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51voices · 1 day ago

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A Step too Far

Kinkvember Day 9: Spanking

NMIXX Jang Kyujin x Male reader

AN: I woke up with a bit of a fever today, so I’m not quite at full power. But I’m still here and determined to keep the daily challenge going! Today's story might be a touch softer than usual and a little lighter on the smut.💖

Ugh, what’s taking him so long?

Kyujin lingered in the doorway of the garage, the warmth of the late afternoon sun pouring in around her, casting a golden halo that softened the edges of the worn tools and scattered equipment. Her gaze was steady, focused on you, as you worked intently on your motorcycle. With each turn of a bolt, each slight adjustment, you were lost in the world of mechanics, your concentration so intense that it seemed like she barely existed in your orbit.

You hadn’t noticed her yet. She leaned against the doorframe, an amused smile dancing on her lips as she bit down gently, trying to quell the impatience stirring within her. There was something maddeningly captivating about the way you worked—the steady rhythm of clinks and clanks filling the air, mingled with the occasional soft grunt of effort. These sounds formed a backdrop that only made her want you more, made her want to break your focus and pull you back to her.

Her gaze traveled over you, lingering on the way the muscles in your back flexed beneath the thin layer of your shirt, which was damp with a fine sheen of sweat. You were deeply focused, your shoulders steady as you leaned over the bike, hands skilled and precise as they moved from tool to tool. The heady scent of engine oil, gasoline, and the lingering sweetness of summer mixed in the small, enclosed space, filling her senses. It heightened everything, amplifying the awareness she had of each moment she spent watching you.

She admired your dedication, the way you could immerse yourself completely in whatever you were working on. Normally, that focus of yours was endearing, even impressive. But right now? It was a problem. She wanted your attention—needed it, actually—and the longer she stood there waiting, the more that need intensified.

Finally, she stepped further into the garage, clearing her throat softly as she called out to you, a playful lilt in her voice. “Oppaaaa, you’ve been working all daaaaay! Don’t you want a break? Spend some time with me?”

Her words filled the small space, but you barely responded, your gaze never lifting from the bike. “Almost done, Jagiya,” you murmured absently, your voice calm but distant, as if you’d hardly heard her.

Kyujin’s lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze sharpened. Almost done? You’d been telling her that for hours now, ever since you had set to work, each part needing a new adjustment, each bolt requiring the perfect amount of torque. She shifted her weight, her arms crossing over her chest as a pout began to form. Didn’t you realize she’d been waiting for you this whole time? That she was here, right now, needing you?

Taking a deep breath, she tried again, softening her voice, her tone now dripping with sweetness and affection as she cooed, “Come oooonnn, I need attention, Oppa,” her voice slipping into a soft, playful whine. “You’ve been ignoring me all day… don’t you miss me?”

There was a pause, and she thought maybe—just maybe—her words had reached you this time. But you simply hummed, nodding slightly as you replied, “I do, honey, but I need to finish this. Be patient, okay?” Your hands moved over the bike in smooth, practiced motions, your attention locked entirely on the work before you.

Her heart fell just a bit, frustration mingling with the ache of longing. Patient? She had been more than patient—she’d been watching you in silence, waiting, the entire day. She wanted you, here and now, and your request for more patience felt like a brush-off. A spark of mischief flared within her, and she felt a grin slowly forming on her lips. If you weren’t going to give her your attention willingly, maybe she’d have to take matters into her own hands.

Let’s see how much patience you really have, she thought, her gaze flicking over to the light switch on the wall beside her. You were still completely engrossed in your task, seemingly oblivious to her scheming, to the slight excitement building in her chest.

With one quick flick, she plunged the garage into darkness, watching as the warm glow of the sun instantly vanished, leaving only shadows. A soft, mischievous giggle escaped her lips as she quickly flicked the lights back on, peeking at you to catch your reaction.

Your hands froze mid-action, and your shoulders tensed slightly, but you didn’t turn around. “Honey…” Your voice was low, carrying a gentle warning that felt almost half hearted, as if you were trying to keep the focus despite her interruption.

Kyujin’s pulse quickened at the thrill of pushing you, her amusement growing as she watched you try to maintain composure. She loved testing your boundaries, nudging you until you broke from that perfect focus. And so far? You hadn’t even turned to look at her.

Alright, a wicked grin forming on her lips as she reached for the light switch again. This time, she flicked it off and let the darkness linger a bit longer, relishing the silence and the tension before snapping the lights back on. Her laughter bubbled up, louder this time, spilling into the quiet garage.

A sigh escaped you, deeper and more audible, and she watched the way your hand tightened around the wrench, your posture just a bit stiffer. “Jagiya, I’m serious,” you said, your tone firmer but not without a hint of exasperation. You still hadn’t turned around. “Don’t push me today. I need to finish this so I can get to work on Monday.”

She smirked, biting back another laugh, hearing the tension weaving its way into your voice. You were trying so hard to stay calm, so hard to keep focused on the bike, but she could see the tiny cracks forming. And the thrill of it—the way she could unravel you bit by bit—made her heart beat faster. Her gaze drifted over to your workbench, where your tools lay neatly arranged, each one in its place. An idea sparked within her, her fingers twitching with anticipation.

Her eyes landed on a small wrench at the edge of the workbench, one you’d no doubt reach for soon. Smiling slyly, she slid over to the bench, reaching out with light fingers as she gently picked up the wrench, hiding it behind her back. She moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, her heart pounding as she waited for you to notice.

And then, after a few more focused adjustments, she saw you extend your hand toward the spot where the wrench was supposed to be. Your fingers met only air, and she watched your hand hover there for a moment, realization dawning in your posture as you froze. Slowly, you turned, your eyes narrowing slightly as you finally met her gaze.

Kyujin widened her eyes in mock innocence, her lips parted just enough to suggest she knew absolutely nothing about what had happened to the wrench. The stolen tool was hidden behind her back, her fingers wrapped around it with barely contained excitement.

“Where is it?” you asked, voice calm but with an edge of authority, your eyes scrutinizing her expression.

Her heart raced, her pulse thrumming with the thrill of teasing you. Flashing her best innocent smile, she replied, “Where’s what? What are you talking about?”

You straightened up, wiping your hands on a rag as you leveled her with a steady look. “Baby,” you said, your voice lower now, laced with a quiet but unmistakable warning. “I know you. Give it back.”

Her grin widened as she felt the tension rise between you. This was her favorite moment—the way she could push you, the way you allowed her to dance right at the edge of your patience. She loved seeing that intensity flash in your eyes, knowing she had pulled you out of that work trance you always fell into. That was her magic, the power to unravel you, to bring you back to her.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied sweetly, feigning innocence as she took a small step back, keeping the wrench hidden behind her back.

Your expression shifted, a hint of frustration flickering in your gaze as you let out a slow, controlled breath. “I’m not in the mood for this,” you replied, your tone dipping to something serious, each word carrying weight. “This is your last chance. Show me what’s behind your back.”

The thrill in her chest intensified, the playful glint in her eyes sparking even brighter. She loved this—the anticipation, the way your patience was slipping, how your usual calm was fraying ever so slightly. Smiling, she took a single step forward, her movements slow and deliberate as she leaned in, raising her arm ever so slightly to reveal the wrench, but still keeping it just out of your reach.

With a challenging gaze, she murmured, “Oh, this? You need this, don’t you?” Her voice was soft, teasing, pushing you just a little more, daring you to take it from her.

The serious look in your eyes sent a shiver down Kyujin's spine, though it did nothing to deter her; instead, it only made her pulse race faster. She had you right on the edge, that threshold she loved to push past. The thrill bubbled up inside her, electric and relentless, as she took a small, teasing step back, widening her smile in silent challenge.

Come on, heart racing as she looked up at you, her gaze mischievous, what are you going to do?

You held her gaze, jaw clenching just enough for her to see your patience slipping. Taking a step forward, you spoke slowly, a deadly calm in your tone that sent a thrill down her spine. “I’m going to count to three,” you said, your voice dangerously level, each word firm and steady. “And if you don’t hand it over by then, you’re going to regret it.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing like a drumbeat as she bit her lip, clutching the wrench tighter behind her back. This was the moment she’d been waiting for, the moment where your resolve would break and she’d finally see you snap. She could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, anticipation building like a thunderstorm. Her breaths came faster, excitement mingling with a tinge of apprehension. You were so close to breaking—so close.

“One…” you started, your gaze locked on hers, unwavering.

Her pulse quickened, breath catching as her mind raced, weighing whether to push just a little further. She felt the rush of adrenaline surging through her veins as she watched you, waiting, her heartbeat a dizzying tempo in her ears. Not yet, she thought, barely holding back a grin. Just a little more.

“Two…” The tone in your voice darkened, the tension thick enough that she felt it pressing down on her, making her body tingle with both anticipation and thrill.

Her stomach flipped as her body responded to the weight of the moment, an exhilarating thrill sparking through her as she kept her grip firm on the wrench. She wanted to see just how far she could go, to push you to the very edge before—

“Thr—”

“Okay, okay!” Kyujin laughed, pulling the wrench out from behind her back, her eyes gleaming as she flashed you a cheeky grin. “Here, happy?”

You took the wrench from her hand, your expression hard to read as you inspected it briefly. Your jaw clenched as you placed it back on the workbench with a bit more force than usual, the sound echoing through the garage. She watched you, her heart still racing, her body buzzing from the thrill of the game. She’d pushed you, teased you—but it wasn’t quite enough. She could see it in your expression: you were close, yet still holding on, your self-control just barely intact.

What will it take to finally push him over the edge?

Her gaze drifted back to the workbench, and her eyes landed on an older, more worn-looking wrench lying near the edge. Unlike the others, this one seemed different, cared for and used over the years. Curiosity pulled her in, and before she realized what she was doing, she reached out, her fingers closing around it. The metal felt cool and heavy, its weight more substantial than the others. She spun it absentmindedly between her fingers, the texture rough against her skin, as she continued to watch you, her mind still caught up in the thrill of pushing you to your limits.

Then, before she could register what was happening, the wrench slipped from her fingers.

Clank.

The metallic sound rang out sharply, filling the silence of the garage as it bounced against the hard floor. Her eyes widened in horror, her gaze shooting downward to the wrench lying at her feet. A small chip had broken off the side, the tiny piece of metal sitting on the floor beside it.

Her heart sank.

Oh no…

You went completely still, your entire posture rigid. Slowly, with an almost terrifying calm, you turned to look at her, your eyes narrowing as they landed on the damaged wrench at her feet. The weight of your gaze made her stomach drop, the realization settling heavily within her. This time, she knew she’d gone too far.

“Kyujin…” you said, voice low and controlled, a chill in your tone that made her chest tighten. You didn’t call her Jagiya now, not with the usual affection. The use of her name sent a clear message—this wasn’t a game anymore.

“I… I didn’t mean to…” she stammered, her voice trembling as her mind scrambled for words. “I didn’t know—”

You knelt down, picking up the chipped wrench with careful hands, your expression hardening as you turned it over, inspecting the damage with a cold, quiet intensity. “This was my dad’s,” you said, voice tight, each word laced with restrained emotion. “One of the few things I have left from him. And now it’s chipped because you couldn’t stop being a brat.”

The words struck her hard, guilt flooding her as the weight of what she’d done settled in. She hadn’t known how much this wrench meant to you, hadn’t realized the sentimental value it held. “Oppa, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to chip it… I didn’t know”

You cut her off with a steady, disappointed look. “I warned you,” you said, your voice flat but brimming with frustration. “I gave you all these chances, and you didn’t listen. You wanted my attention so badly? Well, now you have it.”

Before she could react, you reached out, your hand firm yet gentle as you took her wrist, guiding her toward the low bench in the corner of the garage. Her heart raced, a blend of apprehension and regret flooding her as you sat down and pulled her gently but firmly across your lap. She felt the reality of the situation settling in—she’d crossed the line, and now she was about to face the consequences.

“Oppa please, I’m sorry…” she whimpered softly, her voice fragile, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Sorry,” you replied, your tone unyielding, “that’s always what you say after you’ve gone too far. But this time, sorry isn’t enough.” With one smooth motion, you lifted the hem of her skirt, exposing her, and tugged her cute pink printed panties down to her thighs, leaving her bare and vulnerable. She squirmed slightly, but your hand pressed firmly against her lower back, holding her in place as her heart hammered in her chest. “You need to learn your lesson.”

Kyujin lay across your lap, the weight of your words sinking in as guilt and anticipation mixed within her. The lighthearted playfulness from before had vanished, replaced by a sobering awareness of just how far she had pushed you. Each breath felt heavy as she lay there, exposed and vulnerable, her mind spinning as she finally realized the full extent of what she had done.

“I… I really am sorry,” she murmured, her voice small, each word filled with remorse as she lay still, her heart racing.

Your voice was steady, firm, with a touch of kindness beneath it that somehow both reassured and unsettled her. “How many spanks do you think you deserve?” you asked, your tone calm, yet carrying an edge that made her pulse quicken.

Kyujin’s breath hitched as she considered your question, her mind a swirl of emotions. Her cheeks flushed deeply with both embarrassment and anxiety as the silence stretched between you, heightening the tension in the room. She swallowed, looking down, and then whispered, “T-Ten?” Her voice was small, uncertain, as she glanced at you, silently hoping that her answer might soften your resolve.

But you shook your head slowly, letting out a low chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine. “Too low,” you replied, your tone almost teasing, yet leaving no room for negotiation. “Let’s double it. You deserve twenty, and you’re going to count every single one.”

The words settled over her, heavy and electrifying, as anticipation twisted her stomach into tight knots. Twenty. Her breaths came quicker, an intoxicating mix of apprehension and excitement building within her. The gravity of what lay ahead sank in, yet beneath the tension, a thrill pulsed through her, unmistakable and undeniable.

Without further preamble, you delivered the first spank—a sharp, stinging impact that shot through her like a lightning bolt. The suddenness of it stole her breath, and the hot sting radiated through her cheeks, the heat blooming beneath your hand. “O-One,” she gasped, her voice shaky, each syllable carrying the echo of the slap that lingered on her skin, flooding her senses.

You didn’t hesitate, bringing down a second spank, harder than the first. “Two,” she whimpered, the sting intensifying, an electric heat that made her squirm involuntarily, her body’s reaction beyond her control. The pain built, sharpened, sending a fiery ache through her, a throbbing warmth settling deep within her.

Another spank landed, this time on her opposite cheek, sending a fresh wave of stinging heat through her body. “T-Three… I’m sorry” she breathed out, her heart racing as the sensation spread, igniting her nerves. Her apology came almost on instinct, the words spilling from her lips as the intensity left her more vulnerable with each passing second.

The rhythm continued, a steady and unyielding cadence that grew with each strike, each spank bringing her closer to the edge. As she counted up to “Ten,” her voice came in breathless gasps, each number growing softer as her body arched against the sting, a mixture of pain and something more primal beginning to settle within her. The sensations blurred, the pain mingling with a strange sense of exhilaration, her breaths quick and shallow as her skin flushed hot.

With each spank, her awareness sharpened, the heat between her legs building in a slow, undeniable ache that surprised her. By the time she reached “Fifteen,” her body trembled with need, her entire being caught in the edge of pain and an unexpected, growing desire. Each strike seemed to deepen the ache within her, intensifying until it was impossible to ignore.

“Eighteen,” Kyujin whimpered, her voice filled with a mix of embarrassment and something deeper as her body tensed under your hand. The ache between her thighs was undeniable, and the warmth on her reddened skin only seemed to amplify it. She lay folded across your lap, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts, as she bit her lip, trying to steady herself.

You let your hand linger, hovering above her flushed cheeks as you shifted, drawing out the anticipation. Then, with a teasing touch, you let your fingers brush over her core, feeling the warmth radiating from her. Kyujin’s breath hitched as your fingers skimmed over her wetness, and you murmured softly, “You’re soaked. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

A wave of embarrassment washed over her, her cheeks turning crimson as she shifted under your hand. She swallowed, then whispered, “Please… can you touch me?” Her voice was soft, almost pleading.

You raised an eyebrow, considering her carefully before giving her an answer. “Only if you can handle five more,” you replied, your tone both calm and challenging.

Kyujin hesitated, her body tensing as she considered, but the need inside her was too strong to resist. Finally, she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Yes… I can take it.”

Without further delay, you delivered the nineteenth spank, the sharp sound filling the room as her body arched forward with a soft gasp. She whispered the number under her breath, her voice quivering as she counted, bracing herself. Each smack that followed left her trembling, her grip on the edge of the chair tightening.

“Twenty,” she breathed, her voice almost breaking as she melted into the sensation. You allowed your hand to linger, gently tracing along her tender skin, before resuming with a steady, controlled pace. Her body rocked slightly with each spank, her soft gasps punctuating the silence.

You allowed a momentary caress, just enough to keep her yearning, then raised your hand once more. “Twenty-one,” you counted, your hand connecting with her skin as her body jerked forward. Her breath hitched, the sensation sending a fresh wave of need through her.

“twenty-three…” Each word grew softer, her voice barely above a whisper, her resolve melting under your unrelenting touch.

When the final count, “Twenty-five,” fell from her lips, her body seemed to go limp, her breathing uneven as she lay across your lap, completely vulnerable. You gave her a moment, letting the silence stretch as she caught her breath, her muscles slowly relaxing.

Then, as she lay there, she looked back over her shoulder, her voice soft. “I… I’m sorry about the wrench,” she murmured, her tone filled with genuine regret. “I didn’t know it was so important.” She hesitated, her cheeks flushed as the regret in her voice was unmistakable.

Instead of answering, you slipped one finger along her folds, feeling her warmth and wetness as you pressed forward gently. Kyujin gasped, her hips instinctively pressing back into your touch. You maintained a steady, gentle rhythm, letting her feel every deliberate stroke as her body began to respond. Her breaths came in soft, shallow pants, and her fingers clutched at your leg, anchoring herself.

“Oh… ah…” she gasped softly, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Thank you…” Her body pressed back to meet each slow movement, her hips shifting as you continued, each gentle thrust pulling her deeper into the moment. You could feel her relax and tense with each stroke, her body melting into the rhythm you set.

As her breaths turned into soft, needy moans, you kept up the slow, careful pace, her body responding to each precise movement. Her hips rocked gently, each motion matching your touch as she surrendered completely to the feeling. You could feel her grip tighten on your thigh, her fingers digging in as her voice turned to soft, breathy whispers. “Please… don’t stop,” she whimpered, her words almost lost in her shallow breathing.

After a few minutes, you introduced a second finger, pressing deeper as her body adjusted. Her response was immediate—a soft, broken cry escaped her as her hips shifted instinctively, her body fully giving in. “Oh…” she gasped, her voice raw with desire as you pressed further, finding a slow, steady rhythm that matched her every breath. She melted into each careful thrust, her breaths growing louder as her hands clung tightly to your leg, her body rocking over your lap with each deliberate movement.

“Ah… yes…” she moaned, her voice breathless as she matched your pace, her hips moving in perfect sync. Her body seemed to come alive, every small movement intensifying the need building inside her. You maintained a calm, unhurried rhythm, drawing her closer and closer, her breathing quickening as her moans turned to desperate, trembling whimpers.

Sensing she was on the edge, you leaned down, your voice soft near her ear. “Hold on to me,” you murmured, letting her know she could fully let go. Her grip tightened around your thigh, her body tensing as she clung to you, her muscles tight with anticipation.

Then, as she reached her breaking point, you gave her a quick smack across her tender cheek, the jolt making her gasp, her body shuddering in response. Without pausing, you gave a gentle but firm pinch to her clit, increasing the intensity as you delivered one last, firm smack.

Kyujin’s entire body arched as the climax overtook her, a raw, breathless scream escaping her lips as the waves of release washed over her. She quivered uncontrollably, her legs shaking as she rode the intensity, her fingers clinging to your thigh with a fierce grip, holding on as the pleasure pulsed through her, her voice breaking into soft, gasping cries. Her entire body shuddered, each wave leaving her breathless until, finally, she collapsed, her body going slack as the sensations ebbed.

With a gentleness that surprised her, you began to caress her tender cheeks, ”Such a good girl” you coo, the words soft and affectionate with your touch soothing the ache as you carefully pulled her panties back up and lifted her off your lap. Her legs were shaky, her body still buzzing with need, as she clung to you, her head nestled against your shoulder as you led her slowly to the bedroom.

Once there, you laid her down carefully on her stomach, your hands supporting her as her heart rate slowly began to settle. You lifted her skirt again, her breath catching as she felt the cool air against her heated skin, a shiver running through her at the sharp contrast. She tensed, expecting another touch, another swat, but instead, your hand rested softly on her back, grounding her.

You leaned down, your lips trailing soft, featherlight kisses along her red, sensitive skin, each touch a gentle balm for the stinging heat that lingered. Slowly, you pressed tender kisses across her cheeks, each one a silent apology, a reassurance for the discomfort she had felt. Your lips moved down, tracing over her thighs, lingering where her skin was still warm, before trailing up along her back, leaving a path of warmth that melted away the ache. As you reached her neck, you pressed a gentle kiss, pausing there as if grounding her with your presence.

Kyujin shivered beneath your touch, her breath catching with each kiss as she felt you move over her. The warmth of your kisses soothed her, easing away the ache that had built in her body. Though the arousal still simmered within her, your touch began to calm the frustration she’d felt, replacing it with a comforting warmth. Each kiss seemed to melt away the remaining tension, coaxing her into a soft, quiet relief.

You pulled back slightly, your voice a low murmur as you said, “I’ll be right back,” and moved to stand. But as you took a step, Kyujin’s hand reached out, her fingers clutching softly, almost desperately, at your arm. “Wait, stop,” she whispered, her voice fragile, a hint of fear threading through her words. “Please don’t go…”

You turned back instantly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, the warmth of your lips a gentle reassurance. “I’ll be right back, baby,” you murmured softly. “Just getting the lotion.”

Kyujin nodded slowly, her fingers relaxing as you spoke, feeling a warmth spread through her at hearing you call her “baby” again. It softened her, brought her back to a sense of comfort, and she watched you leave the room, her heart still racing but now pulsing with a softer, calmer beat.

When you returned, you settled beside her, pouring a small amount of lotion into your hands and rubbing them together to warm it before reaching toward her. As your hands gently applied the lotion to her sore cheeks, she felt an initial sting, the cool lotion biting against her heated skin, but it quickly shifted to relief. She let out a soft sigh as you carefully massaged the lotion into her, your hands moving in slow, tender circles that soothed and relaxed her.

With every stroke of your fingers against her skin, she felt herself melting deeper into the bed, the lingering tension and ache gradually easing away as you continued to massage her cheeks with thoughtful care. Your touch was tender, each movement slow and purposeful, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink fully into the moment, the warmth of your hands grounding her. Her body relaxed, the warmth of your hands dissipating the residual sting as she sighed softly, her entire being unwinding under your touch.

When you finished, you lay down beside her, gathering her into your arms and pulling her close. She nestled against you, her head resting on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, the comfort of your embrace replacing the lingering soreness with a deep sense of peace. The warmth of your body against hers soothed her, your presence surrounding her like a protective shield that let her finally relax.

“Oppa, I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she looked up at you, eyes full of sincerity. “I wasn’t thinking... I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You kissed the top of her head gently, letting your hand stroke through her hair with a reassuring touch. “I know, Jagiya,” you murmured softly, each word brimming with understanding. “It’s okay. I forgave you. We’re done with that now.”

She blinked, her eyes beginning to tear up, the weight of guilt still heavy in her chest. “But… it was your dad’s,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she thought of how much that wrench had meant to you. “I’m so, so sorry…”

Noticing the tears pooling in her eyes, you gently cupped her face, your thumb brushing away the tears as they fell, each touch soft and full of care. “Shh, baby,” you whispered, pressing a series of gentle kisses across her cheeks, her forehead, and her lips. “It’s okay, don’t beat yourself up over it, okay? I know you didn’t mean it.”

Kyujin took a shaky breath, feeling the tightness of guilt in her chest slowly ease as your comforting words settled over her. She nuzzled closer, burying her face against your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath her cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispered, her voice soft and brimming with affection, each word carrying the relief that your forgiveness had brought her.

You wrapped your arms around her tighter, your voice a soothing murmur as you replied, “No matter what happens, I’ll always take care of you.” You let your hands stroke down her back, your gentle embrace surrounding her, creating a space of warmth and safety.

They lay there together, wrapped in a quiet intimacy that soothed every frayed edge of the evening. The tension and pain faded away, replaced by the comfort of your presence, the feel of your warmth wrapping around her. Exhaustion crept up slowly, the weight of the day settling over her as her eyes grew heavy, her breathing slowing as she felt your steady heartbeat beneath her. Gradually, she drifted off to sleep in your arms, feeling safe, loved, and completely forgiven, a peaceful smile softening her features as she relaxed fully into your embrace.

The next morning, Kyujin awoke to the soft light of dawn streaming gently through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. She stirred slowly, feeling the tender throb that lingered as a soft reminder of the night before. Every small movement brought an ache, but the warmth and comfort of knowing things were right between them filled her with peace.

Turning carefully, she found herself face-to-face with you, your arm still wrapped around her waist. You were fast asleep, chest rising and falling steadily, each breath soft against her skin. She gazed at you, her face softened in the peaceful quiet of sleep, and a gentle smile tugged at her lips. Brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, she leaned in, pressing a tiny, featherlight kiss there.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, feeling her heart flutter. Then, barely resisting a giggle, she leaned in again, pressing another soft kiss to your cheek, nose and another just above your brow. Each kiss was a gentle attempt to wake, a playful way of pulling you from your dreams.

After a moment, you feel Kyujin's soft kisses, feather-light on your face, and slowly your eyes flutter open. A warm, sleepy smile forms on your lips as you take her in, a quiet chuckle escaping you. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice husky with sleep, gaze full of affection as you look at her.

Kyujin beams, pleased with herself, a sparkle of delight in her eyes. “Good morning,” she whispers back, snuggling closer to you, her warmth melting into yours as you instinctively tighten your arm around her, pulling her even closer.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, your voice still heavy with sleep as you gently hold Kyujin close.

She winces slightly as she stretches, the soreness from the night before apparent, but she meets your gaze, her voice soft. “Sore… but okay.”

A quiet chuckle escapes you as you pull her close to your chest. “You were brave last night,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

Your words bring a warm glow to her cheeks, and you feel her nuzzle even closer, a sense of safety and love filling the quiet space between you. But as you start to sit up, she lets out a small sound of discomfort, instinctively reaching out, her fingers grasping onto you.

“Don’t leave…” she mumbles, her voice soft, as she clings to you, making it clear she wants to stay close.

You laugh gently, lifting her effortlessly into your arms and holding her tight. You kiss the top of her head, your hand stroking her back in slow, soothing motions. “Alright, baby,” you say, a playful note in your voice, “how about we make breakfast together?”

Her legs wrap around your waist, her arms resting around your shoulders as you carry her out of bed. She sighs softly, contented, her head settling on your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen. Once there, you try to set her down on a chair, but her grip tightens, and she shakes her head with a soft, stubborn whine.

“C’mon, baby,” you tease, smiling as you glance down at her. “I have to make breakfast.”

“Stay with me,” she murmurs, pressing closer, unwilling to let go.

You chuckle warmly, giving in as you move around the kitchen, her arms still wrapped around you. “Toast or cereal?” you ask, looking down with a smile.

“Toast, please,” she replies, shifting slightly and wincing as she adjusts to the soreness.

You slide two slices of bread into the toaster, then wrap your arms around her waist, holding her close. Your hands move in soothing circles along her back, slipping down to massage her gently. She lets out a quiet whimper, relaxing into you and wrapping her arms more snugly around your neck.

She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then trails another along your jawline, her lips brushing against your skin with a warmth that lingers. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispers, her voice full of warmth.

You soften, meeting her gaze with affection before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Always, my love,” you murmur. “It’s my favorite thing to do.”

A smile lights her face as she rests her head on your shoulder, her fingers tracing gentle patterns along your neck and through your hair. When the toast pops, you quickly butter each slice and hand one to her. She takes a bite, savoring the warmth as she stays nestled against you. Every so often, she leans in to press a kiss to your cheek or nuzzle your neck, her soft smile matching yours as you share the quiet moment.

You chuckle, rubbing slow, comforting circles on her back as you tease, “You’re clingy this morning.”

She giggles, taking another bite before leaning in again to kiss your cheek. “I just don’t want you to leave,” she whispers playfully, her voice soft.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead as you hold her close, the warmth between you as comforting as the morning light filtering in around you.

After breakfast, you stand up from your chair with Kyujin still in your arms. You begin carrying her to the bathroom as she nestles against you, her head resting gently on your shoulder. Inside, you set her down and start the bath, testing the temperature until it’s perfectly warm—just right to ease the ache in her muscles. You glance over at her, meeting her eyes as you begin to help her undress, your touch lingering on each piece, slow and gentle. She watches you quietly, her gaze soft but thoughtful, as if there’s something she’s been holding back.

Once she’s undressed, you guide her into the bath, lowering her carefully into the warm water. She releases a sigh, her body sinking into the soothing heat. The calm stillness in the room is almost palpable, broken only by the occasional gentle splash of water as you pour a cup over her shoulders, letting it cascade down her back. She stays quiet, watching you intently, and you notice the slight crease in her brow, the way her lips press together as if deep in thought. With each tender motion, you sense her hesitation growing, as if she’s contemplating something she’s not quite ready to voice.

You reach for the shampoo, pouring a small amount into your hands and working it into her hair, your fingers moving in slow, comforting circles along her scalp. Kyujin’s eyes close, and she leans into your touch, each gentle press of your fingertips lulling her into relaxation. But still, that quiet tension lingers in the way she holds herself, a shadow that hasn’t fully eased.

As you massage the shampoo through her hair, her breaths deepen, but she doesn’t speak, her expression softening and her shoulders relaxing under your hands. You lean over, dipping the cup into the water and preparing to rinse, but you can’t ignore the way her eyes flicker, as if a weight is pressing on her heart.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a murmur, your hands still gentle in her hair.

She hesitates, her lashes fluttering before she looks away, her voice almost a whisper. “I… I feel like you forgave me too soon.”

You pause, the water warm against your hands as you take in her words. She glances down, her expression clouded, her fingers tracing the water’s surface as if searching for the right way to explain. “I was careless. I didn’t think… about what the wrench could mean to you,” she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I really didn't mean to Opaa...”

Your hands rest in her hair for a beat, then slowly you tip her chin up with gentle fingers, meeting her gaze. “Jagiya” you murmur, your eyes soft, “I forgave you because I know it was a mistake. You didn’t mean to hurt me, and you regret it. That’s all that matters to me.”

She looks away, her cheeks warming under your gaze, guilt flickering across her features. “But it was important to you,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “I should have been more careful… You deserved more time to be mad. I just… don’t want to hurt you again.”

With the cup still in hand, you brush your thumb over her cheek, letting her feel the warmth of your touch as you cradle her face. “We all make mistakes, Jagiya,” you say gently, your voice a steady reassurance. “You’ve already shown me how much you care. That’s all I need to know.”

Her eyes well up as she leans into your touch, her shoulders easing as if a weight has finally lifted. She looks at you, her voice breaking softly. “Thank you for being so patient with me… even when I don’t deserve it.”

You smile softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. As you continue rinsing the shampoo from her hair, you press a tender kiss to her forehead, letting her know, without words, that she’s understood and forgiven.

“You deserve all the care I can give,” you murmur, your voice filled with quiet reassurance. You rest your hand on her cheek, brushing a thumb along her damp skin, letting her feel the warmth and steadiness in your touch. Her eyes close, leaning into the comfort you offer, each gentle stroke dispelling her lingering worries. As you rinse the last of the shampoo from her hair, her expression softens, tension melting away as she takes a deep, steadying breath.

In that moment, you hold her gaze, letting her see the depth of your patience and the unreserved love reflected there. The weight she’d been carrying seems to dissolve, replaced by a sense of safety and acceptance that surrounds her like the warmth of the bath. She reaches up, placing her hand over yours, and as you stay there, quiet and close, she knows, fully, that she is forgiven and loved beyond measure.

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sosa2imagines · 11 hours ago

Text

My doll...

Disclaimer- Something my pervert brain thought about, I hope you all enjoy. Warning- Soft dark Bucky, smut, possessiveness, jealousy, 5.3k words.

Bucky Barnes had always been a man of few words. A soldier by nature, a soldier by habit. But it was something about you that had always made him feel like he was at a crossroads with himself, like his life could go one way or another depending on whether or not he could ever find the courage to speak up.

The first time he realized he was in love with you, it wasn’t a dramatic moment. There were no bells, no grand gestures. It wasn’t like he had a clear, defining thought of this is it. It was quieter than that. He was sitting next to you in the Avengers’ compound, watching you work on some new project you had thrown yourself into, fingers deftly moving over wires and circuits. Your brow furrowed in concentration, lips parted in that way that made him want to reach out and touch you.

He never had before, of course he was too afraid of ruining the friendship, too afraid of making things weird.

And that was how it had always been. Quiet. Unspoken.

But even with those feelings slowly building, Bucky stayed quiet. He watched you from the edges, from the safety of his distance, telling himself that if you ever really loved him, you’d say it first. He couldn’t risk the possibility of losing you altogether. So, he waited. And waited. And waited.

Tonight, was supposed to be like any other. A rare night off from their duties. No mission on the horizon, no danger lurking around every corner. The team wasn’t together, except for you. You suggested going to a bar nearby for a drink and a break from the constant grind of life in the compound. Bucky had decided, almost reluctantly, to say yes.

Bucky had, of course, known you cared. In all the small moments, like how you would always check in on him, ask him about his dreams or how he was really feeling. And the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

I know you love me, he thought. I know it.

But Bucky never had the nerve to say it out loud. And now, here he was, sitting across from you at the bar, staring into his glass of whiskey, wishing he could just reach out and touch your hand without the world falling apart around him.

He was far too aware of how close you were, and yet how far away you still seemed.

You were laughing, your voice light and full of life. You always seemed to shine brighter when you were in this mood, the weight of the world lifted, even if only for a moment. But Bucky could see the flickers of doubt in your eyes. Could see the way you kept looking over at him, waiting for something.

Maybe tonight was the night you’d say it. Maybe tonight you’d do what Bucky couldn’t bring himself to do.

But as he watched you, a strange feeling began to take hold. A spark of jealousy. It was a ridiculous thing, he knew. But it wasn’t about you. It wasn’t about the way you looked at other people—it was about the way you looked at him and didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything.

It was then that a woman approached him.

Bucky didn’t want to be rude. He’d never been the type to just turn someone down, but when the woman slid onto the seat next to him, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him, he didn’t feel the usual discomfort. Instead, he felt an odd sense of power and control, maybe.

She was bold, confident. The way she laughed, the way she touched his arm, the way she spoke to him, it all felt like a challenge. A test. And before he could stop himself, he realized something. He wasn’t afraid of this woman. He wasn’t uncomfortable.

But you were.

He saw the way you stiffened in your seat, the way your smile faltered. You hadn’t said a word, but Bucky could tell, he knew. You were jealous.

And for some reason, that made his heart pound. A dark thought crept into his mind, ‘Maybe this is how it’ll happen. Maybe I can make you admit it. Maybe I can get you to finally say what we both know is true.’

The woman leaned in closer, her fingers brushing his. Her breath was warm against his ear as she whispered, “So, what do you say? Care to dance?”

Bucky glanced at you once more. You were still staring at him, but now, there was a mix of frustration and hurt in your eyes. His breath caught in his throat. He should stop this. He should turn away. But a dangerous impulse surged through him.

“Sure.” he said, standing up without another word, letting the woman take his hand and pull him toward the dance floor.

He could hear your breath hitch from across the room. He could feel your gaze burning and intense. But he didn’t break. Not yet.

They moved in close as the music shifted, her body pressed against his. It was all a game now, a game Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to play but couldn’t help himself from continuing. Every move he made, every gesture, was designed to make you feel something. To make you feel what he had felt for so long ‘the ache.’ The longing. The desperate desire for something more.

But as they danced, his thoughts were on you. Only you. And all the ways he had hurt you without ever realizing it.

You were standing now, getting your things, heading for the door. And Bucky’s chest clenched as he realized something. He couldn’t let you go. Not like this. Not anymore.

“We are done!” he said to the woman, his voice sharp as he brushed past her, heading toward you.

The cool night air hit him as he caught up to you just outside the bar.

“Doll, wait,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “Where are you going?”

You didn’t turn around, didn’t even slow down. “I’m going back to the compound, Bucky. I’m done.” Your voice was quiet, but it was laced with finality. “I’m done pretending. Done watching you with her.”

“I’m going back to the compound,” you repeated, your voice a little too calm, too controlled. “I need to clear my head. I think I’ll go check in with Steve.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt the shift in the air. Bucky froze.

You hadn’t expected it, Bucky was always so controlled, so guarded. But there was something in his eyes now. Something darker. The breath you’d taken in to steady yourself suddenly caught in your throat.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was low, tight with barely contained emotion. His grip on your wrist tightened, and you could see his jaw clench, the muscles beneath his skin rippling with barely restrained anger. “You’re going back to Steve?”

You nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze. You had no idea why, but you couldn’t meet his eyes right now. Maybe it was because you could feel his anger building, and it made you uneasy.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound indifferent, but even to your own ears, the words felt hollow. “I’ll be fine, Bucky. I just need some space.”

You tried to pull away, but his grip on your wrist tightened, pulling you back toward him. His eyes locked onto yours, and there was something in the depths of his gaze something primal that made your breath catch.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled, his voice rough, his tone clipped. “You’re not going back to Steve. Never ever!”

His hand moved to your other wrist, and before you could protest, he spun you around, backing you up against the cold brick wall of the alley. You gasped at the suddenness of it, the sharp heat of his body pressing against you. The force of it left you breathless, but it wasn’t just the physical contact that left you feeling winded, it was the storm swirling in Bucky’s eyes.

“I don’t care about your games, doll,” Bucky continued, his voice now a dangerous whisper. “I don’t care if you’re trying to protect yourself or play it safe. You don’t get to walk away from this. Not after all these months. Not after I’ll final say what I should’ve said the first goddamn time I saw you.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as Bucky’s breath came faster now, his face inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the anger and frustration practically crackling in the air between you. His hand was on the wall next to your head, caging you in, his body pressing into yours like he was trying to hold you there, to make you listen.

“Don’t you dare go back to Steve!” he snarled. “I know what you’re trying to do. I know what you’re hiding from. But don’t you dare tell me you’re choosing him. Not when we both know what’s between us.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a jolt of panic rising up in your chest. You had to get away from him, from this. But somehow, the words felt wrong. He was right. Something had shifted tonight, everything had shifted tonight. And the more you tried to run from it, the more you realized that you were just as tangled up in it as he was.

You shook your head, trying to pull away from his grip. “Bucky, stop. Just stop.”

But he didn’t. His hand moved from the wall to your face, cupping your jaw with surprising gentleness. His thumb stroked over your skin, the touch almost tender despite the fury that was still burning in his eyes. It was like he was trying to hold on to you, trying to keep you from slipping away.

“I’ve spent months pretending I didn’t want you,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and raw. “I’ve spent months watching you with him, keeping my distance, telling myself it was enough just being close to you, just being around you. But it’s never been enough, Doll. It’s never been enough, and I can’t do it anymore.”

“I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, neither of you moved. The world stood still.

You swallowed hard, fighting the surge of emotions that were building inside you, fighting the tears threatening to break free. You had never seen Bucky like this so raw, so vulnerable, so… angry. It terrified you, but in a way, it also made you realize just how deeply he cared for you. How much he had always cared for you.

His grip on your face tightened, but there was no anger in his eyes now, only something softer, something that made your heart beat even faster. “I don’t want to claim you, Doll. I want to have you. I want you to choose me.”

Before you could respond, Bucky’s lips crashed into yours again, desperate and urgent. It was no longer a question, no longer a plea. It was an answer. His hands slid to your back, pulling you into him with such force that you could feel his heart racing against yours.

The kiss was everything every unspoken word, every hidden desire, every emotion they had both kept buried for so long. Bucky was done hiding, done pretending, and as you kissed him back with equal fervor, you knew there was no going back from this.

“Don’t go back to him,” Bucky whispered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “I’m not letting you go.”

You didn’t know what to say. The words felt like they were stuck in your throat. You had always thought you’d have time to figure this out, but now that the truth was out there between you, out there between him, you knew that there was no more time for pretending. No more time for games.

You pressed closer to him, your hands threading through his hair as you kissed him again, and in that moment, you realized there was only one thing that truly mattered.

Bucky dragged you in the room at the backside of the bar.

Without warning, he pins you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. His hands cup your face, holding your gaze captive.

He presses himself closer, one thigh between your legs. His hands move from your face to your hips, gripping them firmly. His lips graze your ear as he speaks, his voice a low grumble. “I'm going to show you exactly how much I want you, right here, right now.”

His mouth closes on your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. You feel his fingers slipping under the hem of your tee, tracing a path of fire along your waist. “I've wanted you for so long, you have no idea. Watching you, smelling your scent, feeling your touch... it's been driving me crazy.”

His lips move down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of hot kisses along the way. One of his hands moves up to cup your breast, his thumb gently circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra.

You let out a gasp, arching into his touch. Your body is responding to his every move, awakening a need you've kept buried for far too long. Bucky smiles against your skin, enjoying the way he's unraveling you piece by piece.

“You like that, don't you? Feeling my hands on you, my mouth on your skin.” He whispers in your ear before capturing your earlobe between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a shiver down your spine.

His other hand slides under your skirt, trailing up your thigh, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Your breath hitches, your legs growing weak as Bucky's touch becomes more and more brazen.

He chuckles lowly, satisfied to see you coming undone under his hands. “You're so responsive... so sensitive. I love seeing you like this, completely at my mercy.”

He spins you around, pressing your front against the wall. You feel his weight press into your back, his hands roaming everywhere, claiming you as his own.

“I'm going to make you mine, here and now. There's no stopping this, no denying what's been boiling between us for so damn long.”

His lips find the nape of your neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin. His free hand slides down your stomach, resting just at the waistband of your panties. The contact is almost too much, your mind reeling from the barrage of sensations.

“I want you so badly... Can I have you? Right here, right now?” He asks, his voice a deep, raspy whisper. He's poised on the edge, waiting for your answer, his body tense with anticipation.

You can't find the words to speak, too overwhelmed by the storm of emotions and sensations he's stirring within you. Instead, you respond by arching your back, pressing yourself against him, wordlessly signaling your consent.

Bucky lets out a guttural growl, the sound filling the air. He doesn't need anything more than that. His hands move with newfound urgency, peeling away the layers of fabric separating you from him.

He turns you around, his expression darkened with desire. He looks at you hungrily, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. His hands run up your sides, tracing the curves of your body, committing every detail to memory.

“You're so beautiful... So goddamn perfect.” His words are punctuated by small, lingering kisses along your collarbone, across your chest, down along your stomach. You're lost in the sensation, your body on fire under his touch.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, his lips continuing their exploration of your body. He kisses and nips at the tender skin of your inner thighs, teasing and tantalizing you with every touch.

“I want to taste you... I need to taste you...” He husks, his hands wrapping around your hips, pulling you closer. You can feel his breath on your core, hot and eager, making you shiver in anticipation.

His tongue darts out, tasting you lightly, just enough to send a rush of pleasure through you. You gasp, your fingers threading into his hair, holding him close. Bucky smiles against your flesh, enjoying how responsive you are to his ministrations.

He alternates between soft, almost chaste kisses and more firm, calculated licks. He's enjoying the taste of you, the sounds of your moans and gasps. His hands grip your thighs, holding you firm while his mouth works magic, making you moan obscenely.

“You taste so good... Better than I ever imagined.” He lifts his gaze, meeting your eyes. The raw hunger in his expression takes your breath away.

You want to speak, but your mind is a jumbles mess, unable to form a coherent word.

“You're driving me crazy, doll. I want to devour you, to make you mine in every way possible.”

And then he does. He dives in, his mouth devouring you in a frenzy of passion determined to bring you closer to the edge.

Your gasps turn into cries of pleasure, your body writhing under his skilful mouth. Bucky's hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he brings you closer to your climax.

The world seems to spin around you, your senses overwhelmed by the pleasure Bucky is giving you. He's relentless, pushing you higher and higher, determined to give you more than you ever dreamed of.

His tongue works relentlessly, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive you wild. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails biting into his flesh, anchoring you on the ground.

Just as your were about to come, Bucky suddenly pulls away, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. He climbs to his feet, pinning you against the wall once again

“I need to be inside you... Now.”

He's barely able to get the words out, his voice thick with need. He captures your mouth in a fierce kiss, his hands already pushing your skirt up around your waist.

His body presses against yours, the hard length of him rubbing against your core. You can feel the heat and strength of him, the evidence of his desire poking you.

“I need you, need this... I need you now..” He repeats the words like a mantra, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck, your ear.

He pulls you around, turning you to face the wall once again. You feel the cool surface against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body behind you.

“I'm not going to be gentle.” He warns, his hands gripping your hips, pulling them back against him.

You feel him against you, hard and eager, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hips move against yours, and you can feel just how much he wants you, how badly he needs you.

“Can you take it? Can you handle me like this?” He asks, one hand traveling up your spine, his fingers tracing the line of your vertebrae. His touch is demanding, possessive, but somehow still tender, as if he's afraid he'll hurt you.

You manage to nod, too far gone with pleasure to form words. Bucky lets out a low, satisfied sound, his mouth nipping at your shoulder as his hand slides around to your front.

He cups your breast, his thumb grazing over your nipple, teasing and provoking.

“I'm going to take you, right here, just like this.” He growls, his hips pressing against yours.

You can feel him against you, his body poised and ready, the tip of his cock, teasing your entrance. “Are you ready for me?” He asks, his lips against your ear, his breath hot and urgent.

You can only manage a small, breathless moan in response, your body yearning for him to take you, to make you his own.

“I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me... That you need me...” His words are a needy, almost desperate plea, his self-control hanging by a thread.

You find your voice, forcing the words out despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. “I want you... I need you... Please...”

“That's all I needed to hear.” The words are a rough, guttural grunt, the last vestiges of his restraint snapping. He positions himself behind you, the head of him rubbing against your entrance.

His hands grip your hips again, holding you in place. He's so close, so very close... But still, he waits, wanting to make sure you're ready for the next step.

“Just tell me if it's too much, okay? If I go too far, I want to know.” He whispers the words, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability, a hint of doubt, despite the powerful, animalistic way he's holding you.

You nod, your body thrumming with anticipation. You trust him, trust him not to hurt you, and that trust makes all the difference. You push back against him, signaling your readiness in the most primal way possible.

He lets out a low, gravelly moan, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He needs this as much as you do, maybe even more. “God, I can't wait any longer...”

He pushes forward, slowly, carefully. He's being as gentle as he can be, wanting to give you time to adjust to the intrusion. But it's torture for him, the heat, the tightness, the way you're clenching and squeezing him, enveloping him in a way he's never felt before.

“You're so damn tight... So perfect...” He groans the words, his body moving involuntarily, the pleasure too much to resist. His hands grip your hips tighter, his mouth trailing kisses along your back, your shoulders, your neck. He can't get enough of you, his body moving in a rhythm that's old as time itself.

“You feel so good. I never knew it could be like this.” He mutters the words against your skin, his voice thick with ecstasy.

He picks up the pace, his body moving more urgently now, following the pull of pleasure that's driving him onward. His hands are everywhere, caressing and touching, worshiping every inch of you like a man possessed.

“I could stay inside you forever. I never want to let you go.” He murmurs the words into your ear, his voice ragged and broken. He's lost in the moment, in the pleasure, in you.

You reach a hand back, tangling your fingers into his hair, holding onto him like an anchor in the storm. All the rights and wrongs, thrown out of the window.

“Don't let go... Don't ever let go.” He whispers, his lips finding your neck, the skin there already tender from his earlier attentions. His movements become rougher, more frenzied, as if he's desperate to get even closer to you, to merge himself with you in every way possible.

“I need you... I need you so damn much...” The words are a broken chant, gasped into your ear, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

He's moving even faster now, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air, the only break in the silence apart from your moans and gasps. The pleasure is building, growing stronger and stronger with every thrust, threatening to consume you both. You can feel yourself close to the edge, teetering on the very precipice of ecstasy. Bucky knows it too, he can sense it, sense the mounting tension in your body.

“You're close... I can feel it. I'm so close...” He growls the words, his voice tight with the effort to hold back, to keep control for just a little while longer.

“I want to hear you say it... I want you to let go... Tell me you're mine.” His voice is harsh and ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his release.

You struggle to find the words, to form a coherent thought amidst the haze of pleasure. “Y-yours.. I'm... Yours...”

The words send a wave of pleasure through Bucky, his hips twitching involuntarily at the sound of your surrender. “Say it again... I need to hear it again…”

“Yours... I'm yours, Bucky... All yours...” You gasp the words, your voice quivering with the force of your ecstasy.

That's all it takes. Your surrender, your declaration of ownership, it breaks the dam that's been holding him back. “Mine... You're mine... All mine...” He repeats the words like a mantra, his body moving with a new fervor, a new intensity.

“Steve won’t take care of you like I can.” He thrust, “All I have to do is…” he hits you with another powerful thrust, messing up with your senses. “Make a sad face and remind him of my past!” He hits another powerful thrust, and the voice you make is between a cry and a moan. “He will happily give you to me!”

He buries his face in your neck, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. When he speaks again, his voice is a possessive, guttural growl, thick with desire. “And don't you ever forget it.”

His lips find yours again, claiming your mouth in a kiss that's hard and demanding. He's drowning in you, in this moment, the world around you reduced to nothing but the heat and the friction and the pleasure.

He's close, so close, but he won't give in, won't let go until he's brought you to your release, until he's given you everything he can give.

“Come for me, doll... Let go... Give yourself to me... I want to feel it, feel you...” His words are a rough, ragged plea, a demand made out of pure need. He's holding back, waiting for you to reach your peak, his body taut and trembling with the effort to hold back his own pleasure.

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, balanced between light and dark, pleasure and pain, sanity and madness.

“Let go... Just let go... I've got you...” The words, the promise, they're enough to push you over the edge. You shatter, your body arching against his, a cry of ecstasy tears from your lungs. The world spins around you, your release crashing through you like a tsunami, leaving you breathless and trembling.

Bucky's there, holding you against him, his arms wrapping around, holding you up, keeping you from collapse. He's still hard inside you, so close to his own climax.

“God, you're so perfect... I've never experienced anything like this before...” His voice is gruff and broken, his breath hot against your neck as he pulls you flush against him. He lets out a low, guttural moan, his body trembling with need and restraint. “I need you.... I need to let go... you will let me come in you, won’t you? You will be a good girl for me, right doll?”

You nod, your body still thrumming with pleasure as you push back against him, signaling your absent-minded consent.

“You're going to be the death of me, woman...” His words are a rough whisper, a promise and a threat all at once. His grip tightens around you, his body tense and coiled like a spring. “Just a little more... just a little longer... I need to give you everything...”

He buries his face in your hair, his breath coming in jagged pants now, his body taut and trembling with the effort to hold back just a little longer.

“Almost there.... almost... I'm so close...” The words are a ragged gasp.

He let out a low, guttural groan, his body tensing against yours, his arms pulling you tight against him. “God, I... I can't... I'm...” he doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he buries his face in your hair, muffling his moan against your shoulder as his body tightens and spasms, his release washing over him like a tide, powerful and consuming.

He holds you close as he comes down, his body trembling with the aftershocks, his breath warm against your skin. “God... that was... incredible...” The words are a rough whisper, his voice thick with emotion. He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin, as if he can't bear to let you go for even a moment.

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against him, as if he can't bear to have you any further than an inch away from him. “You're amazing, you know that?”

He nuzzles your neck, his lips leaving tender kisses along the sensitive skin there. He's so gentle, so different from the rough, desperate man who'd been consumed by need a few moments ago. As he sees his release dripping from between your legs, his eyes darken, making him feel more possessive about you.

“Mine...” He mutters the word against your skin, his voice thick with possessiveness. He knows it's probably a bit irrational, but he can't help it. He needs to express his claim over you, his desire to protect and own you in every way imaginable.

He then moves his fingers on your thigh, collecting some of his release on his fingers, bringing them closer to your mouth, a silent order.

You know what he wants, what he's demanding, even if he doesn't say the words aloud. Your eyes meet his, holding his gaze, as you slowly bring your hand up to wrap around his wrist, drawing his fingers into your mouth.

“Good girl…” He murmurs the words as he watches you, his eyes darkened by a possessive, primal need. He loves how submissive you are in this moment, how willing and eager you are to please him.

He holds your chin, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips, feeling the glide of his own release against them. “You have no idea what you do to me, doll. You make me lose all control. And I love it…”

He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that's equal parts tender and possessive. He can taste himself on your lips, and the thought just makes him want you more, more fiercely than before.

He pulls back enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath coming faster now, his body stirring once more. “I swear, doll, you're going to be the death of me...”

He captures your lips again, kissing you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, marking you as his in every way he can think of.

Little do you know, about the real possessiveness he feels about you. Bucky is already planning to take you far away from everyone. To keep you all to himself. While you are already lost in the kiss and afterglow of the sex, Bucky is already planning about the future.

He kisses you again, with a fierce intensity, his hands roaming over your body, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you. He's thinking of all the ways he wants to have you, all the ways he wants to make you his. He's already made up his mind. You're not just a passing fancy, or a distraction. You're his now, and he's not going to let you go. Not ever.

He then sits on the couch with you, while you rest in his arms, he picks out his phone preparing to take you away. He types out a quick message, his hands still caressing your skin, his eyes never leaving your face.

He's arranging for a secure location, somewhere remote, somewhere he can keep you safe and, more importantly, all to himself.

“My doll.”

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

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@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @saranghaey @greatmistakes @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt

@unaxv @pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss

187 notes · View notes

fuctacles · 2 days ago

Text

<<😺😺😺😺😺😺😺

"Yes? Hello, officer? There's a man in my apartment."

Eddie stirs awake, his surroundings coming back to him in hazy waves.

"What?" he slurs out, blinking to clear his vision.

"Oh, I was just telling the officer that I've found a man sleeping on my couch," Stephanie says with a troubled expression, hovering over him.

Over the couch that he fell asleep on.

He sits up so suddenly he loses his balance and falls back against the cushion.

"I'm so sorry, please don't call the cops—!"

Stephanie immediately shakes her hands, which are free of a phone.

"I was joking, I was joking!" she reassures him quickly. "I'm sorry." She smiles apologetically, taking a seat next to him. "I guess that wasn't the best way to wake up someone."

"No," Eddie chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Especially not an ex-drug dealer," he huffs dryly.

Steph cocks her head with a surprised "huh" and only then does Eddie realize what he has just blurted out.

"Ah, shit. Am I ruining my good neighbor status?" he winces.

"Not at all," Steph shakes her head, and gently pats his knee. He zeroes his focus on her hand when she decides to rest it there on his jean-clad leg.

"I know my nice neighbor Eddie, not the drug dealer one," she smiles reassuringly. "What made you turn around? If you don't mind me asking," she squeezes his knee and retrieves her hand to lean back more comfortably on the couch. One of her cats, Garfield, jumps on her lap for a greeting, and Eddie realizes she's still wearing her jacket. He looks at the clock on the wall and realizes it's almost midnight.

"Sorry, I'm holding you back, you're clearly tired," she backtracks quickly, watching his eyes dart around. But Eddie shakes his head.

"Nah, I just took an invigorating nap." She laughs at that and he can't help but smile as well. "I'd assume you're tired after traveling."

"I took an invigorating nap on the bus," she smiles, petting her cat. Arwen finally decides she's not above greeting her human and jumps in next to her as well, occupying Stephanie's other hand.

Eddie reminds himself not to get jealous of felines.

"I managed to graduate," he says and when Steph looks at him in confusion, he adds: "I dealt in high school to save money for my band, thought that was my only route. But then I did graduate, on my third try, and the art teacher pulled some strings, asked around, and told me I could go study music. The guys forced me to go for it," he smiles at the memory. "My band, I mean. They said at least one of us should know some theory," he chuckles.

"That's very nice of them," Stephanie comments.

"Yeah. The bastards followed me after high school too." He grins.

"And I still haven't heard your music," she sighs wistfully.

"I'll bring a tape next time," he promises.

"You better."

They sit in silence for a while, only the cat's purring filling the night ambiance.

"Want some tea?"

"I guess I should go."

They speak over each other, eyes wide when they meet awkwardly. They chuckle, and Eddie can feel his cheeks warm up.

"Or I can get us a beer? Since you're not an old lady," she offers, spotting the empty bottle on the table. "Unless you really need to go."

"Beer sounds good. Considering there are no old ladies here," he smiles charmingly, daring her to protest.

Steph doesn't say anything, only rolls her eyes and gently nudges Garfield from her lap onto the couch cushions. She scratches Eddie's head when she passes, thankfully missing the way it causes his whole body to shiver.

"Won't your uncle be worried where you are?" she asks from the kitchen, giving Eddie the space he needs to collect himself.

"I told him I'd wait for you," he answers, scratching Garfield and trying to forget how good it felt when done to him. "Also, I don't have a curfew anymore. Never had, in fact. Not with Wayne."

"Lucky you." She steps back into the room, handing him a chilled bottle. "How long have you been living with him?"

"Since high school," he answers before taking a swig. "Spent a short time in a halfway house before that. My parents couldn't handle me anymore, but they managed to reach my uncle and he took me in."

"The hell do you mean 'couldn't handle you'?" Steph asks with a frown.

Eddie chuckles at her immediate offense.

"They got into legal trouble, and couldn't afford the house anymore, I think my dad spent some time in prison too. Tax fraud and shit, never cared enough to dig into it and Wayne doesn't like talking about them either. He's a better parent they'd ever be anyway."

"Yeah," Steph softens. "I'd love to have had someone like him back in the day." Then, she deflates with a sigh. "Though even the nicest people can turn out to be bigots. Not Wayne, of course!" she rushes to add. "He knows about Robin and he's really cool about it."

Eddie sees his opening and feels comfortable enough to use it finally.

"He better be, since his nephew is bisexual," he says with a little huff.

"He is?" Steph picks up curiously.

"Yeah," Eddie scratches his cheek, suddenly sheepish. "Turned out I wasn't watching Indiana Jones for the plot."

"I think that sweaty chest is plot enough," she says and they both laugh.

"Have you dated a guy, then?" Stephanie asks next.

"Only one for real," Eddie admits. "But it's not like I've dated many girls either, though it is easier."

"A young bachelor like you?" Stephanie raises her eyebrows in surprise. "You should be swarming with marriage proposals, the way your uncle describes you."

Eddie groans, throwing his head back against the cushions.

"What nonsense is he telling about me?"

"Only that he has a talented, smart boy in Indy, who's always helpful and protective of his friends and family. Also, he has really frizzy hair."

"Excuse me?"

Eddie picks up his head to look at Stephanie. She's suddenly closer than before, rubbing a lock of his hair between her fingers.

"When was the last time you had your hair done?"

"Uh." He looks between her hand and her face like he'll find the answer there. "Never? Probably? At least not that I remember."

Stephanie's mouth purses with displeasure.

"I can fix them for you. For taking care of my cats."

Eddie wants her hands in his hair so badly, but he raises his beer like a dumbass.

"But I already got a beer," he points out.

She shakes her head.

"I share beers with friends for less. I'd usually buzz Wayne too, and you'd be doing me a favor because I can't focus with your split ends right in my face."

She's really playing it up, pout and all, and unfortunately, it's working on him.

But he'd probably do anything she asked for.

"Then, uh... Sure, I guess."

#steddie #crazy cat lady stevie #stevie harrington #stevierything #mine #cw: age gap #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fanfiction #transfem steve harrington

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shomatoriashi · 2 days ago

Text

11/08/24; 02:33pm

yandere!sung.jinwoo x fem.reader

me: (imagine) a hot man offers you a drink at this korean bbq place, and you don’t want to look uncool and take a shot, only to realize it’s just lemon lime soda

you end up getting starry eyed for this devastatingly handsome man, enjoying the rest of what you thought would be a solo dinner with this charming man-

but little do you know, he’s been lovesick for you and stalking you for quite some time now -

lmao convince me not to do this bestie

@nyashykyunnie: convince me to convince you not to

warnings: stalking; obsessive thoughts and behavior.

work had been a stressful event for you, causing your once steady walking pace to slow down to a complete crawl. exhaustion was felt reaching down into your very bones, and it felt as though your body was being dragged down by weights itself.

lately, work had gotten so exhausting, with your boss forcing you to pick up extra shifts while you struggled to stay afloat. yet despite it all, you were able to survive and make it towards your day off.

currently, you were basking in the freedom that came with a friday night after a long shift work. the fact that it was also your weekend off added an extra layer of sweetness to it all-

and you were going to celebrate this joyous occasion with some much needed korean barbecue. walking across the streets of the city, you head towards your favorite restaurant with a bounce in your step. the exhaustion was quickly replaced with excitement and joy at eating all of your favorite cuts of meat and sides.

entering the establishment, you eagerly tell the host that you’d like a single table, grinning widely when he takes you to a table settled in the middle of the restaurant. looking through the menu, you had to swallow the excess moisture that floods your mouth from all the delicious scents that fills at the air.

after what felt like hours of waiting, your waitress greets you and asks what you’d like to have. when you tell her your order, she smiles and writes everything down, promising to bring out your food shortly so you could start grilling it. so caught up in your eagerness to destress and enjoy a delicious meal, you didn’t notice how a tall man kept his eyes on you.

you were about to unlock your phone and scroll through the various apps when the sight of a large glass bottle being slammed against your table makes you jump in your seat.

trailing your eyes upwards, you were taken aback upon seeing a handsome man with deep, grey eyes staring down at you. locks of wavy, ebony hair was seen falling across his forehead as he pours the liquid into the shot glass.

“a pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to dine all alone, so how about i keep you company?” he flashes you a kind smile, offering the shot glass filled with a clear liquid to you. by now, your heart was pounding in your chest, becoming flustered while beneath this devastating man’s amused gaze.

despite how you didn’t enjoy drinking, something about this perfect stranger’s alluring charm made you want to appear poised and cool enough to handle your alcohol. with a determined nod, you take the shot glass from his hand and down the whole thing with one gulp-

the burn was immediate, and you nearly choked until the familiar flavor of lemon-lime fills at your tastebuds. your eyes widen with realization, meeting kind grey eyes once more as he sits across from you. “no need to panic, i’m not big on drinking either, so let’s enjoy some of this crisp soda instead.”

“y-yes. that would be nice.” you admit to him with a bit of a dreamy expression on your face. now that you were completely relaxed, you were able to see just how gorgeous he was-

and you were dumbfounded at how he came to you.

he feels your gaze and smiles at you, “my name is sung jinwoo.”

you nod and eagerly tell him your name, knowing your heart was steadily melting for him. when your food finally arrived, jinwoo was the one who helped with grilling your favorite cuts of meat, all while serving it to you with a bowl of rice and all of your favorite sides.

throughout dinner, you basked in jinwoo’s presence, enjoying the night with him as you told him all about your interests and the things that brought you joy-

but little did you know, jinwoo had already known all of these things about you.

his meeting with you had not been a serendipitous one, oh no.

when jinwoo first caught sight of you, it was when he saw you walking out of your apartment and ran some errands. where you had gone, he had long forgotten by now, but all he knew was that the moment he saw your face-

all he wanted to do was protect you; to shield you from the world while taking you in his embrace.

it was crazy that he could feel so strongly about another human being at first sight. it’s just… something about you pulled him to you-

like it wasn’t gravity that was keeping him grounded to the earth, but you.

and jinwoo never wanted this feeling to disappear.

he takes advantage of his powers as the shadow monarch, placing only the best of his soldiers within your shadow while watching your every move. and when merely watching you through a haze of darkness wasn’t enough, then he’d resort to physically following your every move.

jinwoo was proud to say that he has stalked you for close to a year now, memorizing your schedule and the places that you frequented. of course he knew that you weren’t big on drinking alcohol-

or how you cried during your favorite dramas-

and the way you fell asleep while clinging to your favorite plushies.

he documents all of these nuances pertaining to you, keeping several journals on him, documenting your likes and dislikes with his own musings, all while praying for the day he can meet you naturally-

a day like today.

he had stood outside your workplace, hiding his face beneath the hood of his hoodie while watching your movements through his soldiers’ eyes. anger coursed through him each time your coworker and supervisor piled on the work for you, further exhausting you.

when you finally stepped out of the building, jinwoo could see the relief in your eyes all while allowing his gaze to soften for you. wishing to make his first meeting with you as picture perfect as possible, he shadow exchanges himself toward your favorite restaurant before getting a table.

now it was just a waiting game-

and you were perfectly ensnared within his trap.

jinwoo notices the way your eyes kept sneaking glances at him, with you eating your meal without truly tasting anything. he could hear the slight hitch of your breathing and was delighted to hear the way the blood seemed to rush through your veins as your heart raced for him-

you were finally his.

wishing to further cement your growing affections for him, jinwoo pays for your meal before offering to drive you home, not once daring to leave your side the moment you step out of the restaurant together with him.

as jinwoo drove you home, he felt saddened at the fact that he would need to leave you so soon, not wishing to make you uncomfortable while pushing the boundaries you may not be ready to break-

however, he was certain that the disappearance of your boss and coworkers would spark some concern within you, and that you’ll run into his arms soon enough-

it was only a matter of time.

end notes: lmao don’t mind me, i just miss sung jinwoo so much (⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#yandere x you #yandere x y/n #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #sung jinwoo x y/n #jinwoo sung x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere imagine

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godsfavdarling · 2 days ago

Text

Why is it so hard?

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader summary: Spencer has cooked a meal for both of you, but you find yourself unable to take a bite. words: 1,2k warnings: food struggles/eating disorder, please read with care and prioritize your well-being, no y/n a/n: This was a request! I want to mention that I have my own struggles with food, which may have shaped how I wrote this story. Everyone’s experiences are unique, and we all face different challenges and thought processes. I hope this resonates with you somehow, though I understand if it’s not exactly what you were looking for. Thank you for reading, and I’m sending all my love to anyone who may relate to this story in their own way.

Spencer had been so excited to cook for you. After weeks of long days at the BAU and many crazy cases, he finally had a few days off, and when he suggested making a homemade meal for the two of you, you agreed.

Part of you was excited, hoping this time would feel different. You’d convinced yourself that tonight, it’d be fine.

But now, sitting at his small dining table with the warm light casting a cozy glow over the food he’d prepared, all that optimism is slipping away.

Your stomach twists as you stare at the plate in front of you, perfectly arranged with a meal Spencer had put so much effort and love into.

You know it’s probably delicious, and you wish more than anything that you could just eat it without hesitation, without feeling this gnawing discomfort.

You wish you could just smile and thank him, telling him how incredible it all smells, how delicious it looks.

In your mind, you imagine taking that first bite under his soft, expectant gaze, watching his eyes light up with quiet pride.

You’d close your eyes, savoring each flavor as it fills your mouth, and when you open them again, you’d see his delighted smile.

You’d tell him how amazing of a cook he is and how perfect tonight feels.

But instead, the words are trapped somewhere deep inside, just out of reach, and the meal sits untouched on your plate. And you couldn’t even lie or pretend if you wanted to.

Spencer watches you quietly, his own plate barely touched as he picks up on your tension.

You keep your eyes on your food, not wanting to meet his, a lump forming in your throat as shame starts to bubble up.

He went through all this effort, made everything look so perfect, and here you are, unable to take a single bite.

You can’t help but feel, again, that there must be something wrong with you—something that keeps you from just… eating like everyone else.

A soft sigh escapes you as you push the food around on your plate, trying to hide your reluctance.

But you know he can see it.

You hate the thought of disappointing him, of wasting the meal he prepared just for you.

So you clear your throat, plastering on a smile as you search for something—anything—to fill the silence and keep his attention off the plate in front of you.

“So… you wouldn’t believe what happened on the metro today,” you say, leaning forward a bit, hoping to keep his focus on you instead of the meal. “This guy—he looked like he was in a huge rush—was running down the platform, trying to make it before the doors closed. And just as he got to the edge, his phone flew out of his hand. You should’ve seen it, Spence, it went spinning through the air in slow motion.”

Spencer’s brow lifts, his eyes sparking with curiosity as he chuckles. “Did he get his phone back?”

“I actually don’t know. But here’s the crazy part. He didn’t even notice! He was so focused on making it inside that he left his phone lying there on the platform. And people were shouting after him, trying to get his attention as the train pulled away. It was chaos.”

Spencer’s grin widens, completely drawn into your story. “And then?”

“Then this lady picks up his phone and just shakes her head, like she’s seen this happen a hundred times before. She walks over to the nearest bench, sits down, and just waits for the next train like nothing happened.”

Spencer lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s intense,” he says.

You keep adding more details, letting the conversation flow from one story to the next, watching Spencer laugh, his smile widening as he listens.

With each laugh, the tension in your chest eases a little more, and for a few moments, you almost forget about the untouched plate in front of you.

Almost.

But then, as your story winds down, there’s a brief pause. You feel his gaze shift, and when you look up, he’s watching you carefully, a softness in his eyes that makes your heart clench.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” he says, his words tender, free of any judgment. “I didn’t make this to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to feel pressured. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

You feel your face warm as his words sink in,

You glance down at the plate, then back up at him, trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice barely a whisper. “I know it’s silly. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard.”

“I know it’s not easy for you. I noticed.”

Of course he did

“And I don’t want you to feel bad about it, okay?”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. I know it’s probably really good, and you went through all this effort…”

“Hey,” he interrupts, his hand reaching across the table to rest near yours, close enough that his fingers could brush yours if you needed it. “There’s no need to apologize. It’s okay. I’m not mad or upset okay? We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. I mean it.”

You exhale, feeling some of the weight ease from your shoulders, even if only slightly. You meet his eyes, seeing nothing but kindness and understanding.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “It’s just… hard sometimes,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like, no matter how much I want to, I can’t make it any easier on myself. I hate it all. I wish I could just eat and enjoy it like everybody else. Why is it so hard?”

Spencer listens closely, his gaze softening as he considers your words. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, his voice gentle.

“You know, there’s a lot of research on why some people find eating more difficult or even distressing. For some, it’s sensory—taste, texture, even certain smells can be overwhelming. For others, it might be about control, or even just... the way their brain is wired.”

He pauses, glancing down at the table thoughtfully before continuing. “Actually, it’s pretty fascinating. The way our brains process food and flavor isn’t just about hunger or taste. It’s tied to so many different things—sensory receptors, past experiences, even emotional responses. So, you’re not alone, and it’s not your fault. It’s just… complicated.”

You watch him as he speaks, his eyes shining with that familiar intensity he gets when he’s deep in his rambling.

He smiles, his voice growing softer. “I know it’s frustrating, and I can’t pretend to understand exactly how it feels for you. But.. I’m here, whenever you want to talk about it—or even when you don’t.”

He offers a small smile and notices the glint of tears in your eyes, his hand covering yours to squeeze it lightly.

“Hey,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “How about we just… watch a movie?”

You nod, a grateful smile spreading across your face. “I’d like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid x gn!reader #eating disoder trigger warning #tw eating issues #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x male!reader #spencer reid x male reader

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fireya-x · 1 day ago

Note

hey! i just wanted to say that i love your writing. you have the most amazing style and idk if youre accepting asks rn but pls ignore if not.

would you ever consider writing a fic about john price/reader where reader is like sick for a couple days or maybe gone for a while and hes been totally deprived and all when you finally are feeling better/home, then he just absolutely loses all of his gentlemanly ways and jumps you the moment he can get it again??

maybe a little inspired by this gif -- https://www.tumblr.com/posseydonn/765988062279909376/lets-not-sleep-without-making-love?source=share

Thank you! That means so much 🥰

And of course! I was so excited when I saw this. You're the first to request, and it made me so happy. I hope this is okay, and again, thanks so much for the ask!

coming home

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

Three weeks apart is three weeks too long for John.

[3,5k words]

cw: smut, piv sex, oral sex, cunnilingus, blow job, come swallowing, smoking

You entered the meeting room, a soft “Sorry I’m late” escaping your lips, breathless as your eyes met Kate’s. She smiled, and the room, thankfully, seemed less concerned with your tardiness and more captivated by your return.

“There she is!” Gaz called out, a grin splitting his face.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kate said at the same time and gestured for you to sit down.

“Lassie! Good to see ye again!” Soap exclaimed, a gentle slap on your shoulder accompanying his greeting as you sat beside him.

Ghost’s masked face gave nothing away, but you could have sworn you saw a slight nod in your direction when your eyes met. Several other soldiers offered their greetings, but your attention was drawn to the man standing next to Kate. Their voices, addressing the room, held the familiar cadence of teachers instructing a class. His features, however, softened noticeably the moment you entered, and you suspected the newer recruits could thank you for the subtle shift in John's demeanour. Tasks were assigned and mission preparations discussed, a mission you’d been desperately wanted to be back in the field for.

You'd been confined to your home for the past three weeks, battling a nasty flu. Fever, headaches, an upset stomach – the whole miserable package. You'd warned everyone to steer clear, not wanting to share the misery. John, though you suspected he wanted to argue, had obeyed. You knew he was itching to fuss over you, to bring you tea and take your temperature like he’d done countless times before. But his care manifested in other ways. Canned soup and chocolate – clearly a Price-approved selection – appeared mysteriously on your doorstep. A week's worth of groceries materialized thanks to Soap and Ghost. And Gaz's mum, bless her, managed to stock your medicine cabinet better than a pharmacy.

As the meeting for the day was concluded and everyone slowly left the room, Price stopped you in your tracks with a raised hand. “Stay behind a moment, love.”

When the room was empty, he closed the distance between you, his hands settling on your shoulders. “Why didn’t you call? I would have picked you up.”

You shuffled your feet, avoiding his gaze, suddenly shy under his intense scrutiny. “Doctor cleared me, and I came straight here,” you explained, gesturing vaguely towards the front of the room, where he had been standing moments ago. “Didn’t want to bother you. You were clearly busy.”

“Never a bother,” he murmured, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. “Next time, call me. Okay?”

You leaned into his touch, a wave of relief washing over you. The simple contact made you acutely aware of how much you’d missed him. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, a small smile playing on your lips as you met his gaze. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture that sent a wave of comforting warmth through you.

“It’s good to have you back.” He exhaled heavily, tension easing from his shoulders. “The boys were driving me insane.”

You chuckled. “You love them.”

“I do. Not as much as you, though.”

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy line, but a warmth bloomed in your chest. He lifted your chin with a gentle finger. “Promise me if you’re not feeling well, you won’t play tough and tell me immediately, yeah?”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good.”

“Gotta go train the new kids, I suppose,” you sighed theatrically.

“I don’t envy you.” He grimaced.

“I’ll have to put my Price voice on.” You grinned, anticipating his reaction.

He raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Price voice?”

You cleared your throat, mimicking his gruff tone. “You muppets! Twenty pushups, now!”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I do not sound like that.”

“You wish you’d sound as sweet as I do.” You winked, and he chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist as you walked together down the corridor. He paused at his office door, leaning in for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yes, Captain.” You smiled, saluting playfully, which earned you another eye roll as he disappeared inside.

The day wore on, the relentless rain and wind a constant, chilling presence on the training grounds. You watched the new recruits struggle through the obstacle course, their movements hampered by the slick mud and the biting wind. You, at least, had the small comforts of proper gear. These poor souls, battling the weather in addition to the gruelling physical demands – it brought back memories of your own training. The endless drills, Price’s watchful gaze, his voice a constant bark of commands, pushing you, testing your limits. No trace of the tenderness he showed you now. Back then, it had been all business, grit, and determination.

But it earned you a place on the 141, and you didn't regret a single moment.

As the last recruit, mud-caked and drenched, stumbled across the finish line, you offered a nod of acknowledgement. “Passable time, soldier,” you stated, pointing towards the last stretch of obstacles, “but that last part needs to be faster. Work on your agility in these conditions. Life or death out in the field.” The recruit saluted, exhaustion etched on their pale face, before joining the rest of the group.

Dismissing them with a sweep of your hand, you advised, “Get yourselves dried off and warmed up.” You could practically feel the welcome relief of hot showers and a decent meal yourself as you watched them disperse, shivering. Heading for the nearest entrance, you discarded your heavy weather gear with a sigh of relief.

A voice called out, “Sergeant?” Turning, you recognized the young recruit from the cafeteria, his waterproof jacket plastered to his thin frame as he hurried towards you. He pointed a finger down the hall. “Captain Price wants to talk to you.”

Your heart quickened, a nervous flutter in your stomach. Smoothing down your damp uniform and clutching the training reports, you made your way toward Price’s office, that nervous flutter intensifying with each step. You knocked lightly, the sound muffled by the heavy door.

“You wanted to talk to me?” you began, pushing it open. “Oh, I already have the reports here –”

“Lock the door.” Price’s command cut you short, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. A freshly lit cigar was clenched between his teeth, a plume of smoke curling upwards.

Your breath hitched, momentarily stunned by his command. The facade of your professionalism crumbled under the weight of his gaze. “What?”

His eyes bored into you. He jerked his chin towards the door, the unspoken command crystal clear. “Do it, and get over here.” A blush warmed your cheeks as you obeyed, the click of the lock echoing in the sudden silence.

You crossed the room, dropping the reports on his desk as you rounded it, coming to a stop before him. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist, pulling you towards him with a force that made you gasp. The movement was almost violent, and he didn’t even waste a breath before your training briefs were bunching around your ankles as he shoved them down. His touch was rough, brutal and yet undeniably possessive.

The heat of him against your sudden bare skin was like an electric shock, making the hairs on your skin stand up, igniting a fire that had been smouldering for past weeks. His mouth was suddenly between your thighs, biting your sensitive flesh through the fabric of your panties, eliciting a moan from your lips.

“Christ, John, what –” you breathed, the words lost against another nip of his teeth. He forced his tongue against the damp fabric and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your backside as he growled against your skin. “Fuck, I've missed you.”

“We’re at work,” you protested weakly, even as your hands found their way into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.

He pulled back slightly and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Has that ever stopped us before?”

You shook your head, a breathless laugh escaping you. “I guess not.”

With a quick, almost savage tear, your panties were gone. The cool air against your heated skin made you shiver. He murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky, “I’m not going to fire you for fucking your boss, sweetheart.” A trail of scorching kisses followed his words, his lips branding your inner thighs.

“Very funny,” you chuckled, hands finding their way back into his hair, and without a warning, his tongue parted your folds. The contact with your clit was an unexpected intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. He pushed you back against the desk, your legs parting instinctively as his fingers joined the fray. He lapped at your slickness, his tongue swirling and circling, his beard scratching the skin, while his fingers teased the entrance of your hole.

He devoured you, his hunger insatiable, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to bring you to the brink. You could feel the pressure building, coiling tight in your belly, the pleasure intensifying with each lick, each touch, each stolen breath. “John,” you gasped, and he groaned in response, the sound thick with desire, but then, his own need overriding yours, he pulled back abruptly. The sight, the taste, the feel of you was too much. He needed to be inside you. With a low growl, he lifted you onto the cool surface of the desk, scattering the forgotten reports beneath you like fallen leaves.

“Shouldn’t you be looking at those reports?” you managed, a weak attempt at humour.

He shook his head, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips. “The only thing I should be doing is you.”

As he moved above you, your gaze traced the familiar lines of his body. The faint, silvery scars that crisscrossed his skin, a roadmap of his life, each one an etched memory of battles fought and won. The dark hair dusting his chest and narrowing down to the meticulously trimmed line of his pubic hair – a detail that sent a wave of heat through you, the knowledge that he’d been ready for you, waiting for this moment, just as you had been.

His cock, thick and veined, throbbed before you. The tip, a darker shade of pink, almost crimson with arousal, glistened in the dim light of the office, the precum already beading there like glistening dew. The velvety texture, the subtle ridges and curves of its form – it was a thing of beauty, of raw power. And it belonged to him, to the man who made you feel things no one else could. Safe. Cherished. Desired.

It had been weeks – an eternity – since you’d felt this way. The way he looked at you, his eyes dark and intense, focused solely on you, made you feel seen, loved, like you were the only person in the world.

The initial slow burn of his entry ignited a fire within you, a slow, steady warmth that spread through your body. As he settled fully inside you, a sigh escaped your lips. It was a feeling of homecoming, of finally returning from a long and arduous journey, of finding your way back to the place where you belonged. It was more than just pleasure; it was a sense of rightness, of two halves becoming whole. You revelled in the feeling of fullness, of completion, of finally having him back where he belonged.

You could feel every inch of him, the subtle ridges and curves of his length pressing against your inner walls, the velvety head brushing against your most sensitive point, sending shivers of anticipation radiating outwards. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss, and the taste of him, of cigar smoke and desire and longing, filled your senses.

As the kiss deepened, his rhythm intensified, the slow burn giving way to a wildfire. The languid thrusts became more insistent, more demanding. The rhythmic slap of skin against skin echoed in the quiet office, punctuated by the creak of the desk beneath you. His mouth moved to nip and suck at your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your already sensitized nerves. His touch was a brand that marked you as his, a delicious reminder of his possession. His fingers found your clit, rubbing, circling, adding yet another layer of exquisite torture to the inferno already burning within you.

The pressure built, the pleasure intensifying with each thrust, each touch, each stolen breath. And then, it hit you – an explosion of pure, unadulterated bliss, a blinding white light that obliterated all thought. You threw your arms around his back, your nails digging into his skin. Your body convulsed, pressing against him, clamping down on his cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last. He held you steady, his strong arms a comforting anchor and his voice a low murmur against your ear. “That's my girl,” he whispered, the words a balm to your soul as the tremors subsided, leaving you spent and sated in his embrace.

Still pleasure-drunk, your mind hazy with the afterglow of your climax, you pushed him off you and breaking the connection. He stumbled back, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but he didn’t intervene, his gaze following your every move as you slid off the desk. He let himself be pushed back into his chair, his chest heaving, his cock still slick and hard.

Reaching for the earlier discarded cigar in the ashtray, you brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply, the familiar taste making your head spin. As you exhaled, your gaze locked with his, a predatory glint in your eyes. With slow, deliberate movements, you began to play with the cigar, rolling it between your fingers, letting it linger at the corner of your mouth, dragging it across your lips as if savouring the taste, the tip tracing the same path his tongue had taken only moments before. The act, a shameless innuendo, was a way of reclaiming your power, of teasing him, of showing him that you weren't done with him yet. You ran your tongue along the length of it, the tip glistening in the dim light of the office.

He watched, transfixed, his breath hitching in his throat, every muscle in his body coiled tight with a tension that bordered on painful. You were putting on a show, a performance designed solely for him, and it was driving him absolutely insane. The way you practically fucked the cigar, deep throating it with a practised ease that made his blood run hot, was both absurd and incredibly erotic.

His gaze was riveted on your lips, the way they stretched and pulsed around the cigar, the tip disappearing into the depths of your mouth, then reappearing, slick and glistening. Your tongue, darting out to lick the tip, to swirl around the base, made him growl involuntarily.

Your cheeks hollowed with each deep drag, the sight making his own breath come in short, ragged gasps. It was blatant, mimicking a far more intimate act, a performance designed to tease and torment, and it was working perfectly. He could practically feel your mouth on him, the heat, the pressure, the rhythmic pull – it had been weeks of forced abstinence, and he knew that no one else could make him feel this way; this desperate, this utterly and completely out of control.

His cock, still red and swollen, throbbed and twitched in agonizing response and the pre-come slowly leaked onto his skin. His balls ached with a desperate need for release, a pressure that built with each drag you took on the cigar, each moan that escaped your lips, each flick of your tongue. The need to touch himself, to find some small measure of relief, was almost overwhelming.

Not being able to bear it any longer, his hand instinctively moved towards his aching hardness, but you stopped him, your fingers gently but firmly closing around his wrist.

“Not yet, Captain,” you purred, your voice husky with amusement. You held his gaze, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and brought the cigar back to your lips, taking one last, long drag. Letting he smoke fill your lungs before you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. You exhaled slowly, deliberately, the plume of smoke swirling into his mouth, teasing his tongue with the lingering taste of the tobacco, the heat of your breath, and the promise of more.

He groaned, a low rumble in his chest, and his tongue darted out, attacking your mouth, desperate to taste you, to reclaim the connection that had been broken only moments before. The kiss was fierce, hungry, his tongue probing deep, seeking out yours, tangling with it in a desperate dance of need. He wanted you, all of you, right there, right then, but you pulled back, a teasing smile playing on your lips. With a slow, deliberate movement, you placed the cigar between his lips.

Then, trailing a line of kisses down his chest, across the hard planes of his stomach, each touch sending shivers through his already aroused body, you reached your destination. He groaned, his hands finding their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as you knelt before him, his hardness pressing against your cheek.

You took him in your mouth, the taste of him – salty and musky – mingling with the lingering flavour of the cigar and the faint, sweet taste of yourself. You swirled your tongue around him, appreciating the feel of him against your lips, the heat of him radiating against your skin. You sucked hard, the pull creating a friction that made him groan, his hips bucking involuntarily against your mouth. You bobbed your head, setting a slow, steady rhythm, your eyes never leaving his, watching as his expression shifted from desire to pure pleasure. You increased the pressure, the pace, drawing him deeper into your mouth, feeling the throb of his pulse against your tongue and the way his cock pulsed and twitched with each pull of your lips.

You ran your tongue along the underside of his length, before playing a soft kiss to the tip, teasing him, driving him closer to the edge. He groaned again, the sound barely audible, a strangled whimper of pleasure lost somewhere between a sob and a curse.

You continued, relentless, taking him fully into your mouth again with a passion fuelled by the weeks of pent-up longing. You felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs clenching as he reached his peak. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and a shudder ran through his entire body. His grip on your hair tightened, his knuckles white against your scalp. “Fuck… yes,” he groaned, the words barely audible. “So good... love... bloody hell…”

His voice trailed off into a series of incoherent moans and gasps as he spilled into your mouth, the hot rush of his release coating your throat. You moaned when the taste hit you, salty and musky, and so intoxicatingly him. You could feel the heat, the force of it, as he emptied himself into you – the rhythmic contractions of his cock, the feeling of him throbbing within your mouth, how the ridge of his length pulsated against your tongue with each spurt – it sent shivers down your spine. You continued to suckle gently, even after the initial rush subsided, your tongue swirling around him, cleaning him, wanting to draw every last drop of him, to cherish the intimacy of the moment, to prolong the connection for as long as possible. With a final, loving kiss against the tip, you pulled back, leaving him breathless.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still dark with desire, but now softened with a tenderness reserved only for you. He reached down, his hand gently cupping your chin, tilting your face up to his. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch feather-light. “I missed you,” he murmured. “I was worried sick. So glad you’re alright.”

You smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “Couldn't even wait until we got home?” You teased, still settled between his thighs, reaching up to run a finger along his jawline, feeling the familiar prickle of his beard. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “No chance, love. Not a bloody chance.” You leaned forward, resting your head against the hard muscles of his thigh, your fingertips dancing lightly along his skin. “Want to grab some dinner and stay with me tonight?” you asked, almost hesitant.

He met your gaze, a warmth spreading through his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. He reached forward then, lifting you up into his lap effortlessly. "Like you even have to ask," he murmured, his hands gently caressing your back, drawing soft circles.

“Let's go then?” he asked softly after a while.

You sighed, closing your eyes, letting the peace of the moment wash over you. “Just a minute.” He didn't reply, but his arms tightened around you, holding you close, and in that silent embrace, you found everything you had been missing in the last weeks: the comfort of his presence, the security of his touch, the certainty of his love. You were home.

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highly-flammable · 15 hours ago

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I still have so many thoughts about this scene.

It’s very interesting how regardless of what you think of Sauron’s motivations here, his emotions are completely genuine here. Galadriel is someone who has believed in him, who has pushed him and revitalized him, and that feeling, that high he could chase forever. We see how lonely Sauron as a character is in S2, how he has felt betrayed at the hand of Adar, and how normal people (like Diarmid) don’t do anything for him. It takes someone like Galadriel with her level of power and wisdom, and that hint of darkness, to finally feel like he is not alone. That he has somehow been made better.

At the same time, you have to wonder why this is the moment that he chose to open up to Galadriel like this. In the scene right before, he seemed almost calculating as he called her name and stopped her from killing Adar. I, for one, am averse to having too much of a charitable opinion of this guy. To me, part of the beauty of this character in TROP is that he says and does many things that come from an emotionally honest place, but they end up serving his goals in little ways.

As I see it, both things are true: he could genuinely feel a connection to her and felt like communicating it (you can almost feel the words spilling out of him), and he also saw how this moment was absolutely ripe for Galadriel to know they were firm friends and therefore get bound to him. Their fight was seemingly over and he knew she was going to have to leave soon. He had to give her a reason to still have him around, and here he tries to do that. Galadriel is someone who has spent centuries looking for him so that she could destroy him, and this is when he sees that opening where he could get through to her and somehow make her feel that they did not have to be enemies. Sauron’s good at choosing the moments for planting seeds which will bear fruit later, and we will indeed see him referring to this interaction multiple times in the future.

Sidenote: Charlie Vickers has very soulful, expressive eyes.

Moving on to what I personally find even more interesting: Galadriel’s feelings. Morfydd once mentioned in an interview that when Galadriel meets Halbrand, she is desperate to feel anything other than grief. She has been drowning in it for centuries, and when Sauron pulls her out of the ocean in the middle of the tempest, their resurfacing is symbolic of a rebirth. As brash and headstrong and disrespectful as she finds Halbrand, she enjoys his audacity and his wit. She admires that he feels alive and seems to grasp at opportunities. He wakes her up, as much as she does it for him.

But between the two of them, Galadriel is the one still dealing with overwhelming loss. She is mourning so many of her kinsmen, particularly Finrod, who was clearly her guiding light, and also Celeborn. Different shipper camps will have their interpretations of Galadriel and Celeborn’s relationship, but I don’t think it’s up for debate that she had been quietly grieving him. It wasn’t enough to divert her from hunting down Sauron, but the grief itself is clear in 1x07 when she mentions him. Galadriel’s story has been a tapestry of different kinds of loss - the ones that are unexpected and come as a heavy blow like Finrod’s, and the ones where the realization slowly seeps in like poison and eats away at you.

It’s downright painful for her to admit here that she felt something poignant with regard to Halbrand, perhaps simply because she is so afraid of loss again. It must have been ages since she last let someone new in, and this person has rescued her and stood by her (aside from all the playing hard to get) when she was utterly alone. This is the moment where it truly hits her how much he has begun to mean to her, and having gone through what she has, you have to assume she is downright terrified of it, particularly because as per her knowledge, this is a mortal man, with no enhanced lifespan even, his time on middle-earth a mere blink against the ages she has endured and will continue to.

Their relationship has been coded as romantic from the very beginning (I would say right from the moment Sauron first tries to separate from the rest of the castaways in 1x02 and clearly plans to join her). But I don’t believe Galadriel in this scene would ever admit to herself if she felt anything romantic. It would be too much for her, and I don’t believe she is even in the headspace to think about these things . I have to say Morfydd and Charlie are right about one thing: romance alone doesn’t cover whatever they were trying to sell here. For both characters, this is a moment of a tremendous wall breaking down emotionally, and both of them realizing they have met their kindreds. This is the moment that understandably keeps haunting both of them, and I suppose will continue to for multiple reasons.

Sidenote 2: Galadriel’s little shaky breaths and subtly pained expressions are so masterfully done here by Morfydd. You almost feel like you are watching someone’s wounds being slowly, excruciatingly cut open again.

#galadriel #halbrand #sauron #morfydd clark #charlie vickers #the rings of power #sauron you mf congratulations on fumbing the one friend you made in like a millenium after this #this scene is ultimately the reason the revelation of his identity works so well #why we feel galadriel’s sense of betrayal so acutely #she was taking a serious leap of faith letting him in here

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eu-nicola · 3 days ago

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her memory

summary: After Grace's death, you offer to take care of Charlie, Thomas, who lives tormented by his pain, accepts. As both spend more time together, both begin to develop something but neither you or him don't know how to accept it.

warnings: mention of death, nothing more i think

word counter: 7682

author's note: english is not my first language

The cold wind cut through the morning with a cruel indifference, as if the world kept turning without stopping for anyone's mourning. The tombstones stood as silent reminders of lives past, names etched in stone, stories that had ended. Among them all, one stood out: Grace Shelby. The letters were carved with precision, the name reflecting both love and tragedy.

You, Grace's younger sister, held a bouquet of white lilies with numb fingers. You had chosen those flowers because they were Grace's favorite, although now the detail seemed ironic. You couldn't remember the last time you had brought her flowers when she was alive. Maybe you had never done so. Guilt nibbled at the edges of your conscience as you walked down the gravel path.

In the distance, a familiar figure emerged from the mist: Thomas. He was dressed in strict black, his face impassive as always. His eyes, though, those blue eyes that always seemed to be calculating, now reflected something deeper. Pain. Or maybe just tiredness.

You hadn’t spoken to Thomas since Grace’s funeral, and before that, your interactions had been tense, at best. You’d made it clear from the start that you didn’t trust him. “He’s not a good man for you, Grace,” you’d warned him more than once, but Grace always found a way to justify it. “You don’t know him like I do,” she’d reply with a smile that was now just a painful memory.

Thomas stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing by the grave. There were no words of greeting or gestures of courtesy. Neither did they need them. You were both there for the same reason.

You carefully placed the flowers on the grave and knelt down, closing your eyes for a moment. The silence between you and Thomas was thick, heavy with everything that had never been said and everything that would never be said. Finally, you stood up, feeling Thomas’ gaze on you.

“She always talked about you,” Thomas said, his voice low and rough, like he hadn’t used it in days.

You looked at him, surprised by the comment. There was an honesty in his tone that was disarming, something rare about him.

“And what did she say?” you asked, not because you really wanted to know, but because you needed to fill the void.

Thomas lit a cigarette, letting the smoke mix with the cold air. His eyes never left the tombstone.

“She said you were strong. Stronger than you believed yourself. That you had always been her rock, even when you didn’t know it.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “And that you were the only one who could tell her the truth, even if it hurt.”

You felt a lump in your throat. Grace had always been the mediator between you and the world, softening your harshest words, interpreting your silences. Now that she was gone, you felt disoriented, like you’d lost your compass.

“I always thought I was protecting her,” you admitted quietly, your gaze fixed on the grave. “But maybe I was just trying to protect myself. I didn’t want to see her suffer for someone who couldn’t give her what she deserved.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice held a tone you’d never heard before: vulnerability.

“Grace gave me more than I deserved. And I gave her back less than I needed.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt and looked up at you. “But I loved her. In my own way, I loved her.”

His words fell heavily in the air. For a moment, you wanted to respond as harshly as ever, to point out that his love hadn’t been enough, that his world of violence and power had dragged her to the grave. But something stopped you. Maybe it was the pain you saw reflected in his face. Or maybe you were just tired of fighting.

“Grace loved you too,” you said at last, almost in a whisper. “I never doubted that.”

Silence settled between you again. Thomas nodded slightly, as if that statement were enough. You both knew that the relationship between you and him would never be cordial, but at that moment, you shared something that transcended your differences: the loss of the woman who had been the center of your lives.

Finally, Thomas took a step back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” he said, not looking directly at you. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned and began walking toward the exit of the cemetery.

You watched his figure walk away until it disappeared into the fog. The fog slowly dissipated as you walked away, leaving the tombstone and the memories behind.

After that encounter, you knew that you didn’t want to part with what little was left of Grace. The decision didn’t come immediately, but rather as a persistent murmur in the back of your mind. The image of Grace, always smiling with her baby in her arms, was etched ever deeper into your memory. Charlie was the only part of her left in this world, a small piece of light in the midst of all the darkness her death had left. And you wanted, no, needed, to be a part of her life.

Days later, you found yourself in front of the door of the Shelby house. You hesitated for a moment, looking at the imposing facade. You hadn’t set foot in that place since Grace’s funeral. You sighed deeply and knocked on the door. It was Polly who opened it, her sharp gaze examining you immediately.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, her tone neither hostile nor friendly, just expectant.

“I need to talk to Thomas,” you said, straightening up.

Polly arched an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any more questions. She waved you in and led you to the living room, where Thomas sat behind his desk, papers strewn in front of him, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He looked up as you entered, his expression unfazed.

“Another telling off, then?” she asked sarcastically, though there was a hint of curiosity in her tone.

You shook your head, gently shaking your head as you sat across from him.

“I’m not here to fight, Thomas. I’m here for Charlie.”

He set the glass down on the table, his gaze fixed on you.

“What about Charlie?”

You took a moment before answering, your hands clenched in your lap.

“I want to help. I want to be in his life. I know this may sound strange, but I would like to be his nanny.” You hesitated for a second, but continued before he could interrupt. “I want to be close to him, to help raise him. I don’t want him to grow up without having a connection to his maternal family.”

Thomas watched you silently for a few moments. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed that he was processing each word carefully.

“Why now?” he asked finally. “You don’t trust me, you never have. Why would you want to get more involved?”

You leaned forward a little, trying to convey the sincerity of your intentions.

“Grace loved Charlie more than anything. And if I can’t have her, I at least want to make sure her son grows up surrounded by love, by family. This isn’t about you, Thomas. This is about him.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And because Grace would want us to be there for him.” Both of you.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands to his face for a moment before running them through his hair. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, you can start tomorrow. Polly will show you Charlie’s routines. But I warn you,” he said, his voice lower and more serious, “this world is dangerous. I don’t want you to go near it if you ever think you can’t handle it.”

You agreed with a slight nod, knowing there was no turning back.

The next morning, Polly greeted you with a mix of surprise and silent approval. She wasn’t a woman of many words, but she seemed to appreciate your willingness.

“Charlie is a calm boy, but he needs stability,” she said as she led you to the little boy’s room. “His mother was his refuge, and now it’s up to you to fill some of that void.”

When you entered Charlie’s room, your heart tightened. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than two years old, was sitting in his crib, playing with a teddy bear. His eyes were the spitting image of Grace: big, curious, and bright. Seeing you, he tilted his head in curiosity.

You slowly approached, smiling.

“Hey, little one,” you said quietly, feeling excitement fill your chest.

Charlie watched you for a moment before extending his arms to you, an immediate sign of trust that nearly brought tears to your eyes. You picked him up carefully, feeling his warmth against you. He rested his small head on your shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The rest of the day passed in unexpected calm. You fed him, played with him, and took him for a walk in the garden. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice that Charlie seemed more relaxed with you than you had anticipated. It was as if, somehow, he knew you were a part of his mother, a connection he still needed.

The passage of time hadn’t eased the void left by Grace, but caring for Charlie filled your days with a kind of purpose you’d never felt before. The little boy had a laugh that lit up even the gloomiest of rooms, and his small hands reached for yours with a trust that melted you. With each day you spent with him, you felt like you were helping keep a part of Grace alive.

Charlie followed you everywhere, whether it was in the garden, where he clung to your wobbly fingers as he tried to walk, or in the kitchen, where he babbled incomprehensible words as you prepared his food. What touched you most was the way he clung to you at night, his small hands tangled in your shirt as you rocked him to sleep.

You were aware that every smile you elicited from him was a silent defiance of the pain his mother’s death had left behind. Though you tried hard to stay strong, there were times when Grace’s absence was too much. On those nights, when Charlie finally fell asleep, you stayed by his side a little longer, whispering stories about his mother to him, wishing that, somehow, he could remember her.

One of those nights, after putting Charlie to bed, you went down to the kitchen in search of something warm to drink. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of wood beneath your feet. The air was cold, and the light from the fireplace in the living room barely illuminated the hallway.

That was when you saw him. Thomas was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. His eyes, normally sharp and watchful, were darkened by a deep sadness. His face, always controlled, now seemed vulnerable, almost unfamiliar.

For a moment, you hesitated. You had seen Thomas in many facets: calculating, furious, even protective. But never like this, broken.

“Thomas, are you okay?” you asked quietly, though the answer was obvious.

He looked up slowly, his blue eyes piercing through you, filled with a pain that seemed to have no end. He didn’t answer right away, instead taking another long sip from the bottle before setting it down on the table with a thud.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

You approached cautiously, sitting down on the armchair in front of him. The distance between you both seemed so short and, at the same time, infinite.

“I was thinking about Grace,” you murmured, trying to connect.

Thomas gave a bitter smile, but his eyes didn’t light up.

“There’s not a single moment when I don’t see her. Every corner of this damn house reminds me of her.”

The silence that followed was thick. You felt like any words you could say would be insufficient, but you couldn't just leave him in that state.

“Grace would never want to see you like this, Thomas,” you said softly. “She always saw the best in you, even when you didn’t.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Grace was always better than I deserved. I brought her into this world, into danger, and it killed her.” His words came out laden with guilt. “Everything I touch breaks.”

You leaned forward, meeting his eyes.

“Grace chose to be with you. She knew who you were and what your world meant, but she still loved you. You can’t carry all the blame, Thomas.”

For the first time, Thomas seemed to truly hear you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you both shared a pain only you could understand. He let out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been carrying too great a weight for years.

“Charlie gives me a reason to keep going,” he admitted quietly. “But I can’t help but think of everything he lost. What I took from him.”

The pain in his voice tore at you. Without thinking, you stood up and walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not alone in this, Thomas. Charlie has a lot of people who love him. And so do you.” You paused, measuring your words. “I’m here.”

Thomas lifted his head, surprised by the openness in your voice.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his whisper barely audible.

You stayed by his side as the night wore on, both of you silent, but this time it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was the kind of stillness that comes from sharing a common pain.

The days in the Shelby house followed a steady, almost predictable rhythm. The mornings were Charlie's: from the first light of day, the little boy filled the house with his laughter and babbling, and you were there for each of those moments. But the nights... the nights were different.

Since that first time you found Thomas broken in front of the fireplace, something had changed between the two of you. They didn't always talk, but the presence of each other was enough. So, every night after putting Charlie to bed, your steps inevitably led you to the living room, where Thomas waited for you, his silhouette illuminated by the flames of the fire.

The first few nights were a timid exchange of words. Thomas offered you a glass of whiskey, which you accepted although you barely touched it, and the two of you sat in silence, watching the flames dance. Every now and then, he shared fragments of memories about Grace, little anecdotes that made you smile or sometimes let out a stifled laugh.

“Grace always made fun of my smoking,” he commented one night, with a slight smile. “She said I looked like a cheap actor trying to look sophisticated.”

You laughed softly, imagining your sister with her sharp wit and love of little jokes.

“That sounds like Grace,” you said, your voice heavy with nostalgia.

Over time, conversations became more fluid, less restrained. You shared memories of your childhood with Grace, little secrets that only the two of you knew. Thomas listened intently, his eyes softening with each story, as if through your words he could feel his wife’s presence again.

“You know?” you said, staring into the fire. “I always thought you were Grace’s worst mistake.”

Thomas, who had been staring at his glass of whiskey, looked up slowly, one eyebrow arched.

“And now?” he asked, his tone neutral, but his eyes heavy with curiosity.

You sighed, playing with the rim of your glass.

“Now… I’m not so sure.” You looked at him, your words softer than you’d planned. “Grace was happy with you. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you closely.

“I’m not a good man,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I never have been. But with Grace… she made me want to be better.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of his words.

“We all have our shadows, Thomas. But I’ve seen how you are with Charlie, how you talk about Grace. Maybe you’re not as bad as I always thought.”

He let out a dry laugh, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes, something that seemed like a mix of relief and gratitude.

“That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve heard from you,” he said, his tone mocking, though his smile was genuine.

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, smiling back.

With each passing night, the relationship between the two of you transformed. The conversations became deeper, more sincere. Thomas showed you a side that few knew about: the man behind the boss, the husband, the father struggling to find balance in a world full of chaos.

One night, after a long silence, Thomas confessed something that surprised you.

“I didn’t think you could forgive me,” he said, his words laden with a weight he seemed to have been carrying for a long time. “Not after everything.”

You stared at him, sensing the sincerity in his voice.

“It’s not easy to forgive, Thomas. But I also know that life is too short to hold on to hate.”

For a moment, you thought you were going to see tears in his eyes, but Thomas just nodded, clenching his jaw as he looked away.

Even if everything was fine between you and Thomas, there was always something off. The next day, the sun was shining softly that afternoon, and a light breeze rustled the leaves, making everything seem almost calm, almost normal.

Charlie was swinging happily in a baby swing that Thomas had had installed months ago. You stood nearby, watching him with a smile as you gently pushed the swing, making sure it wasn’t too high.

Charlie giggled, and when the swing stopped, he raised his arms to you, asking to be pulled out. You picked him up easily, holding him against your hip as he wrapped his arms around your neck. He looked at you with those big, bright eyes that reminded you so much of Grace, and something in your chest tightened.

“I love you, little one,” you murmured, gently kissing his forehead.

The little boy stared at you for a moment, then rested his little head on your shoulder and, in a barely audible voice, whispered,

“Mommy.”

The world seemed to stop. The air became thick, and for an instant, you couldn’t move or breathe. Your heart skipped a beat as the weight of that word fell upon you. You didn’t know what to say. Charlie didn’t fully understand what he had just said, but to you, the meaning was overwhelming.

Before you could react, a deep, sharp voice broke the silence.

“What did you say?”

You turned around suddenly and saw Thomas standing a few feet away. His face was tense, his eyes dark and filled with a mix of surprise and suppressed fury. He had returned earlier than expected and had clearly heard his son’s words.

—Thomas… —you started to say, trying to calm him down.

—Why is he calling you "Mom"? —he interrupted, his voice low but full of intensity.

Charlie, oblivious to the tension, clung to you with an innocent smile, his small hands playing with your hair. The image must have been a shock to Thomas, a painful reminder of what he’d lost.

“He’s just a kid, Thomas,” you said calmly, setting Charlie down so he could play again. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I would never try to take Grace’s place.”

Thomas took a step forward, his posture rigid.

“But you are,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re looking out for him, you’re comforting him, and now he thinks you—” He paused, as if the words were too painful to say out loud.

“I’m here because I wanted Charlie to have someone to look out for him, to love him. I’m not trying to replace Grace, Thomas. I never could,” you replied, trying to keep your composure.

“Oh, yeah?” he snapped, his tone bitter. “And what do you think is going to happen if you keep this up?” He’ll see you as his mother.

His words were like blades, and you felt a lump in your throat, but you weren’t going to back down.

“That’s not fair!” you exclaimed, raising your voice. “I’ve done everything you asked of me, Thomas. I’ve been here, taking care of Charlie, helping you keep this home standing. And now you’re blaming me for something I can’t even control?”

Thomas clenched his fists, his eyes burning with frustration.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t your place. You’re not his mother. You never will be.”

The words were like a blow, but you refused to let them affect you any more than necessary.

“You’re right, Thomas,” you said, your voice cold. “I’m not his mother. But at least I’m here for him. And you? Where are you when he needs you? Or do you prefer to hide behind your whiskey and your business, letting others deal with the pain?”

Thomas took a step closer, his face now just inches from yours.

“Be careful what you say.”

“Why?” you replied, challenging him with your gaze. “Because you don’t like hearing the truth?”

The silence that followed was sharp, both of you breathing heavily, the tension between you almost tangible. Finally, Thomas took a step back, his face hardening.

“If you can’t understand your place here, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Those words were a final blow. You nodded slowly, your expression cold but hurt.

“Understood.”

Without saying anything else, you turned and walked into the house, leaving Thomas alone in the garden. You felt a mix of rage and sadness as you climbed the stairs to your room. Everything you had done, all the effort, seemed to have been in vain. You leaned against the closed door, trying to control the tears that threatened to spill out.

The days that followed that tense confrontation with Thomas were tinged with an awkward silence in the house. The air seemed heavier, as if the very walls held back unspoken words and hurt feelings. But the most noticeable change was in Charlie.

The little boy, who used to be an endless source of laughter and energy, now seemed to be caught in a cloud of restlessness. His demeanor changed dramatically; laughter had been replaced by sobs, and his usual enthusiasm for play had given way to an irritable, brooding attitude. Every little inconvenience, from a toy that didn't work the way he wanted it to the lack of his favorite snack, made him burst into tears.

It hurt to see him like this, but the worst thing was that you knew why. Charlie missed the closest thing he'd had to a mother in the last few months. And even though you'd tried to keep your distance after the argument with Thomas, you couldn't help but worry about the boy.

That afternoon, Charlie was sitting on the living room floor, tightly hugging a teddy bear that Grace had given him. Tears ran down his cheeks as he murmured between sobs:

"Mom..."

You knelt beside him, feeling a lump in your throat.

"I know, honey," you said softly, stroking his hair. "I know you miss her."

Charlie turned to you, his little eyes full of desperation.

"Mom," he said.

It was like a dagger straight to the heart. Your instinct was to hug him, but you stopped, remembering Thomas' words.

“Oh, little Charlie,” you said finally, your voice breaking.

The little boy didn’t understand, and you knew it. To him, absence was a void that was impossible to fill. His sobs increased, and in the end, you couldn’t hold back any longer. You lifted him into your arms, holding him tightly as he cried against your chest.

“I’m here now,” you murmured, trying to calm him down. “I’m not leaving, okay?”

At that moment, the door opened, and Thomas entered the room. His gaze hardened as he took in the scene before him: you holding Charlie, trying to comfort him like a mother would.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice cold.

Charlie turned to his father, his little face still wet with tears.

“Dad… Mom.”

Thomas tensed his jaw, his gaze darkening even further. He took a step toward you, his eyes fixed on you.

The boy clung to you, but was eventually led to his room by a maid. Once he was out of the room, Thomas turned to you.

“What part of ‘you can’t be his mother’ didn’t you understand?” he said, his voice low but filled with contained anger.

You stood up, crossing your arms.

“Thomas, don’t you see what’s happening? Charlie is hurting. He misses his mother, and for now, I’m the closest thing he has. Why can’t you just accept it?”

Thomas laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.

“Accept it? You want me to accept my son starting to call you mom while Grace is in her grave? Is that what you want?”

“No, what I want is for you to stop being so selfish,” you replied, raising your voice. “This isn’t about you, Thomas. It’s about Charles. He needs someone, and you can’t be everything to him.”

Thomas took a step closer, his presence imposing.

“You don’t decide what my son needs. I’m his father.”

“And I’m the only person who’s been here for him while you drown in your own pain,” you said, not backing down. “But it’s okay, Thomas. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. But when Charlie keeps crying at night, when he asks you why I left him, you’ll be the one responsible.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. His gaze was hard, but there was something else going on, too: an internal struggle, a battle between his pride and the reality that was hitting him harder and harder.

Finally, he took a step back, breaking eye contact.

“Do what you want,” he murmured, before exiting the room and leaving you alone.

The next few days were marked by an awkward silence between you and Thomas. Even though he had made it clear that he didn’t want you anywhere near Charlie, you couldn’t just walk away. Not when the little boy needed you more than ever. So, defying Thomas’ orders, you continued to look after the boy. After all, someone had to do it.

That night, the Shelby house was unusually quiet. Charlie had had a long day and was restless, his small body still shaking from time to time from residual sobs. You held him in your arms, gently rocking him as you walked around the room, whispering soothing words to him. Eventually, his eyes began to close, and his breathing became more rhythmic.

The house was empty. Thomas had gone out, as he often did lately, immersing himself in his business and affairs. Everything seemed calm, but there was an uneasiness in the air that you couldn’t shake.

Suddenly, a noise downstairs broke the silence. At first you thought maybe Thomas had returned, but a quick glance at the clock made you dismiss that idea. You clutched Charlie to your chest, your senses heightening. Another noise, this time clearer: the creaking of a door carefully opening.

Your heart began to pound, but you kept your cool. You couldn’t allow yourself to lose control. Slowly, you made your way to the bedroom door, making sure Charlie was safe in your arms.

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs grew clearer and clearer. Then, a figure appeared in the doorway, a tall, burly man with a cold, cruel gaze. He held a gun, his face partially hidden by a handkerchief.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the man said, his voice deep and full of mockery. “I didn’t expect to find a babysitter.”

You said nothing, your mind working quickly. The man pointed the gun at you, a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t there to talk.

“Where’s Shelby?” he asked, taking a step forward. “I know she’s not far away. But in the meantime…” his eyes fell on Charlie, who began to fidget in your arms, sensing danger. “Maybe we can send her a message, huh?”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said in a firm, yet calm voice. “Thomas will be back soon, and when he does, you won’t want to be here.”

The man laughed, a harsh, cruel sound.

“And what are you going to do?” he snapped. “Another empty threat? I’m here to settle a score, and if it means hurting the one you care about most…” He motioned to Charlie with a shake of his head.

Charlie began to cry, his small fists clinging to your shirt. Your instinct was to protect him, positioning him so that his body was out of reach of the gun. Despite the fear you felt, you kept your voice calm.

“You’re not going to touch him. If it’s Thomas you want, then he’s him you’ll face. But not a child.”

The man paused, considering your words, but his expression showed no sign of mercy.

“The world is not so kind, young lady.”

Before he could move, another noise echoed through the house. This time, the unmistakable thud of a door slamming shut. The man turned quickly, raising the gun, but before he could react, Thomas appeared in the doorway.

His gaze was deadly. In a quick, calculated move, he pulled out his pistol and fired without hesitation. The sound was deafening in the small room, and the man fell to the floor with a thud, the gun slipping from his hand.

Thomas moved forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the intruder’s body to make sure he posed no further threat. When he was sure, he turned his attention back to you and Charlie.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

Charlie was still crying, his tears soaking your shirt. You nodded, though your heart was still pounding.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” you murmured, trying to calm Charlie as you cradled him against you.

Thomas moved closer, placing a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Take him downstairs,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

You nodded again, walking out of the room with Charlie still in your arms. His sobs began to subside as you descended the stairs, the warmth of your embrace providing him with a modicum of comfort.

When you reached the living room, you sat down on the couch, holding Charlie close. Shortly after, Thomas came down, his steps slower, his expression hardened. He sat down in front of you, his gaze assessing you.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone with him,” he finally said, his voice heavy with a mix of guilt and concern.

“Thomas… it’s not your fault,” you replied, though you knew it wasn’t enough to ease his burden.

For the first time in days, his eyes showed something other than fury. There was fear there, fear of what could have happened if he had arrived a minute later.

As you rocked gently, Charlie’s little face buried in your chest, while you ran your fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing words.

Thomas sat across from you, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together, staring at the floor as if he was trapped in thought. The dim light from the lamp cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the hardness of his features. But his eyes… his eyes showed something different that night: vulnerability.

“I shouldn’t have taken you away from Charlie,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence with a low tone, almost a whisper. He wasn’t looking at you, but his voice was heavy with remorse. “It was a mistake.”

You look up, surprised by his words. You had expected many things from Thomas Shelby, but not an apology.

“Thomas…” you began, but he held up a hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished yet.

“Ever since Grace died, I’ve tried to protect him, protect us both. But in doing so, all I’ve done is fail him. I can’t give him what he needs.” He finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “But you can.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and pain. You knew how much it had cost him to admit that, how much it meant to him to acknowledge that he couldn’t do everything alone.

“Charlie needs you, more than I wanted to admit. I’ve seen you with him, how he calms down in your arms, how he trusts you.” Thomas ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “And I was an idiot to try to push you away from him.”

You looked down at Charlie, who was breathing easier now, his fingers gently clinging to your shirt. A feeling of warmth and relief settled in your chest. You had been willing to do anything for that little boy, even if it meant facing Thomas Shelby.

“Thank you for saying it, Thomas,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “But I need you to trust me, to understand that I would never do anything to hurt him.”

Thomas nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with yours. There was a weight in his gaze, but also a sort of unspoken truce.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m grateful. More than I can express.”

He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he watched Charlie with a mix of tenderness and pain.

“I never wanted him to grow up without a mother. And I know you’ll never be able to replace Grace, but what you do for him… that’s the closest thing to a home I can offer him now.”

The lump in your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your composure.

“I’ll do everything I can for him, Thomas. Always.”

For the first time in what seemed like weeks, Thomas smiled, albeit a weak, tired smile.

“I know,” he said simply.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was a silence of understanding, of acceptance. Charlie had fallen asleep, his little rhythmic sighs filling the room.

Thomas stood up, walking towards you with slow steps. He leaned down slightly, placing a hand on Charlie’s head and stroking his hair gently. Then, his eyes met yours again.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but loaded with meaning.

You simply nodded, no need for words.

The next few days were quieter in the house. Thomas allowed you to care for Charlie without interference, and even began to participate more in the moments you shared with the little one. There was a routine that was beginning to feel, if not normal, at least less tense.

You and Thomas also began to talk more. At first, it was practical conversations, about Charlie or about how to reinforce the security of the house. But little by little, those dialogues transformed into something more personal. Moments when, for a brief moment, Thomas Shelby wasn’t the ruthless leader of the Peaky Blinders, but simply a man trying to navigate loss.

One night, after you’d put Charlie to bed, you found Thomas in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The soft light from the table lamp illuminated the room, creating a warm, almost intimate atmosphere. He was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, his gaze lost in the flames.

“Everything okay?” you asked, carefully entering the room.

Thomas looked up, his expression relaxing at the sight of you.

“Yeah,” he replied, though his tone said otherwise. “Just… thinking.”

You walked over and sat on the couch across from him. You didn’t want to push him, but there was something in his gaze that night that worried you.

“About Grace?” you asked softly.

He nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the table beside him.

“Always Grace,” he murmured. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her. What could have been if…” He paused, his jaw tightening.

You didn’t say anything, allowing him space to speak if he needed to. You knew that, as hard as it was for him, these moments of vulnerability were important.

“Sometimes I think I’m losing her,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper. “Her face, her voice… it’s all fading away, and that scares me more than anything.”

Your heart clenched at his confession. Thomas, the man who always seemed so strong, was pouring his soul out in front of you. Without thinking too hard, you stood up and walked over, standing next to him.

“You won’t lose her, Thomas,” you said softly. “She’ll always be a part of you, of Charlie. Nothing will change that.”

He looked at you, his blue eyes shining in the firelight. There was something in his gaze, a mix of pain, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Without thinking, he raised a hand and gently brushed it against your cheek.

The gesture took you by surprise, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself leaning slightly into him, until his lips met yours in a soft kiss, laden with repressed emotion. It was a brief moment, but it was intense, as if both of you were allowing yourselves to feel something you’d been denying for far too long.

But as soon as it was over, Thomas pulled away, his expression changing from vulnerability to guilt in an instant.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice hard and laden with regret. He stood up quickly, moving away from you as if the contact had burned. “I can’t… I can’t do this to Grace.”

The pain in his voice was palpable, but it didn’t hurt any less that his words were hurting you, too. You stayed on the couch, trying to process what had just happened.

“Thomas…” you tried to speak, but he held up a hand to stop you.

“No. I can’t,” he repeated, his tone harsher. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have…”

You stood up, the lump in your throat getting tighter with each word he said.

“A mistake?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough to confirm it. You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him.

“I understand,” you finally said, your voice firmer than you expected. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you turned and walked out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last, until you reached your room. You closed the door behind you, letting the tears finally fall.

The days following the kiss and the rejection were unbearably tense. You and Thomas had gone back to barely speaking beyond what was necessary. Conversations were limited to the basics: directions for Charlie, changes around the house, or simple mechanical greetings. Any vestige of the connection you had begun to build seemed to have faded, leaving an awkward chasm between you.

It hurt, more than you wanted to admit. You had accepted that Thomas still carried Grace in his heart, but you hadn’t expected the kiss you shared, brief but full of meaning, to become a wall between you.

Finally, one night, after you had put Charlie to sleep, you found yourself unable to bear the coldness any longer. You knew you couldn’t continue living in the same house, taking care of Charlie, and pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

You found him in the living room, as always, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He barely looked up when you entered, but you didn’t say anything right away. You closed the door behind you and stood there, watching him.

“How long are we going to keep this up, Thomas?” you finally asked, breaking the silence with a voice filled with frustration.

Thomas didn’t even flinch. He took a sip of his whiskey before answering, his tone indifferent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step forward.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. This. Us. Pretending like nothing happened, when we both know it did.”

Thomas finally looked up, his blue eyes cold and calculating.

“There is no ‘us,’” he said harshly. “There can’t be.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, but you didn’t back down.

“And that’s it?” you replied, your voice rising slightly. “Are you going to keep hiding behind Grace’s memory, using your guilt as an excuse to keep everyone at a distance?”

Thomas’ expression hardened, and he set his glass down with a thud.

“Be careful what you say,” he warned, his voice low but dangerous.

But you were too furious to stop yourself. The pressure of the past few days, the built-up tension, it all came crashing down.

“Careful?” you repeated, taking a step closer. “I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you, Thomas. What’s wrong with you? Why do you insist on pushing everyone away?”

Thomas stood up suddenly, his imposing presence filling the room.

“Because that’s what I do,” he snapped. Because the people I care about always end up hurt or dead.

“And that’s an excuse to treat me like that?” You took a step closer, your eyes flashing with fury. “I’m not Grace! You can’t keep punishing me for something I can’t change.”

The tension in the room was palpable, each word a sharp dart. Before you could think, you grabbed an empty glass from the table and threw it hard. The glass crashed into the wall behind him, shattering into pieces.

Thomas reacted immediately, crossing the distance between you in a matter of seconds. Before you could move, he roughly grabbed you by the arms, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes burned with an intensity that took your breath away.

“Enough!” he growled, his voice hoarse and heavy with repressed emotion.

You were about to retort, to fight against his hold, when suddenly, without warning, his lips crashed against yours. It was a desperate, hungry kiss, as if both of them were trying to drown all the pain, frustration, and guilt in that moment.

You resisted for a moment, surprised by the abruptness, but quickly gave in, kissing him back with equal intensity. His hands, which had previously held you tightly, slid down to your waist, pulling you closer.

The world around you disappeared. There was no more arguing, no more awkward silences. Just the warmth of his lips, the frantic beat of your heart, and the feeling of being, for the first time in days, completely alive.

His lips left yours for an instant, moving down to your neck, as his hands eagerly explored. Everything about him was urgency, need held back for too long. There were no words between you, just the ragged sound of breaths and the steady throb of a dormant desire that had finally exploded.

“Tommy…” you murmured in whispers, your fingers getting lost in his dark hair as he lifted you slightly, leaning you against the nearby wall.

He responded with a growl, capturing your lips again, as if afraid that moving away for a second might break the connection. It was a forbidden moment, but you were both too far away to stop.

The room seemed to fill with heat as every barrier crumbled. Thomas was all fire, and you consumed yourself with it without remorse.

Finally, when the intensity subsided, you both lay still, breathing hard, still entwined. His eyes searched you, and for an instant, you saw something more than desire. It was a vulnerability he rarely showed, an acknowledgement that he needed you more than he was willing to admit.

He didn’t apologize this time. There was no room for words; the silence between you spoke for itself. And in that moment, you knew nothing would ever be the same again.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders

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hannahluvsbillie · 1 day ago

Text

the only one

casual part 3.

(but can be read as a one shot)

part one

✫ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ~ you thought billie had moved on, seeing her post like it was nothing, she was fine. maybe it was just casual to her.

★ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ~ billie eilish x reader

★ 𝐜𝐰! ~ mentions of panic attack, angst, nightmares (?)

ᡣ𐭩 a/n ~ hi! thank you all sm for waiting for part 3!! this one has a little time-skip, i’m thinking maybe 1-2 months since casual part 2. let me know if you like it, hopefully it lived up to your expectations 🥺

it’s been a few months since that last meet up billie and you had. the one where she belittled you and your feelings.

you blocked her the morning after, it wasn’t easy blocking her. someone you fell in love with, but you realized that it was one sided the day she told you it was just causal.

maybe you wanted her to spill her feelings on how she loved you, and didn’t just want you for a quick hook up to relive some steam. but deep down you knew that’d never be the case.

to say you’ve been doing good is a lie, you’ve been.. okay. dating felt pointless as of now, you knew your heart would always belong to billie, even if you two weren’t serious, it didn’t mean you loved her any less.

billie on the other hand, looked like she was doing great. i mean- it wasn’t like you’ve checked up on her, you were non contact. but on her instagram she looked like she was doing great. she’s on tour, her album is still doing good, she has good friends. it was bittersweet to see her now, it still made you cry some nights.

you were laying in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you had just woke up from your sleep, a dream waking you up. the dream was a recurring one you’ve gotten for the past few months since you ended it with billie.

the dream went something like this: you were in bed and when you turned over, you see billie, sleeping peacefully. you just observe her for however long until your brain wakes you up.

it never went father then that, it was just a constant reminder of her. maybe that’s why you couldn’t get over her.

suddenly your phone starts ringing, waking you from your daze. you shake your head a little and roll over, grabbing your phone off of the nightstand and rubbing your eyes to see who’s calling.

who would call you at 3 am?

you read the number, you don’t recognize it. it’s your area code, but that’s all you recognize. god- they’ve called you 12 times.

you just decide to pick up, hoping they’d stop after that.

“hel-“ you clear your throat, trying to make it sound like you weren’t just asleep. “hello?” you say weakly.

“y/n?” the other person says.

your heart drops, how could you not recognize that voice? the voice that used to sing praises to you, who used to speak to you in the softest voice, the voice you fell in love with.

“billie? what the fuck?” you say, blinking repeatedly. you blocked her, how was she calling you? you pinch yourself once to make sure you aren’t still dreaming, only to be met with pain. okay, so this was real.

“i know im sorry- i just- i really need you right now, i have no one else to call and i don’t know what to do.” billie speaks, immediately apologizing. you can already tell she was in the middle of a

panic attack. her voice cracking when she speaks. you feel that same pang in your chest hearing her like that.

you take a deep breath, running a hand through your hair. “okay- bills- billie, calm down. breathe for a minute” you say. you regret answering, it just made everything come back.

you hear her take a breathe and go silent for a moment, before speaking again. “i’m really sorry- i know you blocked me and we aren’t supposed to be talking, but i just- i dont know what to do. you’re the only one that knows how to deal with me when im like- when im like this.” she speaks softly, her voice still shaky.

you go silent for a second, zoning out looking at the floor. inviting her over would be horrible for you, ruining all of the progress you’ve made. but fuck, you can’t just leave her alone, you can’t help but care about her.

“okay- fuck, do you want to come-“

“yeah.”

“okay.”

your eyes widen when she speaks. that was quick. as soon as she says yes you hang up, putting your phone down. what did you just do?

a few minutes later you’re pacing though the kitchen, waiting for the doorbell to ring. the gravity of what you just did sinks in, you shouldn’t of offered.

but as soon as the doorbell rings and you rush over to open the door- maybe a bit too quickly, and you see a disheveled billie, all of it disappears. god you just wanted to protect her from everything.

her hair sticks to her forehead, the same hair that you used to play with, her eyes were red and looked up at you with so

much guilt. it’s obvious she feels horrible

about coming here. maybe she wasn’t as good as it seemed on her instagram. it looks like she’s back in that place she was in when you first met her.

“oh, baby…” you coo, gently putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her inside. when you close the door and look back at her, she looks like a lost puppy, her eyes still swollen.

“i’m- sorry-“ billie chokes out, starting to cry again. you immediately pull her into a hug, gently cradling her head in your hand, the other hand gently rubbing her back.

“it’s okay billie.” you say, gently kissing her head.

you felt so many things, you let her into your house even when she broke your heart, you truely could never deny her, especially when she’s crying in your arms like this.

you’re fucked now.

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #fics #billie x reader #billi eilish x reader fluff #billie #billie eilish x reader fluff #idk how to tag this #spotify #writers on tumblr #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish smut #billie eilish fanfiction #x reader #fanfiction #imagine #one shot

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rs-hawk · 2 days ago

Note

Could you do a modern day female orc x female reader? I see very little now

Sure! A lot of my short stories tend not to be modern set so that might be why for me.

When you saw Cassia for the first time, your heart fluttered. Your chest felt tight. Your lungs were tight. It was like you were struck all at once. Was this what love at first sight felt like? It was a whirlwind romance, but after only a few days of talking, she was inviting you out to drinks. You flushed when you said yes.

Of course, you forgot that Orc bars are not the same thing as human bars. There were similarities, the loud music, the loud patrons, and the stench of liquor and sweat, but the way that the Orcs interacted with each other was something you never thought about, and definitely didn't expect.

Cassia, being a large woman, with large, thick tusks that put even many male ones to shame, commanded respect the second she walked in. All eyes were on her, and your face flushed darkly under the gaze of the other Orcs. Once the two of you sat down, the bartender didn't even ask you what you wanted to drink. He just slid a glass of clear liquid towards you.

"it's pretty much the only thing humans can drink in here," Cassia explained, taking what was clearly her usual from the bartender who winked at her as he handed the glass to her.

"Is Orc liquor that much stronger?" you asked, looking at her glass curiously. Was it really stronger, or was it just that Orcs are so large that it doesn't affect them the same way?

She laughed, tilting the glass towards you. "If you're going to eye me so suspiciously take a sip and see for yourself." When you leaned forward, she leaned in, whispering in a voice that made heat pool between your legs, "a sip, human. Remember."

And you did. You took a sip, and she was right. Whatever Orc liquor was made of was way too strong for humans. If you had drank much more than that, you'd be black out drunk already. You laughed, and the two of you seemed to be getting along really well. You kept leaning over, touching her arm, batting your eyes up at her. Every time you did, it made her smile, or laugh. She was clearly enthralled with you too.

Before too long, both of you were drunk. "I have to pee," you announced, staggering to your feet.

"I'll go with you," she offered, getting up on her unsteady feet.

The two of you leaned against each other, with you obviously leaning more heavily on her. Once the two of you were done, and washing your hands, Cassia looked over at you.

"You're gorgeous," she muttered, her eyes now hungry as her gaze stalked up and down your body.

Goosebumps sprung up under her gaze. "So are you. I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful woman," you whispered, eyes round as she leaned forward to finally kiss you.

The kiss was rough, and you had to be careful because of her tusks. They scraped the side of your cheeks, but you didn't care. Her mouth tasted like liquor and gum, and you hoped your breath didn't smell or taste bad, but that thought only came to you for a moment as she lifted you onto the counter. Part of you wanted to protest, but between the intoxication from the liquor and the intoxication from how good she was making you feel, you didn't dare.

She slipped a hand down your pants, pressing her fingers to your soaked cunt over your panties. "So wet already for me," she moaned, pushing your panties to the side to be able to tease you with one of her large fingers.

You spread your legs, wanting to give her more access. "So good. You're so good," you moaned back, grinding your hips against her finger.

It wasn't long until she had brought you to the edge of an orgasm, where you were whining and begging her to let you finish. However, when she dropped to her knees, ripping off your pants and panties, you almost cry in anticipation. Her fat tongue works over your desperate cunt perfectly. Her finger now circling and teasing your clit as she lapped at you, parting your lower lips with her skilled tongue. Tears pricked your eyes as you felt yourself tettering on the edge as she played with your body.

"Cum for me. I want to taste you," she groaned against your skin, reaching up with her other hand to fondle and play with one of your breasts, lightly pinching the nipple.

Almost on command, you cum, covering your mouth to keep from screaming, though you're sure the whole bar knows what the two of you were doing in here. After the waves of pleasure crashing over you subside, she kisses your inner thighs, her tusks scraping the soft skin there, threatening, but also comforting. Such a dangerous creature is so gentle with you.

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starberry-cupcake · 2 days ago

Text

Welcome back!! I hope you're doing well and, if not, I hope my silly ramblings can make your day somewhat better, like the wildcats used to say: we're all in this together ♥

previously, in harrowcita del 9:

this happened

for those of you recently tuning in, this is the tag of all the ramblings

also, I'm officially in the sixth house now, palmolive can't stop me

CHAPTER 46

we're back inside the emperor's bolthole, which is infested

this is what happens when you have a lyctor orgy without the proper protection

gideon is doing her very best to fight the infestation of herald bees swarming and attacking her

she's in harrow's feeble small kitten baby body, so she's dying a lot

I'm gonna try to represent this visually

gideon keeps apologizing to harrow for getting her bits chewed off and her insides pouring out

and puts emphasis on things she wants harrow to remember

"I saw it eat your thumb—these details are important, so keep up with me—and your thumb was back in the next half minute"

"Child, that bee smashed you"

"I touched your intestines, which is usually what, fourth date"

me:

so, gideon takes off harrow's excess bones, which are no use to her, and goes further into the emperor's infested bolthole, where she finds mercygirl

mercygirl thinks gideon is harrow at first and, turns out, she was the one who stabbed her

these lyctors istg

can't trust any of them

mercygirl thinks harrow should be grateful that she stabbed her

and she was aware that harrow had "stuffed the soul of the cavalier in the back of her brain"

NOW WE'RE GONNA GET INTO SOME TERRITORY THAT MAKES ME GO ABSOLUTELY BERSERK, SO BEAR WITH ME

I NEED TO GET MY NOTES BACK FROM MY PREVIOUS RECAPS FOR THIS

she asks what happened with gideon's eyes and, as we have seen in the previous gideon-centric chapter, gideon's eyes are in harrow's face atm, if memory serves

"You're not her—she isn't driving you—but you have her eyes. Why? When they showed me your corpse I didn't think to check the eyes"

"I thought I knew what you were, though I didn't want to believe it..."

now listen, we're starting to tie some loose ends and some of those loose ends are linked very closely to my previous theories

I have been considering the Commander Wake is Gideon's Mom and Has a Personal Connection To Gideon The First and Is The One Connected With The Harrow Notes In Canaan AU for a while now

I need to link the specific recaps where I said this because I need to be transparent about where my brain was at

Evidence A, Evidence B, Evidence C, Evidence D

there's probably more but those are pretty clear

I swear to god if I was right about this I'm gonna screencap my own recap and put it here when the time comes

I've been marinating this one for months

I actually forgot how much of that I had written down in the recaps until I re-read them

mercygirl says that she thought the commander was a bad girl workaholic who put business before family, that she made her "the dolls" and she must have "played silly buggers with the emission" and that "gideon was on her tail"

"And then Gideon ruined everything. Then the commander ruined everything. Then you ruined everything. This could have been over eighteen years ago"

apparently gideon the first was "obsessed" with the commander, which accounts for some of the notes harrow read

I'LL GET BACK TO THAT WHEN WE GET TO THE SLEEPER, MY THEORIES CONTINUE

mercygirl starts calling gideon all sorts of names, including mutant, and keeps being bothered about her eyes

"Lipochrome. Recessive. You are the evidence. He lied to us...and you are all the proof I needed" "Cytherea would have known as soon as she looked at you"

is gideon the first gideon's dad??????? I mean, I always though he might have Something with the mom but my money was on gideon being made through science rather than Traditional Means

I mean, having lyctor genes in some way would account for gideon being a demigod, something I said with those words when I was reading gideon

also, remember when not!dulcinea told gideon she was prettier than the other gideon?? because I've never forgotten

mercygirl confirms that gideon the first was sent to kill gideon's mom

who, according to mercygirl, would have hated to be called a mom

mamá luchona intensifies

all of which aligns with my theory very nicely so far

she calls gideon more names, including "abomination, you heresy, you failed ambition nineteen years too late"

gideon reacts not wanting mercygirl to touch her instinctively

man, my theories are RIGHT THERE to be fully connected I'm BITING THE DESK

but there's no time for any more talk because mercygirl is trying to kill gideon in harrow's body

but she is stopped

she is shot

by not!dulcinea

but I don't think this is not!dulcinea, I previously mentioned her maybe being used by someone, not sure if it's possession or being used or what's going on but I don't think this is her

I thought about gideon the first being the one to do it but if he wanted harrow dead, I'm not sure he'd save gideon now

not!dulcinea says "with a tone that wasn't" hers: "goodbye"

gideon ends the chapter with "what the fuck is going on?"

CHAPTER 47

we're back at canaan au and it's time to perform an exorcism

harrow has a new note

I've been connecting those notes to gideon's mom possibly commander wake (as linked above)

the latest note continues to add to my theory

"end of the line. falling. oxygen can't last the distance and won't redirect power from the payload. instead I will make you watch every moment as I get the last privilege you cannot enjoy you bygone son of a bitch. I hope you're both as sorry as I am."

I still think this is gideon's mom because that's how she died, I mean, she got to the ninth in a suit without air and gideon still had some, allegedly

I've been thinking that one of the two people involved in the situationship triangle described in the notes was gideon the first, and that maybe the other was dr reverend emperor john

he's the most likely to be a bygone son of a bitch, so maybe I'm right

so, if harrow connects the notes with the spirit that's haunting her

and I'm connecting them to gideon's mom....

what if it's her that's haunting harrow?????

I mean, Waker

I NEED TO STOP GETTING INTO THEORY TANGENTS

anyway, all of the ghoulie ghostie friends are getting together for a sleepover exorcism

I didn't use this when I should have, back when the different aus were going by, but here it is

real!dulcinea says "Pal always said I'd be the death of him. And I was..."

he died being a weenie but he's not all the way dead, so it's fine

harrow questions why everyone wants to help her but everyone's totally fine with all this, for different reasons

real!dulcinea is "horny for revenge" (that's a tshirt for the seventh girlies right there)

protozoa is there because duty is his full personality

abby is really grateful to be asked to help (she also really likes tombs, very lara croft of her)

magnus loves his wife

ortus wants a redemption arc and now has a polycule

martita is behaving better than judith

abby asks harrow if there's anything she can remember from the slasher waker sleeper to try to pinpoint who tf it is

there's a suit, blood, a gun and gideon's sword, which is the only thing harrowcita recognizes and doesn't know where it comes from

my money is on gideon's mom, commander wake, probably also the woman in the shuttle poster that harrow saw but didn't recognize back when she met camilla

I'M PUTTING MORE CHIPS IN MY BETS EVEN IF I GET NO MORE INFO RN

harrow is very interested in how abby and magnus make it work as a married couple who are also a necro and a cav

I wonder why she's so interested

anyway, everything goes to shit on the exorcism

like, it goes really, really badly

group project off the rails bad

I mean, they didn't even have blood

apparently the spirit is also tethered to an object out there (the sword??????? possibly?????)

and she (she's a SHE) is pretty much invincible and shooting everyone and performing parkour while she's at it

harrow says camilla would be impressed, which is the highest praise

the sleeper waker slasher potentially gideon's mom (but not sure because it hasn't been confirmed yet) calls harrow by her name, but in a way that sounds like she's never said it before

she says it like a curse, which maybe means she knows, to some degree, how harrow was made????

she's basically doing whatever she wants over here, shooting ghosts, punching ghosts, throwing them around, regenerating, not bleeding, pulling guns out of thin air

I mean, ok, we got it, calm down lady

where was this energy when it was time to kill the emperor

she says there's "no magic" there and that "she's been doing this for years"

she wants harrow, so she can kill her and use her body to "finish it"

WHICH MAYBE MEANS KILLING THE EMPEROR???

OH MAN I DO WANT THAT TO HAPPEN

BUT NOT AT THE COST OF HARROW

also, mrs potentially gideon's mom, even if harrow dies, there's also gideon in the body right now so, it's a bit crowded atm

maybe find another way to kill the emperor

use not!dulcinea instead, if you can get the current tenant to leave

the chapter ends with: "ortus cleared his throat"

MAN, I HOPE HE DROPS SOME POETRY LINES, WE SURELY NEED THAT

and that's it for today!!!!!things are certainly heating up in the emperor's bolthole!!!! see you soon for the next installment, fingers crossed for my theories!!!

#luly reacts to tlt #tlt #tlt spoilers #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #long post

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mythalism · 12 hours ago

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Dude yeah Solas going back to the prison is so dumb to me. Like I assumed before seeing Trick’s post they he and the inquisitor were going into the fade itself to where he sealed the dreams or whatever. But instead I’m going to take my wife to my divorcee empty ass apartment where the ghosts of my past call me a wet loser? What?

JHGKEJRGHKERJHGKREJGH no ur right. i think it genuinely only works when you look at it from a mythological story perspective rather than the two of them as individual people... which is interesting because their whole stories are kind of about how they lose themselves to the myth that surrounds them... so i think its supposed to be the ultimate conclusion of that.

they are at once both finally free of the burdens of the myths and expectations that follow them as the dread wolf and the herald of andraste because they have left the mortal world that forced them into those roles and stripped them of their personhood, but they have also completely submitted themselves to those roles by submitting to the logical conclusion of the myths that they could not escape. for the dread wolf, it is earning his redemption through his willing submission to his own trap. its the logical, full-circle mythological conclusion to the trickster who trapped the gods, now trapped for eternity himself (allegedly, he will prob eventually break out... even loki gets his freedom during ragnarok...). for the inquisitor, it is andraste's herald finally sharing andraste's fate, choosing to leave the mortal world behind to ascend to the golden city alongside the god that she loves. both (presumably, for a lavellan) have tried to reject the myths attached to them over and over and over, but in the end they choose them willingly, and that choice at once binds them to those myths forever while simultaneously freeing them from the burden of them. its giving oedipal greek tragedy of attempting to outrun your fate and it finding you anyway, just when you thought you were finally making your own choice, but with a hopeful and bittersweet spin. its actually fucking insanely brilliant when i think about it this way it makes me genuinely foam at the mouth.

however the major caveat to this is i do not think this is presented nearly clear enough in veilguard. the only reason i am able to create such wonderful, deep meaning from this is honestly because my bachelor's degree is in literature and i literally have formal academic training analyzing storytelling. and it took me like a week to actually sift through all this in my brain and go back and sift through lines and images in the game to support my analysis. it should not take that much work, it should have been more clear. because yeah, the first time you play it it absolutely feels like your girly pop lavellan is making the WORST, down-bad delulu decision of her life while the rest of the world is screaming GIRL DUMP HIM!!!!!!!! and im not suggesting im smarter than anyone for looking at it “the right way” or anything like that. im saying that i think in order to get the meaning from it that the writers intended, you have to look at it through a very specific literary lens, and that is something that most people are not going to default to… because why would you? the story should lead you there on its own. there shouldn’t be a niche prerequisite to enjoying the ending. a few more lines about people made into myths, much like those we got throughout inquisition, could’ve helped facilitate this. they did a great job of hammering in the regret and choice themes to the point it was like beating a dead horse with a stick. and there are a few good lines that kind of give this vibe (“you’re not JUST the inquisitor, right?” “they call me the dread wolf, what will they call you when this is over?” “there is no fate but the love we share,” a codex from felassan about solas being forced to play into the dread wolf persona, etc.) but they probably could’ve added a few more to talk about mythological apotheosis and choice in the context of fate rather than just in the context of regret, and it would’ve helped at least a bit.

so i fully understand peoples discomfort with the ending as a result. i think it’s a logical conclusion to come to based on how the story presents itself. however im pretty confident that this mythological vibe was tricks intention, based on a lot of their comments about their writing process and inspiration for solas, and the way they have written him overall. @corseque has a lot of amazing posts in her solas tag that talk specifically about the very deliberately mythological way that weekes wrote solas, and i think this is essential context for understanding the ending that the game simply does not sufficiently provide. it also definitely invalidates a lot of people's perceptions of not just their inquisitor, but the solavellan romance as well. however i hope me blabbing about how it can be absolutely brilliant when viewed through a specific lens might help people feel more at peace with it <3

#OK U GUYS HAVE TO STOP PROMPTING ME TO WRITE ESSAYS I HAVE TO GO DO WORK JERHGKJERHGJKREG #but thank u for this <3 #solavellan #solas #veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #da:v spoilers #dav spoilers #mine.txt #meta #ask

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apomaro-mellow · 1 day ago

Text

Yall said you wanted more of Victorian steddie cucking Jason so here ya go

Read on AO3

Steve had been distracted and it only got worse as his appointment with Doctor Munson got closer. He had never felt that good before. No omega he’d ever talked to had mentioned that an alpha’s touch could feel like that. He didn’t even know using mouths was an option. Was it strictly a medical procedure? Surely he couldn’t expect his husband to perform that for him. Only a licensed expert should….should…

He clenched his legs together and bit his lip, trying to look like he was present as his husband went over the final preparations.

Jason sighed. “I do wish you didn’t have to see the doctor on the same day as the party. What if you fall ill?”

Steve sighed. “It’s for the best. You want a child, don’t you? One of our very own. And Doctor Munson has been recommended by all our friends.”

Of course, Jason had been the one to seek him out, but when Steve mentioned the name Munson to his own circle, Heather and Carol had nothing but praise for the man’s practice. Carol had even confided in her own struggle to conceive before taking him on as a physician and now she was set to pop any day now.

Before, Steve had chalked it up to a pill or tonic, something that made her and her husband’s attempts more fruitful. But…when he remembered how the doctor had helped him. Now Steve was wondering if Carol’s child would be born with hair darker and curlier than it should be. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that but the only way to know more was to get to his appointment.

Jason wouldn’t be joining him for this one, too busy with the last minute details. They were hosting a celebration for Jason’s commendation and Steve hoped he’d be in a jovial mood when it was time to get to bed.

He didn’t even have to spend time in the waiting room when he arrived. Doctor Munson was already in the front room, almost as if he’d been waiting for Steve.

“Mrs. Carver, right on time, follow me.”

Steve did, entering and sitting down on the table as he had the first time. Doctor Munson closed the door behind himself. He started with asking baseline questions. Most of which were easy to answer, as it had only been a week since he had been here last. Nothing much changed except…well…

“And your urges? The ones Mr. Carver was worried about? Did they get any better?”

Steve started to wring his skirt before remembering his manners and straightening it out. “I um, well, yes and uh no?”

Doctor Munson chuckled. “So a solid maybe? Could you elaborate? Are they different from before?”

Steve thought about it. He still felt an ache, a need. But they only came upon him when he thought of-oh.

“The urges used to be directed solely at my husband. But I don’t think about him anymore. Instead I-”

“Instead?”

Steve cleared his throat and turned up his gaze from his lap to the man before. “I’ve been thinking of you.”

The grin that came upon the doctor’s face was both endearing and searing. Steve felt his body get warm and his eyes were drawn to that mouth. He missed entirely what was said next.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said that’s perfectly natural. Your omega desires the one who will care for your needs. Typically it would be your husband. But it’s not uncommon for an omega’s sights to turn to someone else.”

“Oh.” It felt better to hear that it was normal.

“Now, let’s not dither any longer. You have a party to prepare for.”

“Speaking of”, Steve started as the doctor scribbled something down. “I know it’s very last minute, but we would be honored if you attended.”

“Would you now?”

“Of course. If all goes well, we-I’d have you to thank for my child.”

“In that case, I would be honored to attend. Now, onto business. Do you feel that need arising now? When you look at me?”

Steve thought about the times he had admitted to Jason the sort of feelings his husband caused within him; how his husband had recoiled to know his inner thoughts. Steve didn’t want Doctor Munson to be repulsed by him. But if he lied to a physician, what was the point?

So he nodded. “Yes. I am, I mean I do, feel those things.”

Doctor Munson nodded and moved to stand behind Steve. “I’m sure you and Mr. Carver have plans for a more private celebration tonight, yes?”

“Yes. We want to make the most of my appointment today.” He could feel the doctor’s breath against his ear.

“And as I understand it, this will be your first knotting. Being knotted and pupped up, you’re going to experience some changes. It’s time you got acquainted with yourself more than ever before.”

Steve tried to turn to see what he meant but Doctor Munson was already moving, placing a large mirror in front of him. The doctor got behind him again and put his hands on Steve’s waist.

“May you lift your skirts and spread your legs?”

Steve felt his cheeks heat up but obeyed. When all was said and down, his core was exposed to the world. He was only able to glance at his reflection before turning his head away. He was surprised to feel a gentle hand massaging his hip.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of down there.” His hands moved down to Steve’s thighs, slowly making their way inward. “You have a healthy thatch of hairs.”

His hand cupped Steve then, simply holding him. Steve’s breath got short and yet he felt secure, safe. Doctor Munson hummed, sounding observant and pleased.

“Has your husband ever told you how lovely you are down there?”

Steve’s eyes snapped open, though he wasn’t quite sure when they’d closed. ‘Lovely’? Down there? He turned his head to look at the doctor’s face but he wasn’t even looking at Steve. His eyes were on the mirror. Steve turned his gaze to that and found eyes transfixed on their reflection. Specifically on what was happening….down there. Doctor Munson’s finger was stroking up and down.

“I asked you a question Mrs. Carver. Are you still lucid?”

“He’s never-n-never said that about me, um, rather about that part of me.”

Doctor Munson tutted. “Husbands aren’t always the best at expressing themselves, I’m afraid. But I’m sure he must think so. Beautifully pink in color. And the shine.” He took in a deep breath in the same moment that Steve breathed out. He pushed a finger in, a low growl coming from him as he watched it get sucked in.

“All alphas owe their lives to this. It’s a pity they don’t always know how to show appreciation. So allow me to tell you - the way you could take a knot is divine.” He pushed a second finger inside. “And the way this same part can pass through a child, bringing new life into the world, is godly.”

Steve’s hips shifted but he fought to keep them still. In his mind he could hear Jason reprimanding him. And he could also hear his governess telling him that good omegas stayed perfectly still so their alpha could complete the deed without interruption.

“Don’t fight your instincts.”

“B-but I-I was told-”

“Your body knows what it needs. And if your mate hasn’t given it to you right away, use your body to tell him what that is.” To prove his point, Doctor Munson stilled his hand.

Steve couldn’t help the whine from the back of his throat. His hips squirmed without any coordination for a few moments before he was able to find some kind of rhythm and he watched through the mirror. Watched as those deft fingers moved in and out of him.

“That’s it, Mrs. Carver. Just like that.”

“Steve. You can-that is to say-you may call me by my first name.”

“In that case, you may also drop the formalities with me. Those close to me know me by Eddie.”

“Eddie”, Steve sighed, trying it out. It certainly felt more intimate than calling him by ‘Doctor Munson’. And right now, he didn’t want to be known as ‘Mrs. Carver’.

“You’re doing wonderfully Steve. You produce slick like a master and your scent is perfectly enticing. You can take a good stretching”, he said, a third finger slipping inside. “And then there’s this little button.” His other hand pulled at the top of his mound.

After his first appointment, Steve had been curious. He had thought to look but could never quite gather the nerve to look for long or do any true exploration. But he remembered where he had felt Eddie’s tongue that sent jolts of lightning through his body.

“Do you know what this part of you is for?”

Steve shook his head. Hole was for the alpha and then later the pup to come through. Everything else was a mystery that only men in medicine knew. He watched with hungry eyes as Eddie finally touched it, just with the tip of his finger and still he reached up and clung to the sleeve of the doctor’s coat.

“Do you understand now?”

“Wha? Mmn, what?”

“Pay attention, Steve”, Eddie reminded gently. He touched the small nub again and this time Steve paid attention to his own reaction. Not just how it felt good but what his body actually did in response to it. How his hips lifted to meet the touch, how he tightened around Eddie’s fingers, and how more slick came from him.

“Do you see now?”, Eddie asked. “Most will ignore it but this part of you is important too.” He used the hand not currently in Steve to spread his slick around. “It will make you clench around your alpha. That, combined with his knot, will make sure none of his seed leaks out. An evolutionary advantage, back from the days where an omega could be taken by any alpha. It made certain that even if that happened, a bonded omega would already be pupped by the one of their choosing.”

His fingers started to thrust deep into Steve while the ones on his other hand rubbed quick circles. Steve’s head came to rest on his shoulder, mouth agape and eyes rolling back. His husband was most definitely the last thing on his mind right now.

“That’s it Steve, let go. Just feel. An alpha should consider this his honor, his sacred duty.”

Steve found it hard to believe any alpha would feel that way but certainly Eddie must. He was focused on his mission and nothing else. And Steve felt that delicious heat build up in him again just like last time. Then he felt Eddie nuzzle at his neck. His high collar kept from any pure skin contact, but it made him burn all the same. Eddie buried his nose on the side of his mating bite.

A clear challenge to the alpha who had already bitten him.

Steve opened his eyes in time to see himself put Eddie’s fingers in a death grip and watch everything down there pulse in time with the waves of pleasure that crashed through him. This time, instead of washing his hands, Eddie brought his slick-soaked fingers to his mouth and cleaned them off with his tongue.

“What time is that party?”

For the evening’s events, Steve changed his gown to something more celebratory. It showed his neck and parts of his shoulders and collarbone. But of course, his bond bite was hidden under a choker, as was custom. The only omegas who went without were those without a bite to show. Steve had spent the better part of the evening distracting himself with idle talk.

Eddie hadn’t arrived yet and it made Steve’s thoughts wander. Did he help out all omegas the same way? Was Steve just next in a long line of conquests? Eddie had never offered Steve anything but his medicinal techniques and yet he was clearly challenging Jason. And Jason didn’t even know it.

Jason said nothing about Eddie’s scent on him when he returned home, though Steve was sure he must be able to smell it. He washed himself before the party just to be sure.

And speaking of the party, it was going swimmingly, he had to admit. Everyone was enjoying themselves and Jason had his chest puffed out all night. It made Steve anticipate their bed all the more. When it was time to dance, Steve took his husband’s hand and followed his lead. Dancing for him was an excuse to have his alpha’s hands on him in public. Jason always kept a respectable distance though. Sometimes more than respectable.

After one dance, they moved to the side. Steve could have danced more but sometimes it felt like Jason only wanted to touch him when necessary. Jason conversed with some of the other men, Steve loyally at his side when someone tapped his bare shoulder.

“Eddie?”

“Apologies for my late arrival.”

“‘Eddie’?”, Jason echoed.

“I would like to make the most of what time I have left in the party. So if I may impose, may I have the hostess’ for this next dance?”

Steve was tempted to take Eddie’s hand even without his husband’s approval. But he still looked to Jason, hoping he didn’t look too eager.

“You have my permission, doctor.”

Eddie took Steve’s hand and led him to the dance floor. He didn’t wear his white coat and his hair wasn’t pulled up like in his office. Instead, it fell over the shoulders of his dark jacket. Eddie nodded to Carol and Steve was reminded that she was one of his patients. Eddie brought him into a dancer’s hold so close that their chests rose and fell against each other.

“Carol is due any day now”, Steve commented as they swayed to the music.

“And glowing with the pride of it. Mr. Hagan must be proud.”

“I’m sure they appreciated your help. Carol was so worried before conceiving.”

“And that worry was stress that made it all the more difficult for their family to grow. It seems they’re doing quite well now.”

“Do you help all omegas in the same way?”, Steve ventured to ask.

Eddie grinned. “Each person who passes through my practice requires different care. I don’t normally gossip about specifics, but for the Hagans, I simply coached Mr. Hagan through some bedroom techniques. Mr. Wheeler simply needed a tonic for vitality. But you, Steve…”

His gaze got intense and Steve realized he could scent him for the first time. It made sense for doctors to cover their scent, otherwise it could unease a patient. But this was a social event and Eddie had no need to hide his cinnamon and cloves scent.

“Yes?”

“I knew I had to assist you by any means necessary. And if that meant I was allowed to touch…to taste…”

Steve’s body grew warm. “Tonight-”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“But Jason-”

“Will be taken care of. He is still your husband. And I intend to respect his claim over you. But you deserve a pup. You deserve to hear a child’s laughter in your halls and to be someone’s mother.”

“Eddie”, Steve sighed, not even realizing how close their bodies were pressed until the musicians changed the tune.

Their bodies separated and Steve was returned to his husband. Steve fanned himself and used the dance as an excuse as to why he was slightly flushed, not that Jason acknowledged it beyond a sneer. As the party began to wind down, Steve noticed his husband was more intoxicated than usual. He became worried about what this meant for the night and his suspicions were proven correct.

Their guests had gone home and the married couple dressed for bed. Jason needed help getting into his gown and he was in bed while Steve was still sitting at his vanity, brushing his hair.

“Jason? Jason?”, Steve called out, going over to his side of the bed. “Don’t you remember tonight?”

“He’s just about passed out”, Eddie’s voice sounded from the door, causing Steve to whip around.

“You’re here.”

“I said I would be.” Eddie shrugged his coat off.

“Here? Now?”, Steve asked his heart rabbiting.

“Yes”, Eddie nodded. “He won’t wake until morning. But the scent you make and the sounds you produce should reach his subconscious mind and make him more susceptible to you.”

“You’ll give me a pup? Tonight?”, Steve put a hand to his chest, trying to calm his heart.

“I promised it to you and your husband. And I am a man of my word.” Eddie closed the distance between them and cradled Steve’s face, illuminated only by moonlight, then kissed him sweetly.

It was a different kind of kiss than what Steve was used to. Barely there pecks. This was like a thunderstorm after a drought. Eddie’s hands smoothed down Steve’s neck, around his waist, and then settled on his hips. Steve’s hands stayed perfectly still at his side. When Eddie pulled back, he took Steve’s hand and guided him to the other side of the bed where he normally laid. Steve laid down on his back.

His heart had just calmed down but it picked up again as Eddie undressed himself fully. Steve’s legs trembled, fighting between the instinct to spread and show himself and his learned behavior of keeping his legs shut. But he remembered the alpha’s words just that morning. He was allowed to give in to his instincts. So he not only spread, but he pulled the hem of his nightgown up and over his knees, exposing himself to the room.

“There it is, just as gorgeous as always”, Eddie praised, coming onto the bed.

Steve thought he should feel more shame. Or more reservations. He was letting another alpha take him while his real husband and mate slumbered right next to them. But Jason benefited from this too. Eddie started to kiss his thighs and Steve just about forgot the presence of his husband. He felt warm breath on his loins and covered his mouth before he could cry out. Then a hand came up to pull it away.

“Mr. Carver needs to hear you. He needs to associate your sounds with satisfaction.”

“But I’ve never…”

Eddie licked a stripe up his core, eliciting a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp from Steve. “The more you allow yourself to feel, the better chance you have at conceiving.”

Steve’s lips parted and he allowed short breaths. Then Eddie’s tongue started to draw circles and whimpers fell from him. He thought he’d be more scared of Jason waking up. He turned his head to see his husband on his back, appearing almost dead to the world. Then Eddie blew cold air onto his hot flesh and Steve jolted, a sharp cry coming from him. Jason shifted, turning on his side now so that he was face to face with Steve.

That only stoked the flames in Steve’s body and he felt himself get more wet. Eddie hummed, seeming pleased at his reaction.

“You feel good and you want your alpha to know that.” He rose up and kissed Steve’s chest through his gown while rubbing a finger against his slit. He pressed the first one in and released a low rumble, pleased at how easily it slipped in. His lips found Steve’s neck, the unbitten side, and sucked a mark into it.

“Alpha”, Steve moaned softly, arms winding around Eddie.

Eddie got him to three fingers like before and then pulled them out. Steve’s eyes fluttered as he felt the head finally slip in. One hand fell from Eddie, needing to grip something and that ended up being Jason’s nightgown. Steve could feel his husband’s chest rise and fell while Eddie sunk deeper and deeper into him. His mouth fell open and every indecent sound he had held back all these years were set free as Eddie thrust in and out.

Every touch was true to Eddie’s words from earlier. He considered it a privilege and an honor to be allowed to do this. Steve felt something else begin to push up against him and realized in euphoria that it was a knot. He was going to be knotted, he was going to be filled and thoroughly seeded and it would finally take root and turn into a beautiful life.

When it popped into him, he could hear Eddie growl into his ear. Eddie bit into his shoulder and Steve saw stars.

Jason didn’t stir until morning came. He sat up, head still swimming from the previous night. He rubbed his temples and slowly stood up from the bed. It was only then that he noticed Doctor Munson sitting in a chair on the other side of the room.

“What are you-?!”

“Shh”, Eddie put a finger to his lips. “Watch your volume. Your wife is still resting.”

Jason looked down to see that Steve was very much still asleep. “Why are you here?”

“Mr. Carver when a patient puts their trust in me, I see it through to the end. And I must say, you performed quite well last night. As I was able to observe, Mrs. Carver was properly knotted.”

Jason’s brow furrowed. He didn’t want to say that he had no recollection of that. But he truly remembered nothing after collapsing into bed. Eddie stood and walked over to the bed. He was fully clothed, excluding his coat and hat.

“The proof is right here.” Eddie pulled the blanket back and then lifted Steve’s gown. He then very gently spread his legs. “His amount of slick is proof of a coupling. But if you look very closely, not a single drop of your spend is on the outside. I say not even a textbook would have a more perfect illustration.”

Steve shifted and Eddie covered him back up. Jason swallowed, feeling challenged and yet now knowing why.

“So it is done?”

“Conception should be complete, yes. But your journey has only just begun. We can discuss it more later. But I recommend that Steve visits my office regularly from now on. Perhaps every two weeks or so.”

Jason watched as Doctor Munson put his coat back on and then his hat. “Um, yes, very good. Thank you, doctor.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Carver”, Eddie smirked.

tbc?

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #a/b/o #omegaverse

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centrally-unplanned · 2 days ago

Text

Let's see if I have one more election take in me:

I am deeply sympathetic to Sam Kriss's rage against the Democratic corpo-political shibboleth, and not just because we are both deeply enmeshed in the grand tradition of dissident Oxbridge-style cantankerous internet rants. He is right that Kamala was a weak candidate, for one. But more importantly, I still feel what he feels deep down. I remember the starry idealism of my halcyon youth, of believing that conviction, that vision, that the zeal only a platform birthed from authentic principles, tempered by struggle and sweat, would carry the day over crass, paint-by-polling-numbers incrementalism. When he describes Harris thusly:

"She’s a machine politician. She wants power, but not for any particular reason. It’s just that life is a game, and the point is to reach the highest level."

I see my own reaction to her when she first stepped into the 2020 limelight, and low-key hating her for it. I feel his heart, for it is my heart.

But it is not my brain. Because I am not a teenager anymore, and his critique is fucking bullshit.

He says all this stuff like:

The reason Kamala Harris lost is the same as the reason she was the candidate to begin with: the Democratic Party is allergic to democracy.

And how the electorate is seen as but ants from inside the towers of the Machine, like the Dems just invented "not running a primary" this time as a lark. As opposed to neither party in America ever having primaries against incumbent presidents! Because they are normally popular, and it would be a waste of everyone's time to do that! Could you imagine, launching a real primary against Obama in 2012? And possibly sabotaging his brand a bit for absolutely nothing? It is a reasonable policy, particularly when incumbents used to have an advantage for being so. Now they clearly don't, Biden was unpopular and too old, and the Dems took too long to realize it. A costly mistake, but it is a purely strategic error. Big orgs have inertia, and the Dems fucked up. It has nothing to do with an "allergy to democracy".

And Kriss can go off summarizing how the Harris campaign was offering voters nothing:

But for some unaccountable reason, among the general public, ‘Kamala: You Already Like Her!’ was not the brilliant pitch it seemed to be. [...] Another option would be to actually offer something to the voters.

Which sounds neat, but he made it up! I remember Kamala's actual campaign speeches, ads, and platforms, which she repeated so monotonically in her tightly-scripted campaign appearances: protect abortion rights, expand the welfare state, provide better child care support, lower the cost of housing. And most importantly, she ran on Biden's record of a strong economy and promised to deliver more of it. What does even mean for this to not be a real platform? Beyond not having some synthesized, totalizing "Critique" of modernity that packages it all into a beautiful, systematizing little box.

Because I promise you, voters synthesize jack shit. None of this is why Harris lost - voters have made that pretty clear:

You can find other data ofc, this or that point varies, but the story is not opaque. They didn't like Biden! They didn't like his inflation. They didn't like immigration, or they didn't like his liberalism, and they thought Kamala was too similar. She had too much policy baggage. And she wasn't charismatic enough to dig herself out of that hole - no disagreement from me on that front.

Though even then, by that we mean she lost an election by ~3-4% margins after getting subbed in at the 4th quarter while down by ~8% in the polls. That ain't bad!

None of the voters who matter share Kriss's sensibilities, and he cannot hide his disappointment in that. So he pretends that Donald Trump, the guy who promised 20% tariffs on everything to fight inflation, is giving them a real vision:

That’s what Trump did: he offered an enemy to blame and the prospect of doing violence to them

I don't know man, I think swing voters just don't like the last four years and think 2019 was better. I don't think the promises of orgastic violence against democrats are why Trump won! Actually a bit of an unforced error on his part.

But since Kriss presumes to value democracy, that thesis can't hold - so the lack of reality delivering on what his vision for democracy should be is displaced onto Harris's mistakes. The voters can never fail you. You can only fail to elevate them with the right candidate. Which, tactically? Sure, why not. But you can leave the moralism at the classroom door.

This ties into our dreaded media discourse debate, so it is time to bring in another explainer, by Michael Tomasky:

The line-by-line isn't interesting here; instead I want to focus on this quote:

Weren’t they bothered that Trump is a convicted felon? An adjudicated rapist? Didn’t his invocation of violence against Liz Cheney, or 50 other examples of his disgusting imprecations, obviously disqualify him? And couldn’t they see that Harris, whatever her shortcomings, was a fundamentally smart, honest, well-meaning person who would show basic respect for the Constitution and wouldn’t do anything weird as president? The answer is obviously no—not enough people were able to see any of those things. At which point people throw up their hands and say, “I give up.”

To which the immediate reply is: my dude, what are you talking about??

A 56 percent majority of Americans say Trump is probably guilty of a criminal conspiracy to overturn the 2020 election results through false claims of voter fraud, including 40 percent who believe he is “definitely guilty.” Republicans are less united than Democrats. Nearly 9 in 10 Democrats believe Trump is guilty, while nearly 7 in 10 Republicans think he is innocent. Among independents, nearly twice as many think Trump is guilty as think he is innocent.

You know how when you ~13 years old, and you have that friend who is just old enough to start taking Dungeons & Dragons books filled with splash art of succubi into the bathroom with him, but not yet old enough to get that "talking to girls" is an acquired skill? And they are blatantly, openly salivating over the first chick in the 7th grade class who discovered what power the combination of a camisole and a push-up bra holds over the male gaze? And she just completely ignores his faltering attempts at ~casual conversation~, so his brain script-cycles through its backlog of tween sitcom plots until it lands on, "Hey, what if I confess to her? Then she will know about my feelings!"

And you have to pull him aside and gently explain that, bro. She knows. That is not your problem.

Kriss is too intelligent a thinker to not understand this, but our dear Tomasky - and so many like him - has stuck his 14-year-old head in the sand over this. Swing voters know Trump is a scumbag! They know he lost the election, they know he raped a few women in his day, they know he is a serial fraudster. Even a bunch of those Republicans who, in polls, go "oh it's all a Dem conspiracy"? They know too; they just have the decency to lie about it. How could they not? Every media outlet in the country has been repeating it for a fucking decade! I might think voters are morons but even I won't stoop this low; they have eyes and ears, they aren't illiterate.

They just don't care.

Not enough at least, not enough to make it the only thing they consider. And here is the rub, here is the grand mistake Kriss & Tomasky are making - they are at least somewhat right to not care. The height of the Democratic privilege is that they get to play this card because they don't have to deal with it being turned against them. Kamala is a political chameleon but she is a decent person. She would never take a bribe from a foreign government, she would never assault a coworker, she would never, ever, deny a free and fair election.

Which means you don't have to choose between voting for a rapist and voting for someone who is going to shove a bullshit interpretation of the 14th amendment down your throat via a stacked court to ban abortion nationwide, forever. Pro-life people think abortion is genocide against babies! Why are you surprised they aren't voting for the pro-baby-genocide person because she is nice? How sure are you that you would do the same when that is reversed? I guess those boycott-Harris-because-of-Gaza people got some cred, but I think we all agreed they were dumb, right?

This is the rub of why outsiders always have so much difficulty understanding how people like Berlusconi, Trump, Le Pen, etc, get so much vote share - they have no stake in the political struggle beyond the vague idea of democratic norms. It is easy to say "Italy, choose a non-crook!" when you don't have to live with the policy programme of the other guy. From the inside the price of those principles is far, far harder. It isn't shocking that most choose not to pay it.

This isn't to give voters like a moral pass - Trump's conduct is truly disqualifying, I would vote Republican if the shoe was on the other foot in this case. My point instead is that they generally won't as a simple fact of life, and blaming them is futile. If you have wound up in a situation where the political system has taken its pool of hundreds of millions of potential candidates and narrowed it down to two for the voters, and one of them has "launched a coup but will say go to hell to the inflation guy" as a bundled package, someone fucked up and it isn't the voters.

You need political elites to do their part in the system - Republicans never should have let Trump be their candidate in 2016. Open primaries with no organizational thumbs on the scale are a mistake, actually, allowing arbitrary minorities to generate subpar candidates. The decision to let Biden run again was, fundamentally, born from the same impulse - the Democratic Party had no leadership capable of telling him no, because they outsourced that job to "primaries". The Dems are not "allergic" to democracy; democracy is allergic to too much of itself.

But the cat is out of the bag now! These changes happened for a reason after all. Which I won't dig into here - I will keep my point as focused as something as sprawling as this can be. Voters will not save you, and you should not be disappointed when they don't. It was never their job.

#That's right it was a 10% less democracy bitchfest all long!! Get tricked fools

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