoon before the party.

Without a second’s notice, a tattooed hand with a card appeared before your eyes and the washing machine burst to life. Indignantly you whipped your head around to look at the owner of said hand, ‘what are you doing?’ only to come face to face with the end of a defined collarbone and jawline. And by all that is saintfully just, the line of his throat was just as attractive as the whole of the man. Being this close to him rendered you absolutely useless, jumbled thoughts ranging from ‘i need to pay him back’ to ‘what is he even doing’ to settle in the end to a single thought which you also voiced out loud without even thinking. ‘Your moles are pretty’. You had managed to get past the expanse of his neck to the outline of his lower lip when you noticed his mole, and to your defense- it was cute, but with the whole package, cute is the last word you had in mind. More like- it added a completeness that you would not think he needed but there it was.

He swallowed thickly, enjoying for a second too long the glazed look you had on your face as you said that. ‘And you have nice eyes’ he retaliates even though this is the first time he’s had a closeup look at them. Bright and sparkly, unknown to the both of you, a mirror of each other’s. Sparkly with a promise of something. Something which would have to wait for….if you had your way, forever, if he had his way- a second. You finally willed your legs to step aside and away from the unclothed man.

‘Uh-thanks’ you never stutter, but something about the heavy and thick air around makes it hard to take controlled breaths. ‘For the washing i mean’ you correct yourself. You will never admit to him out loud that him complimenting your eyes made your heart stumble and your brain freeze. You turned around to escape the situation, completely missing the amused expression on the man’s face. ‘You are welcome’ he extends his hand out walking to your side not missing the way you try to put some distance in between the two of you.

‘I’m Jungkook’ he smiles, a complete 180 from his appearance, his smile was warm and genuine, the type of smile that is reflected not only in his eyes but his whole face. His nose scrunches up too cutely, you think to yourself. He somehow resembles a bunny? Mustering up all the courage and bravery your heart still had, you grasp his hand. Hm, soft, odd for a gym head. You knew what he was asking for, but you would not give it to him. As cute as he is, you still tried to tell yourself you were unimpressed. ‘And i’m a poor soul who lives in this block of flats’ you mutter ‘i will pay you back for the washing’.

As soon as you reached your tiny cramped room and settled down for that nap you’ve been craving, you could not help but replay the last words he said to you, sounding way too smug for his own good. ‘Is that you telling me to put a shirt on for your sake?’

#bts #jungkook #bts jungkook #btsxreader #bts scenario #bts x reader scenario #jungkook x reader #was not intending to post this but my cat made me #bts fluff #bts x you #jungkook x you #somewhat crack #lox writings #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #fic #fluff

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Note

omg could write something with pretty please by dua lipa and calum? I love your writing!! 💗

Thanks for the suggestion. I’m attempting my hand after a very stressful few hours today. Because of this, I’ll extend it. You can continue sending song suggestions until Sunday, June 7th 7PM EST.

Enjoy my masterlist.

Support me on Ko-fi.

*No one has my permission to repost, including translations. Copyright be-ready-when-i-say-go, 2020*

Female Reader Insert. CW: 18+ Content, so pls don’t interact if you’re underage! Choking, Smut, Sex without a condom (PLS be safe folks--safe sex is the sexiest sex out there, I promise you).

__________________________________________

Hands On Me

I’m a little stressed out.

Calum stares down at the text, biting his lower lip. He promised he’d finish tracking the bass for this last song before leaving the studio today so that the rough cut would be shown to the producer tomorrow morning, first thing. There was no way, if he went over to her house, after this text that he would be in any shape to get up early and finish tracking before anyone else got into the studio.

Be a good little one for me. Give me an hour.

He can almost almost the pout. That’s so long, baby. Attached in a picture of her dressed in a silk robe, that obstructing a perfect view of her tits. But not hiding the valley between them, the one where she tattooed a gorgeous bouquet. It wasn’t anything fancy, one rose, one tulip, and one sunflower, tied together by their stems. “Fuck,” he mumbles aloud, feeling his gut tense up. Another text shakes his phone.

An hour. Or I start without you.

He groans into the empty space, headphones falling onto his neck as he throws his head back. God, he why’d she have to go and do him like that. She knew all his fucking buttons. It was so unfair, but god, he did love it at the same time. Thankfully, he’s able to finish tracking. His last take was practically perfect, but there was something missing on the playback and he wasn’t sure what it was, and he was going to sit in that studio all night if that’s what it took.

But the lingering threat pushes Calum. He doesn’t have all night. As his fingers slide up and down the frets, over strings and plucking, Calum let’s the image of her wash over him. The glint in her eyes whenever she’s been a tease. Or the giggle that escapes her whenever she gets a punishment she knows she was gunning for.

By the time the song ends, Calum listens back and almost wants to laugh. THat somehow all he was missing was her in the song, in almost everything it felt like. Like he was missing her when he got up in the mornings, or like he was missing her at breakfast, or how he felt a small twinge of longing whenever she posted about being out and bout, because he wanted to be out and about with her too.

It was just easier this way though. It was easier not to dive in to those feelings when everything around them was just starting to straighten itself back out. It was easier to pretend than it was to attempt to have anything real when it would only ever end up in ashes.

Saving his recording and shelving the instrument, he checks his phone. He has a little over half an hour left. He’s going to be cutting it close but he can still do it.

His knock at the door is answered by her almost immediately as his hand falls from the door. “Want something to eat?” It’s a sincere question. But she’s sitll in that robe, this time it’s tied close though. Calum steps in, slipping out of his shoes.

He answers at first with just a shake of his head. “Not that, not right now,” he answers. “A little birdie told me that someone was stressed.” He keeps his voice low and soft but she hears it clear as day over the click of her lock.

His hands slide around her waist. His lips are ghosting over the shell of her ear. “That simply don’t do,” he exhales and it goes straight to her core. She melts into him and Calum melts into her.

It’s nothing by kisses and groping hands as they walk down the hallway to her bedroom. The tie around the robe goes, allowing the material to fall open and Calum smiles at the feeling of her warm flesh. She’s quick though to pull the hat off and the t-shirt off his body. Her nails scratch over his flesh and Calum has to shiver, as to succumb to the feeling of her working over him.

Her lips find his neck and she works works the pants open and down his legs. The robe falls off, leaving her bare minus the thong, and even that it’s barely doing its job to cover anything. “I should make you beg,” Calum muses as he walks her to the edge of the bed.

“But you wouldn’t. Need you.” It’s so simple. The two words that fall from her lips but they somehow mean everything when she blinks up at him. “Don’t make me beg. Pretty please. With a cherry on top.”

Calum laughs, fingers trailing around her nipple and pulling at the erect nub. “I know exactly where you can get on top. Want you to ride my face, yeah?”

“Aye aye captain.” She scoots up on the bed, allowing Calum to lay down. Her hips come up as she peels herself out of the floss of underwear. She’s slow though, as she crawls up Calum’s body. She takes her time, savoring the way he shakes and whimpers at her kisses along his thighs. She kisses up his tummy, pausing just a moment when he laughs to tickle the spot that caused it.

“That is not sexy,” he huffs.

She shrugs. “No, but it was fun.” Over his tattoo, she teases his nipple with the tip of her tongue. Calum swears he’s going to explode right there on the spot. He’s going to loose all control of his senses and just evaporate into mist at the heat in his gut.

When her knees pass over his shoulders though, Calum reaches up to guide her hips down and enjoys the first taste of her, savoring it before swallowing her down. She shudders above him, gripping onto the headboard, the metal cook against her fingers thanks to the fan blowing. “Fuck,” she sighs when his tongue laps over her again.

Calum moans when she finally finds the strength for a pace, to rock over his face. He could die right here, just in the fountain of her. It would be a hell of a way to go. Her fingers dig at his hair, tugging at the strands and his scalp. He lts out a muffled cry, enjoying the small pricks of pain.

His finger dig into her flesh and she goes woozy, at the feeling of her orgasm creeping up and the way Calum’s so desperate beneath her. He pushes her down, locking her thighs up in a tight grip and absolutely does not let up. Her eyes are screwed up tight but she can see splotches in her vision as her toes curls. She holds herself up by the headboard. “Shit, Calum,” she whines, trying to last longer, trying to find something else to ground herself too. But there is only his tongue and the sctratch of his stubble at her inner things. And it’s only Calum filling her senses.

So over she goes, gasping and grunting into the warming air of her bedroom as her orgasm rocks her. “Oh God, oh God,” she chants, trying to get a good breath.

Calum lets her go, just a little, kissing across her sensitive and swollen core, to her inner thighs that are turning just a hair pink. She sinks into the mattress next to him, chest still heaving but she grins at the feeling of him kissing at her shoulder. “Any more stress?”

“Not the same stress as before,” she laughs, fingers curling into his hair. It brings his attention to her and she kisses over his chin, licking up her arousal before they share another kiss.

Calum trails his hand up her hip, over the dip over her stomach and traces over the three flowers in her cleavage before his hand settles around her throat. She hums at the pressure, it’s not even hard, not even like he’s actually choking her. But she knows he could. He knows he could.

“Say it again for me,” Calum whispers in her ear.

“Say what?”

“How much you need me? How you don’t want me to make you beg for it.”

“That would just tickle your peach wouldn’t it?”

He sucks a hickey onto the swell of her breast. “Maybe it would,” he smirks, watching the way her head throws back into the pillow and her hips start to rise up from the sheets.

“Please, please. Want you so damn bad. Need you to fill me up with your seed.”

It’s an agreement between them, with her on the pill. And there’s always the option to opt out. But right now, Calum thinks of how pretty she would look wrecked from him and his cum spilling out of her. It makes his cock twitch. “Oh, you know just want to say,” he hums before removing his hand from her throat.

It takes just a moment for Calum to completely disrobe and in the mean time, she pulls at her own nipples, watching him fully bare in front of him. She moves to her knees on the bed, arms winding around his neck as he stands his knees pressing into the edge of the mattress. They share breathes for a moment, noses touching. “Something wrong?” he asks.

“No, just needed to be close to you. Having you close just feels right.”

It makes his chest warm and he wonders if somewhere along the way he lied to himself and to her, that he was doomed to fall just a little when sex got involved. Right now, even though the thought comes to him, it doesn’t linger as she grasps him, running her palm over the length of him. “Hands and knees for me, doll?”

“Magic words,” she demands.

“Pretty please.”

It’s with a flashing grin she concedes, leaving Calum with a perfect view. Along her spine is another tattoo. This one is of a script he’s never been able to decipher that falls down into a waterfall. It’s a piece and he loves to trace up it to the back of her neck before sliding to the front and cupping her throat. Which is always does before bringing her back into his chest.

But for right now, he settles for a couple gentle smacks to her ass before lining himself up. He settles for just teasing her with his tip and watching her wiggle her ass just for him. It’s just for him. All for him. The thought makes him dizzy, but nothing grounds him like how slick she is, how she grips onto him like no one else ever could. He keeps one knee on the bed just for leverage, his hands full of her hips as he guides her in time with his movements.

They sigh, not quite into each other, but at each other at the feeling. She hums, enjoying just how thick Calum is, stretching her out in a way that always borders on too much but never exceeds it. It’s a welcomed warmth that fades into the heath of pleasure. The sounds of hips slapping into ass and thighs bounces around her room.

She can loose herself like this, hand fisting her sheets and crying out for Calum over and over as his hips drive her closer and closer to release. Calum runs his hands over her skin, like trying to remember every bump but knowing he’ll ultimately get lost in the feeling of her. He’ll always lose awareness in the way she whines for him.

“So, good for me,” he praises, watching her arch even more for him.

“Ah, shit,” she huffs, when Calum brings a hand down to the front of her and playing at her clit. She’s not going to last like this and with her teeth gritted she lets the orgasm crash into her. She lets it consume her and though there’s a skyrocket in pleasure, his fingers keep playing through her release. She can feel her muscle tensing and quivering. “Please,” she whines, finding just enough strength to grab his wrist.

Calum doesn’t need to be told twice before sliding it up her body. He takes a second for each breast and then holds her throat again, pulling her into his chest. His hips are still snapping, still rocking. Her head is swimming. “Stay with me. This is what you wanted,” he pants.

She knows that but what she didn’t expect was that even though she’s cum twice her body wants to push for a third. She can feel the twinge of it, just on the horizon. It leaves her though when Calum pulls out and guides her to her back towards the center of the bed and climbs fully onto the mattress now.

She gives into gravity, but find the edges of the galaxies again when Calum reenters her. Her nails claw at his back, whining at how she borders overstimulation. But it feels so good. Her nose is invaded with the scent of his sweat and cologne. Any worry she had early today is completely gone.

Calum bites at her shoulder, trying to keep his orgasm at bay but there’s really no use. He cums, praising in her ear, “So good for me. Gonna be so full when I’m done,” he grunts softly. His hips stuttering but sure to give her every drop.

They spend a moment, embracing and Calum finally pulls back, slow to retract himself. She keeps herself open to him, so he can watch just as a tiny bit leaks out of her but he pushes it back in with him thumb. “Not wasting anything,” he states.

It takes a couple minutes for them to regain strength. As the bruises and hickies blossom in the shower, she spends a moment washing over his back. “Seriously though, when’s the last time you ate today?”

“I had lunch? I can’t remember.”

As he steps under the running water, she opens the glass door, wrapping a towel around her. “I have veggie burgers. It’s not gourmet, but it’s something.”

“You don’t have to.” Water is falling down the lines of his face, clinging to the skin of his lips and for a moment, she feels the urge to kiss him but not like usually, when it’s a hunger to be consumed. Just, like a normal kiss, one that shows you care.

“I want to,” she counters. “Ketchup and mustard with spinach, right?”

Calum can only nod. “Yeah, but really you--” Before he can finish the sentence, she’s gone. “But you’re going too anyway.”

-H

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whumpster-fire · 3 years

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Hi, Tumblr! It’s your favorite cartoon star and overall badass, Wendy Weasel! IHC left a little crack in the fourth wall, and as you know us weasels can slip through a space one sixth the thickness of a human hair, so I’ve taken over this blog for April Fool’s Day. You probably won’t notice any difference other than the posts actually being on topic instead of making stupid jokes about a ship stuck in a canal.

And “on-topic” means... “whump?” Seriously, that’s a stupid name - anyway, apparently this sick fuckin’ creep made an entire blog dedicated solely to torturing fictional characters. Can ya believe it? Obviously even reading about such twisted, wanton cruelty is going to scar my young, impressionable mind for life, but based on my meticulous study of this blog, I think I can write prompts that are completely indistinguishable from the ones usually posted on this blog. Check this out!

(Jokes aside, this is going behind a cut for jokes about animal cruelty and suicide, read at your own risk)

Imagine the whumpee attempting to rollerblade down an endless flight of stairs. The moron. The dunderhead. The absolute buffoon. Imagine your favorite character immediately losing control, falling, and tumbling down the unyielding concrete steps like an idiot slinky. Imagine them breaking the sound barrier, hitting a landing, and their rollerskates disintegrating on impact. Imagine the whumpee lying, bruised and broken and mangled at the bottom on an infinite flight of stairs, in a pool of their own blood, as bystanders point and laugh and take videos to put on Youtube. Imagine a single rollerblade wheel bouncing down the stairs and smacking them in the face.

Imagine the whumpee slipping on a banana peel. And breaking their spine. And then being in a wheelchair for the rest of their life. But then their wheelchair also slips on a banana peel and flips over. And they can’t get up, so they have to crawl around everywhere. But then their strength gives way, and they collapse from exhaustion... onto the original banana peel. Which is really fucking gross because it’s been like a month by now. And that causes them to throw up in their mouth.

Imagine a box of meowing kittens. Imagine all of them being taken home by kind, loving owners, except one. The kitten’s all alone in the box. Orphaned. No friends. And it’s raining. Imagine your favorite character walking by, and hearing the tiny kitten crying, and their heart being moved by such a pathetic sight. Imagine them reaching into the box and picking the little kitty up. Heartwarming, isn’t it? Now imagine them picking that little kitty-cat up by the scruff of its neck. Imagine them taking a lighter and, uhh, breaking it open and pouring all the lighter fluid on the kitten. And then taking another lighter and setting it on fire. And drop-kicking it onto the busy freeway. And the kitten being run over by a truck. And then as it’s lying there, guts all over the fucking pavement, meowing “Why doesn’t anyone love me?” imagine a guy on a motorbike stopping and walking up to the kitten. And stomping on its face. Because it’s still on fire. See, this is the realism and internal consistency Whumpster-Fire prides himself on, he’s really fucking full of himself. And then a limousine screeches to a halt, but runs over the kitten again anyway, and a Hollywood talent agent steps out. And he goes “Oh my god, what a heart-wrenching emotional performance! What do you call it?” And your favorite character says: “The Aristocats!” And then Mickey Mouse shows up and he runs the kitten through a meat grinder and sues it for copyright infringement!

Imagine a dragon. But it’s a nice dragon. It’s a nice adorable tiny baby dragon but nobody knows it because humans are mean and nasty. Get it, I’m subverting fantasy tropes by having the monster be the good guy. Aren’t I original? My Nobel Prize in literature’s in the mail, I swear. Anyway, imagine a bunch of evil knights kicking the baby dragon, and hitting it with swords, and then stapling its wings to a billboard and leaving it up there. Forever.

Imagine the whumpee’s this sad-eyed raccoon kid, who’s a criminal because raccoons are sneaky. And he gets caught and taken to jail because he’s not as sneaky and clever as he thinks he is. And all the other criminals all make fun of him because he has this stupid fucking fake British Oliver Twist accent. And his voice always cracks and gets really squeaky whenever anyone calls him a Trash Panda. So he’s sad and he ties his orange prison jumpsuit into a knot and hangs himself from the bars. The end.

Imagine the whumpee is a robot who gets kidnapped and they smash dents with her with a crowbar and force her to wear clown makeup, and go out on stage and perform for a bunch’a dumbass kids, but nobody likes her because clowns aren’t funny. So she snaps and tries to scare the kids instead, but nobody scared of her because clowns in horror is so fucking overdone. And they all boo her and throw tomatoes at her, and the clown robot just stands there and cries tears of oil that ruin her clown makeup.

Imagine the whumpee’s a fairy, but with bird wings because he saw what happened to the kitten and doesn’t want to get sued by Disney. But then he flies into one of those bug zapper things and gets electrocuted - but he’s still alive - and then a bunch of kids burn him with a magnifying glass.

Imagine the whumpee shivering, and trembling, and whimpering, and breathing heavily, for ninety paragraphs straight, until they pass out from exhaustion and boredom at the repetitive writing.

Imagine the whumpee getting stripped naked and chained to a bed... and then the bed getting thrown out a window and the whumpee getting sliced to ribbons by the glass cuts, and then falling into an icy cold river and nearly drowning! Gotcha, didn’t I? This is a family friendly blog, so that means no actual porn, only torture porn!

Imagine a cute, innocent puppy being horribly mauled to within an inch of its life by other dogs, and dragging itself across five miles of rusty nails and broken glass and barbed wire, but then the caretaker picks it up and cuddles it and gives it a band-aid so everything’s fine.

Imagine the whumpee slowly sinking into quicksand. Nah, how about a tarpit. Or that slime stuff they have on Nickolodeon.

Imagine the moment when the whumpee realizes they’ve just walked off a cliff and there’s no ground underneath them, and looking back with a really sad look on their face before they start falling.

Imagine the whumpee is a pokemon who gets caught by Michael Vick and forced to brutally fight other pokemon and get mauled over and over and over.

Imagine the whumpee sobbing into a bowl of Cheetos as they realize nobody reads their fucking animal cruelty torture porn or cares about their dumbass opinions, and nobody’s laughing at their shitty bloodstained solo cup background image.

Wow... y’know, I really think I’ve captured the essence of this blog perfectly. You might as well just shut it down after this, it’s all downhill from here. I’ve broken “whump” down to its bare essentials. All the emotion! All the character development! All the poetic imagery! Hey, maybe I should just run this blog all year round! I’m obviously a way better writer than you - although that’s kinda scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Fuck it, I’m going to bed. Actually, nah, I’m printing this out for Riley to read. Maybe he’ll recognize himself in one of the characters, who knows...

#whump #whump prompts #whump meta #april fool's day #shitpost #Wendy Weasel (OC)#animal abuse tw #gore tw #fourth wall damage tw #suicide tw #I apologize for my OC's fucked-up sense of humor

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redslilstories · 4 years

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Woozy Words

Author: lilyme (aka. redslilstories aka. me ;)) Summary: Set in 5x09. While trying to mend her nose, could a new colleague help her mend her heart? Pairing: Callie/Arizona Rating: PG Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I own any rights to the television show "Grey's Anatomy". They were created by Shonda Rhimes and belong to her and the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended! All mistakes are mine.

"So, this is the last area on this floor," Richard Webber, Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace hospital, pointed out the newest addition to his surgical staff, as they walked through the outpatient area of the hospital. "The post-anesthesia recovery. Adults. Um, children are one floor below. I guess that is where you will be more likely to find," he smiled at the woman with his arms contently in front of his chest.

He was happy – one could easily say relieved - to have found a surgeon for his pediatrics department, which had been fairly understaffed in the last months.

And this one wasn't just any surgeon.

Trained at Johns Hopkins' and even holding the position of Chief Resident during her last year of residency, the woman had been praised all over for the skills she had acquired within her specialty.

And what was also important – she was good with the kids. There were rumors of her even putting on some roller skate shoes to amuse her patients. He was not yet sure if he approved of this or not. He hadn't seen anything like that on her yet, since, including today, she had always worn street clothes.

But this would only be a tiny problem, if this rumor really were true.

The surgeon in question – Arizona Robbins by name - worked hard to memorize everything the chief was telling her, keep track of her surroundings and draw a map of the hospital in her mind. Luckily she had always worked in large hospitals, so she figured she would only need a few days to really find her way around here.

"How many outpatient surgeries do you have per year?" she inquired, wanting to get an idea of the figures. She was already impressed by the 1600 beds the hospital could provide in total. Out of which 140 were in Peds.

"Hm, all in all about 60.000, including 2.000 in Pediatrics," Webber gave her the average of the last years.

"Impressive," she smiled at him, as they came to a halt at the area's nurses station.

"Thank you," he nodded, proud of his hospital baby. "Um, now we could...," he began, thinking of something else to show her, but was interrupted, when...

"Oh, Chief, good. Can I have a minute?" Miranda Bailey, who Arizona already knew was the surgical Chief Resident at this hospital, came walking up towards them.

"Um, sure," he wavered for a moment, pulled out of his original thought. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" he directed his question at Dr. Robbins and followed Dr. Bailey out into the hall.

Arizona was unsure of what to do while the chief was gone. Since he likely wouldn't be long and she being new would likely lose her way wandering about, she figured she should just stay put.

Maybe she could chat up the residents and nurses here, getting to know her colleagues.

But then again... the lone resident that was present was currently busy with checking the vital signs on some of the patients. She figured it better not to disturb him.

So she just waited near the station.

Until a soft and initially indistinct sound reached her ears.

Soon she noticed that it was someone talking, or rather mumbling something.

Her eyes searched around and quickly found the probably source of the sound.

A brunette with a bandage on her nose.

And even though it was not her responsibility – she wasn't even officially working yet – the blonde was in doctor mode immediately, needing to make sure the woman was alright.

She walked up to the patient, who had her eyes closed and her brows furrowed. "Um, hi," she inquired in a low voice – trying not to startle the woman - and put a soft hand on her arm, "are you okay?"

But to no avail. The eyes – gorgeous deep brown eyes, Arizona noticed – shot open and the humming ended abruptly. Only to be followed by an uncertain gurgle.

"Sorry," the blonde apologized, "I just heard noises and was wondering..."

Callie Torres, the woman with the gorgeous eyes, for a moment wondered if she was hallucinating. If the nice pain killers she had been given made her see thing that weren't actually there. Like total strangers by her bed in the hospital's PACU. A doctor or nurse would be the norm, but this woman wore street clothes, so most likely didn't even work here.

But despite the mystery of how this woman even got in here unauthorized...she seemed trustworthy enough. Certainly looked it.

So, without thinking too much of it, Callie finally responded, "Oh, um, sure," the questioning look telling her that she must have taken quite some time to actually do so. "I was just... testing out my nose," she explained and felt a little embarrassed at having been caught. "It's new. Or, um, good as new?" she frowned, now even more embarrassed by the puzzling way she explained things. "A patient of mine broke it in the E.R. today".

"Oh!" Arizona's eyes shot up at this information, "you're a doctor?" she asked intrigued.

"Yes, I'm an ortho surgeon here. I'm actually here to fix bones, not get mine broken," she pouted and felt excited when the woman's lips formed a sympathetic expression.

"I hope it was an accident, and you don't have violent patients here beating doctors for no reason," Arizona joked... with a tiny bit of worry on her mind.

"No," Callie waved it aside, "it was an accident. I happened to stand in the wrong spot at the wrong time."

"Oh, good! Well, not good, because, well... ouch". Now it was Arizona's turn to frown. "What I meant to say is, I hope you'll get better soon," she said sincerely, and finally took a step back, realizing that as a doctor – and a total stranger – she was standing just a little too close to the bed.

"Thanks," Callie smiled, and couldn't help notice the attractiveness of the other woman. The little blush she was sporting now only highlighted this perfect face. From the sweet lips to the bright blue eyes and the light blush lingering on her face. This woman was nice to look at. And nice to talk to as well. She was easily someone Callie could imagine...

No!

She shouldn't go there. Not after the fiasco with the last blue-eyed blonde was barely two weeks in the past.

But then again, this seemed to be a very different blonde... On the cute side with a natural sparkle emanating from her...

No! Callie desperately needed to think of something else.

Luckily the other woman helped out, hopefully unaware of her thoughts. "So, um, what are the test results?" she inquired, as Callie didn't speak for several moments, obviously again in her own little world.

"Huh?" the brunette asked in confusion, but realized what Arizona meant when this one tapped her own nose as a hint. "Oh! Uh, no final results yet. Hard to say from the inside, I guess. I mean, do I sound funny?"

"Well, just a little," the other woman replied with a little shrug and a lot of dimples. "Then again, I have no idea how you normally sound. Maybe you really sound like Kermit the Frog trying to talk under water," she joked, before adding a little, "Sorry".

Callie snorted wholeheartedly at the comparison. An action she regretted as a sharp pain shot through her mending nose. "Hah... Ouch!" she squeaked, almost bringing her hand to touch her olfactory organ.

Arizona winced in sympathy, "Oh, my, God. I didn't mean...," she apologized. Something told her she should have known better than to make a broken nose laugh.

"It's okay," Callie played it down. "I don't mind the laugh. Maybe the painkillers are wearing off," she wondered.

The offhand comment did not go unnoticed by the blonde, who without second thought made a move to check Callie's chart. See what dose of medication she was on.

Callie saw this and immediately remembered that this woman likely was not authorized to do any kind of medical work around here. And certainly not inspect her patient information. "Um, I don't think you're supposed to do that," she pointed out with raised eyebrows, indicating the chart the woman was holding.

"Hm?" Arizona hummed distractedly, getting a read on the chart's figures. "Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly realizing that her non-patient didn't even know who she was. "I'm so sorry, you're kind of right," she admitted, reaching into her pocket to produce her company ID, stating her name and soon position at this hospital. "But I'm a doctor too. Actually starting to work her in few days," she calmed her and handed the item off to the brunette. "And as a doctor, I have to make sure the patients are okay. Even if they're not mine," she smiled.

Callie felt somewhat relieved. So this stranger was legit after all. And even better would be a colleague of hers. In Peds, as the ID with the ridiculously good picture of the woman pointed out.

And...

"Yeah, okay," Callie lay her head back down on her pillow. "But I guess I'm still a little woozy. I could swear I just read your name as 'Arizona'...?" she wondered with raises eyebrows. Or maybe HR wrongly put her home state as her name...?

Said Arizona gave her a challenging yet amused look. "That's my name".

"Really," Callie more stated than asked, still incredulous as she handed the ID back to its owner. It was a pretty unusual name. But, then again, it could be worse. Her name could be Delaware or... Wyoming. Dr. Delaware Wyoming Robbins... Huh...

"Really, 'Calliope'...," the blonde returned to the woman, who seemed to entertain amusing thoughts. Arizona couldn't help but hint at the fact that she was not the only one with a fairly unusual name in this room.

The implication dawned on Callie and she mumbled, "Touché".

The blonde eyed the expression on Calliope's face. A beautiful face, which had a very beautiful name attached to it, if she was allowed to say so. And it suited what she had seen of the woman so far.

Not even the miffed expression at being called out could change that. And she couldn't help but release a wholehearted laugh at this.

Being brought out of her sulking state by this, Callie's eyes traces over Arizona's face again. Now there were even dimples to boot. Sparkling blue eyes, shiny blonde hair, sweet voice and now entrancing dimples. "You're really pretty," she said mesmerized.

Only seconds later noticing that she had actually said that out loud. "Oh, I didn't mean. I mean, I didn't..."

Being drawn to someone – which she by now helplessly and hopelessly was – was one thing. Admitting to it out loud by accident within minutes after meeting said someone was another.

And hitting on this person – a future colleague – could be problematic and could make working together very awkward from the start.

But then the other woman surprised her. Again blushing a little, but this time at this unexpected compliment. Before she sweetly returned. "You're really pretty too".

Callie perked up in relief. So, no awkwardness. Judging by the flirty smile, quite the opposite. "Wait till you see me without the bandage," she therefore dared to speak.

"I can't wait," the blonde returned, as they heard footsteps approaching them, belonging to the long forgotten Bailey and Webber. "Oh, Dr. Bailey, great. Could you or Dr. Sloan check if Dr. Torres is on sufficient pain medication? I see he is the surgeon on this case. Dr. Torres is having some discomfort," she said in a professional tone. While casually stroking Callie's arm, a move that did not go unnoticed by the other three people.

"Uh, sure," Bailey responded, a little surprised by the situation and closeness of the two women.

"Thanks!" Arizona returned and handed over the chart to the chief resident. "I'll see you two around?" she smiled, catching the dreamy look Calliope's eyes sent her one last time, before heading over to Dr. Webber to continue their hospital tour.

Bailey looked after the newcomer for a moment, before she turned her attention to Callie. "Is everything alright?"

"Kinda," Callie returned, not really answering to the matter Bailey was hinting at. But rather the more obvious one. "I seem to have a thing for blondes," she smirked, enjoying this fluttery feeling the blonde gave her. This feeling better than any painkiller.

END

#calzona #calzona fanfiction #callie torres #arizona robbins #5x09 #grey's anatomy #fluff #humor #calzona all ways #calzona forever

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sole-cuore-amore-e-droga · 3 years

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Italy brings the rock’n’roll youth of tomorrow to Rotterdam 2021

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It’s the final day of doing my yet again botched attempt at a review series and I’ve been dying to post my gigantic write-up for my newly beloved Italy, at the top of the bookies, darling of all hearts, ready to rock Eurovision, and even more! Vai vai~

ARTIST & ENTRY INFO

Representing them this year is Måneskin, a band made up of four - singer and possibly the hottest motherfucker to grace the planet Earth Damiano, guitarist Thomas, drummer Ethan, and the cherry on top - bassist Victoria, whose half-Danish heritage is the reason Måneskin is called Måneskin (= Moonshine). They thought of this name at a “battle of the bands” that they won, thinking they might as well change it to something different, but in the end... say it with me now

They have known each other since highschool, made a band in 2016, won the “battle of the bands”, started out making a living as buskers in the streets of Rome, from which they gradually grew through playing small gigs, and later tried out for X Factor Italia season 11, on which they came 2nd.

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They went on to release an EP titled after their debut single of the name of the song above, including some of their X Factor covers, and later on got to get big through releasing an album, getting it certified all kinds of goodnesses, having singles from that album be popular, even releasing a documentary of themselves... they’ve done so much in life and they’re only 20-22 years old... aw man, the life is just ahead of them, for them to be so young and win Sanremo on their first try. (And I’ve always wanted them for Eurovision ever since I was aware of their existence, because their music is very nice, and they just feel like charming human beings. So imagine my joy seeing them announced for Sanremo 2021? And them WINNING months later??? man what kind of luck do I have even if just for a year lmao <333)

“Zitti e buoni”, the last song title alphabetically this year, is purely of the band’s making, and the lyrics are talking about not abiding the rules in general, how they’re out of their minds but they’re not like “them”, and how people talk but don’t know what they’re talking at all.

REVIEW

IT’S A PRETTY CRAZY GOOD ROCK SONG AMEN HALLELUJAH OPRAH WOOOOOOO

wbk I love it. Yeah sure it might be composited of something that sounds like standard rock riffs and what not, but it’s the ENERGY that goes into it that gets me more excited for this than for Finland, a fellow rock song of this year’s final.

Damiano’s vocals have the specific kind of rockstar tinge to them, and they’re very complimenting to the song. The way he says everything is beautiful, the “e buonasera signore e signori” line in particular is just a moment that shows the beginning of power somehow, I don’t know. The chorus is great, eventhough it’s just one line repeated but it changes the pronoun each time (going from “I’m out of my mind” to “you’re out of your mind” to “we’re out of my mind”) - MAGICAL.

And the bridge. YES, the bridge. Along with the outro it’s the best part of the song. The chord progression. The lines repeated on that bridge. The emotions going on. The delivery of the lines of the emotion. It’s a convincing little bridge, to the point that it sounds just as great with violins! Wish they brought one, because according to Love Love Peace Peace, nothing screams winner quite like a violin.

God damn to the Måneskinsters pump this song up to the maximum. It was originally a ballad song, and I think that’s for the better for them to present it as a rock song, because a Sanremo ballad in a pool of Sanremo ballads... unless it stands out according to demoscopic & press juries, and there seems to be a no better option at hand that could make them stand out other than just sending a classy ballad, it just fizzles out in a spectacularly lame fashion. Måneskin’s one real shot through was with a song that would make them stand out, and they did it, and they’re here.

Everyone has put in their work, their passion, their skills into this, and it shows off in spades. Måneskin themselves are fantastic and chill human beings, who too, just like Flo Rida, get to enjoy how crazy amazing Eurovision experience is. And for that I salute them with my whole heart. Whatever they do tonight on Eurovision, they’ll leave a lasting mark in it. And for a good reason.

Also an Italian Eurovision edit that doesn’t suck, once again, yay! (In their defense, they didn’t have a whole lot to work with, so they released theirs early - just a few trimmings here and there, and a lyric change so that they skate by EBU easier with their anti-swearing policies. Gahddamn swearing~)

Approval factor: FUCK YES Follow-up factor: The funny thing about this is that last year their entry is about making noise but the song was a love ballad, this year it’s a song titled “shut up and behave” while dressed in a loudest motherfucking musical setting lol. Fuck the rules! It was solely on the Sanremo’s last year’s winner Diodato not to send an entry he thought that would fit for Sanremo, and that’s good on him - he can return next year replenished as all hell, and maybe aim for the trophy again? wishful thinking? aaaa. Anyway on a personal scale “Zitti e buoni” is a marvelous follow-up from “Fai rumore”, even if skipping 2020 entirely, especially after “Soldi”, which was already a fab follow-up after “Non mi avete fatto niente”, and even from “Occidentali’s Karma” on. And so it is subjectively a good follow-up. Italy SLAYS. AQ factor: As I write this, the odds are very much in their favour, if not a little bit too persuaded over the fact that Måneskin gave a good rock performance and knew what they would be doing, or it’s just that the Italians like overbetting for their acts way too damn much. But nevertheless, I just wanna hope for them to break the expectations people set on rock songs in Eurovision and SMASH themselves a victory. Or a top 2. Or a top 5-10. Anything will do, goddamn.

NF CORNER

Well, I promised that I will talk about Sanremo in a NF corner, because this is the first year I actually cared to watch it myself, unlike when I would’ve sided with someone whose reviewing style I love in not caring to watch it, and usually just check all the songs on the last day lol.

One thing about Sanremo that I sorely underestimate is that a handful of artists on there can come across as very versatile, and the one song you loved of one genre they presented several years ago, can be completely different and leave you baffled for days if you’re not very familiarized with their discography and the Italian music scene in general. Which now I’m going to pay an extreme amount of attention towards following Sanremo 2022 on out because hot damn did I never see gems like Willie Peyote coming!

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Did I call him a gem over his entry? Yes, somehow. Am I even sure if I’m being serious?

I think I can somewhat agree when I say that for the international fam watching Sanremo at least, “Mai dire mai (La locura)” was a major expectation destroyer, at least for the crowd whose main lookouts in a lineup like this years were Ermal Meta, Annalisa, Arisa, etc. You know they’re gonna bring a ballad, and their ballads are usually decent, but what about the unexpected? That’s where a handful of acts, including Willie, comes in for me. The bass hooks in the second the song starts. The beat is minimalistic but strong enough to slap. The steady rap flow is mesmerizing, paired with that somewhat specifically Italian(?) vocal timbre. The chorus is greatly catchy, and it is a sung chorus, with this song still being largely a rap song. The electric-esque guitar soundwaves interspersed throughout the song are magnificent and magical, and on the chorus they even make a constant melody riff that repeats and may get annoying on multiple listens, but I still adore them. I really love the bridge as well and all that goes into it. A fantastic surprise of the season for me personally.

Now I figure that the lyrics may hinder the enjoyment for some, especially the points raised in some lines that may seem questionable and shady (if this went to Eurovision and got a “twerking” comment on Youtube, I will not be surprised if the description of choice is “patriarchic twerking”), but am I supposed to be fully offended at some points of it if I’m not its target audience, although I see some of what I do nowadays in those lines? “Mai dire mai” is probably dedicated to the Italian media and the Italian trends and what not. I’m not even disappointed it didn’t win, because if it went to Eurovision, it would’ve likely been met like a lesser “Occidentali’s Karma” - catchy song with lyrics that fly over listener’s heads which might as well be very accidentally mocking how we live our lives.

“Mai dire mai” has just less of a memorability-in-history value and no memorable gimmicks (Francesco had a gorilla, what is it visually going for on Willie’s performance?), besides, it would’ve suffered even WORSE post-Eurovision-edit than OK has - a lot of the bits and bobs that pass me by but when I notice them they make a really great entry, but other than the (presumably copyrighted) removal of a sample from a TV series (spoken by a fish character, nonetheless), what else is there to remove???? With Eurovision’s rules specifying that brands (Spotify, TikTok) and swearwords (lots of the good old Italian ones that Italian radios would digitally scratch out to emphasize that there were a LOT in the second verse) can’t be sung live, the song loses some of its lyrical charm. And you can’t just go around the song like Francesco Gabbani chopping off entire verses full of content full of witty lyrics and a reference to Chanel in order to present the more lyrically singable-along-to lines and not let go of the long chorus to whom his gorilla can dance to. “Mai dire mai” is RIFE with lyrics, that’s what a rap song is. It would have absolutely fallen apart.

Also no one paged it as a potential Eurovision winner during Sanremo, at least seriously, and it doesn’t have much that would have clicked with the future Eurovision generation and contestants when they would be asked to name their favourite Eurovision song of all times. In a world where from Italy they really like “Grande amore” and “Soldi” and even sometimes could name “Occidentali’s Karma”, is there really a place for “Mai dire mai (La locura)” over “Zitti e buoni”? Who would be naming that song as their favourite of all time? If you raised a hand, you lie to yourself, because that would’ve been me.

Now I don’t know how many of the Tumblr fam would draw ire at me putting out paragraphs worth of me being ultra positive towards this song, because as I’ve learned, there’s an ironic and unironic audience for Mr. Peyote on Tumblr especially, but for me I guess it was pretty worthy, also a thing I was finally able to yell off my chest since, and now I finally said it, I will continue streaming “Mai dire mai (La locura)” in peace.

He might’ve not won Sanremo, but his song won the equally important Mia Martini Critics Award, and also, my heart. Rest in broken shards of the Boris aquarium, my sweet cynical prince~

Måneskin were my 2nd after him so I’m equally happy they won. But what about my other favourites?

• Extraliscio ft. Davide Toffolo - Bianca luce nera A diluted version of the liscio genre, still makes for a very fascinatingly catchy and swaying song with lots of great instruments that are violins and a clarinet. What I figure is kinda a love song. Their performances were also great, with lots of dancers on stage and a genuinely great fun to be had, and you may remember them more after their performance in cover night, which was titled “Rosamunda”. They were the ones with their main singer’s guitar spinning for whatever reason that was there to make their song catchy, I guess.

• Lo Stato Sociale - Combat Pop A little bit of a far cry from their glory heydays with 2nd place in Sanremo 2018, but they returned with an equally banging song and an amazing set of performance chaos they brought in each and every time - dedicating their first night’s one to making a performance to not forget (and being the ones of two to reference the great Bugo&Morgan incident from last year, the other being Willie Peyote), the second competitive one was for referencing politics, and so on.

• Colapesce & Dimartino - Musica leggerissima Sweet melancholic song with the shades of Sebastien Tellier kinda sound, this song may seem jolly at first, but the especially melancholic undertones denote that there’s something else going on. It’s actually about depression, as that’s what the term “musica leggerissima” (very light music) means. But it still found a heart in Italian listeners and the Italian world finally woke up to how great Antonio Di Martino and Lorenzo “Colapesce” Urciullo are, and a handful of viewers were slightly heartbroken to see it not place in the superfinal top 3. Who knows if they would’ve actually won over Måneskin. I just know that their rollerskater girlie is so damn fine~

Bugo has also returned but I think his redemption arc started off the wrong foot, as his return entry, “E invece si”, was a bloated showtune ballad and got obnoxious to listen to at part. I declared to myself that night when I first heard the new entry that regarding on what made “Sincero” great, I side with Morgan.

And a special shout out to Ghemon, whose 2019 song was more than just a “purple rose” unlike I noted on a last proper Italian entry review. I don’t know what expectations I had for him, but I certainly wanted to love “Momento perfetto” more at the first listen, which was also somewhat of a show-tuney piece, but with a bit more funk and pizzazz, also Ghemon was VERY much vibing with his song, and that made me feel great for the few other performances of it that I saw the following days. It’s definitely a grower song, and around 2 months after Sanremo I fell into a bit of a rabbit-hole of his earlier music discovering, and I may be a bit exaggerating but, give Ghemon a bit more of acknowledgement and a stellar enough song, and with a little bit of magic touch, I can maybe see him lifting the Golden Lion trophy one day. Don’t ask why. (also lovely music video for his 2021 entry, which replaces continuous spinning in an aesthetic area to everybody moving their body in a diner (hopefully with everyone in the MV tested and been negative for long enough for the MV to actually happen).)

NF CORNER (NON-COMPETITIVE)

There’s so much needed to be discussed about there. So I’ll restrict myself to the moments that I remember and cherish:

• Rosario Fiorello. Just. Him.

• And the gentleman next to him, Achille Lauro.

tw // body piercing

Belarus 2018 could never

Fiorello and Lauro are perfect matches to each other’s worlds of imagination, and I was more than ever glad to see so much creativity coming from each one of them, a host and a nightly interval act respectively.

• Once again, “Rosamunda Medley” by Extraliscio, I didn’t watch the cover night in its entirety but I think it’s good enough of a medley if it got a 3rd place from the cover night from the orchestra!

• Sanremo Newcomers section of this year. I liked or vibed to almost every song out of the 8, and I’m decently happy with the winner, but if there’s one big shoutout I really want to make, is to “Regina” by Davide Shorty, for it’s such a cozy funky little love song that always makes me happy when I hear it. My personal winner preference, but I don’t mind Davide getting 2nd! For as long as he gets to place 1st in a future main Sanremo event hihihihihi

youtube

• Diodato proving himself to be a dance king at the beginning of his “Che vita meravigliosa” performance, my good Twitter friend made a bunch of videos where he dances to a lot of songs, as per request, check them out and you won’t forget it.

• Since Sanremo 2021 got rid of the audience as per COVID regulations and much to Amadeus’s dread, there ended up quite a handful of audience related memes. Such as the penis balloon et al.

• Remember when Sanremo 2021 audience was supposed to be whisked away in a cruise ship for safety measures? Pepperidge Farm remembers

• SESSO IBUPROFENEEEEEEEE

The guy that sang this song actually has the same birthday as me, so in my eyes, I feel like he has some charm to it. I’m biased lol sorry

There’s way too many more but I am afraid of flooding my post beyond your readability interest. Let’s hope that, in an event of Italy’s victory or non, we’ll get to see an even more iconic event of Sanremo emerge come the future. <3

ANY LAST WORDS?

Måneskin’s big goal was to rock Eurovision, and I think they’ve greatly accomplished that by just... doing what they do best, and that is, rocking. They leave energy lasting for days.

In bocca al lupo, fam. You’ll nail it, and even if you don’t win, Italy shouldn’t not hail you as national heroes after it’s all over.

#eurovision #eurovision 2021 #rotterdam 2021 reviews #italy #måneskin #zitti e buoni #gifs i didn't make

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mittensmorgul · 5 years

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Unpopular opinion: Portraying Sam and Dean as worthless, incompetent hunters who learned nothing from their father's training or a lifetime of hunting bc it was all God is disrespecful as hell. Sam and Dean are--well, were, I guess--heroes who stood up to monsters, angels and demons as ordinary people. Tonight destroyed all of that.

I mean, I’d agree with you, if I thought that was actually what the show had done. Sam and Dean currently BELIEVE that, and are making choices based on that assumption, but is it actually true?

I can’t believe it is. I think they’ve made an incorrect assumption, and are going to “pay a price” for having made a bad choice based on that belief...

Because we’ve been shown that’s how Chuck arranges things. That’s how he “tells his stories.”

When in the previous episode, Chuck’s final words to Sam were the statement that Sam had “lost hope,” and the pronouncement that Sam and Dean weren’t the heroes of the story; and when Dean stood up to him and said he and Sam would never “perform” the story Chuck wanted to see them act out (like “all the other Sams and Deans” eventually did in all his other universes), it was like they’d thrown down a gauntlet for him. Dean PUNCHED CHUCK IN THE FACE. That was the gauntlet-slap.

To me, this episode felt like Chuck’s petty (and rather crackpot) attempt to manipulate them into believing that this is what they truly are without his Divine Cosmic Help, and honestly, THAT is what I am calling bullshit on. The show is practically BEGGING us to see that.

I mean, if Dean had had ONE cavity, I could buy it was just bad luck. If Baby had ONE bad spark plug, I could buy it was just a normal sort of problem that normal people face. But the sheer number of failures they experienced went so far beyond “normal” as to be cartoonish. No normal person has EVER had a day like that. But the fact that Sam and Dean were so willing to BELIEVE it, even after Dean had been convinced at the beginning of the episode that they were CURSED... he let Sam (and Garth, and Bess) talk him OUT of that conviction.

Dean: No. No, no, no. This is -- this is more than just a no good very bad day, okay? Chuck must have boned us before He left, you know. Or maybe some of that crap you brought back from Rowena's went sideways. Because this. This is not normal.

But by the end of the episode, Dean was beginning to believe that this was very much their “new normal.” To the point where he’s willing to drive to Alaska and pay whatever price to get back their “lost luck.” And honestly, THAT WAS THE POINT. It’s shaken DEAN’S WILL, his BELIEF IN HIMSELF. Which is pretty much the ONLY weapon he had against Chuck in the first place.

Honestly, to me, the thing that convinced me that they were actively being hindered (i.e. that Chuck was actively working to PREVENT them from succeeding at anything on their own) was the fact that not even their reputation as The Winchesters was worth anything to the monster fighty dude. Not even the vast over-preparedness they went into that warehouse with was enough to give them ANY sort of advantage.

They weren’t “normal,” they were DOOMED TO FAIL, because Chuck was proving a point. A point they willingly bought into, despite the overwhelming evidence that they were being specifically held back from succeeding, at anything.

They’re still struggling to understand exactly how Chuck is capable of interfering with their lives. And while I appreciate Dean admitting that their choices have been their own, and not everything about their lives was down to Chuck, the fact that he let himself be talked out of the conviction that Chuck “boned” them before leaving (lol as if Chuck would leave NOW, when things just began to get interesting for him again, just when he’s untethered himself from Sam and can finally “see” the Winchesters again) means he’s still subject to Chuck’s terrible plot...

So I agree with you. If that had been the point of the episode, it would’ve been a bunch of bullshit. If the episode hadn’t included all the references to all the “we are literally actually cursed” episodes, and all the “we are directly being manipulated by cosmic forces” episodes... I mean...

literally actually cursed:

3.03 Bad Day At Black Rock: The rabbits foot gave them ACTUAL GOOD LUCK. Their good luck was so entirely OTT that Dean joked he was Batman. They easily identified it as ridiculous levels of good luck. Until they lost the foot (because EVERYONE loses the foot, it’s part of the CURSE). Their luck didn’t go back to normal, it went cosmically, horribly BAD. So bad, Bobby told them, “you’re dead within a week.” Because that was how the curse worked. Their entire lives haven’t been “lucky.” And Dean would normally be the first person to admit that. His first instinct in this episode was to wonder if he’d been subjected to a similar curse because of how comically bad his luck had turned.

5.08 Changing Channels: the first clue was all the “Seriously? SERIOUSLY?” stuff at the beginning. I was half expecting Sam to get slapped in the face and called a “brilliant coward.” But we even got a NUTCRACKER! callback, only this time it was Dean that took the shot to the crotch... Not just the comic gags of the episode, though, but the Bigger Plot of how and why they were being put through all those tv shows, being forced to LEARN A LESSON, of Gabriel messing with them and pushing them into PLAYING THEIR ROLES, and ACCEPTING THEIR DESTINY. Please tell me that’s not EXACTLY the lesson Chuck would want them to learn after 15.09.

3.11 Mystery Spot: or that one where NOTHING Sam did, no matter how many chances he was given to replay that day, could’ve saved Dean. Sam was nerfed. Effectively rendered powerless against the story, and in the “dark half” of the episode was driven on a misguided revenge quest against the Trickster. Sam couldn’t even begin to see the bigger picture, and believed that just because he’d broken free of the “time loop” that he was actually engaging with reality, that Dean was actually perma-dead, and had isolated himself from all his friends and gone off the rails in his single-minded trek to hunt down the monster that had done this to him... all the while he was focused on the wrong thing and was still trapped in the “make-believe scenario” Gabriel had established for him. Because, golly, that sounds like the exact spot they’re in RIGHT NOW, having been convinced that their run of bad luck is the direct result of Chuck NOT interfering in their lives, casting them as the “heroes” of his story. And I don’t believe that’s what has happened, at all. I believe Chuck is more focused on them, directly, than he ever has been before.

Heck, I wrote this post before the episode aired, and I stand by it 100%:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/190429024710/episodes-i-expect-1510-to-remind-me-of-based-on

Because Sam and Dean haven’t had “hero status” stripped from them. Chuck is WAY too petty to just “give up the story” and render his main characters inept all of a sudden. Sam and Dean are still “his guys.” They’re still the main characters of an obsessive writer who’s directly fighting against their will. This is like... the inverse of 4.18, where Chuck “wrote himself into the story.” This is his reaction to his characters declared intent to “write themselves OUT of his story,” to DEFY his story. This is Chuck’s idea of petty revenge for using their free will against him.

In that context, the context of the larger arc of s15, this is like... textbook illustration of how Chuck has been grinding down their will, pushing them to make Terrible Choices against their own better judgment, because that’s where he wanted the story to go. I think we need to keep that in mind, that the story ITSELF is the big bad, and Chuck’s just had all his powers restored to him. Assuming he wouldn’t immediately put those powers to their full use at his first available opportunity is just... daffy.

Dabb has been writing Looney Tunes since 8.08. I’ve been writing Looney Tunes meta since at least as far back as s11:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/144577425855/chuck-amuck

I will point to the WB cartoon that I believe Dabb has been framing Chuck’s character around all along: Duck Amuck (I’ve embedded other versions on tumblr before, but they always get taken down because copyright... so have a link to where you can watch it... I swear it’s worth the time: https://dai.ly/x5yczh1

And this is what Chuck is trying to convince Sam and Dean is their current situation:

when what they need to recognize, and what Chuck DESPERATELY needs them to keep them from realizing, as long as he can continue pushing them to “we had no other choice” scenarios and distract them from just rejecting his story entirely, is this:

#spn s15 spoilers #spn 15.10 #chuck's process #sometimes i compare this show to einstein and sartre and sometimes it's all just looney tunes #Anonymous

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psycheswritings · 5 years

Text

Nothing’s Fair in Love and War - Eleven

Title: Nothing’s Fair in Love and War

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Daphne Scott (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, angst and mentions of death and war.

Word Count: 6018 (I know and I am sorry)

Author’s Note: Here we go again with another update. Hope you are all well and safe with this whole pandemic thing. Take care of yourselves and the people around you.

Not much to say about this chapter, so I am just going to show my gratitude towards @internalmess3 for being so kind and sweet and supporting me through the process of writing this chapter - you're incredible and I am so grateful to you! Thanks for everyone, EVERY SINGLE SOUL, who has been reading this fic and commenting/leaving likes. Seriously, that's what makes me keep writing and I LOVE to read your thougths about the plot and the characthers. Don't feel shy in coming talk to me.

You know the drill, if you find any mistakes feel free to report it back to me. Tags are at the end of the post and if you want to be added, let me know. Your feedback is highly appreciated. Happy reading.

WARNING: this fic (as most part of my works) is also been posted on FF and AO3.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Tommy meets Campbell to talk about the plans to kill the Field Marshall while Daphne is trying to adpat herself to living alone. She and William take a walk down memory lane, rememoring how they met and Tommy pays her a visit. The Brummie gangster negotiates with Alfie and they both end up discussing their feelings for Daphne.

Eleven

Tommy had told Lizzie to let Campbell into his office at the pretense that he was parking his car. It was the first time they would meet after his plan to make the Field Marshall leave his house got into work and he wanted to take the Irishman out of guard - and so he did.

“I keep everything locked up, Mr. Campbell. Everything of value.” Campbell looked up at him as he closed the door, a little more forcibly than necessary, on purpose. The man was rummaging through his desk and by the look on his face he certainly wasn’t expecting being caught. Tommy hang his coat, clearing his throat before walking towards the desk. “Take a seat.”

“How is your company treasurer, Polly?” The Irishman asked as he bypasses the desk to stand in the opposite side from Tommy.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh. Just give her my regards.” Tommy finds the questioning odd but decides to brush it off as he searches for his cigar case, taking one and lightening it. “Ah! You like to play with fire, don't you, Mr. Shelby? Yesterday, in Belgravia, Field Marshall Russell's house was burnt out. An incendiary device was put through his letter box. Which means that he will have to find somewhere else to live for at least the next three months.”

“Which also means that your plan for me to break in and shoot him in his bed is no longer an operational possibility.” Tommy states what they both already know, calmly, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Indeed, but if you think a wee burn frees you from your obligations, think again…”

“I will keep my side of the bargain.”

“Oh, by God, you will.”

“I will shoot your Field Marshal. But I will do it in a way that serves my purpose.” Campbell is still standing in front of him, both hands holding the cane, clearly riled up by the change of plans.

“The only purpose is my purpose.”

“I will carry out the assassination at a place of my choosing.” The Irishman takes a step towards the desk as he speaks.

“Listen to me. All operational detail must be mutually agreed…”

“I am a soldier of experience and I will determine where and when…”

“Now, that man has twenty-four-hour armed police protection…”

“Your plan was full of holes, Mr. Campbell.”

“My plan was mutually agreed!”

“And now your plan is up in smoke! And I have formulated the only viable alternative.”

“For God's sake. What do you mean? How would you get to him?” Tommy takes a drag from his cigarette, taking his time to answer.

“I won't. He'll come to me.”

“Now listen to me, Mr. Shelby. When this meeting is concluded I must report directly to Mr. Winston Churchill.”

“Your relationship with Mr. Churchill is not my concern.” The Brummie answers nonchalantly.

“And Mr. Winston Churchill will need to hear details.”

“Well, you tell him he'll have to trust me.” They glare at each other for a second, then Tommy speaks again. “Look, Mr. Campbell, I will carry out my mission.”

“Good.”

“Good. But I will do it in a place where it will be impossible for you or your men to have me shot afterwards.” Campbell shifts in his place. “Because that was your plan, eh? Coopers front and back. No way out. Me shot dead, dumped in the Thames. I will do the killing, but in a place where that will not be an option.”

“Where and when?”

“Epsom. Derby day.”

#* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #

After one week of living in the hotel Daphne decides to rent a flat. It’s the logical thing to do, she thinks to herself, so she can have more privacy and start doing things her way. Her relationship with Alfie was still strained and they were sticking to talk just about business because every time the topic changed they ended up fighting and it seemed that the both of them were tired of it. William and Harriet helped her accommodate in the new place.

She had been avoiding to talk about certain topics with Harriet because she knew how the woman was caught in the crossfire and a part of her, the one who still cared for Alfie, wanted him to have some sort of support system because if she knew him well enough, he was most certainly trying to pretend that everything was fine. Ada was out of town - they have talked over the phone and the Shelby sister assured Daphne that everything was alright between them - so she was relaying on the last person she had left - William.

Since their conversation at the hotel, their first one after she had left Alfie’s house, Daphne had been thinking about the things he said to her. She had been able to avoid the specific topic of her relationship with Tommy on the occasion but she was sure that it was just a matter of time until it come up again. Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure if they had a relationship of any sort because they never really talked about it. Actually, the last time they had seen each other the last thing they did was talk about anything.

“How’s Jane?” She was facing away from him, making tea for the both of them as he adjusted himself on the spare armchair by the fireplace. The flat was not big, everything was in the same room basically - her bed near the window, a little bedside table, a modest wardrobe and a dresser near the fireplace, two armchairs and a center table. There was a nice bathroom and a small kitchen just beside.

“Fine. They are getting used to things there but are happy together. She send you lots of love.” Daphne gave him the teacup and goes back to take her own before getting comfortable on her own armchair.

“Send my love to her when you write to her again.” They fell into a comfortable silence until he asked her.

“Have you talked to Thomas?” She averted his gaze, sinking into the chair.

“Will…”

“You've been avoiding the topic since the night we talked in the hotel.” Daphne was really hoping that her acting had been on point for him not to notice, but she was just so tired that it wasn’t all that surprising that she slipped onto her act. “He likes you.” Her hazel eyes searched for his blue ones and he laughed at her expression. “What? Did you really think I wouldn't notice?”

“I really hoped I wouldn’t have to talk to you about it.” She exhaled loudly, taking a sip of her tea and William takes a moment to observe her: she is looking to the fire, he knows it is because she doesn't want to look at him, her cheeks are still rosy from the cold, her fingers playing mindlessly with the hem of her dress, her legs tucked under her. It was easy to fall in love with her, he knew that more than anyone.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I am your better option right now.” Daphne looks at him again, sees his playful smile and sighs.

“We could always not talk about it.” William raises an eyebrow at her.

“Not an option.” He waits, patiently, as he always does, for her to get comfortable enough to talk. Sometimes, William wonders why she always seemed more willing to share things with him than with Harriet, for example, or even with his sister. Most women didn’t like to confide in a man like that. He should know better though, because Daphne was nothing but unusual in a lot of things.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“You're redirecting.” He scolded her and she laughed, sitting up straighter to face him better.

“I am not, I promise.” Daphne had already accepted her defeat because she knew he wasn’t going to give up, but she wanted to make him understand somethings that had been on her mind lately. Somethings that were very important for their relationship. William drank the rest of his tea, putting the teacup into the table and getting comfortable on his chair as he took a deep breath.

“I remember that you gave me quite a scold.” He smiled looking at her to see that she was doing the same. “We fought over what was the best way to treat a patient and you were so damn stubborn, standing there, hands on your hips, holding your ground and defending your opinion so fiercely.”

“I was right.” There was a smug look on her face and he just shook his head in annoyance.

“You were and even so Dr. Lewis choose to believe in me.” Daphne rolled her eyes and William smiled. He knew that she never really liked the old doctor.

“Of course he did. The man worshiped the ground you walked on just because you are a man.” She rolled her eyes before continuing. “And you were a prick just alright.”

“I was. Smug little thing, fresh out of college, I thought I knew better about everything and I certainly wasn’t looking for being proven wrong by a young nurse on my first day.” She remembered that, he was the talk of the hospital that morning and for the following days - the young hot doctor who had just arrived to help Dr. Lewis. Daphne had been there for almost a month, things had been going as smoothly as they could be but her mood was sour due to being away from her brother for so long.

At first, she had been excited about the new addition to the personnel, after all, all help was welcome - that is until she actually met William. She was treating a soldier with a severe injury and Dr. Lewis brought him to give his opinion on it. The first thing she noticed was how handsome he was and how young he looked but the niceties stopped there, because next thing they were arguing about the right treatment to apply and things just went down after that.

“You actually searched for me to try and convince me that your plan was better than mine.”

“And you snapped at me right away. I don’t think I had ever fought with a nurse before but you were having none of my shit.”

“You were used to just bat those eyelashes at them and have your way out of the discussion, weren’t you?” She smirked at him and William put his hand in front of his face, sighing. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me that. I am pretty sure that all the nurses thought I was crazy for fighting you that day. I certainly received lots of death glares on the corridors for weeks.”

“Matron certainly didn’t agreed with that because she gave me a hard time until we made amends.” William still remembers how much the older woman made his life difficult on the weeks right after his arrival.

“Harriet wouldn’t shut up about you and how I should give you a chance because you were ‘oh, so nice and gentle’.” She feigned an affected voice, then paused for a second looking directly at him. “And how I was going to fall for you if I did open up. I think I did, for a while.”

“Daph…”

“No, I have to say it for both our sakes.” They looked at each other for a long moment before she continued. “We never really talked about why I couldn’t stay with you and sometimes I feel selfish for keeping you around.”

“Then we both are being selfish because I didn’t wanted to lose you either.” She takes a deep breath, gets up from her seat collecting the teacups and walks to the kitchen, gets the bottle of whiskey from the counter along with two glasses and goes back to where he is, pouring them both a dose, offering one of the glasses to him and then getting comfortable on the armchair again. Daphne took a sip of the amber liquid, relishing on the way it burned her throat as she observed the fire crackling.

“I really fell for you at the time, you know.” Her voice was firm, as if she was trying to reassure herself and him at the same time.

“I know. You are good at pretending but not that much.” They smiled at each other and stayed in silence for a moment.

“And I really wish that things could have been different, that we could have gotten a better chance but you were right when you said that I didn’t wanted to live after Benjamin died. I just never let myself acknowledge that.”

“Nobody can blame you for that. I don’t blame you for that. After we came back, every time I saw Jane I thanked God for her being safe and remembered how you must feel everyday because of him.”

“I’m sorry for shutting you out and not giving us a chance. Most part of the time I am sorry for not letting you go.”

“It wasn’t your choice. Not entirely at least. I stayed because I love you and between being in your life as a friend or nothing at all I would always choose to stay. We already talked about that.” They did, in fact, when Daphne told him they couldn’t be together anymore, not as a couple, he had asked her if she wanted him to leave her life completely even if it would’ve been impossible at the time because they were serving at the same place. But she haven’t wanted him gone back then and she still didn’t want him gone now.

“I just don’t understand how I couldn’t love you the way you loved me back then but I can fall in love with another person now. It just doesn’t make sense and…”

“Hey, hey, hey. Stop that!” He kneeled in front of her, taking the glass of whiskey half drank from her hands and resting it on the table, holding both her hands in his, forcing her to look at him. “Love is not rational, Daph. I know we try to find some explanation, a reason for it but it doesn’t exist. We don’t choose who we love or in what moment we love them.”

“We could have been good together.”

“We are good together.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Just because we are not together as a couple it doesn't mean we don’t have a good relationship. We’ve been supporting each other all these years, you can’t say to me that this is not a good thing.”

“It is. You’re one of my best friends, always will be.” She smiled at him, remembering all the times he had been there for her. There was no denying how important he was in her life. William would always be a huge part of her history.

“Then talk to me. Don’t push me out because you think you’ll hurt me. I will say to you if something is too much but let me help you.”

“I don’t know what to say. Really.” Daphne sighed as she sank into the chair and William adjusted himself on the ground right in front of her. “The way I feel about Tommy is… different. He makes me feel things that I had never felt before. Things I didn’t wanted to know about.”

“Well, you’ve been avoiding it for years now, I really wouldn’t expect nothing less.”

“He’s everything I didn’t wanted for my life.” Problem, that’s what he was. A big, huge problem. William laughed and Daphne gave him a not so playful slap on the arm.

“Maybe he is exactly what you need him to be even if you haven’t realized it yet.” She looked at him, half closed eyes, a smirk on her lips.

“When did you got this wise?”

“You’ve been rubbing off on me.” William smiled at her and Daphne felt the urge to hug him, so she did, sliping from the armchair to sit on the ground with him.

“Why couldn’t I have stayed in love with you? Life would be a lot simpler.”

“That’s the thing, life is never simple.” The moment is interrupted by a knock on the door, so Daphne gets up to answer it and she has a hard time coming into terms with the person standing in front of her.

“Thomas?” William looks at the door after hearing the name, his eyes meting Tommy’s for a moment before he got up from the ground.

“Hope I am not interrupting anything.” His voice was devoid of emotion but Daphne notices the hint of displeasure on his face. William was faster than her to answer.

“No. I was heading out, already.” He was putting his coat on and heading to the door. “Mr. Shelby.” They shook hands briefly and the doctor turned to face her. “You’ll gonna be alright?”

“Yeah.” She nodded and he got closer, giving her a kiss on the check before heading out.

“See you tomorrow then.” Tommy takes a step to the side, giving space for him to get out of the flat. “Mr. Shelby.” The two men nod at each other and the gangster observes as William walks down the stairs before looking up at Daphne, who was observing him. After a moment of silence he asked.

“May I come in?” She stepped out of his way, opening the door more for him to enter. Tommy looked around, analysing the small space, noticing how it looked cozy, much like her. Daphne closed the door and walked towards the little table near the fireplace, taking both glasses laying there and walking to the small kitchen.

“Do you want tea? Or whiskey?” She turned to look at him and he just shook his head, denying her offer, stuffing his cap on one of his pockets.

“No, I am fine.” Neither of them said nothing for a long while. “Did you knew?” They both knew the answer to that and Tommy didn’t fail to notice the offended look on her face.

“Of course not.”

“Then that night, at Charles’s wedding, it wasn't just a way to distract me.” The look she gave him hit him harder than any slap he ever received and, for a moment, he almost regrets asking it, but after Grace he just had to be sure that what he was feeling for her wasn’t just one more thing that Solomons’s could use against him and his family.

“If you thought even for a moment that I would sell myself for something as simple as a decoy you’re clearly underestimating me.” Tommy isn’t accustomed to being held accountable by the things he says and when he does, he usually doesn’t care about what people feel about it. So it actually gets him by surprise how he always seems to find enticing the way Daphne always gets back at him for the things he says.

“You can’t really blame me, can you?” He walks to her, slow and deliberate, leaving her time to back off, which she doesn’t. When they are a breath apart, his cold fingers trace the skin below her neck and then lower, getting hold of the ever present pendant hanging on her neck. He pulls the locket out of the chancel of her dress, feeling the metal against his fingers and this time, different from the night of her birthday, he opens it. As he expected, there are two photographs there - a girl and a boy. “You’ve been hiding a lot of secrets, Senior Sister Scott.”

“Am not the only one, Sergeant Major Shelby.” All he wants to do is to close the distance between them and kiss her, like he had done at the library of the Weston’s house. Give in to desire and press her against the wall, have her right there, but there is something that holds him back. “My past is none of your concern.”

“Your past, your present, your future… I want them all to be of my concern.” The way she looks at him with half closed eyelids should be illegal and Tommy has to take a moment to put his thoughts on check again. “He is the reason why you said I couldn’t make you want things you can’t have?”

“Thomas…” Daphne closes her eyes, feeling trapped in his presence, she doesn’t think that she can talk about Benjamim with him, not yet.

“Because you don’t want to live without him.”

“Tom…”

“You think you don’t deserve to have a life without your twin.” Her hazel eyes focus on his blue ones, hands searching for support on his chest as Tommy holds her to him with his free hand.

“You know nothing about that.”

“I know enough.” She tries to walk away from him, but he is faster than her, releasing the open locket and holding her by the arms, keeping her close, forcing her to face him. “‘Can’t imagine the pain you feel.” Daphne’s resolution falters for a moment, her breath coming fast as if she had runned a mile, she feels her chest tightens as she tries to remembers the last time that she had let herself really feel the grieve.

“He was more than my brother, he was everything.” Her eyes close for a moment and the memories cloud her mind and she relieves all the times they skipped the music classes so they could run through the gardens, searching for a good spot to hide between the trees. How they always sneaked into each others rooms at night so they didn’t had to sleep alone. The way he always seemed to know what she was thinking before herself. Daphne searches for the locket, closing it and holding it between her fingers as she rests her forehead into Tommy’s shoulder, his hands travelling to her waist as they sway from side to side for a long moment.

“Why did you stayed with Alfie?” Daphne thinks for a moment but she already knows the answer, she has knew it for a long time.

“Because it was comfortable.”

“And I am not, so that’s why you’re fighting this.” She doesn’t answer, it’s not needed, they both know it’s the truth. The woman raises her head, looking at him again.

“Why are you fighting this?” There is a long pause where the only thing they hear is the crackling of the fire and the noises of the city outside.

“Because you deserve better than me.” Daphne sees nothing but truth in his ice cold blues.

“I think that is for me to decide.” And decide she does, standing on her tiptoes and closing the gap between them in a gentle kiss. As their lips move together all that Tommy can think about is how much he doesn’t deserve the woman in his arms. In that moment he too makes a decision, a decision that could change everything.

#* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #* #

“Did you one anyway, you ignorant git.” He doesn’t notice that Ada had entered the room until she places the cup of tea almost in front of him, turning to leave. That is the moment that Tommy raises his eyes from the paper in front of him.

“Ada, sit down here for a minute.” She does as he asks while he folds the letter and puts it on the envelope, linking it to seal. “Ada, if anything happens to me today, I need you to post this letter. The stamps already on. Don't ask any questions. It's…” He pauses for a moment as he takes the cigarette from the ashtray. “...to do with insurance.” Ada looks at him, a little disturbed by the information, picking the envelope from the table.

“Look, Tommy? Whatever it is you're involved in, just tell us. God, you never let anybody in. We love you, Tom.” His eyes search for hers in the moment and Ada seems to be in an internal battle to choose her next words so he picks the other envelope and holds it between them.

“This one you can hand over yourself.” Tommy sees the curiosity in her eyes turn into worry when she sees the name outside the envelope.

“What are you going to do, Tommy?” James enters the room and Tommy gets up, walking to the couch to pick his coat. “What are you doing up at six o'clock in the morning?”

“Ready?” He asks the young writer that nods at him.

“What the bloody hell's going on?” Ada asks, voice an octave higher.

“Little errand.” James answers her.

“What errand?”

“He just has to stand there, Ada.” Tommy adds as he picks his things..

“Stand where?”

“Let's go. Come on.” The older Shelby calls and James follows him out of the room, Ada a little behind them, talking exasperatedly.

“James, what's going on? Don't listen to him, James, he'll get you killed! What errand?”

“For the cause, Ada. The good old cause.” The young writer tells her as he and Tommy walk out the door. The two men walk the streets towards Camden Town and when they are approaching Alfie’s bakery Tommy says.

“For the next ten minutes, you don't do or say anything I haven't told you. All right?” Met with silence he asks again. “All right?” James confirms it just before they reach the doors.

“Hello, Ollie.” Tommy greets the young man as he heads to the door.

“Hang on. Just you, yeah? He stays out here.” Ollie admonishes and Tommy turns to James, pointing at him with his index finger and then at the ground, throwing his cigarette away as he does.

“You stay here.” The young writer stands there, looking around a little apprehensive, as Tommy follows Ollie inside. He stops, pretending to tie his shoe much to the annoyance of the young man, before they continue to Alfie’s office. The Jew barely acknowledges him as they enter the room - feet propped up on the desk, leaning back on his chair reading the paper - and Tommy takes a seat in front of him. He just talks when the phone starts ringing.

“That'll probably be for you, won't it?” Tommy gets up to answer the call.

“Hello? Arthur. You're out?” When the call is finished and Tommy sits back on the chair, Alfie straightens himself to look at the Brummie.

“Right, so that'll be your side of the street swept up, won't it? Where's mine? What you got for me?” Tommy takes the license from his suitcase and hands

“Signed by the Minister of the Empire himself.”

“Yeah?”

“Which means that you can put your rum in our shipments and no-one at Poplar Docks will lift a canvas.”

“You know what? I'm not even going to have my lawyer look at that.”

“No, no, it is all legal.”

“You know what, mate? I trust you. That is that. Done.” He straightens his hat and then turns to pick a bottle of whiskey. “So, whisky. There is one thing, though, however, that we do need to discuss.”

“What would that be?” Tommy asks, taking a drag of his cigarette as Alfie places the bottle on the desk, holding his glasses to his eyes and analysing the contract.

“It says here twenty percent paid to me of your export business.”

“As we agreed on the telephone.”

“No, no, no, no. See, I had my lawyer draw this up for us, just in case.” He places the new contract, that he just got from the drawer, right in front of Tommy, leaning on the desk to show it to the other man. “It says that here, that a hundred percent of your business goes to me.”

“I see.”

“Just there Don't worry about it, right. Cos it is totally legal, binding. All you have to do is sign the document and transfer the whole lot over to me.” Alfie reclines himself back on his chair, waiting for Tommy to sign the contract.

“Sign just here, is it?” The Brummie asks, calmly.

“Yeah.”

“I see. That's funny, that is.” Tommy says, taking a drag from his cigarette and pointing at the paper in front of him.

“What?” The Jew asks, confused.

“No, that's funny. I'll give you a hundred percent of my business?”

“Yeah!”

“Why?” Ollie, who had been standing there, fidgeting more than usual, points a gun towards Tommy, who looks at him unamused.

“Ollie, no. No. No. Ollie, no. Put that down.” Alfie takes the gun from Ollie’s hands and places it on the desk, as the younger man retreats to the background. “He understands. He understands. He's a big boy, he knows the road. Now, look, it's just non-fucking-negotiable. That is all you need to know, so all you have to do is sign the fucking contract. Right there.” The Jewish gangster taps with his finger where Tommy is supposed to sign.

“Just sign here.” Tommy says, before stubbing the cigarette on the ashtray.

“With your pen.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Get on with it.” Alfie encourages when the other gangster does nothing.

“I have an associate waiting for me at the door. I know, he looks like a choirboy but he is actually an anarchist from Kentish Town.”

“Tommy, I am going to fucking shoot you.”

“Right? Now, when I came in here, Mr. Solomons, I stopped to tie my shoelace Isn't that a fact, Ollie?” He looks at the younger man and then at Alfie again. “I stopped to tie my shoelace. And while I was doing it, I laid a hand grenade under one of your barrels. A mark fifteen with wire trip. My friend upstairs is like one of those anarchists that blew up Wall Street, you know? He's a professional. And he's in charge of the wire. If I don't walk out of that door by the stroke of seven, he's going to trigger the grenade and your very combustible rum will blow us all to hell. And I don't care ‘cos I am already dead.” Alfie scratches his beard, holding his glasses and analysing Tommy for a moment.

“He tied his lace, Alfie. And there is a kid at the door.” Ollie confirms.

“From a good family, too. Ollie, it is shocking what they become.” The Brummie remarks.

“What were you doing when this happened?” Alfie turns to face Ollie.

“He tied his lace. Nothing else.”

“Yeah. But what were you doing?”

“Marking the runners in the paper.” The young man seems embarrassed. There is a little noise of metal and Alfie turns to see Tommy with his pocket watch in hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking the time. Carry on.” The Brummie show a hint of a smirk on his face. The Jew gangster takes the gun from the desk and hands it to his associate.

“Ollie, I want you to go outside and shoot that boy in the face from the good family.”

“Anyone walks through that door except me, he blows the grenade.” Tommy explains.

“He tied his fucking lace, Alfie.” Ollie becomes nervous by the second.

“I did tie my lace.”

“I bet hundred to one that you're fucking lying, mate. That's my money.” Alfie plays with the gun that he took away from Ollie’s hand.

“Well, you see, you have failed to consider the form. I did blow up my own pub for the insurance.”

“OK, right, well, considering the form, I would say, sixty five to one. Very good odds. And I would be more than happy and agree for you to sign over sixty five percent of your business to me. Thank you.”

“Sixty five? No deal.” Tommy looks at the younger man. “Ollie, what do you say?”

“Jesus Christ, Alfie. He tied his fucking lace. I saw him. Look, he planted a grenade. I know he did. Alfie, it is Tommy fucking Shelby.” Alfie gets up and hits Ollie in the face, holding him by the collar of his shirt.

“You are behaving like a fucking child. This is a man's world. Now, get that apron off and sit in the corner like a little boy. Fuck off. Now!” As Ollie does what he is told, Alfie checks his pocket watch and sits again.

“Four minutes.” Tommy says

“Right, four minutes. Talk to me about hand grenades.”

“The chalk mark on the barrel at knee height said, "Hamilton Christmas". I took out the pin and put it on the wire.” Tommy spins the pin between his fingers before putting it on the empty glass sitting on the desk. Alfie takes it to inspect.

“Based on this…” The Jew shows the pin to Tommy. “...forty five percent.”

“Thirty.”

“Aw, fuck off, Tommy. That's far too little.” He throws the pin at Tommy, who picks it up and starts to play with it.

“In France, Mr Solomons, when I was a tunneller. A clay kicker. A 1-7-9. I blew up Schwaben Hohe. Same kit I'm using today.”

“Funny that. I do know the 1-7-9 and I heard they all got buried.”

“Three of us dug ourselves out.”

“Like you're digging yourself out now.”

“Like I'm digging now.”

“Fuck me!” Alfie whispers, leaning into his chair. “Listen, I'll give you thirty five. That's your lot.” Tommy thinks for a moment.

“Thirty five.” Alfie spits on his hand, gettin up and offering it to Tommy, who does the same.

“Now you go out there, send the good boy from the good family home, and come back here, because we have other business to discuss.” Tommy nods, goes outside and sends James back home, when he comes back Alfie is alone in the office. He closes the door behind him, sitting down on the same chair he was some minutes ago. The both men contemplate the silence for a few minutes, the Jew is looking out to the window. “You probably already know about Benjamin, don’t you? ‘Know you’ve been doing your research on us for a while.”

“I do.”

“Do you know what he meant to her?” Alfie turns to face Tommy, elbows resting on the desk as he intertwined his fingers in front of him.

“I know he was her twin, yes.”

“He was more than that. They were everything for each other. I knew him. The boy served under my command til the day he died. Wouldn’t fucking shut up about her any chance he got. When I finally met Daphne it was as if I already knew her.” He remembers, clear as day, her hazel eyes looking back at him, fighting to hold back the tears, blood all over her nurse uniform. “I fucking promised him I would protect her. Now, we both know that neither of us are men of keeping their promises but this one, this one I intend to keep, because everytime I look into her eyes I believe, even for just a moment, that there is something good in this world. She suffered enough, deserves some happiness and I am not letting you ruin her chances at it. I am not letting you ruin her, Thomas.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Alfie scoffs at him.

“As you didn’t planned to fuck the beautiful blonde who came all the way from New York with her posh husband.” Tommy doesn’t show any signs of emotion but the Jew knows better. “Yeah, I know about her. The woman who betrayed you and then fucked off to America. Beautiful thing she is.”

“She is in the past.”

“Is she? Really?” Alfie restes his arms on the desk, leaning closer to the other man. “Because you’re sitting there telling me that you don’t plan on ruining Daphne but you are lying to her, ‘cause you were with the posh blonde some weeks ago.”

“It’s done. What I had with her is done now.” He pauses for a moment and Alfie just observes him without saying anything. “I know how much you care about Daphne and you have my word that I don’t intend to hurt her.”

“That’s the thing, mate, sometimes the things we don’t intend to find a way of happening.”

Tags: @stressedandbandobessed7771

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pain-somnia · 4 years

Text

All Our Yesterdays [ch.1]

Fandom: That ‘70s Show Pairing(s): Jackie/Hyde, Buddy/Fez, Donna/Eric Rating: M Disclaimer: This story will utilize characters and situations that are the copyright of The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC . tomaday is in no way associated with the creator or producers of That '70s Show and no copyright infringement is intended. Obviously this is a fanfic meant solely for the entertainment of the fanfic author and (hopefully) it’s readers. Summary: After the events of "Street Fighting Man", Jackie and Hyde wish more than anything that things had happened differently.The next morning, they wake up in the past, on the morning of Vanstock where Jackie promptly makes one dream come true. They are not together—but, soon enough, one change snowballs into another... Day’s Notes: the notes for this fic are too large for for a tumblr post. they can be found in the links for FanFic and AO3. I hope you enjoy :) FF | AO3

chapter one: a sharp left in a different direction

Something was off. Completely and totally off.

Usually after a night of crying Jackie woke up with a headache. She couldn’t complain that she woke up nice and breezy, body relaxed as if nothing had ever happened. As if she didn’t cry more tears over a boy that called their future “crap.”

The sooner the pain hurt less, the easier everything would be. The easier it would be to compartmentalize her feelings for Steven Hyde and put them in a box inside of herself to be hidden just like her “Steven Box” was hidden in her closet.

Stretching her arms up over her head, Jackie froze and stared at her bare arm. Last night she had put on her favorite comfy flannel pajamas, the perfect set for when she wanted to feel warm and safe. Certain outfits were just as practical as they were cute.

But she hadn’t woken up wearing her cute flannel pajamas that were perfect for winter nights.

Why am I in my nightgown? Jackie sat up and examined her torso. Wait! Where are my—?

Jackie screamed in frustration as she clutched at her breasts—or the lack of them. She was small with slight curves, but they were perfect! Perfectly shaped and round not these small barely formed lumps she hadn’t had since she was fifteen.

For the second time since she woke up she froze. Taking a deep breath she turned to slide out of bed and put on her fuzzy slippers. She stared at her feet, eyeing the old slippers she used when she was a sophomore before they had to be replaced.

“What the hell is going on?” Jackie huffed as she examined her nightstand. Why would she have a photograph of Michael Kelso by her bed? Just last night she had gone to bed with a couple shot of her and Steven face down as it had been since she had broken up with him weeks prior.

She clutched at her hair, tightening her fingers around the curly locks. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her breaths but it didn’t feel like she was taking in any oxygen. The pull on her roots hurt too much for her to still be sleeping. Squeezing her eyes shut, she mouthed a prayer to herself. She would open her eyes and everything would be back in its rightful place. It just had to be so.

Opening her eyes to the sight of her old purple suitcase with its matching traveling makeup case sitting by her bedroom door, Jackie screamed again.

She hadn’t seen that case since her sophomore year. The luggage set she used now was decidedly more adult—a lovely shade of carmine that was just right for her eighteen year old self.

I swear to God if my wardrobe isn’t up to date, heads are going to roll.

Jackie stomped to her closet and pushed through all of the cute clothes hanging in the proper color and seasonal order it was supposed to be in. The only problem was that most of her clothes, while super cute, were out of season for 1979. Most of them were trendy back in 1976 when she had first bought them.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Jackie clutched her elbows and slid down her closet door. She didn’t even want to check the rest of her room. She didn’t need to look at her records to find out that the ones given to her by Steven were gone. She was sure if she dug through her closet she wouldn’t find a shoe box decorated and dedicated to hiding all of his notes and the ticket stubs from their dates and other keepsakes.

Lightly knocking her head back against her closet door repeatedly, Jackie let out an expletive worthy of Red Forman.

What was she going to do?

. .

The first person Jackie wanted to see was Steven. It angered her a little that no matter what he was the one her body, her mind, her soul would seek out. Just yesterday she had been crying her eyes out behind a pillar in public over him and yet now she was ready to run right to him.

Fate had it that the first person she did end up seeing was Fez of all people. As good of a friend as he was, she wasn’t as close to him as she was to Steven or Donna. He wouldn’t have been her first choice for comfort in a situation like this. Maybe if her hot rollers weren’t working properly, but not for finding out that she had slipped into some sort of crazy time rift and was now back in her fifteen year old body.

Great. And now she was sounding like dorky Eric, letting herself think about stuff like time travel.

Fez had come to walk with her to the Forman residence and to tote her luggage. Luckily for her, Fez wasn’t observant enough to recognize that her brain fog had anything to do with the fact that she wasn’t the Jackie he knew.

As if he would even know a thing about time travel or recognize it in a person.

He had fumbled through his explanation for why he was at her door, reminding her that she had called him the night before to help carry her stuff because she couldn’t have Michael picking her up or it would ruin her surprise.

Ugh. Jackie wrinkled her nose in disgust. Why couldn’t I have been sent to a time before I ever let Michael sleep with me?

Vanstock. Her first experience attending wouldn’t have been so awful had it not turned out that whorey Laurie had been sleeping with her first boyfriend while she had been dating him. It had tainted the memory of her good time.

Jackie had thought that the two of them could be really good friends considering they liked all of the same things. It was almost like having the missing half of what she wished Donna was like. All of the girly attributes that Donna just didn’t understand why they were so important.

The gang had all gone again the previous year in her original timeline and that was much better. But then again, she had spent the weekend with Steven and they had snuggled in his double sleeping bag. She had almost forgotten that they were sleeping on the ground.

Almost.

And with the reminder of Steven and their time together came the deep ache in her chest that was always present since she had broken up with him after the LOPP’s Christmas party. God, she missed him—missed them.

That was the one positive of the time travel. Yes it hurt, but her feelings for Steven were still there with her and her thoughts were her own despite being back in her underdeveloped fifteen year old body.

She wasn’t going to get over that. Applying her makeup on that morning had been frustrating each time she had to look at her rounder cheeks, still full of baby fat.

It’s a good thing I’m super cute no matter how old. Jackie turned her nose up at her own wandering thoughts. It was hard to focus on what was important when she couldn’t find the source of her problem.

At the moment all she could do was compartmentalize everything and create some order by what was a priority and by what she could actually fix within her own power.

Just because she was her fifteen year old self, it didn’t mean she had to live her fifteen year old self’s life. She was Jackie Burkhart and she got what she wanted when she wanted. And what she wanted was to not be that girl she was when she was sixteen.

It was a few weeks too soon but there was one matter she could take into her own hands right that moment. She just wished she had made her decision before Fez had carried her stuff all the way to the Formans’ house. Now she was going to be stuck taking it all back herself.

Going to Vanstock had seemed like a good idea when she had been faced with choosing between being with her friends or alone with her thoughts in an empty house. The housekeeper had been given the weekend off when her fifteen year old self had made the decision to surprise Michael with her attendance on the group’s road trip and she wasn’t in the right state of mind to be by herself.

“Jackie!” Donna was the first person to greet her when she walked up the Forman’s driveway. Her hair was totally flat and that god awful red but her cheeks still bloomed like she had a sunburn when she was flustered.

Jackie had to resist wrapping her arms around her best friend. She wanted nothing more than a hug and for someone to tell her that everything was going to be okay but this wasn’t the moment, especially when she knew what was making Donna so nervous.

She barely registered the mentions of mud and Canadians. Jackie’s gaze drifted from Donna to her future ex-boyfriend who stood in the back in his worn out denim jacket. She had to remind herself that this was Hyde not Steven. That while he was complicit in letting her heart get broken, this wasn’t the man that owed her any loyalty. It was just the boy that got his kicks where he could and didn’t recognize that what he was doing was terrible.

This was also the boy that would get his heart broken again in a few months and Jackie bit her lower lip to keep from shouting about everything she knew. This Steven Hyde wasn’t hers to protect like when he first met his real father.

And if she shared those secrets there were worse things that could happen to her than waking up almost a full bra cup size and a half smaller.

“Where’s Michael?” Jackie asked before anyone else could fumble some sort of weak reason as to why she shouldn’t go with them to Vanstock. Any moment now Steven was going to try to convince her that it was a fantastic idea regardless of the fact that Michael was bringing along the girl he was having an affair with.

“Jackie.” Steven stared her down, expression more solemn than she recalled him looking at sixteen. Last time when they stood in this driveway, he had been gleeful, downright giddy. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She wasn’t ready for this, whatever this was. His hair was longer and blonder, he wasn’t as muscular, but his voice was still the same deep timbre she loved and even though it should have been easy to separate this Steven from her Steven, she couldn’t do it. Jackie was convinced one look, one direct look, into her eyes and he would know everything.

Steven Hyde of 1976 would know she loved him.

“Can it wait?” Jackie’s gaze shifted anywhere but his face. “I really need to talk to Michael before you guys go.”

“Wait,” Eric looked back and forth between his best friend and her, “you’re not coming with us then? And why do you need to talk to Jackie?”

Jackie really didn’t need this right now. Eric Forman could hate her some other time but he wasn’t going to be wasting her time with his questions. “Makes no sense why I would be going.” Jackie crossed her arms across her chest protectively. “Doubt he’d let me come along after I dump him.”

“What?” Came everyone’s shocked response. . . Hyde leaned his head back and closed his eyes, propping his feet on the spool table. They should have been on the road over an hour ago. He should have been roaming the grounds and meeting up with his friends from Kenosha, dropping acid or smoking a joint in between the different musical acts performing.

The last time he had been there in 1976, that was exactly what he had done as well as hooking up with any willing hot chick. The desire for acid or a girl had significantly dropped since then, both for different reasons.

Opening his eyes, Hyde watched the smoke float in lazy circles up towards the ceiling. The swirls had his focus more than the conversation currently being had in the basement.

“You were just frenching Laurie not even ten minutes before she broke up with you, dillhole!” Donna huffed, passing the joint on to Forman.

That comment had Hyde peering at Donna from the corner of his eye. When she had discovered that Kelso had been cheating on Jackie back in his own 1976, she hadn’t warned Jackie at all. She still hadn’t warned her this time around, only weakly attempted to get her to change her mind about going on the trip. Not that Jackie needed to change her mind. She had shown up and broke up with Kelso in the simplest most blunt way possible.

“I don’t love you and you’re a cheating bastard. Have fun at Vanstock.” And then she just skipped away.

The divergence in the timeline was going to be interesting.

Waking up had been a trip. Hyde had woken up thinking he had been tripping. It had been so long since he kept his hair long enough to be as blonde as it was and he felt lighter than usual━his limbs no longer carrying the extra weight of the muscles he had developed over the past couple of years.

Time travel. It was a subject that only Forman out of everyone he could possibly have a serious discussion with. Kelso at this stage wouldn’t even try to jump into the conversation unless it was about a time machine that could take him back in time before Jackie broke up with him.

“Shouldn’t we be glad that we’re finally free?” Forman shrugged his shoulders passing him the joint. Hyde didn’t honor him with a response, only taking a long drag before skipping right over Kelso to Fez.

Kelso didn’t even notice that he had been skipped in the circle. His head hung low and his eyes were glazed over with unshed tears. Hyde cared for them just as much as he did the first time Jackie had broken up with Kelso━not at all.

Tears from his friend over a girl that he himself loved meant nothing.

Kelso crying over Jackie was a joke. It was a joke back when all she was was the bitchy anchor around Kelso’s neck. It was a joke when he got caught cheating with Laurie.

“We were in love,” Kelso choked out, voice thick and watery from crying.

“Kelso.” Hyde snapped his fingers in front of Kelso’s face and tried to capture his attention. “No you weren’t. You were cheating on her with the Earth Mother Whore.”

Kelso blinked at him and swallowed hard. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love Jackie.”

Rolling his eyes, Hyde took the joint back from Donna and took the last drag from the remaining stub. He coughed as the burnt smoke hit his lungs and pinched the dying ember on the paper between his index finger and thumb. The high from the marijuana wasn’t enough for Hyde to tolerate listening to Kelso talk about being in love with his chick.

Ex chick. Future ex chick.

Time travel was such a fucked concept. It was one thing to hide a hurt that he had reasons for having, but the hurt he felt wasn’t for the Jackie of 1976 but the Jackie of 1979. He was hiding a deep ache in his chest that was caused by a girl that had probably been crying over his moron friend the night before, not him.

Miles away there was a shrill, loud, bitchy cheerleader who was probably stuffing all of her Kelso paraphernalia into a box right at that moment and it was killing him that he couldn’t have her. And because of this time travel bullshit she didn’t even know that she had ever been his and he had been hers.

“I can’t believe we’re missing Vanstock all because of Jackie,” Forman scoffed. “Leave it to her to ruin everything.”

“Forman,” Hyde turned to him in disgust, “really? Are you forgetting certain important details?”

“I still can’t believe you all knew!” Donna slapped her hands on the spool table. She glared at them all and then stood up from her seat. “I’m going to go see Jackie.”

“Wait!” Fez called after her. “I’ll go with you!”

Hyde reached over and pulled Fez by the back of his shirt, forcing him back on the mushroom ottoman. “Sit down!” Like hell was he going to let an infatuated Fez try and take advantage of the situation again.

Fez wrinkled his nose and gave him a disgruntled look before shrugging it off. “So what happened with Laurie?”

Hyde rolled his eyes yet again. Right after Jackie had confronted Kelso, Laurie had taken off when it was obvious they weren’t going anywhere. She had looked downright gleeful when they all had dragged their stuff back inside, looking miserable. She took one look at a sad Kelso and shrugged it off. No one knew where she went after everything went down, but Laurie made herself scarce as soon as it was clear that no one was going anywhere.

Kelso was a dumbass, but the consequences for his actions lead to Hyde finding out that there was more to Jackie than they all originally thought. There was just one very important difference in this timeline.

Jackie wasn’t heartbroken over her split with Kelso. In 1976, Jackie had told Kelso it was over, tears thickening her voice, and then threw herself at Hyde for comfort. This time, Jackie tossed out the break up statement casually with the same attitude she would give a shoe department employee her size on whatever clogs took her fancy and then went on her merry way.

Hyde didn’t know what to make of that. As annoyed as he had been when he was last sixteen years old, Kelso and Jackie’s first real break up was the catalyst to his and Jackie’s relationship changing.

This was his punishment at last from the government. Kelso threatened the president and once they all were lulled into a false sense of security, Hyde was shifted to a different time and was forced to relive his teen years in a simulation that altered the events of his life out of his favor.

Out of his favor? Shouldn’t this be what he wanted? Hyde was back in a time that he and Jackie could just hang out without any of the complications of dating.

But life was a bitch because that’s not how it worked.

His body was closer to seventeen than twenty but his memories were still there. He could still remember the way Jackie felt under his fingertips, how she breathed into him when he laid kisses onto her inviting mouth...and how she looked with eyes full of tears from a broken heart.

Couldn’t rat out a friend? Hyde inwardly scoffed. Maybe his sixteen year old self had a point, but nineteen year old him had more loyalty to the tiny loud girl than his doofus friend.

Government simulation or not, he wasn’t going to let Jackie go through all of that bullshit again. Hyde had planned on warning Jackie before she surprised him and took things into her own hands.

“You could have just—and I’ll say this yet again,” Forman flattened his palms together and pressed his fingers to his mouth before shouting, “not make out with my sister!”

“No,” Kelso’s expression became serious as he turned his attention towards Eric, “I couldn’t, Eric.”

“You know what?” Eric threw his hands up and flailed them in exasperation. “I don’t even care anymore that you ruined Vanstock. What am I going to tell Donna? She’s going to ask me if I knew the whole time.”

Hyde rolled his eyes behind his aviators. He already knew how that turned out last time when Donna had stormed off, upset. “As entertaining as it would be to see you fuck this up further, Forman—just tell her the truth.”

“How is that not going to screw me over?” Forman gestured wildly again. “She’s going to know that I’ve been keeping this from her.”

“Because if you lie it will end up biting you in the ass later.”

“Hyde is right, Eric.” Fez nodded in agreement. “Just take a look at Kelso. It’s biting him in the ass right now.”

“And you already lied earlier when you tried to get me to cover for you about Don Juan El Tardo and The Village Whore.”

“No!” Kelso jabbed his finger at Hyde’s direction and then Forman’s. “Eric, you can’t tell Donna. She’ll tell Jackie how long it’s been going on and then I won’t be able to get her back.”

The other three boys stared at Kelso like he had grown a second head. Fez was the first one to fling something at him, tossing as many magazines and comic books he could reach. Forman was irritated by the events of the day and needed an outlet. Hyde already knew how Kelso was, wasn’t surprised by his statement but it didn’t stop from irritating him and the anger boiled deep in his gut.

“I’m out of here.”

He was done with this crap for the day. It finally hit where the punishment was. Hyde was going to have to witness Kelso jerking Jackie around all over again━only this time, he was going to have to pay the price for feeling more than he wanted to for her.

This crap ain’t happening again. He slammed the door shut for his bedroom and flopped on his cot. This is why he didn’t do love. Fuck the U.S. government. . . In a way, Jackie was grateful for the place in time she had been sent back to. She wouldn’t have to deal with anymore of Michael’s crap and she had less stuff of his to throw away.

“He really gave you a slinky for an anniversary?” Donna sat cross legged on Jackie’s bed, tossing it back and forth between her hands. “Kind of makes me appreciate Eric more.”

“Yeah, Michael’s a moron.” Jackie slipped the photo of Michael out from the frame on her bed and wrinkled her nose in thought. “You think Fez would want this?”

Donna’s face scrunched up in confusion and she shrugged. Jackie shrugged back and tossed it into the trash can by her desk. She wasn’t exactly sure when Fez became a little obsessed with her ex-boyfriend, but maybe this was before then if Donna didn’t understand the question.

“I’m really sorry about the Laurie thing,” Donna apologized for the second time since she had arrived at the Burkhart mansion. “I just found out before you showed up and was asking Eric about it.”

Jackie kept her gaze on the box of stuff she had collected from her year of dating Michael. She bit her lip to keep from smiling or making a comment, but she couldn’t help the warmth that spread in her chest.

Despite her friendship with the Donna of 1979, it sometimes felt like Donna sided with the boys over Jackie most of the time when they were younger. They had their moments though and Donna was like a less attractive, goofy older sister. It felt kind of nice to have her right now even if they weren’t as close as they would be some day.

“I wanted to tell you but once I saw you I blanked out a bit because...well,” Donna shrugged, hiking her shoulders up to her ears, “you’re kind of my friend and I didn’t want you to get hurt and for me to be the messenger that caused it.”

“Well, I deserved to know.” Jackie finally turned her gaze back to Donna and smiled slyly. “But you could always do something for me to make me feel better.”

Donna rolled her eyes in exasperation but she playfully shoved at Jackie’s shoulder. “Alright midget, what are you scheming at? And no, I’m not dumping Eric in solidarity or throwing out my clothes.”

“As great as those two options would totally be, that’s actually not what I was going to ask.”

Donna sat up straighter, her curiosity obvious. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion but nodded for Jackie to continue.

“I really meant what I said about not loving Michael and—“

“Jackie, you just told him you loved him three days ago.”

“Shh! Let me talk you big goon,” Jackie snapped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “Ignore that, that was the past and I’ve learned some stuff about myself, okay?”

“Okay. So what about not loving Kelso?”

“I don’t want him to bother me. I know he’s your friend and he’s been your friend longer than I have but can you be on my side about this? I really am over Michael Kelso and never want to be with him again.”

Donna stared impassively at her for a moment before nodding in understanding. “I’m guessing this means you’re asking me to run interference in case he tries to get you back like he did after the Pam Macy incident...incidents?”

Jackie nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly it. Look,” Jackie turned her whole body and sat cross legged on her bed, “Michael isn’t just cheating on me with Laurie but also some tramp from Sacred Heart and really that’s just what I know about.”

In reality, Jackie knew a lot more now thanks to Steven tricking Michael to reveal everything he had ever hidden from her.

“I know he’s a cheater but you don’t seem as upset as I expected you to be.” Donna raised a brow in confusion. “Like you sound a little angry but mostly resigned. I expected waterworks. Didn’t think you could get over stuff like this unless you found someone else.” Donna slapped her hands on the bed on either side of her hips. “Oh my god, Jackie! You already like someone else!”

“No,” Jackie lied, shaking her head and dragging out the vowel in the negation. Damn Donna always nailing it right on the head. 1976 Jackie didn’t love Steven and it would be weird if she suddenly had feelings for him. “I just realized that what hurts is my pride, not my heart. So, I don’t really love Michael.”

As much as the cheating hurt back in 1976, Jackie had recently felt pain that made the Michael cheating stuff feel like a mosquito bite in comparison.

She didn’t know when the timeline would spit her back to where she belonged, but the one thing she did know was that she wasn’t going to be spending her time in the past letting a boy she didn’t love touch her. And Jackie of 1976 might not know it yet, but she deserved better than to be with that doofus.

She found better. And she lost better.

Jackie blinked her eyes but the tears welling up in her eyes threatened to roll down her cheeks. She couldn’t be sad about that. Steven wasn’t her boyfriend in 1979 and he wasn’t her boyfriend in 1976. It didn’t matter how much she wanted him to be. 1979 Steven didn’t see a future with her and 1976 Steven didn’t see her at all—at least not as anything other than an annoyance.

Her parents were never around, she just broke up with the cheating boyfriend she didn’t even want, Steven wasn’t her friend yet, dorky Eric wasn’t really an option, and Fez was way too into her to be a real friend. The only thing she really had was her tentative friendship with Donna.

How did Donna end up being her lifeline?

“Could we still hang out?” Jackie sniffed. “I know I’m not with Michael anymore and well I’m not really part of the group…but I think of you as my friend too. My best friend. Despite the fact that you’re a lumberjack and all.”

Jackie was about to tell Donna that her eyes would get stuck if she kept rolling her eyes but was cut off by the feel of a slightly calloused hand taking hers into its grip. Donna offered her a small smile and nodded.

“Of course, midget.”

1976 and going into 1977 was going to be a rough school year for Donna. Donna invited her to live with her when she didn’t have a home and would in the future of this timeline. The least Jackie could do is save her lumberjack heart some heartbreak. Especially ones she may have had a hand in—there would be no Casey Kelso this time around.

Squeezing Donna’s hand, Jackie smiled to herself. It was only a day and she already had more than 1976 Jackie had. She had no idea why she was there or how but she did know one thing:

She needed to make a list.

#zenmasters #t7s #that 70s show #jackie and hyde

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zukofenty · 4 years

Text

off the grid

➜ Summary: The one where Katara is a spoiled heiress who manages to crash land on a (cute) soldier of one of the most dangerous nations in the world.

“Get your face out of my vagina!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs.

“Here’s a thought, get your vagina out of my face first!”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, humor, CEO!Katara, Soldier!Zuko, Crash Landing on You!AU

➜ Words: 10.3k

AO3 @zutaramonth

“Get your face out of my vagina!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs.

“Here’s a thought, get your vagina out of my face first!” Zuko yelps, words gargling. He currently was being suffocated by the crotch at his neck. After Katara’s many screams, and a swift kick to his face, they both scrambled off each other, laying on the ground for a quick moment of relief. Her body is aching after throwing herself from the tree she was stuck in.

After realization set in that he was a soldier who was just nearly crushed to death by a cooch, and she was a woman who somehow crossed impenetrable borders, they swiftly were both upright. Katara in a fighting stance, and Zuko’s gun automatically pointed at the girl’s face. Her eyes nervously darted around, looking for any escape route in the expanse of wilderness and trees and furry animals she sure were foaming at the mouth, looking for a bite of gorgeous heiress who smelled of Chanel No. 5.

“I’m a bad bitch, you can’t kill me!” Katara screeches, taking off as fast as her Yeezys could take her.

“Um, yeah I can !” He insists, shooting into her general direction. He wasn’t trying to kill her persay. Maybe maim. (It just would’ve been a lot easier if she died).

“Fuck!” he screams, once the girl was out of sight.

Last week, Katara was cyberbullying Debby Ryan from the comfort of her penthouse. One of her larger concerns of the week was debating buying the rights to all of her Disney Channel movies, just because she felt like it. Then, she could post clips of her disturbing, Radio Rebel smile every day on Instagram without copyright claims and she could blissfully ignore Debby Ryan DMing her a defamation lawsuit.

She had money money . Like being able to turn on the AC during the summer type of wealthy. The type of rich that could sing John Lennon’s Imagine during any crisis and say that’s enough activism for today . After all, she was an heiress of one of the richest families in the Water Tribes—a nation at the forefront of nearly every cultural conversation. In the past, every other nation out there doubted their abilities based on size alone, underestimating the tribes’ growing force. Once a nation surviving on simply hope to prosper post 100 Years War, they were now a cultural powerhouse you couldn’t ignore if you tried. From their dramas, skincare routines, and exquisite cuisine (two-headed fish soup and all), the nation was suddenly the talk of the entire world. They thrived under people’s ignorant assumptions. Blossomed despite people’s mistreatment of them in the media. Soon enough, those who questioned their authority were begging for alliances.

Except for the Fire Nation. A nation stuck so determinedly in the past. Notorious for their inability to move on from the world of centuries ago. The world where the Fire Nation was a dominating force. While every nation competed to innovate, the Fire Nation seemingly refused to accept reality. Their borders were violently closed off. Their trade was limited to working with the Earth Nation every once in a blue moon. Refugees who manage to escape tell stories of a cruel life seemingly stuck in the stone ages. Their leader, Azulon, threatens to bomb somewhere, something, someone every other week, and every nation’s relationship with them has remained precariously in the air since then.

“What the actual fuck !” She screeches. “I thought this was one of those national parks joggers find bodies in, not the fucking Fire Nation !”

Dead or alive, people weren’t allowed to make it out of the Fire Nation.

Katara was a stubborn CEO. The kind to only accept things by her way, by her standards. Coming from money didn’t mean shit when you didn’t have the raw hunger she had. She wasn’t like many of her peers. She wasn’t content with just sitting back and signing a few papers once in a while so she could make it to her SoulCycle class. But, she’d like to think that’s what made her so successful for the last decade. Katara was insistent on testing her clothing company’s new batch of athletic clothing. She scaled a mountain range in the sweat resistant hoodie. She swam in Olympic sized pools in their innovative, competition ready swimsuit and swim cap matching set. Of course, it made sense to test their new paragliding uniform. At the time.

“ Don’t move. This field is full of landmines,” Zuko warns, putting out his hand to stop the shaking girl. He sees it in her eyes, the way she’s about to run after he’s managed to catch up to her, and unknowingly blow this entire shit up. “They’re grey and round, or shaped like a box that—”

“Like the one you’re stepping on, right now?” Katara smirks, hands coming to her hips to taunt him.

He freezes, hands coming out to balance himself at the edge of the stream she’s managed to leap across.

“Again, I am a bad bitch. These won’t kill me. You won’t kill me.” She snatches his walkie talkie from his jacket’s pocket, and thinks about just taking it and letting the guy who almost fucking shot her suffer. She decides against it (she didn’t want to get on God’s, or Rihanna’s, bad side today) and sets it down on the ground in front of him. He’s left to watch her expertly leap around a few stray explosives.

“If ‘bad bitch’ means missing a few limbs, sure. Go ahead ,” Zuko baits. She happily gives him the bird, before running as fast as she could in her Yeezy Boost 350s. Running even when she hears gunshots whizzing past her. Running even when she sees a sign, warning about a field of landmines.

She runs until her vision becomes blurry, and all she can hear are little children chanting a song about the Fire Nation’s greatness. She runs, even when her body feels like lead, and her eyes are a hair’s breadth away from shutting.

He doesn’t know why he helps her. Why he wants her to get out of here alive. Why he scoops her up once soldiers began flooding the village she stumbled upon. They were making sure everyone was doing their part in singing the national anthem before the enforced curfew. She should’ve been shot to death by now by his men, or at least mauled by a wild lion vulture.

He just doesn’t understand it. Their forces were meant to kill , trained to shoot anything at the border on sight. He doesn’t understand how this five foot nothing girl had outrun men who have trained in the military for nearly their whole lives. His army was sloppy that day. Most of them were still drunk off of whatever cactus juice and homemade wine combination the ladies at the local village had offered to them. Then again, it wasn’t every day someone decided to paraglide during the biggest storm of the decade. It wasn’t every day someone managed to cross into the Fire Nation, when no one wanted to be there for decades .

He doesn’t understand why he pulled her close to his body at the sight of the military’s trucks, and runs them into his house at the edge of the hill. He doesn’t understand why he spent the last three hours painstakingly cooking up noodles from scratch for her. She takes a quick nap on an old sleeping mat he found while he works diligently. His stomach protests the fragrant aroma. He hasn’t eaten a homemade meal in months.

“People literally steal and sell my pubic hairs on eBay. The average price is one grand for a single strand. I deserve better,” Katara says. He thinks it’s completely in jest. She cackles when he glares at her. The smile she sends him tries to relay that she's grateful, but he’s hardly swayed by her charms. Instead, he’s scoffing at the efforts.

A first for her.

She’s used to getting her way, as an expert at manipulation. When you’ve spent your whole life ruthlessly competing to run one of the largest corporations in the world, you couldn’t afford to be sweet or gentle or genuine. You learned to work people, bend them to your will until they snap. Then, you move on. Find someone else, do the old song and dance again.

Before she could even lift a chopstick, Zuko quickly grabs the bowl from her grasp, a pout forming on his lips. While he was always taught to school his features, he always knew he was no good at it.

“I will continue to do what I’ve been doing for the last two hours, and just ignore everything you’ve been saying,” he mutters, sipping at the broth to her dismay. The second she walked in, she called his house “a hut with a dick in it.” When he instructed her to take a shit in the outhouse, she didn't speak to him for the next hour. He thinks he saw her tear up when he mentioned there was no Internet. He swears he was ten seconds away from busting a vein.

“ Ugh . Room temperature water?” Zuko guffaws once her nose crinkles up in disgust.

He blows a stray strand of his hair away from his face. “There are no ice cubes.” She hates how everything he says is so matter of fact.

“Get some, then.” she says, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I don’t drink ice cube-less water.”

He just laughs. “Right, when we get any sort of electricity first, I’ll make it my number one priority to get a fridge that dispenses ice cubes engraved with your perfectly detailed portrait on them, too.”

Katara shoves at him, and he just stares at the spot on his chest she touched. “For future reference, I am vegan. Well, vegan adjacent. But still. The point is I am a delicate flower with an even more delicate diet. A delicate flower that’s used to caviar and organic shit and the rich people gluten-free bread you get from Trader Joe’s. So I’ll excuse it this time, but the next time you make something please remember.” She follows up the command with a sweet smile, as though it made up for her demands.

The memory of her dodging bullets with a branch in her hair easily comes up in his mind. “Nothing about you is delicate.” Zuko barely budges when she tries reaching for the bowl again.

Katara gasps. “Even my bowel movements are delicate!”

He just snorts.

She’s annoying, he decides. All brattiness considered. Even with her tiny frame drowning in her dirty paragliding uniform, and a pout that has him wanting to laugh. The way she moves is dainty, with the self-assurance only those who grew up in comfort have. But, something about her eyes reveal something crueler, something so much more vicious underneath the soft exterior.

He was thoroughly out of options. While he has her holed up in his house until they decide an escape route, he feels his stomach churning at the thought of the Fire Nation’s regular surprise house inspections. Turning her over to the government meant a quick and easy execution for him and his men without question, and the potential to cause even more political strain with the rest of the world. Even if they do hand her to the government, there’s no telling what they would do to her.

He tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, rubbing at them as thought it could end the nightmare he found himself trapped in.

For the last few years, Zuko’s life was a monotonous routine.

“Type 63 Rifle, Soviet SKS carbine,” Zuko breathes, ears perking up at the sound of the weapon. His hand comes out to halt the hordes of men. “One of us. Retreat,” he barked, arms motioning for his battalion to return to their hidden positions among the dwindling flora and fauna. Months in his uniform without rest, months spent guarding the border to ensure no one left.

He doesn’t remember much about his life before this. He tries to forget, because it made him too sad. It made him want to do something reckless, to break something, to even cry , because he’s long forgotten anything but getting up, getting into uniform, getting into routine.

It was his duty, as the only son of the Fire Nation’s notorious military director.

He was trained to be a war wielding machine. To show no mercy. Men in the Fire Nation weren’t meant to be weak . They weren’t allowed to be soft.

His mother tried to get away from all of it. She tried as hard as she could to tell her children there was a life you could feel beat with all of your heart, as long as cruelty didn’t find it first. She knew Zuko wasn’t meant for this life.

Zuko knew, too.

He was never good at anything, never the best one growing up. While he excelled at delivering blows, or wielding his swords, he was always told his mind was a pathetic thing. Too brash, too naive. Azula was always the better one at that. At violence. She was their father’s right hand, her thoughts filled to the brim with genius strategy. Always one step ahead of everyone else, even as a toddler.

Zuko was content to be in the background, to be nothing more than a decoration when the family portrait needed to be taken. He wants to be selfish, to blame Azula for pressing pause on his life. The day she was assassinated was the day his dreams of forgetting the Fire Nation all but shriveled up. After all, tradition mandated the military director had a blood successor.

“I am not going to put back on my dirty underwear after I shower! I am not a Bhad Bhabie type of bitch,” Katara indignantly spits out, crossing her arms over her chest.

Zuko rolls his eyes. Everything she says is confusing .

“Don’t act up while I’m gone,” Zuko begs.

“Like the City Girls?”

She feels her blood boil at his silence.

“Please tell me you’re lying. Please tell me you’ve heard of ‘Act Up.’ Please. Don’t let me down now.”

“I have no—”

“Seriously, where were you all summer? ‘Act up, you can get snatched up?’ Nothing? Nothing rings a fucking bell?” He can’t help but sweat.

Even when he looked up whatever she says on his work computer (the only time people in the Fire Nation were allowed to use the Internet) he still can’t wrap his head around what exactly a Bhad Bhabie was.

“Then don’t wear underwear. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

She holds the landline phone close to her mouth, as if to make the message clearer. “Where will the pussy juices go then!”

Zuko hangs up on her, only to have her call him precisely 12 minutes later.

“My right nipple is chafing. What about my nipple eczema!” She protests. She feels her face shriveling up. Without her Yves Saint Laurent Firming Serum, she feels like a piece of her identity was missing. He had diligently informed her to use his sole bar of soap for all purposes before he left for work, and she nearly fainted on the spot.

“Tell it to go away, I guess?” Zuko suggests, trying his hardest to sound helpful. He tried leaving detailed notes on how to take a hot bath by pouring boiling water in his basin, and clipping the plastic shower curtain to the ceiling, trapping the heat in. He prays she hasn’t burned down his house, or someone hasn’t seen her through the gate.

“I can’t!” Katara seethes.

Zuko rubs at his temples. “This was meant for only emergencies. Goodbye !” Zuko slams the phone, returning to his paperwork. He feels a hot blush spreading across his cheeks, and tries to bring his hand up to his face to alleviate the warm feeling.

She doesn’t know why he’s so nice to her.

When she’s all but threatened him and blackmailed his entire crew to keep their silence and help her escape.

She simply laughs, the sound foreign to even her own ears. Her empty stomach painfully clenched in protest at the sudden sensation. It had to be some sort of sick joke. A sick fucking joke probably crafted up by Pakku! Or some of those man-children from the Northern Tribes who think they know a thing or two because they took a Marketing 101 crash course on Khan Academy!

She needed to get back for the big shareholders meeting. They were going to announce the new CEO of Moon Tech, the largest corporation in the Water Tribes. It was everything she had been working for her entire life. She couldn’t afford to miss it, lest it show any weakness whatsoever. As the most viable successor, she was sure all eyes were watching her every move. Yet, somehow, she managed to end up on the set of a period piece gone wrong. A miserable, yet probably Academy Award winning, period piece that smelled like moose knuckle pussy pickle.

She looked to the closed door, the flimsy thing separating the minute living room from his even smaller bedroom. She felt guilty for misjudging him upon their first meeting.

She thinks she feels more guilty for breaking his favorite vase.

“C’mon! That was my favorite ficus,” he grumbles, rubbing the spot on his head she broke the vase on. He avoids her gaze because she’s clad in one of his old dress shirts and nothing else, the thing coming to fall at her knees. If he blushes any harder, he thinks she might notice. Her hair is wrapped up in a messy updo and her face is scrubbed clean. The faintest tint of pink dusts across her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she whispers, hand coming to rub at the spot. She was nervous hearing someone wiggle the doorknob when he hadn’t come back well into the night. Why he had three locks on his door and used exactly none of them, she wasn’t quite sure. She thought she was being helpful by locking his doors. Until it was becoming apparent he didn’t care enough to carry his keys with him, and had an additional unlocked back door he was just attacked at.

He swats her away swiftly, body mechanically programmed to attack for coming so close to him. He’s body slammed bigger men for breathing through their mouths. But something stops him abruptly, and he stills when she comes closer, roughly grabbing at his head between her two hands, and bringing it to her eye level. “A slight bump will form, but it’ll go away faster if you soak some rice and press here,” she precisely finds the swelling area. He winces when he feels the pressure.

Her eyes are impossibly wide while she watches him, and he can’t help but shrink at her careful stare. This was the quietest she’s been since she crash landed. He feels unsettled. “I—I got you some stuff.” He places the bag gently in front of her, a now familiar flush coming to pepper his cheeks. “I’m going to go to bed now,” he lies, retreating to his room while still rubbing at his head.

“Thanks,” her voice is barely a whisper, and stops him in his tracks. He turns to her, and her smile is so genuine. Her eyes are swelling with joy and it makes his heart ache. It seemed easier to talk to her that night than in the day. There wasn’t an impossible front to break open to see how she was feeling, the moonlight peeking through the cracks in the wall seemed to make her eyes wider, smile brighter even. Her guard is down and it makes emotions easier to decipher.

She thinks she can’t feel her face when she opens the bag. “I’m such a bitch,” she babbles to herself as she opens the boxes of shampoo, conditioner, and even signature Water Tribe moisturizers. Everything she complained about he managed to remember to a T. He even got her some traditional Fire Nation women’s outfits, even when she was only staying for the next couple of days. The tears pricking at her eyes feel foreign. She could afford private jets to fly to Beverly Hills and start a fist fight with Kim Kardashian just because she hit Kourtney in season 18. A couple dollars worth of smuggled products shouldn’t make her a weepy mess. Somehow though, she feels herself unable to dim the smile plastered across her face.

Zuko wants to jump for joy. Though, he resists the urge when getting up too fast makes his head bump feel like it has a second heartbeat. He spent the better part of his evening at the open air marketplace a few blocks from the village. It was worth enduring the questioning glances from the shop vendors. Even when he felt like crawling in a hole and dying as he hastily gestured he wanted to purchase women’s underwear, it was all worth it when he’s lulled to sleep to the sound of Katara’s giggles.

“I think he just smiled.” Mako whisper-screams. Nearly all the jaws in the mess hall drop open.

“You’re lying ,” a voice squeaks out. The dozens of heads seem to collectively turn towards their captain. Their stomachs churned at seeing living proof of the small smirk on his face. He’s distracted. Staring off into the distance, he’s just picking at the meager helpings of his lunch on his plate.

For all intents and purposes, Zuko was boring . He was a stick in the mud, the kind of guy you saw laugh once or twice a year for obligatory purposes, just to make sure everyone knew he wasn’t a robot assigned by the government to spy on soldiers.

He was a captain who delivered orders, and nothing more. A strict, by the book kind of guy. The team knew little to nothing about him. They weren’t even sure he used the bathroom like a normal human being (half of them were betting money on the robot theory). They just weren’t close like that. They weren’t the type of team to be able to joke around with their captain, share their stories, bleed their heart out on the military field. They knew the scar on his face meant he had pissed off some higher ranking officials who still possessed the power to firebend, a sacred art limited to the few. It meant there was more to the story than just a bumbling captain of a lower ranked crew. The most they got out of him was once in a while he would startle a young kid, who was just trying to get his mandated service over with. He’d clap them on the shoulder and would murmur a low “Good job.” (His definition of keeping up team morale).

He was efficient at his job, and good at keeping his men safe, rarely raising his voice to anyone except maybe himself. More than what they could say for other captains. He was hard on his men, but harder on himself. It was rare to see him doing anything but stress .

Smiling ? Simply out of the question.

He couldn’t help it! It was an automatic reaction to the morning he had.

“Thank you, for everything,” Katara says quietly, placing the tray of food on his night stand. She knew he had to get to the military base in the wee hours of the morning, and also knew she wasn’t going to wake up in time without her vibrating mattress alarm clock. So she pulls an all nighter, and tries to figure out how to use the tools and contraptions at her disposal. She didn’t mean to startle him, she swears. She has to stifle a laugh when he wakes up with a start. Eyes slowly peeling open, the eye crust obstructing his view. His hair is facing every which way. He looks younger, somehow. The messy hair, the wrinkled shirt, and drool he makes a quick job of wiping away.

“What’s this?” He peers up at her curiously, placing the tray in his lap.

“My labor of love.” She insists, sitting even closer to him on his bed. She thinks she likes it when he squirms under her gaze. For all the military get up with metallic shoulders, and the endless medals pinned to his uniforms, he was just a boy under it all. “I know, I haven’t been the most...easy guest to have.” She ignores his snort. “After all of this over, after the Fire Nation opens up its borders again, I promise you. I will pay you ten times what this hut with a dick is worth. Because…” she breathes in, looking unsure of herself. “I’ll never forget your kindness.”

“T—Thank you,” he stutters. He thinks they’re empty promises, but doesn’t try to question them too hard. It shouldn’t be possible for his heart to pulse as fast as it does, but it seems to be mesmerized by how much wider her smile was able to get. The noodles are misshapen, probably because of her inexperience with the old-fashioned machine. The broth is salty and makes Zuko’s throat beg for a glass of water. And yet, he slurps up the entire dish without complaint.

Anything to see her eyes light up.

“The first boob I ever saw was in Titanic . Haven’t seen one since. Waiting for Titanic 2 to come out.” Mako says proudly, puffing out his chest. He hoped his extensive knowledge of non-Fire Nation films would entertain Katara. Zuko’s few trusted men (mainly the ones who were responsible for letting her escape in the first place) were instructed to keep her safe while he sorted out the plans for her escape. Iroh was able to set up a clandestine arrangement with a ship leaving the Fire Nation docks for their semi annual pickup of Earth Nation goods. They were hoping she could sneak through to the Earth Nation, and explain her situation with customs there.

“Buddy, I got some news for you.” Katara smirks, and the boys grow nervous. She was pretty. The type of pretty that made people stare, wondering if it was possible for someone’s eyes to twinkle in the sunlight. She looked like one of those celebrities in the movies he loved. Talked like one, too. In the Fire Nation, she was the type of pretty where guys would be bartering an entire village just to get a chance to look at her. Though, just from talking with her, she seemed like the type of girl who would hide in her house after gaining said village, just to spite them.

Mako was curious about the Water Nation. Their schools taught them that Azulon was an elite magical creature that somehow never needed to take a shit, and people in the other nations defecated three times the amount of Fire Nation folk. He always knew something was up. Everyone was constantly smuggling goods from all the other nations, especially from the Water Nation. There were automatic rice cookers that played a song when it finished making perfect rice, and little boxes that could play music when you press it. Mako always knew there was so much more out there than people in the Fire Nation could ever know.

She tells them stories of her life in the Water Tribes as they wait for Zuko, and she pointedly ignores the scoffs and disbelief. “There are toilets that shoot out water into your ass crack to clean it?”

“You can adjust the settings and everything!” She proclaims, pride filling every one of her words. “Warm, cool, even inconsistent spurts if you’re into that shit.”

They all make a noise of amazement. “That’s incredible .” She talks about sky rises, and business meetings with rich people, and showers that turn on with a drop of a hat.

“What’s a Rihanna again? Is that your God?”

“Yes.” Katara answers, with no hesitation. “See, she is the baddest in the land—”

“Wait!” Bolin abruptly stops her. “I thought that was your God...Megan Thee Stallion?”

“She’s the thiccest of them all.” Katara punctuated with a click of her tongue. “I thought we went over this!”

“Sorry,” they grunt, looking especially sheepish.

“What does she preach?” Kai inquires, eyes growing wide with delight.

Katara taps her lip, eyes coming up to the ceiling trying to concentrate. “She’s a goddess who empowers women! She tries to get everyone to build their knee strength. I think one of her sayings is ‘I need a Mr. Clean, make that pussy beam,’” Katara .

Zuko watches on, leaning on the door frame. He wants to hate the fact that he’ll miss her.

Everything was supposed to be easy at this point.

“Don’t forget about me.” She holds onto his arm as they sit against the edge of the fishing vessel, the waves impatiently slapping against them. He was supposed to bid her farewell at the dock, but something in him wanted to guarantee she was able to get on the second boat to the Earth Nation.

He’s still clad in one of his more formal uniforms. He still feels the chill of the night scraping through the fabric of his double breasted blazer.

Katara openly welcomes the cold, after nearly sweltering to death every second she’s been in the Fire Nation.

He lets his smile reach his eyes. “How could I forget a girl who nearly crushed me to death with her crotch.”

Her guffaw has the captain, Jeong Jeong, even startled. “Right.” She looks off into the distance, and can’t remember a time when she’s ever been surrounded by this much water. “My name’s Katara, by the way.”

Zuko feels a pang in his chest. “Zuko.”

“Nice to meet you, Zuko,” she whispers, holding her hand out to shake his. It feels warm when he grabs at the dainty thing.

“I hope we meet again. Maybe, in another life, Katara.”

“Really?” For a moment, he hears a twinge of sadness in her voice. It could be his mind or his heart making it up, but he swears he hears it.

“Really.”

Everything was going according to plan. Everything was supposed to go smoothly.

Until they’re both panic-sweating underneath the ship in its cargo hold, trying to come up with a plan to fend off the Coast Guard officers stopping all ships sailing past curfew.

“Do something! Doesn’t the military tell you to do something in this case? Or are you guys just trained in the art of being ugly and having anger issues?”

Zuko wracks his brain. “Why don’t you help me?”

“What happens if I don’t?” Katara angrily mutters.

“You’ll deal with the consequences,” Zuko shrugs, too entirely calm. He was a natural in intense situations, but even he could feel his hands shaking.

“That’s just diet ‘ I hope this bitch dies !’”

“Oops,” Zuko sneers.

Katara huffs. “The fact that men can breathe just doesn’t sit right with my soul.” Katara wants to strangle him.

A lightbulb seemingly goes off in his head. Something Mako said about the non-Fire Nation films and stories was always a fool proof “Get out of jail” card.

“Kiss me,” he says without any uncertainty.

“Are you huffing cactus juice, bitch?”

“Just do it!” Zuko practically screams when he hears the door opening. She presses her lips to his chapped ones, and his hands naturally come to her waist. He’s lost in the feeling of her plush lips, how incredibly soft her body was that he ignores the screams of Coast Guard officers.

“What the fuck was that!” They question Jeong Jeong, who simply shrugs. The officers promptly drop the cargo door in shock.

She slaps his face, his cheek already reddening in mere moments.

“What was that for?” Zuko grumbles, stroking his face.

“You’re a freak!”

He narrows his eyes. “I prefer a ‘you’re welcome,’ but that doesn’t seem to be in your vocabulary.” He felt like his entire body was tingling, but Katara could only focus on the fact he was swiping at his lips with the back of his hand.

“Hey! You should be thanking Rihanna you got a chance to kiss me! If you weren’t so colonized you would realize I am one of the most beautiful women in the world!” Katara petulantly reminds.

“I think it’s because you got diarrhea all over my one of my favorite t-shirts that I am doubting that claim.”

Katara sulks, confident form shrinking. “I forgot to boil the water one time, sue me.”

He can’t stop his laugh from taking over his whole body. He’s about to help her up when he hears, “Open it up again!”

This time, Katara fully pushes him down among the boxes of cargo, straddling his lap, and violently mashes her lips to his.

“Get the fuck up here!” Someone screams. Katara lets up on the kiss so Zuko could peer up at the officers. He feels his ears overheating.

“She’s my fiancé.” He hastily explains, once they were on deck. In between their masks, they stare down at Katara, who bites on her tongue, and puts up an act of a bashful bride-to-be. She holds onto his arm with a vice grip, ducking her head behind his broad shoulders.

“They were going on a romantic sight seeing trip,” Jeong Jeong provides, sweat beating down his back.

Katara nods enthusiastically. “We just couldn’t wait for the wedding to have a little fun .” She grins intenerally at their coughs of discomfort and Zuko’s bewildered gaze.

They check Zuko’s identification card, before nodding in understanding.

“Fine,” one officer bites out. He stares at Katara for a beat too long as though he’s reading her thoughts. It makes her uneasy. “Turn it back, and don’t come out past curfew anymore. They’ve implemented new standards for ships.” Jeong Jeong nods in understanding, and jumps to the helm in no time. But, Zuko could sense the panic vibrating off of Katara.

She turns to see the second ship waiting in the distance, her ticket to freedom a few feet away.

“We’re not done with date night!” She insists, coming out to try to stop the officer. Zuko holds her back, eyes pleading with her. “But—I—there has to be some other way.” She’s shaking like a leaf, even when Zuko throws his blazer over her bare shoulders.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck feeding him heartburn medication like they are tic tacs,” Katara says to no one. She’s pacing nervously around the living room, and Zuko’s trying his best to come up with something to comfort her. His head is in his hands, and he’s since loosened his top knot to let his hair fall.

“Katara, I am only two years older than you,” he gently reminds.

“...And then I heard dentures always smell no matter how hard you clean them.”

“Katara I swear—,”

She gasps. “Oh my god, we have to start thinking of retirement homes.”

Things were supposed to be easy.

A spontaneous house check was something the village’s residents were accustomed to. They gathered outside their homes as soldiers began rifling through their things. Parents simply stood about, discussing the new books they had to buy for their kids for the upcoming semester.

Nothing was entirely out of the blue. Yet, the elusive military captain just had to show up to the front of his house, hand in hand with a blue-eyed girl.

A gun was promptly pointed in her face. “Oh shit. Bitch, not this again.”

“This house was registered for one resident.” General Zhao’s lip curls. “State your name and occupation.”

General Zhao had overheard a certain military director’s son was busted trying to get some punani on the seven seas.

It’s not that he hated Zuko, per say. Their relationship was more of a “ regularly abusing Zuko’s privacy to fulfill a personal agenda because of the bloodthirsty desire for power ” type of thing. Normal things. Maybe , it was influenced by the fact he got wind of Zuko pressuring his higher ups to further investigate his sister’s assasination. He wasn’t entirely sure.

“Look here, I have information that could lead to the arrest of Nicki Minaj. So why don’t you, I don’t know. Let me go ! I promise I’ll tell you everything I know about Ms. Nincki,” she lowly breathes, a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows only making the soldiers around her even more heated.

“Shut the fuck up!” A soldier screams behind her, poking her head with the gun. Katara couldn’t help the whimper that passed her lips. For the first time in her life, she thinks she feels genuine fear.

Zuko pushes past the guards holding him back, throwing them to the ground. Without missing a beat, he takes her hand in his. “Get your fucking gun out of my fiancé’s face!” He roars. Gasps reverberate around the villagers. This was the loudest and longest they’ve ever heard Zuko speak. “She works for the government as part of Division 11,” he explains, letting his voice settle into its usual rasp. Everybody visibly recoils.

A highly secretive sector of the government virtually no one , not even General Zhao had access to. They were agents deployed in different nations, with the goal of collecting information about the culture. It would’ve explained Katara’s Water Tribe accent, and the lack of her identification papers.

General Zhao pushes past Zuko, staring him down and grumbling with his men following behind.

The women of the village instantly make way to collect around Katara. Noses turned up at her like she was shit on a brick. No, they couldn’t give a shit about her. They had rushed into their houses after the announcement, and came back to ply Zuko with trays of food.

“For our handsome Zuko finally getting hitched!” The fake smiles make Katara want to stab herself. She swiftly reaches for Zuko’s hand, much to his confusion, and lays her head on his shoulder.

“Baby, let’s go inside. I’m cold,” she feigns through her teeth. Her puppy dog eyes make him feel like he’s in high school. He numbly nods.

She thinks she hears someone’s grandma calling her a slut.

“Pick your head up king, your hairline is receding,” Katara worries her lip at seeing his current state. She doesn’t think he’s slept all night, and he has papers and maps with highlighter marks and red circles all around him on his bed.

It’s been a few days since his big announcement to the village, and it feels better to be able to get outside. Breathe from the confines from Zuko’s dingy house. Even among the whispers and stares from people, the villagers weren’t all bad. The women sometimes drop by to invite her over to cook with them, and the kids bring her only the nicer rocks they’ve managed to dig through the dirt for.

“I just want to get you home.” He practically grunts. She’s holding a cup of tea for him, and he gulps it down as if it was Rihanna’s boob sweat. “I don’t want you to stay here for even a second longer.”

“Thanks!” Katara sends him a sardonic smile.

Fuck . He always knew how to put his foot in his mouth when he’s around her. “No, uh. Not like that. This place is a hell hole, and I just want you to get back. It’s not safe for you, for anyone here.” She pats his back gently when he starts choking on the tea, trying to get all his words out. He’s so sweet, the way he just quietly tries to draft out a plan while he thinks she’s asleep. She hears him curse whenever a pen snaps with the pressure he applies. With how many times he sighs through the night, she feels guilty.

She’s entirely too comfortable around Zuko, he decides. She lays in bed next to him and he hopes she doesn't notice the way he’s grown warm with her presence. He craves it too much these days. “You know what, the one thing I’ve learned through all of this is that the first thing I’m going to do when I come back is shutting down Chrissy Teigen’s Twitter.”

“Not visit your friends and family?” Zuko asks, amusement dancing across his features.

“That can come second,” Katara asserts.

Life wasn’t completely terrible. Sure, she cries the moment Zuko leaves the house because she’s sure she’s going to die in this shit fuck of place and never get to her money’s worth of her one year HelloFresh subscription. But she has complete faith in Zuko’s abilities.

“It’s like during The Amazing Race Season 17 when those two vegetarian doctors ate a goat’s head to win. I think their names were Kat and Nat.”

“The point?” Zuko tries his best to sound exasperated.

“The point is, I’ll learn how to adapt for the next week or so. I promise, it’s not all that terrible!” Zuko doesn’t trust her uneasy, twitching eyes, but nods all the same.

“Hold my hand, motherfucker!” She beams under the attention of the villagers, most of them scoffing when she does her daily send off routine. When Zuko leaves for work, she is insistent on performing their cute couple duties to piss off old people (her other favorite pastime). “Did you remember to bring your water bottle today, stupid bitch?”

“I think I’d like this more if you asked nicely,” he groused. He likes how small her hand fits in his, but he thinks he’ll boil shoelaces and eat them before he would admit it.

She’s made one friend, at least. Ty Lee, a girl whose parents are trying to marry her off by the next summer. The older women side eyed her just the same, thinking her big ole titties were too big of a distraction among the eligible men in the village.

“It came as a shock to us, we still think Zuko is a robot,” Ty Lee admits over a bowl of beef stew. Katara nearly chokes at the spice level. “It’s too bad you’re marrying a lower ranked officer. I know this guy who’s way up there! You could do so much better . I think his name’s Chan!”

“So, Zuko’s basically a nobody here?”

“Pretty much,” the girl states it like it’s a known fact. “He doesn’t do much, to be honest. But he’s all the old ladies’ favorites because he’s cute and moody . Fuck that, give me communication , you know what I mean?”

Katara could already feel the cogs whirring to life in her brain. “Thanks for letting me know, Ty Lee!” Her chirpy tone has the girl smiling as well. Good, her acting skills haven’t gone rusty. “How come when Zuko makes beef stew, it’s never spicy?” She wipes her nose with a napkin Ty Lee had given her after noticing the impending waterfall of snot.

Ty Lee ponders it for a second. “Sorry, babe. This is the most mild recipe you can make in the Fire Nation. I didn’t realize you couldn't handle it. Maybe he’s just remixing a classic?”

Katara tries to hold back her smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Babies are broke,” Katara glares at the child in her lap, who only curls in closer to her.

“Oh my god.” Zuko lets the little boy play with his hair when he wasn’t suffocating Katara’s neck with his other arm.

“They live in your head and your house rent free. And then they have the audacity to stare at you in their weak ass outfits,” she points out. They’re both squeezed together on a sofa barely holding itself together, and forced to watch over the birthday boy.

“Don’t be mad. It’s entirely your fault Chungha’s kid laughed so hard it barfed on you.”

Katara’s exhausted laugh makes Zuko forget his tiredness all the same. “Don’t call the baby an ‘it!’”

Zuko lets the kid bite on his finger, and grabs him from Katara’s hands when he begins tugging on her dress straps. “I still can’t believe you taught Chungha’s daughter to ‘not be the bigger person, and punch a bitch!’ And Chungha still invited you to her son’s party.”

“Talk shit, get hit. Basic stuff.”

He had to admit, coming home and immediately being dragged to a baby’s birthday celebration was not how he saw his night going. Especially after hours of grueling paperwork.

“He’s two ,” Zuko lets out an annoyed huff.

“And what about it, bitch?” Katara growls. She has her hair in a complicated updo, complete with the Fire Nation hair ties he recently picked up for her.

He tries to hide the fact he enjoys this far too much. Domestic things. Things like coming home from work to banter with her. Cooking for Katara while she’s busy socializing with the older wives. He heard from Mako that Katara spends most of her day with the married women. Her plan was to try to move him up the ranks of the military ladder by getting to the lieutenant’s wives first.

When she’s home and finished washing up, she takes his dress shirts as though they were her’s and wears them to bed. After she’s passed out on the sleeping mat in the living room, he makes it a habit to carry her to the mattress in his room.

“My bad back likes the hard floor,” he would insist when she would protest.

He thinks he’s a goner when she even starts trying to make Fire Nation snacks for his lunches. He packs them himself, but somehow misses the minute containers that make their way into his pail. Even if the container somehow always breaks because she forgets to close it properly and he ends the day smelling like fish sauce, he likes it.

He knows he must be fucking crazy, pretending this was all real. Maybe he was delusional and reading too much into her actions. Maybe he was a fucking idiot. But for a moment, it was easy to pretend he’s a few months away from marrying a pretty girl. A pretty girl busy spending the night playing around with babies they could one day have together.

He shakes the thought from his head, physically moving his head to make it permeate even deeper. She was going to be back home, safe and sound soon. It was better not to get attached.

She makes it so fucking hard, though. Especially when she’s wiping away at the creases in his brow before bed. Or asking him through the closed bedroom door to tell her it’s going to be ok, to talk to her until she falls asleep because she likes the sound of his voice.

She’s a stone cold bitch. A bitch that could fight with her Swarovski crystal acrylics, and come out virtually unscathed. Someone needs to explain to her exactly why she was crying like a James Charles fake apology video for being a racist at the sight of Chungha’s kid bouncing about, flinging his boogers in her face.

“Maybe if I pray to Azulon hard enough, you guys could have your own little bundle of joy soon!” Chungha exclaims, holding the baby as tight as she could.

After all, when you almost lose a kid, every moment you’re blessed with their breath never feels like enough. You never want to spend another moment away from them. It’s a miracle his fever broke in time for his birthday. Their family couldn’t afford to go to the doctor, with hospitals being a four hour bike ride away.

“Yeah, sure.” Katara barely could hear her over Yoonjn’s gleeful squeals.

“I’ll tell Bomi to pray for you guys, too. After what Azulon did for her little Sana, you’ll be pregnant in no time!”

Katara just squeezes at the baby’s chubby cheek.

“You’re going to kill yourself.” Katara flinches at Zuko’s voice piercing through the quiet night. He’s leaning up against the wall, and emerges from the shadows because he’s dramatic and needed the added effect. She doesn’t miss the way he limps while clutching his side.

“Shut up .” She throws her straw hat at the ground, and flings herself across the sleeping mat, face down. “I’ve had a long night.”

He wants to be angry with her. He wants to scream at her. He was livid .

“What if you got caught, huh? You could’ve been executed .” Zuko knew it wasn’t a coincidence. That the rumors of a spirit going around healing people in the village coincided with someone’s sudden appearance. He thinks the sight of Katara effortlessly waterbending is permanently etched into his memory. The way her face was blissed out, the element easily submitting to her every will.

Katara knows he’s just worried for her. She knows the occasional rustle of the branches was more than a breeze. But, all she sees is red. “Sounds rich, coming from you ! What’s your name again? Sorry, my bad. I didn’t know ‘The Blue Spirit’ was a silent vowel in the name ‘Zuko!’”

He waits a beat, before turning to face her. She has his mask in hand, an angry glare screwing her features.

“How did you—who did—?” His brain was apparently as smooth as Howie Mandel’s head when he needed its help the most. At least he knows where his mask went.

“My mind is as strong as the Twitter men trying to get Doja Cat to show us her titties.” She rolls her eyes when she sees Zuko pondering. “You leave your Dao swords on display in the living room, and the mask is underneath your bed. I don’t know, let me ask the audience.”

“Oh.”

Katara flicks his forehead.

“At least I’m not walking around with some face paint thinking I’m helping these people!”

She scoffs. “But I am! They’re too sick to afford medication. To even go to the hospital. If they make it, no one wants to help them! You’re telling me I have to just watch them die!”

Zuko sighs. “You’re giving them hope !”

“In this dumpster fire of a place, yeah! I fucking am! What’s wrong with that? Tell me!” She challenges. She comes up nose to nose with Zuko, eyes darting and impatiently waiting for an answer.

“What are these people going to do when you’re gone?” What am I going to do when you’re gone? “They think the Painted Lady is real !”

“Let them!” She huffs. “What about you, huh? Going around stealing from the rich to bring back to the villagers? You think you’re any better? You’re going to get killed!”

Zuko scoffs. “You’re missing the point. The difference between you and me? I’m perfectly fine with dying.”

Katara grabs his face in between her hands, anger vanishing. “Zuko, don’t say that.”

“Why the fuck not? Maybe I want to fucking die!” He shouts, ripping his head out of her grasp. “Maybe I’m hoping to get caught!”

“...Why?” Katara croaks.

“ You don’t get it !” He screams. Time seemed to stop when tears fell from Zuko’s eyes. Even when he’s angry, he’s never been this loud with Katara before. He wants to take it all back, stop himself.

She’s at a loss for words. “Zuko, I—”

“This place is a fucking dead end. No one’s going to save us. The Fire Nation doesn’t care about us. The Fire Nation could give less of a fuck. You can’t let people think there’s hope when it’s all a fucking lie !” He laughs, the bitter sound foreign to her. “You know, it’s normal to pray for an early death here. You pray that it’s painless. It’s easier to die than live every day trapped in this reality.”

He loses his grip on the countertop he was leaning on for support. Katara moves to catch him before he falls, and lays him as gently as possible on top of the mat. She makes quick work to heal the gash at his side. A result of following her during her rounds, and fighting off any robbers trying their luck in the night.

“I thought you were the Kris Jenner of the Southern Water Tribe?” He squeezes out, trying to get her to laugh. She’s touched he remembered her Kardashian-Jenner clan rants. (He’s been Team Stormi since day one.) Then again, he seems to remember every little detail about her. “A businesswoman, right? Didn’t know you were a master waterbender on top of all of that.”

She snorts, and wipes away her own tears before he could open his eyes again. “I was a paramedic. I wanted to run a clinic at one point.” Zuko winces at the intensity of the water cooling his wound. “Growing up, I hated the business world. It was all backstabbing and boring bitches. But sometimes, it’s easier.” She’s silent for a while, focused only on the healing process.

“I—I couldn’t save a lot of people,” her voice drops down to a barely audible whisper, and her brows furrow.

They’re shoulder to shoulder on the mat after she wraps up his cut. They’re staring up at the cracks of his ceiling.

“Do you ever miss it?” Zuko rasps.

“Bending?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes.” She lets silence fill the air for a moment. “ It’s second nature to me. Fuck, I was bending before I could even talk. Is it bad that I gave up on it? Is it bad it makes me sick to my stomach?”

Something she loved, she couldn’t stand to do again.

She couldn’t save her mom. She couldn’t save her niece. What was the point anymore?

He wraps his hand around hers.

“What do you think we would have been like, in another life?” Zuko groans, laying down beside Katara. She’s sprawled out, still taking in heavy breaths after breaking into an intense run. His side still aches. He thinks his arm is broken from fighting off the soldiers while carrying the dozens of survivors.

The captain in a nearby village was sentenced to a public execution later in the week. He wanted to go out on his own terms and take his village with him, too. Trying to sacrifice people to the Gods above for forgiveness, he set the place ablaze.

It’s too bad The Painted Lady got wind of it first.

“Hm?” Katara hums, healing a cut on her face. “I’d like to think Katara in another life got to be normal. Like just owning a Chevy and living life without ever having to acknowledge Timothee Chalamat’s existence type of normal. She’s happy. She doesn’t develop an addiction to Prozac. She probably has a small white dog named Mochi that can fit into a knock-off Fendi purse.”

“Really? No butt-warming toilets in her life?”

“Nah. She could be the Mayor of Boo Boo the Foolville without any consequences.” She can’t recall a time when she’s felt so free. When her words flow out without carefully being measured. The stars feel like daylight. The expanses of the village’s nearby river tugging at her heart strings. “She could bend without constantly thinking of what could’ve been.”

“Zuko in another life would’ve been a piano player.” It still stings. Thinking about the future that could’ve been.

“Not a full time Blue Spirit?” She teases.

“Full time Blue Spirit doesn’t pay the bills, surprisingly.”

He turns his head and sees her nose crinkle. He’s sure it should be illegal for someone to be this beautiful.

“This kid I healed, he made his own Blue Spirit costume. He’s been wearing it every day, and treated it like it’s this season’s Versace,” Katara murmurs. He laughs, loud and unbridled.

“Yeah? I saw a bunch of little girls with their Painted Lady dolls.” They were holding onto them until their knuckles turned white, even with Zuko dangling them from his shoulders.

Katara’s heart swells. “I think I’m going to cry.”

Zuko nudges her shoulder with his when he hears her mock-sniffles.

“Did you know I told this guy ‘it’s time to evacuate!’ while he was mid-masturbation.”

Katara’s stomach is starting to hurt with how hard she’s squealing. “You’re lying ! Please, say sike!”

Zuko throws his hands up. “I couldn’t make this up even if I tried. He was all like, ‘You mean time to ejaculate!’” Zuko finishes the story in a dude-bro voice.

At this point, Katara was shaking uncontrollably, and it’s infectious. He can’t help laughing, too.

A beat of silence passes between the duo, too distracted by the night sky.

Zuko rubs a hand over his face, determined to stay awake to see her fall asleep.

“What would Zuko and Katara have been in another life?” Katara whispers wistfully.

He glances over to her, eyes heavy. “I think being us would have been easier, in another life.” Her light snores fill the air. “At least then, I could be by your side.”

He nudges her head until it fits securely in the crook of his shoulder.

“Sit there and look pretty!”

“No!”

“All I’m asking you to do is sit and blink!” Katara had run into a kid with a smuggled polaroid camera trying to snap photos of her. In return for not slicing open his urethra with a dull butter knife, she was trying to force him to take photos of Zuko. After all, she wanted a memento of her time with him.

The teen was nervously glanced between the two, the camera shaking in his grasp.

“I think I’m going to go find my mom…”

“Pussy bitch!” Katara screams at the running boy.

“Old ass hoe!” He yelps back.

Zuko knew it was a mistake taking Katara to the night market. As a celebration of the Mid-Autumn Festival, curfews were relaxed. The marketplace opened up to sell street food into the night. There’s singing, dancing, laughing, drinking. A night to forget, a night meant for happiness.

He thinks it’s ridiculous. The way she doesn’t notice the way guys look at her. He’s spent the better part of the night standing in front of her if any man was brave enough to glance in her general direction. At night, she was in her element, her smile was a blinding thing that made his heart race. She doesn’t pay any mind to anyone staring, to anyone trying to get her attention. She’s just taking in the little moments around her, eyes so bright and stares so wide. Like she’s afraid to miss a single detail with just a blink.

“Your breath smells like stupid bitch,” Katara points out after what had to be his 20th grunt of the night. She’s sure he’s holding her close to make sure they still played a newly engaged couple. She relishes in the attention all the same.

“Sorry.” He sulks like a child, and it makes Katara want to hug him.

She pecks his cheek and he freezes. “Look! He bought his girlfriend that potato on a stick thing!”

Zuko rushes off without any hesitation.

He picks the fire flakes off the potato slices before handing it to her. She practically inhales the snack, and he frets. He thinks she’s about to stab herself with the skewer. “Oh look!” She points to another couple, while pouting. “He won her a stuffed dragon.”

Zuko couldn’t stand to see her upset, even for a second.

When she’s hugging the plushie close to her, Zuko throws his arm around her. She stops in her tracks. “Oh my god! Is that ice cream—” He runs to find the vendor without even thinking.

“Number 43!” The vendor yelps. Zuko instantly recognizes the greasy teenager picking up the order in front of him.

“Give me the photos you took of my fiancé,” he says, panting. He practically ran at lightning speed to catch up to the kid, who intentionally rushed off after feeling Zuko glaring him down from a distance. The boy feels his bladder shaking.

“But—but you didn’t want a photo! You—” Zuko’s best menacing scowl had the kid scrambling through his pockets. “She could do better, you know!” He petulantly points out, before throwing the photo in the air and taking off.

Zuko lets himself smile after tucking Katara’s picture safely into his wallet. He knew he told himself he wouldn’t get attached. Not his fault she’s cast him under her spell.

He’s pouting. She’s struggling not to laugh in his face.

“This is mine, now.” He indignantly rips the toy of her hold, squishing it to his chest instead.

“Why?” she questions.

“If you want one so bad, ask Chan to win you one.” She straight up guffaws in his face. Zuko had caught Chan hugging her out of excitement. Ty Lee finally agreed to a date with him, all thanks to Katara meddling.

“I can’t believe you’d cheat on me!” Zuko scowls. He’s more cute than terrifying, and Katara just rolls her eyes. “I thought I was the only one you call ‘babe!’” He tries protesting.

Katara snorts. “That was short for ‘beyblade.’ Let it rip, motherfucker!”

“Am I not a good husband-to-be? Is that what it is? Do you feel neglected, babe ?” He’s just fucking with her at this point, his childish pout threatening to bleed into a full blown laugh. He’s biking them back home, with Katara seated at the front on only a towel. She misses her Tesla.

“For starters, your toes look like gorilla knuckles. They look like they could wrap completely around a baseball.”

“Hey!”

“Be honest. Has anyone ever sucked your toes until you creamed yourself?” Katara’s favorite pastime is making Zuko blush.

She turns back to him to see his reddening face. “Oh my god! Look at how cute you are! I think my stomach has the butterflies!” Zuko just grows positively crimson at her mocking tone. He’ll blame the warming weather, though.

“Kill them. I won’t treat you right,” Zuko murmurs. Katara just swats at his head. “Didn’t I shoot at you? Love yourself, Katara.”

Once they reach his house, she jumps off the bicycle, and grabs Zuko by the shoulders. “Hey.”

“What?” He can’t help being mesmerized by her eyes.

“I think I’ll miss you,” Katara breathes.

“You have to leave first for you to miss me.” Zuko wraps her up in a tight hug.

He feels selfish when he wishes moments with Katara could last a lifetime.

#zutara fanfiction #zutara #zuko x katara #zutara month #zutara month 2020 #may 13 #hidden #zutara month part two

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