#here's something to tide you over before i start working on all those requests!

[wanderer-clarisse]

baby Finrod befriending a crab <3

#here's something to tide you over before i start working on all those requests! #(which are all lovely and i can't wait to draw them!) #definitely agree with that headcanon that baby finrod would've been the type to make friends with animals and want to bring them home #clarisse doodles #finrod felagund #CRABS #elves #crab day

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Spring, 2020 - San Diego, California

Chapter 7 Part 1 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: After your inquiry, you've been feeling oddly adrift. It feels weird, being back in your house, in your life like you belong in it. Things feel different. A chance encounter with your soulmate on the beach has you falling into something which seems incredibly close to love.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish.

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 3880

A/N: You all remember how I teased you with slow burn a year ago, right? We're finally starting to feel the burn now. I know it's taken me nearly a year to get here, but now is when we're going to have some sweet fluff for Tink and Rooster!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

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Tinkerbell

You’ve found yourself retreating to the ocean more often since the day of the inquiry. The crashing waves help you process everything that has happened over the past few months. You've been struck with so much pain, sorrow, and guilt; at times, it feels like you were barely living at all. You’re not sure if you actually lived through those horrible months or if a robot took control of your body. Some of the same feelings came back to you when you walked into your hangar on base the day after the trial.

The work is the same. Your team is the same. Yet, you can’t help feeling like everything has inexplicably changed. Your team has flourished under Commander Greyson's steady, quiet leadership. In your darkest moments, you wonder if they wouldn't be better off without you at the helm. You can't deny that Commander Greyson is brilliant at what he does. There would be so much your team can learn from him - so much you can learn from him. Even the drone project for Admiral Cain is completed with so much detail it makes your head spin. It feels odd, being back on the North Island Naval Base as notorious as you are. It leaves you with a prickling, itching sensation of being seen.

Jake and Javy had dogged you relentlessly that first day, spending all their time off hops draped over the worn sofa in the AMDO hangar in turn like a pair of eager, hungry, sweet Dobermans. They never hesitated to growl at the gossip floating around, even before your inquiry. But you chased them away after the first day, knowing you needed to stand by yourself. Being back home, in your actual house, helps too. The familiar sights and smells wrap you in a warm hug. So does being able to tinker with your cars and motorcycles.

But what you've missed the most when staying with Jake and Javy was having the sea nearby. The crashing of the waves, the salt in the air, the way the sand is rough under your feet. Every night, you had taken to languidly strolling at the tide line, relishing in the prickle of small seashells against the pads of your feet in the wet sand. The rush of water soothes the roar of your thoughts and grounds you. If only it could soothe your unconscious mind as well as the sea soothes your conscious thoughts. 

Of course, nothing can soothe your thoughts, not even the rush of the ocean in the distance as Bradley opens the passenger side door for you in front of a gorgeous off-white stucco house. The long, shaded drive is packed with cars, and you can feel your nerves with every footstep you take. You willingly take hold of a couple of the many tote bags full of alcohol Penny had given Bradley because you may not be sure what you’re doing here. You're still not sure why you accepted his invitation to celebrate his dad. Still, at least you can cart alcohol into the colossal house.

When the door opens, it's to a wall of pure sound. You're shell-shocked by it but more so by the slight man with dark hair and green eyes standing at the threshold.

“A-admiral Mitchell!” With your arms encumbered by the bags, you can’t salute, though a part of you wishes you could.

“At ease, Lieutenant Commander.” His grin is mischievous, and his voice is sardonic. “Come on in. I'm glad Bradley finally got off of his ass and invited you out to meet us.”

Your smile is nearly a grimace as you follow Admiral Mitchell into the kitchen and set the bags down on one of the counters. You turn and brush invisible dust off of your fingers. Admiral Mitchell's looking at you with a knowing smile on his face.

“I guess he didn't tell you he was bringing you here?”

You shake your head and let him take the bags out of your hands. “Well, you’re always welcome, kid. And please. Call me, Mav.”

The door swings open again, and this time, you’re hit with a waft of that sandalwood scent that you’re quickly coming to adore. It's Bradley, and you're not sure why, but he's easily holding all of the other bags, bulging with bottles of alcohol in his brawny arms.

“Hey, Baby Goose!” You grin at the naked affection in the other man’s words. “It took you long enough to get Tinkerbell to come here.”

“But, kiddo, you could’ve at least warned her what she was walking into!” 

Maverick Mitchell looks like he’s practically leaping for joy. You have to stifle your snicker as a blush crawls its way up Bradley’s neck.

“It was a spontaneous invitation, Dad.” Now, the endearment has you looking wide-eyed at Bradley.

“Go on, get all the drinks in the kitchen. Ice is out in the backyard, manning the grill. All of the others are out there, too. Grab whatever you’d like for yourselves, and get on out there!” Mav seems quite content to ignore the look on your face, skirting around you and Bradley in the hallway and disappearing through an arch at the end of the hallway when someone calls his name.

“Come on, Tink.” You follow his broad shoulders as he leads you through the house. The walls are covered with pictures, a lot of them depicting a tow-headed boy in various stages of growth. Of course, you realize they're Bradley when you see his graduation pictures right next to his Officer promotion pictures on the wall. When you walk through the same arch Mav disappeared through, you’re spellbound at the sight of the sun setting through the big picture windows. There are fairy lights strung through the trees and music playing. On an impromptu dance floor, you can see couples dancing.

There are a lot of people floating through the backyard. You recognize most of them from dossiers and others from reputations built on hearsay in the Navy, and all of a sudden, you're absolutely sure you shouldn't be here at all. The icing on the proverbial cake is when you see Mav kissing Iceman, yeah, that Iceman, tenderly on the lips.

“Yeah, Dad and Pops are soulmates.” You squeak just a little as those words hit.

“So you’re telling me your dad, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, and your Pops, Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, the COMPACFLT of the US Navy, are soulmates?”

You’re sure you can be excused for your tone. This is a whopper of a secret to find out. Bradley takes one look at your face and snickers like he can’t believe the expression on his face. You poke your elbow into his side gently, trying to make him let up on his teasing. You’re not serious about it, enjoying the light air between the two of you. But when Bradley wraps his arm around your waist, you have to sigh at the warmth his arms bring you. He stops moving when he’s wrapped around you, one hand securely holding his beer, the other curled around your front like it was made to be there.

His sandalwood scent wraps you up as securely as his arms do. Standing here, seeing the sun setting behind the party happening out in the yard, it almost feels like you can do this - be soulmates with Bradley Bradshaw. Obviously, there is a lot you still need to talk to him about. But, the warmth Mav has shown you as some of Bradley’s only family goes a long way.

“It’s beautiful here,” you hum as you sip from your icy cold cider bottle, relishing in the condensation dripping onto your sun-warmed skin.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” There’s something reverent in Bradley’s voice as he looks out over the yard with its sprawling green lawn.

“I’ve always wanted to have a life like Mav and Ice’s.” He smiles softly, his eyes sparkling in the golden light of the setting sun like amber shot through with motes of molten gold.

“My mom and dad have a house, you know?” You gasp and slide your fingers down until they’re laced with his across your stomach.

“It’s in Virginia. They got acres of land with the property. My mom’s parents gave it to my mom and dad when they got married. I can’t help but wonder if everything would have been different if I still had them both with me.”

“They loved you, Rooster. I don’t have to have met them to know that. They would have adored seeing the man you’ve become, Bradley.”

“I know they would have, Tinkerbell. I wish I could make that house a home, is all.”

“Who is to say you still can’t?”

“Who would want to build a life with me, anyhow?” There is sorrow in his voice, the same emotion streaking across his face in a flash.

“Well, I know I would be willing to try?” You’re not sure what prompts the words to spill out of your mouth. They feel so right on your tongue. The words also leave you feeling oddly vulnerable because they’re the vocalization of a dream you’ve been carrying yourself for a very long time. Bradley’s sweet intake of breath makes something light up in your chest.

“I’d like that,” he chuckles, “C’mon. Let me introduce you to everyone here. They’re the closest things to a family I’ve got. I want them to like you, but chances are, they’ll love you. They might not love me once they hear what happened, though.”

You slide your drink onto a table and slip your arms around his waist. His arms curl around you tenderly. His lips feather against the top of your head in a soft, barely there kiss.

“They’re your family, Roo. They’re going to love you no matter what.” 

He chuckles ruefully at your earnest words.

“They’re going to love you too, Tinkerbell.”

With those final words on the matter, you’re whisked out into the setting sun. A part of you can’t believe you’re out here rubbing elbows with US Navy elites. Every person Bradley introduces you to is another surprise. Before you can blink, you’ve chatted with Rear Admiral Kerner, who asks you to call him Slider, and laughed with Admiral Kazansky. You adore how this colossal cobbled-together family acts with each other. Every conversation is littered with inside jokes and teasing words. But more than how happy you are, it’s gratifying seeing how happy Bradley is. He seems to be in his element, laughing and reminiscing. There have been so many stories of Goose Bradshaw where you’ve seen him wiping away tears even while laughing that gloriously deep belly laugh.

People leave the party in pairs and trios, alcohol-soaked with colossal smiles curling their lips and laughter sneaking out as the ocean breeze brushes through the trees, salt-laden and wet as it smacks into your face. Before long, there are only a handful of the guests left in the garden. You’re not sure when he lit it, but Mav has started up a fire in the firepit, coals glowing red in the night air. You join the rest of the stragglers around the bonfire, settling in next to Bradley in one of the Adirondack chairs.

“So, Tinkerbell.” Your head snaps up so fast at the sound of her voice that it kind of hurts. It’s Sarah, The Iceman’s sister and Slider’s wife (how is this your life), who asks you, “How did you meet our Bradley?”

You swallow your sip of cider hurriedly - nearly choking on the fizzy liquid - caught on the spot as every face in the circle turns to you. Bradley grins as he lays an arm securely over your shoulders. That first night at The Hard Deck feels like it was a million years ago. A part of you can’t believe that it has only been a little over six months. It feels like you’re reliving that night over again when you recount it. You can taste the cocktails you’d been downing all night on your tongue. You half feel the sensations of Bradley’s hands on your skin as you recount the crush of people in the bar that night and the fear as you nearly get trampled. 

You unconsciously turn until you face Bradley, drinking in the sight of his face as he looks at you as you retell the first meeting of your fraught relationship. The electricity you’d felt that night is swarming through your veins again as you finish your retelling. You don’t mention a thing about the words you’d shared with him before leaving the Hard Deck and how you’d cried your eyes out in your bed at home, jet lag and exhaustion working in concert to make the words hit harder than they ever should have.

“That’s such a sweet story!” Sarah has a dreamy look on her face as she reaches for Slider’s hands with her own. They look so happy with each other, true soulmates if you’ve ever seen them. But you’re not one to ask. Since you were a little girl, you’ve had it drilled into your head to never ask someone what their soulmate marks are or even if their partner is their soulmate. It’s considered incredibly rude to do so when you’re not immediate family members or intimate friends. There are still people who do it, but they are rare and mostly do it to be rude. “I’m sure the two of you are going to be very happy together.”

You smile a little stiltedly, not sure how to answer that because while things are good between you and Bradley right now, far better than that first night anyhow, they’re far from where you could believe you’ve reached your happily ever after. Bradley seems just as discomfited as you are by his aunt’s well-meaning words. He joins the next conversation topic with aplomb, energy radiating out with him until it seems like everyone is wrapped up in the fun as the music plays low and quiet out of the speaker system. A few minutes later, he tugs you up out of your Adirondack and pulls you down towards the bottom of the garden.

“They love you, sweetheart.” You grin, wild and unabashed, as his words make you light up. Your heart is soaring, but your brain’s still unsure of this sudden need to have him at arm's reach, always touching you, always close. It feels too easy after all the pain you’ve been through.

“I’m glad, Bradley.”

“You don’t sound glad, Tink.” You’ve been trying to keep your emotions from your face, and now, more than ever, you’re sure you haven’t succeeded.  The bond between the two of you must be acting up as well because Bradley’s got this knowing look on his face. Goosebumps rise on your arms at the thought.

“I am.” He snorts and slides his Hawaiian shirt across your shoulders. It leaves him in just a white singlet. The top clings to his muscles and almost shines under the golden lights. Unbidden, the words spill out of you. 

“I promise I am, Bradley. It doesn’t feel like I deserve this, you know? Being this close to you? Seeing you happy.”

“So what do you want to do?” You fall in love the moment those words leave your soulmate’s mouth. There are no half-hidden attempts to over-explain what you’re feeling or urges to comfort you for something that isn’t a physical struggle. “How can I make it better?”

You shrug, burrowing into the thin fabric of the shirt as the cool ocean breeze wafts across the backyard.

“Would it be weird if we took things kind of slow for the next while?”

“How slow are you thinking?”

“Not too slow.” You’re quick to reassure your soulmate as you wrap an arm around his waist. Even now, there’s an ache burrowing under your skin at not feeling him pressed up against you. “I think we should date each other and get to actually know one another.”

When he doesn’t say anything for several long moments, you start to worry. It has you babbling, “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to?”

His hands gently slide over your cheeks and tip your face up until you can see the soft look in Bradley’s whiskey eyes. 

“It sounds like a good idea.” He chuckles as his lips press against your forehead. “We’ve moved in extremes since we’ve met. We need to get to know each other, care about each other, more than just the feeling of this bond linking us together.”

You feel like you can barely breathe at the look in your soulmate's eyes as he leans in close enough that you can feel his mustache on your lips.

“What do you say about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

You hum in thought, aching to press your lips to his. His body is a line of heat pressed up against yours, and you want more.

“I’d love to.”

His exhale of joy brushes damply across your lips, and at that moment, you can’t resist pressing upwards. His lips are petal soft and gentle as they slide over yours. It’s a sensation in direct counterpoint to the rough bristles of his mustache. Your arms slide around his thick neck, fingers catching at the furrowed scars on the smooth skin. Bradley’s breath catches as you trace lightly across the slightly raised skin. If he’s this responsive to your touch, what would he do if you were tracing your lips and tongue down his throat?

When he pulls away, you whimper, actually honest-to-god whimper, at the feeling of his skin leaving yours.

“Slow, sweetheart.” He chuckles as he pulls away, a tender smile curving his lips. “We said we’d go slow, right?”

“Fine,” you huff, licking your lips in a futile urge to taste more of your soulmate on your skin. If it’s any consolation, Bradley seems to be just as affected by that slow, languid, blood-boilingly hot kiss as you are.

“Tell me more about your dads.” It’s a plea closer to a demand than it should be. But you have to control yourself. If you look at him any longer, you’ll jump him. You can’t do that to him, not when you’ve just decided to go slow.

“What about them?”

You grin. “How’d they meet?”

“At Top Gun.” He’s got a faraway look in his eyes. “When Goose and Mav came to North Island in ‘86, one of their first stops was the O-Club. It was one of the only places catering to mostly Navy personnel and was quite famous. That’s where they ran into Uncle Ron and Pops.”

“Did they like each other at first sight?”

“I don’t think so, sweets.” You chuckle and shiver as another breeze makes the lights sway over your heads.

“Were they better or worse than we were when we met?”

Bradley grins and opens his arms to you. You melt into his arms and sigh in pleasure at the warmth of him in your arms. His voice rumbles comfortingly in his chest as he continues, “I think they were worse, sweets. Much worse.” 

He sounds sardonic and sarcastic, something drier than the desert in his tone.

“So you’re telling me there is worse than calling me “a little thing who just got her position in the Navy on her knees”?” Your tone doesn’t hold any heat because you know while he said something first, you continued it. You’ve definitely given as good as he dished out.

“Shit.” 

You giggle at his hushed exhale because as angry and hurt as you were when you heard him say those words, you’ve forgiven him long ago.

“That was a bad night for me, Tink.” He pulls his hands away from you only to tangle them into his curls as anguish and shame twist his features. Half hidden against his chest, you tug him in closer, soothing his pain with your presence as much as you can.

“You have no idea what you looked like that night, did you? Fuck, you looked so beautiful, it took my breath away. I was hanging on to your every word. From the first thing you said to me, I was seconds away from ripping that little sundress off. All I wanted was to lay you out on my bed and never let you go.”

When you inhale, it feels like the ocean-laden breeze burns. If he felt like this on that first day, how come he didn’t act on his feelings? 

“Then that fight broke out. All I wanted to do then was protect you. So I grabbed your waist and got you to that bar stool, holding you there with my back to that room so nobody could hurt you. It would’ve been too soon to kiss you then, no matter how much I wanted to, with the heat of your skin imprinted on my fingertips. Too much, too soon. So, after the fight was broken up, I grabbed my drink and tried to look nonchalant. At least, I did until I heard Hangman calling for you. He sounded so worried like he cared so much for you. I assumed then and there, he was your soulmate. So I backed off.”

“I was in a completely shitty mood the rest of the night. I’d never been so close to someone who I thought could be mine. I wanted you, only you. But I managed to convince myself that you weren’t mine, that you would never be mine. I got drunk. So drunk I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. I let my anger fester, and when it boiled to a fever pitch, I spat those words out when I saw you walk by, at a volume at which I knew you could hear.”

“I’m sorry, Tink.” Bradley’s voice is a growl, a pained one, as he apologizes to you again. “I’d understand if you couldn’t forgive me.”

There’s so much pain on his face you can’t help reaching up until you’re cupping his face in your hands.

“I forgave you a long time ago.”

It feels like an absolution saying those words into the night air. The disbelief on his face cements your decision even more. You forgive Bradley Bradshaw for all of his past sins, and you hope someday he can forgive all of yours, too. You press a kiss to his upturned jaw just because you can.

“There will never be anything but forgiveness between us, darling.”

“But how?” His voice is disbelieving. “How can we get past this?”

“The way we always have been meant to. Together.” Your eyes are soft as you tug on his hands until they wrap around you again. “And maybe, Roo, you should open that mouth and ask me if Jake Seresin is my soulmate next time.”

When he starts to snicker, you laugh, too. He pulls you in closer until he can press his lips to your forehead. You have many questions about your soulmate. For now, standing here at the bottom of the garden at his parent’s house is enough. You have the rest of your life in which to chat with Bradley. It’s a chance you’re not going to give up.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@roosters-girl @infamous-reindeer @caitsymichelle13 @mattyskies @cosmic-psychickitty @mygyn @julesclues @greenbaby12 @bubblegumbeautyqueen @briseisgone @soulmates8 @meganlpie @captain-fandomwriter58 @caidi-paris @mazzbarnes @super-btstrash-posts @eli2447 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @abaker74 @marvelouslyme96 @faithiegirl01 @shanimallina87 @harrysgothicbitch @zombicupcake3 @djs8891 @bellaireland1981 @tsumudoll @scoliobean @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #you are my soulmate #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #soulmate!au #miscommunication

[darling-i-read-it]

Hi again, hope you're having a good day :)

I'm so happy to find someone just as head over heels for Finn as I've been lol I adore your fics so much, I can't go a day without rereading them, you're so talented dear. I adore Red Tide even though I saw a lot of poor reviews for it I'm so glad I didn't let them stop me :D

As for my request, feel free to decline I'll understand completely but here it is: Harry Gardner x Reader (female if that's ok with you) and some domestic fluff. I'm leaving everything else up to your liking and ideas 🥰

Take care <3

I hope you enjoy dear! It's slightly hilarious I've congregated this little harry gardner fandom and i'm glad to provide <3 I hope you don't mind I did it headcanons style, I thought that would be most accurate to your request!

the silent domesticness of yours and harry's relationship is one to aspire for

he loves the quiet moments, the ones that no one else sees, the ones where you're still asleep and he can just stare at you

when he was younger he was a hopeless romantic at heart, being a writer and all

when his writing was more rooted in passion he always thought he would have that fairytale relationship

the ones that grand stories are written about

he found as he grew older, he wanted the ones that are so sweet and bland that they're usually just mentioned in passing in those big stories

the big stories have too much drama

when he was writing you would bring him coffee sometimes and sit beside him, reading your own book or doing your own things

the silence was the best of it. comfortable. not pushing him to pay attention but listening when he was stumped

"I can't figure this out," he murmured. He was staring at the computer screen like it would change for him. You looked up from your book, eyes droopy.

"Figure what out?"

"What the hell I'm trying to say here."

"Read it to me," you said, putting your book down on your chest. He turned to face you and cleared his throat before he started. He had your full attention. This is what marriage was supposed to be.

he tended to a life that was quiet, especially after the two of you moved out into the a small beach town

he could finally live out the silly dreams of being a husband by the town, the one who would get donuts if he woke up early and get decorations for anniversary's

living together was like a perfect little storm

perfect may be a stretch. it was like a storm that you both knew rather well

you would see his clothes on the ground and toss them into the hamper. he would close the toothpaste when you left it unscrewed. you would rearrange the fridge on Saturdays and he would wipe down the bedside tables, throwing away anything left behind.

he loves to cuddle

he loves to have his hands everywhere all the time, if you're making dinner of if you're just sitting beside him

hand on your leg, your arm, your side

even when you're out he likes to hold hands, even after the magic has faded a bit and the normalcy of marriage sits in

he doesn't ever not want to show you off. we're a unit. can you see that we're a unit?

You were falling asleep on the couch after a long day at work. The TV was on but you had stopped paying attention to it, only registering the drum of voices. You heard Harry walk in and you felt the dip in the couch. You opened your eyes a tad to see him leaning over so that he would lay on you.

You scoffed, preparing for him to take your breath away. He let out a groan as he got comfortable, slinging your leg around him, nestling his head into your chest. You wrapped your arms around his back.

"Do you know we have a bed?" he whispered. You giggled halfheartedly, your sleepiness not allowing anything else.

"So far. Too many steps."

you fall asleep there together because you can. Because no one is going to tell you not to.

you fall in love in those moments

when he makes your favorite food or buys something from the store he knows you would like even though you've never tried it. moments like those make everything else worth it <3

#harry gardner x reader #harry gardner x fem!reader #american horror story imagines #american horror story fanfiction #harry gardner imagines

[karatekels]

Discipline Training - Chapter 1

Hey everyone! I know I haven't posted something fun to read in awhile, and while I'm typing away at TIGmases 9 and 10 I figured I'd give you something to tide you over: MORE unfinished writing!

I'll be posting the first (and currently only) two chapters of my first-ever foray into writing for Terry Silver. Some of you may have followed the links to my Ao3, but I figured I could throw them up here as well. Who knows? Maybe I'll finish this one day!

---

Summary: Terry comes home early from a work trip and catches you touching yourself without his permission. He decides to punish train you in the third 'D': Discipline.

TW: Forced/guided masturbation, voyeurism, forced orgasms, consensual dom/sub

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Discipline Training

Chapter 1: Caught in the Act

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Stretching lazily, the cool silk sheets brushing pleasantly against your bare legs, you open your eyes sleepily, taking in the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. You turn over, facing the other side of the bed and smile to yourself, knowing that this would be the last morning that you would be waking up alone for quite awhile. Terry had been away for weeks now, scouting new locations of interest for Dynatox, but he would be home today. It was the longest that you had been apart since the two of you started your relationship months ago, and this was the first time he had gone on a business trip since he had invited – more like insisted – that you move into his mansion. While you were still a bit uncomfortable living in such an extravagant place with people waiting to serve you, this was finally starting to feel like home.

You resolve to get out of bed and get ready for the day, planning to head to the kitchen to request a romantic dinner to celebrate Terry’s return before heading into your walk-in closet to put together something special to wear. You know that Terry will be as desperate to get his hands on you as you are, especially after spending this much time apart, and knew he would appreciate one of the more risqué lingerie sets that you have picked out.

As you roll over to get out of bed, you see that the telephone above your nightstand is blinking at you. Confused as to who would have called while you were sleeping, you pick up the receiver and enter the code to access the voicemail.

*BEEP*

“Hey babe, it’s me. Listen, I know that you were expecting me home today, but I’ve got to stay in Vietnam a little longer. I’m sorry baby, and I hope you aren’t too disappointed. I can’t wait to see you when I get back – I love you.”

*BEEP*

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you hang up the receiver and flop back on the bed. Terry worked hard, yes, and you were so, so proud of him, but… you had been so looking forward to seeing him tonight. For weeks you had been counting down the days, putting up with stress at work and coming home to the empty Ennis House night after night. You’d been so good, following all of Terry’s rules. Thinking back to the day that he had asked you to move in with him, you blush as you think about what else he had asked of you that day…

***

You had only agreed to move in with him fifteen minutes ago, but he had already tasked Margaret with putting together a team of movers to get your things to his place by the end of the day. You were in a limo on your way over to his mansion – soon to be your home, you think to yourself with a giddy feeling – and Terry is practically bouncing with glee in the seat next to you, his large frame radiating happiness. You smile up at him, adoring how open he was being, and he catches your eye and gives you a lopsided grin before he suddenly stops, looking down at you with a serious expression.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” you ask, still not completely used to how quickly Terry’s emotions shifted. He reaches one hand behind his head, giving his dark ponytail a tug, a nervous, self-conscious habit of his that he did around those he was comfortable with.

“I… I wanted to ask you something else today, babe, but it’s a little out there, and I don’t want to pressure you or anything,” he begins, and it’s so strange to see him looking this vulnerable. You reach out and put a hand on his, smiling up at him warmly.

“Ask me, Terry. We’re going to be living together, you should be able to talk to me about anything!”

“Well, that’s the thing, Y/N. You moving in with me feels like I’m really making you mine, y’know? And I kind of want to take that to the next level…” he trails off, and his mercurial moods continue as he looks into your eyes now with incredibly intense lust. You find yourself reflexively leaning into him and licking your lips, utterly hypnotized by this man.

“What do you mean, love?” you ask, your voice coming out husky despite yourself.

“What I mean,” he continues, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “is that I want to own everything, Y/N. You’re going to live with me, and I want to take care of you in every way, give you the best of everything. I’m going to do everything in my power to make you feel good, and I want it to be only me that makes you feel that way,” his tongue curls around the shell of your ear, making you shudder against him. “I want to own your body, Y/N, your pleasure. Every orgasm you have will be because I tell you to come. Let me have you, baby. Let me have all of you.”

Sweet fuck, this man was going to have you moaning his name through words alone. In the moment, you may have answered too quickly, but in the months that followed you never found yourself regretting your response.

“Yes, God yes, Terry. I’m all yours.”

***

And you had kept that promise the entire time that Terry had been gone, though it hadn’t exactly been easy. You and Terry both had rather voracious sexual appetites, and to go from having sex at least once a day to abstaining completely for weeks has had you going crazy, but you had done it for him. You bury your face in a pillow in frustration, noting that Terry’s scent still permeated the pillowcase regardless of how many times the housekeeper washed the sheets. Everything about Terry was completely intoxicating to you, and you feel your body relax despite yourself just from catching that whiff of his cologne.

Thinking about the last time you and Terry had been in this bed together, you bite your lip. You had waited almost a month, and been so good… and Terry would never know, right? You look around the room guiltily for a moment, before grinning a little to yourself. You deserved to feel good, and giving yourself just one orgasm would be just the thing to get over the disappointment of having to wait longer for Terry’s return. You quickly strip off your pyjamas and lay back on the bed, getting comfortable on the silk sheets. As you start massaging your breasts, your head falls back further on your pillow and your eyes flutter closed. You tweak one of your nipples firmly and your breath hitches as you try to imagine Terry touching you; ever since the first time he had touched you like this, nothing you did to yourself had been able to compare.

Remembering the feeling of Terry’s hands on you – firm, but gentle, and hinting at the strength he was capable of unleashing if he chose – you trail one of your hands down your stomach and past your abdomen to your pussy. Spreading your legs wide, your fingers immediately go to your clit, moving quickly in circles just as you liked. Just the thought of Terry fucking you has you so wet already and wanting to come desperately. You bite your lip, panting heavily now as you work to get yourself off. You feel your climax quickly approaching, but just as the blood starts to rush in your ears, you moan softly, and as you inhale again, you suddenly detect the taste of tobacco on your tongue. Terry?

 You stop touching yourself immediately and sit up, opening your eyes and looking over to the bedroom door, which has remained closed. You let out a breathy laugh mixed with a sigh of relief, feeling silly for being so paranoid.

“So, you thought you could break my rules and get away with it, huh?”

You yelp and jump up in a panic at the sound of the voice. You would know that deep tenor anywhere. Sure enough, Terry Silver is sitting on one of the small chairs from your walk-in closet, moved into the corner of the room. How had you not heard him?

Calming your breathing, you give him a shaky smile.

“Terry! You’re home today after all, I’m so glad to se-”

“Don’t. Even. Try it.” Terry growls lowly, his piercing eyes pinning you in place. While his face is intense and predatory, the rest of his body is perfectly at ease. He’s dressed in one of his perfectly tailored suits, his tie loose but not too casual, and he’s sat back with one leg crossed over the other, casually smoking a cigar.

“I’m sorry, Terry! I really tried not to – I haven’t touched myself at all until just now, and I just wanted to feel better because I was so disappointed that you weren’t going to be here…” You trail off, and, feeling incredibly exposed, you reach down to pull up the sheet to cover yourself, your eyes never leaving his face. But even with your eyes locked onto him, your senses are too slow to detect his movement as he lunges at you, yanking the sheet away from you and looming over you even as he sits up on the bed on his knees.

“How many times,” he begins, practically whispering as he exhales, the cigar smoke swirling around you both as if it was trapping you two together, “do I have to remind you of the three D’s, huh babe?” He grins wolfishly around the cigar, suggesting that he knows his words are silly and just daring you to laugh at them. You don’t, biting your tongue to keep yourself from making a sound.

“Desire. Devotion. Discipline. The first two you have, yeah, but discipline? It still seems like you’re struggling with that, even after all of our training. But I’m here for you, baby,” he croons, oh-so gentle, but you’re still captivated by his gaze. “Let me help you get some discipline.”

Quick as a flash, he’s lounging back in his chair, eyes flashing at you through the haze of smoke.

“Start again,” comes the command, and you find yourself able to move – and breathe – again as he gives you this bit of distance.

“W-what?” you ask, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. He chuckles darkly.

“You can’t seem to keep yourself from getting off, so we’re going to teach you some discipline another way, baby. You’re going to play with that pretty pussy for me and not stop until I tell you to.” Your knees clench together reflexively. Sure, you and Terry were pretty kinky together, but this was something new altogether.

“Terry, baby, I’m not sure if I-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I think three orgasms will be sufficient training for the day. Three orgasms for the 3 D’s, yeah?” he laughs briefly at his own joke, but his eyes are shining with intense lust. “Get to it, babe,” he reclines in the chair, looking completely at ease once more. “Put on a show for me.”

Mr. Oral Fixation over here...

---

Chapter 2

[Future Parts will be updated here if I ever finish this!]

#thomas ian griffith #terry silver #terry silver x reader #kk3 #the karate kid 3 #karate kid #smut

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Watching Chris Pontius in his new podcast has me feeling really soft. Would you feel comfortable writing Pontius x FtM trans! Reader fluff?

Sex on the Beach

Y/N loves visiting the beach but he doesn’t go there for swimming ;)

Chris Pontius X FtM!Reader

(Fluff, Angst)

1.3k Words

Warnings: Mention of sex, crude language, breakups, makeups, tooth rotting fluff

An: Thank you so much for your request!! I spent so long perfecting this idea so I apologize if it took a while XD I’ve actually had this fic concept stewing in my brain for almost a year now, and I’m so happy that I could finally put it to paper! Chris is just such a sweet guy and I adore writing for him! I know there’s a bit of a fic drought for all you Pontius fans so I hope this quenches your thirst for content! ;)

Whenever you had a day off, you would always end up at the beach. While you were never too partial towards it, you lived in California, so it would be impossible not to eventually end up there. Sitting in the warm sand with your I Pod, you’d look out at the foamy tide as it washed over the sand before retreating back into the water. It was calming, in a way, but after a few minutes the ocean bored you, so your attention drifted elsewhere. That’s how it all started, with watching the surfers that skimmed the aqua blue horizon line.

And you saw him, his board held under one arm as he walked up onto the beach, tan muscles glistening with the salty dew of the pacific. It was like staring at a Greek god, the way water dripped from his long hair down his toned back. He must’ve caught you staring (but who wouldn’t) because he shot a glance over at you, giving you this cute, kinda dorky smile, “Hey!” Looking up at this captivating stranger like he was the only thing in the world, the only words you could muster in response were a shaky, “Hey.”

“So, y’like surfing?” He sat down next to you and, not wanting to sound like a total loser who just sat on the beach on their days off, you told him about half the truth, “Not really, nah…I’m not super into it, but I've always been kinda interested.” It was like he glowed gold, like he was made out of the sand he was sitting in, not at all discouraged by your shyness, “Ah, that’s cool! I could totally teach you sometime. I’m here all the time cause’ I live pretty close by.” You turned in the direction he gestured with his thumb- up a sand dune towards…the parking lot? You didn’t question it.

And you ended up talking for a while. Hours, actually, until the beach went cold as the sun began to turn amber and sink below the horizon. You learned a lot about him- his name was Chris, he was vegetarian, and when he wasn’t surfing he was working at the Lary Flynt building downtown on some skateboarding magazine. Maybe you’d pick an issue up, you thought. There was just something that attracted you to him, someone you found so endearing, so cute about him, and of course that fact that he had a body like that didn't hurt either. Feeling the wind chill, you rubbed your hands on your arms in an attempt to warm up. Chris noticed this, “Hey, if you’re cold, we could always head back to my place?” It was like he read your mind. Blushing a little, you nodded, “Uh, yeah! Sure!” You hoped that he wasn't one of those charming serial killers you hear about on the news- it’s not everyday that you go back to someone’s house you just meet on the beach. And after talking to him for about two hours, he did seem earnest enough, so you agreed.

You didn’t expect his house to have a rear view mirror. Or a transponder key. Usually, most people would see living out of a van as maybe a red flag, but you just couldn’t say no to that face as he popped the back open, looking over his shoulder at you with that goofy smile, “Come on in!”

And so you fucked. Regularly, after a while. Well not like clockwork, but there was sort of a routine- every time you had a day off work, you’d head down to the beach, and he was always there, all sandy and sun kissed waiting for you. Then the two of you would head up to his van, the Shaggin’ Wagon as you affectionately dubbed it, and he’d already have the seats laid back. And when you were done, Chris would drive on over to the McDonald’s and buy you breakfast like a gentleman.

You could feel the heat radiating off of the dark, late day asphalt as you dangled your bare feet out the open side door, Chris’ shirt lazily slumping off of your shoulders. Climbing back and taking a seat beside you, he passed you the warm white paper bag that you fished around in, grabbing your Sausage McMuffin. Peeling away the wrapper, you took a huge bite out of one end and brushed the semolina flour off of your shorts.

See, that’s the thing you really loved about him- Chris was the most chill person you had ever met. Hell, he’s a vegetarian and you were eating a sausage McMuffin next to him, and he was completely unbothered! He sorta had a ‘It’s cool, you do you’ attitude about everything. With Chris, nothing really mattered. But what started out as casual sex eventually turned into some sort of pseudo-relationship. Screwing and breakfast turned into actual meals together, dessert included.

You didn’t know what time it was when you sat together in a booth at Denny’s, but it was late enough that you were the only people in the restaurant, so probably in the early AMs. Staring down at your plate, you noticed that you had barely touched your Dennyburger, anxiety cloying in your throat, before you finally spoke up, “I, uh…” stopping to clear your throat, you continued, a little apprehensive for how he may react, “I don’t think this is gonna work out. I-I mean, I guess I just want something more serious, and…I don’t really see this getting serious.”

But he wasn’t upset. Chris just looked at you like he understood everything without you having to say another word. He smiled a little at you as he sat back in the shiny red leather booth, “It’s alright. I get it!” You hadn’t had a single boyfriend be so accepting of you breaking up with them before, but you weren’t going to say that. “But,” Leaning a bit forward, one elbow on the sticky tabletop, he added with a wink, “If you ever wanna meet up again, you know where to find me, okay?”

It would be a couple years before Chris would cross your mind again. You’d gotten a better job and finished school, but you’d also had a few lonely nights. Well, maybe more than a few. The sky was that rich, saffron color as you shifted your car into park, stepping out onto the pavement and looking down at the beach with baited breath, nervous for what may wait for you below the dunes. As your step shifted uncomfortably over the sand, it felt like everything was all the same as the last time you and Chris were there, like every grain of sand was frozen in time, waiting for you.

And there he was, standing behind the counter of the surf shack, waxing a board. Shirtless as ever, his hair was tied back, a little longer since you last saw him, concentrating so hard that he didn’t even notice you until you walked closer, leaning over him enough to cast a shadow. Chris’ eyes caught yours and you felt a wave of emotions wash over you at the little glimmer you saw in them when you made eye contact. It took a second for you to get the words out, but they eventually squirmed their way out of your throat, “Hey.” You watched his face soften a little as the eye contact settled in, “Hey!”

Leaning back a little, he paused, a warm smile spreading across his face as he held himself up against the back counter, quirking a playful eyebrow, “So…y’like surfing?” God, it was like you were falling in love all over again. Your heart throbbed in your chest and you swallowed a little before speaking up, “No…but I might wanna give it a try.”

#jackass #chris pontius #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff #jackass x reader #chris pontius x reader #I really had to include that dang van

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Edge of Seventeen - Chapter Eight

Here we go then, guys. The chapter of heartbreak... *winces*

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 5,138

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“So, what’s up, Bish? Why only you and me in here?” Angel asked, after his president had solely called him into templo.  

“Take a seat, Angel,” Bishop began, sitting in his usual place at the table, sighing. He waited until he was seated, running a hand down his face. “I don’t relish in having to tell you this, brother, but I gotta.”

“What?” Angel asked, immediately feeling spooked. Was it something he’d done, was his brother okay, his dad? No, EZ had to be fine, he’d noticed his bike upon entering the yard, which just left his dad. Or Bella? He might’ve only just left her, but what if... all these concerned thoughts began to flash through his mind as he tried to read the man adjacent from him, only able to see one thing very clearly; whatever it was, it wasn’t good at all.  

Bishop pressed his lips together, knitting his fingers on the table before him. “I was talking to Hadleigh earlier about her end of semester work, and I happened to mention that Bella is busy with the same, telling her that you guys were dating. She immediately reacted quite badly to that, which confused the fuck out of me, until she told me why. Angel, ahh. Christ.” He looked away for a moment, before staring him right in the eye, the lamentation clear. “Bella isn’t eighteen, mano. She’s sixteen.”

Angel started blankly at him for a few seconds, before laughing in disbelief. “No, she ain’t!” he snorted, looking around the room. “Where is she? Where’s ass face? Y’all both trying to double team punk me or some shit, I swear.” He even moved his chair back and searched under the table, but there was no hidden Hadleigh, just her father, his face not moving. When Angel straightened up and saw that, he knew it was no joke, a cold tide rising in his stomach. “Tell me everything she said, Bish.”

He fulfilled that request, watching Angel’s frown deepen all the while, hating the situation. What was Bella thinking, though? Getting into a relationship with a man twenty years older than her, when she was still just over a year underage? It anyone was to blame, it was her. Bishop thought all this and more, watching Angel, who seemed as if the bottom had fallen out of his world, staring at a fixed point across the table, his face a mixture of anger and hurt as he pulled his cigarettes out, lighting up.  

“I appreciate you telling me, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without further word, Angel left, tearing a path out of the clubhouse, heading for his bike and hitting the road again, La Jolla bound. It would be late by the time he arrived, but he needed answers, for Bella to explain herself, and he needed it to happen sooner rather than later.  

‘She’s sixteen. I’ve been fucking a goddamned sixteen-year-old for the last five fucking months!’ he thought as he hit the highway, anger pulsing through him as he pulled harder on the throttle, speeding up. ‘How could she do this? Was she ever gonna come clean to me? If she lied about her age, just what else has she fucking lied to me about?’

The most horrible thing that overrode all of those thoughts, though, was the heartbreaking reality that he now had to lose her. That thought made his heart burn, the crushing realisation that he had to let go of the love of his life. He would never again wake up to watch the morning light gild her as she slept, never kiss her, never hold her in his arms, never hear her whisper how much she loved him, never watch her perform, feeling like she was singing just for him, never be inside of her...

“God fucking damnit!” he yelled out loud. She was sixteen, and he’d had sex with her hundreds of times at that point. That knowledge did not sit easily with him, that she was just a kid, still, yet he’d been with in ways he absolutely wouldn’t have, had he known her real age. If she’d told him she was sixteen at that bar he’d first met her at, he’d have turned around and walked away. There were a lot of things Angel had little to no moral compass over; underage girls weren’t one of them.  

Bella was just finishing typing up the second to last part of her assignment, lying surrounded by notes on her bed, her laptop before her when she heard the unmistakable sound of Angel’s Harley outside, her head shooting up, wondering why he’d obviously gotten all the way home and then decided to come back at 11:25pm, as the time was when she looked in the corner of her laptop screen.  

“Hey, big sexy,” she cooed from the door as he took his helmet off, hanging it off the handlebars, his goggles and gloves stashed away in the rear compartment. “What are you doing back here, hmm? You miss me that much?”  

His face was stony as he walked down her path, Bella feeling her heart skip a nervous beat. Her honey looked furious, and immediately she reached for him. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Her stomach dropped unpleasantly when he pushed her hands away and continued into the house without a word, Bella closing the door behind her. Whenever he was angry, Angel seemed to grow about a foot taller and wider, his form huge and imposing as he took up what appeared to be much more space than he ever had before in her kitchen.  

“You lied to me.” He turned to her; his eyes dark, furious. “How could you fucking lie to me?”

Her lower lip trembled, her throat tightening as a cold wave of dread washed through her. Oh god. He knew. She didn’t know how, how he’d discovered it, what she was hoping he wouldn’t, but naively, hadn’t had a clue how the hell to reveal to him when she’d known how serious their relationship was getting, but somehow, he had. He knew she was only sixteen. In her defence, Bella hadn’t ever thought Angel would have become as significant as he had to her, and by the time he had, she was in too deep. Because she knew, she knew he’d end it, and losing him? She couldn’t bear the thought of it.  

“Angel, I’m sorry,” she began, her voice pinched tight by emotion. “I should have told you, but by the time I knew I needed to come clean, I was so in love with you that I couldn’t bear to risk losing you. It... it doesn’t have to change anything, though,” she began, her furious boyfriend cutting in.

“It fucking changes everything!” he yelled, making her jump, suddenly quite frightened of his escalating anger. “I can’t do this, Bella! You’re a fucking kid, it ain’t right!”

“You’re breaking up with me?” she squeaked, her eyes raining tears down her cheeks. She wanted him to love her enough that her age didn’t matter, but because of her age, Bella didn’t realise that it didn’t work like that. She was too immature to see how it couldn’t work like that.

“Damned right, I fucking am!” he yelled. It was only six hours ago that he’d made her pledge never to leave him, and here he was, leaving her.  

She stared at him through her glassy eyes, sniffing hard. “Tell me, how many people have you killed in the last five months? How many kilograms of heroin have you moved for the cartel?” Yes. At that point in their relationship, she had wanted to know a little more about what he did, thinking it was likely better that she knew. Their relationship that was made void as of twenty seconds ago.  

“That’s entirely fucking different!” he shouted.  

She scoffed, her eyes wide. “So, that’s how it works with you, huh? You can pick and choose what laws you break and which ones you don’t?”

“It’s fucking statutory rape, for fucks sake, Isabella! If we carry on, I could be fucking locked up for that shit, don’t you understand? Do you know what happens to those guys in jail, those who have sex with minors? It ain’t gonna have any explanation there, like the truth of the matter, that I got lied to by my girlfriend and thought she was eighteen!”  

It hit her a little more then, but yet she still plead her case. “It’s just… I’m legal age in England, and…”

Angel all but exploded. “We’re not in fucking England though, Bella! You lied to me; right from the start, flat out lied.” He shook his head, staring at her incredulously.  

“But… but…” she sobbed.

“What?” he roared, angrier that she’d ever seen him. Something turned unpleasantly in her guts, to know that she was the sole cause of it. 

“But I love you.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes, aggressively running his hands through his hair, clutching it in his fists as his jaw set. “And I love you, too. That’s why this hurts so fucking much! I can’t be with you, though. Not just because you’re only sixteen, but because I’ll never trust you again. Ever. We’re done.”

He picked up his keys, making a start for the door.  

“Angel, please don’t go,” she wailed, her heart racing, each beat sending a chill through her blood. Reaching for his arm, her attempt to halt him was rebuffed, Angel yanking himself away from her.

“I’ll bring your stuff by tomorrow. I don’t want you in my life at all after that.”

Gone.  

He was gone, Bella dropping to her knees as he slammed the door behind him, screaming as her heart shattered and she cried, and cried, the sound of his bike roaring away making it even more real, the noise hitting her like thousands of knives, cutting the pieces of her broken heart to further smithereens.  

And it was all her fault. Because she was too young to know how to get herself out of the mess she’d gotten in through not telling the truth, for falling so hard in love with a man she knew she shouldn’t have been with, or rather, one who wouldn’t have wanted to know, had he known her real age. In not wanting herself to be hurt, she’d hurt him, very deeply. The way he’d looked at her, she’d seen it, how broken he was at having to end it with her.  

She curled into a ball, sobbing hard, until her voice rasped, her eyelids swelling, her arms aching for him to return to them, so she could press herself against him, feel his warmth, so everything would be okay again.

Without him, nothing would be okay.  

For her, it was the end of the world, and her once happy, cloud free sky was now on fire.  

All she wanted was him, and he was gone. All that would make this better was to have him return, and apart from dropping back her things, he never would again. And it was her fault.  

Bella tried in vain for about an hour to pull herself up off the floor, finally managing, shuffling to her jacket and grabbing her cigarettes, taking a big throw from the couch and wrapping it around herself. It still faintly smelled of him, from when he’d covered them with it two weeks previously after having sex on the couch as soon as they’d arrived back at her place, her mum out with friends for the evening.  

Smelling him there on the ecru coloured woven blanket, her heart thudded sadly, yet it was a comfort, to smell his scent, Bella burying her nose against that patch and inhaling deeply as she swathed herself in it, moving to sit in one of the big chairs outside on the deck, lighting her cigarette. She finally managed to cease her tears after her third, watching the waves rolling in and out in the distance, the sea a little choppy that night, tumultuous, perhaps, exactly how she felt inside. Wracked by tumult.  

“If I’d have told him, I’d have lost him. As it stood, I lost him still anyway. Honestly, what did you think would happen, huh? Did you think you could just keep on skating through it all on a lie, and hide your age from him forever? You fucking idiot, Bella!” she fumed at herself, sighing, thudding her head back against the seat several times. Her tears returned, sobbing her heart out, her entire body aching with the sadness of knowing Angel wasn’t hers any longer. How had he found out, she wondered? Not that it mattered, he had, and that was the worst possible scenario, that he’d discovered the truth from someone else, and not her.  

She should have told him.  

She knew it.  

Sitting there sobbing her way through cigarette number four, she replayed all the special moments with him in her mind, their first kiss, their first date, the time at the zoo, the first time they’d had sex, all the mornings she’d woken up next to him, with him grumbling ‘come here, then’ sleepily as he’d turned onto his back, and she’d scooted across the bed to rest her head upon his chest and enjoy some cuddles while they were still all sleepy, all the times he’d told her he loved her, the plans they’d made, the future they dreamed of.  

While she sat out there on the deck, looking up tearily into the night sky, Angel thought of all that and more as he lay on his back in bed, being able to smell the scent of apple shampoo all over the linen, thinking about stripping the bed for the fresh set he knew he had in the cupboard. He then thought better of it. That scent, it would never be there ever again, that prospect making him feel like someone was twisting a knife in his chest. He might as well enjoy it until it faded.

How could she have done it? How? She’d made him fall madly, crazily in love with her, and she wasn’t who she said she was. Bella, he’d thought, was a young woman whom he was very lucky to have. Not a fucking kid, who being with could have earned him a spell behind bars and the status of a fucking sex offender. That’s what twisted him up the most, that she seemingly didn’t care about the trouble she could have gotten him into.  

No, it wasn’t that, a little voice within reminded him. What she’d said, as flawed as her justification was, he believed. She was too in love with him to risk losing him, as she knew she would the moment he knew that she was only sixteen. She didn’t have the emotional maturity to navigate herself out of the mess she’d made for them both, and as an adult, he realised that, understood it from stupid mistakes he’d made borne of untruths he’d spoken, back when he was around her age, too. It killed him, though, because in every other respect, she was remarkably grown up for her age. Hell, she was the one who kept him cool when he was losing it and acting out, behaving in ways that weren’t befitting of a thirty-seven-year-old man.  

Did he really, really have to end it, he wondered, as he lay there, his heart aching terribly over the loss of his beautiful love.

“Of course, you fucking do!” he fumed at himself, sitting up and sweeping a hand through his hair, feeling his eyes fill with tears. It was a year until she was legal, her birthday next week, what he thought would be her nineteenth, actually her seventeenth. Could he wait twelve months for her?  

“No. Because you can’t trust her.”  

With the answering of his own question, he got up, walking through to the lounge and picking up a bottle of tequila, swigging a few mouthfuls before sitting down on his couch, picking at a piece of fluff on the light grey sweats he’d changed into as soon as he’d arrived home. The BK’s, as his now-ex coined them. Bella killers.  

“Could that big swinger between your legs be any more prominent through those sweats?” he remembered her exclaiming, the first time she’d seen him wearing them.  

“Yeah, it could,” he’d chirped. “If you come over here, get on me and make it hard.” She had, which had resulted in him pounding her so vigorously, he feared they might break his couch. He shuddered a little, feeling guilt smack at him for enjoying it so much, with a girl he now knew was underage. God fucking damn her.  

It kept hitting him, like touching an electric fence, each jolt burning through him as he tried to imagine it, a life without her in it. It fucking hurt so much, like something sharp was twisting around in his insides, cutting against him where he’d developed a softness for her. Nope. He had to harden himself, and rapidly, before it hurt him any deeper than it already had.  

Easier said than done.  

When he’d finally slept that night, slumber aided by a quarter of a bottle of tequila, he dreamed of her, his brain playing images of her lying next to him, the way the morning light hit her perfectly as he’d watch her sleep, reaching to stroke her. In his dream, it was all okay. In his dream, what she’d told him was true, she was eighteen, and they didn’t have to part. He held her to him, and it felt so real.  

“Baby? Why are you crying?” she asked, her beautiful green eyes, so full of adoration, watching as he blinked tears down his cheeks.  

“Because it isn’t real. You ain’t here, and you can never be again.”

“What?” she chuckled, drying his face with her thumbs, kissing his forehead as she pulled him close. “I’m right here, and I’m never leaving, you hear? I’m not going anywhere without you, my big sexy.”  

He woke up feeling like someone had kicked him in the chest, reaching for the empty side of the bed with a sigh. He hated her for what she’d done, how she’d deceived him, but fuck. He couldn’t stop himself from loving her still. Also, he couldn’t get back to sleep either, so just lay there, sad, alone, wishing with everything within him that things were different. In the end, he decided four hours were enough, grabbing a spare grocery bag and beginning to fill it with her things. There wasn’t much, some underwear, a few tops, some earrings, her face wash, toothbrush, moisturiser and roll-on deodorant from the bathroom, a couple of other items, too.  

One of her earrings was missing, the second from a pair of small, brown hawk feathers, Angel turning his bedroom upside down, trying to find it. She must have lost it on the way back to his one night, it would explain the presence of only one. Looking around the lounge for anything he might have missed, he found one of her bracelets on the coffee table, stroking the beads tenderly before putting that in with the rest, sighing.  

His eyes flitted up, seeing the picture of them on the wall. Nope. Down it came, Angel resisting the urge to haul it against the wall and smash it, taking it to his bedroom and hiding it behind the shelving unit in there, until he knew what to do with it, leaving the house thereafter. He loaded the bag before mounting his bike, figuring he’d get an early start at work before a day that involved various pressures put upon them by Galindo, Angel planning on dropping her things back to her sometime that evening. Hopefully, she’d be out.  

After getting in a good few hours there on his own, shunting metal around, sorting out piles of copper and brass, various others began arriving, Bishop among them.  

“Hey,” he greeted him with, Angel sitting on the steps of the clubhouse, relaxing with a cigarette and a large mug of coffee. “Everything alright?”

“No, but it will be. Just need time, man,” Angel replied succinctly, with an air of finality.  

Bishop nodded, walking up the steps, pausing to grasp his shoulder. “If people wonder why she ain’t around any longer, they won’t be hearing it from me, the reason. That’s for you to speak of.”  

“Appreciated.” Truly, it was nobody else’s business but his, anyway. Besides, guys were guys. ‘Oh, you broke up? Damn.’ End of conversation.  

You broke up.  

They broke up.  

He still couldn’t believe it was real, that this is how life had fucking played him. He’d found his perfect woman, the girl who honestly was the love of his life, and she’d been the one to fuck it all up, and not him. He’d watched his ass with her for the last five months, knowing how good he had it, how life was better for having her in it, how he couldn’t and wouldn’t blow it with any kind of antics he knew she wouldn’t stand for.

No cheating, no acting like a dick (well, not too much, and the little he had, she’d let him know wasn’t acceptable) no being overly dramatic, no doing anything to blow it all up. Maybe it was god, or the universe or whatever giving him his due, his payback for acting completely the opposite with women for most of his adult life, to make it so the one he really, really wanted it to be forever with, was the one he no choice but to leave.  

He then shook himself. This was on her. This was Bella’s fault entirely. He felt anger rear its ugly head and chomp at him again, like a pissed off snapping turtle reacting to being prodded. Without thinking, he moved his hand to the upper left of his chest, self-soothing, stroking the skin that bore her name, until he caught himself doing it and grumbled with agitation. God, he hated this, and without even knowing why, anyone who even so much as annoyed him even a fraction that day saw just how much he hated it, too.  

“Yo, why y’all being snappy over there, dog? What, Bella not suck your dick enough last night?” Coco threw at him sharply later that morning, while they sat in templo, Bishop wincing slightly.  

Angel drew fiercely on his cigarette, his president on his guard to grab him if he lunged. He expected little less. “Don’t mention her name to me again. Same as none of y’all. I ain’t with her no more.”  

Coco smirked. “Oh, she finally got that eye test, huh?”  

“We done?” Angel asked Bishop, who nodded.  

“We head out through the tunnels tonight, as discussed. Be back here at seven.” The hammer fell, Angel out of there before anyone else, his brother making a start to go after him.

“Hey, Angel,” he called, Angel continuing out the door, EZ quickening his pace to catch him. “You and Bella broke up?” he continued, his tone a little disbelieving. It was purposeful, though, EZ trying to lay it on a little thicker, should he accidently sound too blasé. He didn’t want Angel to know that he’d been waiting for it to happen, for the moment to come where, true to his usual form, he went and fucked up a good thing.  

Angel sniffed sharply, turning to his brother and shrugging, his brows knitting. “What, you want me to skywrite it for y’all?” Sharp sarcasm. Oh, boy. He was hurting. Badly.  

EZ never rose to it, though, fair tempered as he was where his loved ones were concerned. “I’m just trying to be here for you, Angel. What happened, if asking that isn’t gonna get me my head bitten off?”

He watched his brother about to let a few more cutting choice words roll off his spiteful tongue, Angel suddenly then thinking better on it. A trick he’d learned from Bella. Think before you speak, rather than possibly regret what you might say thereafter. His heart throbbed sadly. Who’d be there to gently keep his shit in line now she was gone? He was better for her. “I found out something last night, something that meant I had to end it, bro.” He took a deep breath, his jaw tightening. “She’s fucking sixteen.”  

EZ’s eyes almost fell out of his head. Of all the reasons Angel could have revealed, that had to be way back there at the very end of the list of what he’d have guessed. He was stunned. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Angel scoffed, softening a little then. “Yeah. It’s messed up. I couldn’t let it continue, though. Don’t matter how much I still love her. It ain’t right.”

His brother that glad of that. Not that he had Angel particularly pegged to throw caution to the wind where jailbait was concerned, hell, he’d witnessed him let down a few of Hadleigh’s friends in the past when they’d sniffed around him, telling them straight that they’d get nowhere with him, but he knew when Angel had his heart stolen by a girl, it was a tricky job, trying to take it back for himself. “I don’t know what to say, man. Other than I’m fucking sorry, and that you’re doing the right thing. For that, I’m proud of you, for what it’s worth.”

He remained silent, leaning back against his bike, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one up, EZ speaking again. “So, is it done forever, or are you waiting until she’s eighteen?” It wouldn’t surprise him at all if it were the latter. He saw clearly how much Angel loved her.

“I ain’t waiting around for shit, EZ,” he snorted, scratching his neck, blowing a plume of smoke through his nose. “Can’t trust her. She lied.”  

Yes. There was that, EZ supposed. He nodded, grasping Angel’s shoulder before leaving him alone. With nothing to do until he had to be back later that evening, Angel rode out of the yard, spending the day burning gas aboard his bike, thoughtful, contemplative. He got it all out of the way before he returned, the job for the club taking three hours to complete, a relatively simple procedure, yet filled with the kind of risk that left his adrenaline spiking, quick to get out of there again, La Jolla bound. For the last time.  

As he rode, he hoped she’d be asleep, that he’d pull up to the beach house to find it in darkness, but sadly, he wasn’t that lucky.  

Bella was making tea in the kitchen when she heard the thunder of his bike heading towards the house, her heart racing, her mouth going dry. Quickly taking her chamomile tea to the sink, she topped it off with cold water so she could gulp back a little, taking a deep breath and heading to the door. She didn’t know what she’d feel, seeing him again, watching him remove his helmet like he had the night before after opening it, gloves and goggles stashed away, Angel lifting a paper grocery bag out and heading down to her.  

Unlike the night before, he just looked sad when he reached her, holding the bag out, his eyes not kind when they looked down upon her.  

“Thank you,” she whispered, trying to hold it together, placing the bag down on the windowsill to the side of the door. Looking back at him, her face crumpled, a little sob sliding on a gasp from her throat as she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh god, I’ve hurt you so much, I can’t bear it, Angel. I’m so sorry. It was all my fault.”

“I know.” he replied blankly, yet his eyes softened.  

“And now I have to live without you.”

“You do.” he confirmed, Bella struggling for air. It killed him, to see her so upset. On pure impulse, he took a step closer, reaching for her, his hand finding her cheek, thumb stroking, her tears trickling over it. It churned his insides to shreds, seeing her like that, knowing he had to walk away.  

His feet planted themselves.  

“Please, don’t ever forget how much I love you. I know this is it, this is the end of us, but I need you to remember. I love you, Angel. I love you endlessly, without pause for thought or breath, with every word of every song I sing, every chord I strum, until the last beat of my heart.”

He felt himself break all over again, at hearing those words, Bella’s voice trembling as she cried, unable to stop himself from pulling her close, wrapping her in his arms. That closeness again, it was all they wanted, the feel, the smell of one another, Bella swathed in the warm, safe blanket of him. Yet it hurt. It was a razor’s edge to her insides, knowing it was the last time she’d ever feel it.  

“I know.” he breathed shakily, stroking her hair, pulling away from her. “I know, Bella. I fucking love you, too.” Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her forehead, attempting to turn and walk away. His feet were still planted. She looked up at him, her pretty eyes so dull and lifeless, the only sparkle from her tears as she sniffed and sobbed. Those broken little sobs. They killed him.  

He felt it pull, felt her call to him, his entire body stuck there, thumbs stroking her cheeks, her hands covering his, Angel leaning down and kissing her lips softly. His brain began to scream at him immediately.  

“No. Don’t you fucking do it!”

Their mouths connected again, their kiss deepening.  

“What the fuck, man? No, stop it. Fucking walk away now! This is so, so wrong!”

He reached for her waist, lifting her up as their kisses gained momentum, her legs wrapping around him while he carried her back into the house, kicking the door closed behind him.  

“Turn. Around. Now. You weren’t that guy before, when you didn’t know! You know now! Stop it! For the love of Christ, she’s sixteen! Don’t do it!”

His head screamed at him all the way to her bedroom, but his heart. His heart. It spoke to him with absolutely no sense nor logic, only the blinding love he felt for her, and those were the words that won as he placed her on the bed, his body covering hers. All that he heard was that he was hopelessly in love and devastated that he couldn’t remain with her.  

He had to say goodbye. And that was all it would be. That was all it could be, and they both knew it. And it tore them to pieces even more.  

#angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes smut #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x ofc #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc smut #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fic

[bintadnan]

Learn the Language

A heartfelt request to anyone who comes across this - please do yourself a huge favour and start learning Arabic if you aren't on this journey already. You may have read somewhere or heard someone underscore its importance and I'm here to further and echo all of that. Wallahi, once you start to understand the grammar (إعراب), morphology (صرف), tenses, Nahw and rhetoric (بلاغة) you won't be able to look at the Qur'an the same way again. So many things will naturally start to stick out for you that someone who isn't acquainted with the language will simply overlook and fail to appreciate. You will not be able to help yourself but truly pause and reflect at the ayaat of Allah deliberating over the beautiful and impeccable symmetry of His words and find yourself asking why is so-and-so word appearing earlier than expected and why is so-and-so word delayed according to the grammatical rules and theory? You will be able to identify the places where Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala has added an extra layer of emphasis as a means of drawing your attention to certain words and phrases. Every word in the Qur'an offers us an infinite ocean of reflection and it is nothing short of a disservice to the book of Allah and an incredible loss for us to keep staring at the tip of the iceberg when marvels await us beyond it. You might envy those people who bawl and sob at the recitation of the Qur'an or break down into a pool of tears in the middle of their salah wishing your heart could split open like theirs. You can be in their shoes and experience those tides of emotions if you study the language intending to befriend His words and not to refute someone in a debate or prove anything to anyone. Your brain will start unravelling insights that wouldn't pass without studying the language. You would crave to unlock more and more every day. All of this is possible by Allah's will. See, I'm not belittling the fact that the language certainly appears difficult to someone with no background, who is looking to explore it from scratch. But aren't most of them? When your niyyah is sincere then you will catch yourself by surprise learning the language with ease and diligence because you're striving to draw closer to Allah and it is nothing but an act of ibadah. I will briefly share a few words in the hope of encouraging and compelling you to take the leap. When I first became exposed to reminders emphasising the importance of Arabic I used to wonder haughtily (أستغفر الله) that reading the translation will suffice for me and as long as I continue to go through them time and again I have best contemplated the word of Allah. I'm not in need of putting myself through something so rigorous and laborious when these translations are available for me at the drop of a hat (I'm not undermining the accessibility of the translations here so don't take me wrong). Until one day, I heard a lecture (khutbah) and was amazed at the way the speaker was conveying the messages embedded in the Qur'an that I, in my understanding of the translations never grasped, felt an immediate pang of guilt in my heart. I found myself vying for those skills- the ability to extract those meanings myself, to develop direct access and connection to the word of Allah. I couldn't continue to ignore the call anymore and the guilt was bearing heavily on my conscience. I just knew that I'm depriving myself of the most beautiful gift ie, the language and this heedless attitude had to come to a halt. Although let me put this out there the change didn't happen overnight or consequently afterwards. I tried Youtube and saved courses to my playlist but everything seemed insurmountable. I was left more discouraged than before since nothing was working for me at that point. The dream was faltering. I was channelling my despair through constant du'as. there was desperation in my voice in the last third of the night and wallahi, I might have stopped making efforts towards learning the language but I never stopped requesting Allah for help.

I even felt guilty for begging Him despite not putting in any visible effort but somehow my du'as never ceased, Alhamdulillah. And SubhanAllah, truly the du'a made in the last third of the night is an arrow that doesn't miss its target. Allah uprooted every feeling of intimidation and uncertainty from my heart and instilled a love for this language, opened the doors of possibility, and brought me across the best place for learning for me. If you've made it thus far please consider these words as a hopeful reminder from Allah. He steered you in this direction and wants you to take the plunge and leave your worries in His care. You can test and try whatever works for you until you land across the best source for yourself. But please don't cave to the whispers of the devil who will blow things out of proportion for you and make it seem a herculean and impossible task. I pray that this inspires you even if a tad bit. May Allah plant the love for this language in your heart and grant you immense ease in your learning. May He make you steadfast and allow you to own the language in a way that opens up another dimension for you.

#arabic #muslimah #islam #muslims #islampost #islamdaily #personal

[luvyanfei]

anon said. ooo a new blog! can you do confession headcanons where xiao, childe, and scaramouche react to reader confessing to them and the aftermath of it? thank you!  

a/n. xiao’s is kind of terrible ;; ue ue gomenasai

“i love you, [character’s name].”

SCARAMOUCHE.

huh? is this some kind of a joke? if so, it’s definitely not a good idea to mess with his feelings like this, especially when he also shares the same sentiment. scaramouche is almost impressed by your boldness. not everyone has the nerve to confess their love for a harbinger in front of their own faces, after all. when he’s hit with the realization that you’re serious, he secretly pinches himself to make sure he’s not in a dream.

the sharp pain that comes with his nails making contact with his flesh affirms that this is real. he stifles back a genuine smile, choosing to stay calm despite the bliss he’s currently feeling. “i guess it can’t be helped. hmph, you should be lucky i’m rather fond of you as well, [name].” he says that, but he’s the fortunate one to have successfully stolen your heart before others can claim you for themselves.

unfortunately, his time with you is quite limited due to his affiliation with the fatui, so any fleeting moments are captured in photos from the kamera to look back on. he secretly carries a picture of you while he’s out of town on important missions so that he won’t miss you too badly. he fondly looks at your still, yet smiling face to cheer him up after a tough work while everyone else is asleep. well, almost everyone.  

“hmm, who’s that in your hands, scaramouche?” childe asks, gesturing to the photo the harbinger is admiring fondly. scaramouche rolls his eyes to hide his slight embarrassment and hesitates a bit before he answers.  

“oh them? their name is [name], my... sibling.” childe almost gapes in disbelief as he looks at the blue-haired man in shock. 

“you have a sibling? why didn’t you tell me? they’re so cute!” the 11th harbinger squeals in delight, which honestly irks poor scaramouche. he scoots away to give himself some space as he tucks the picture in his pocket for safe-keeping. 

“you didn’t bother to,” he explains matter-of-factly. “now if you’ll excuse me,” he stands up from his crouched position and dusts himself, “i’m going to take a walk, alone.” 

he wanders through a dark forest and grassy fields, until he finds himself standing on top of a cliff, the moon glowing brightly above. he peers up at the twinkling stars in the sky and imagines you beside him, watching the breathtaking view together. humming an unfamiliar tune to himself, scaramouche muses over the past and replays your confession over and over again. if he could, he would respond differently than he did before. 

‘i love you.’ those three letter words echo in his ears like a melody and he allows himself to smile. 

“i love you too, [name].” 

XIAO.

he automatically perks up an eyebrow in confusion. what? is it just him or did you seriously admitted you love him? xiao stammers for a brief second, no words spilling out from his partially open mouth. what is he supposed to say? “thank you?” “i love you too?” 

when he pulls himself together, xiao shakes his head and frowns. his answer is clear and simple: no. you mortals don’t understand just how dangerous it is to get close with someone like him - a yaksha. drowning in the brink of debt and despair, he doesn’t need you to suffer all the same. the dejected expression on your face pains him to a considerable degree, yet he convinces himself, this is for your own good. 

since then, he avoids you like the plague in hopes that your feelings for him will disperse into flames. you deserve someone better, someone who won’t place you in harm’s way, someone unlike him. out of kindness, you still visit him from time to time while you go and do your daily commissions, but your interaction is heavily tense and an air of discomfort seeps through your gaze. why does his chest hurt as if he was impaled with a knife and so much more when you look at him like that? the thought of breaking down and revealing the truth that he’s also in love with you tempts him eagerly, but his pride and anxiety tides over his desires. 

you, on the other hand, is aware that xiao harbors feelings for you. you discovered this secret of his when you climbed the stairs to the spot on the balcony where he was to surprise him with a greeting, but your ears captured a faint voice in the night breeze and you couldn’t stop yourself from eavesdropping on the little conversation xiao was having with himself. he muttered about “rex lapis”, the fate of liyue, and etc. you were about to leave him to his own devices, but the next words he said stopped you in your tracks. 

“will [name] accept me if i say i love them? probably not, i suppose.” you left before he could spare a glance in your direction and a smile graced your features as you happily walked away. and being the persistent individual that you are, you inquire verr on why he’s acting so cold towards you, desperate to seek the answer you need. “xiao is, as you’re well aware, a yaksha who’s experienced hardships throughout his life, and probably lost loved ones along the way. i’m sure,” she turns to look at the setting sun in melancholy, “he doesn’t want to hurt anyone important to him again.”

you plan ahead of time for the best way to approach him without giving him any chance to escape. unfortunately, this is the only thing you can think of as you place a hand on either side of his head, trapping him between you and the wall. xiao looks at you curiously, devoid of amusement. he crosses his arms and frowns. 

“what are you doing?” your hands twitch and you chew on your bottom lip nervously before you explain yourself.

“i heard from verr why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder, that you don’t want to hurt anyone important to you, but...” you trail off to blink back the tears threatening to burst. 

“it hurts, when you ignore me like this.” your voice is quiet enough that he needs to step closer to hear you. “it hurts how selfless you are. can’t you be selfish just once? i meant what i said and i’ll say it again. i love you.” 

xiao stammers, at a loss for words, before he starts sniffling and buries himself in your arms, crying out apologies as you stroke the back of his hair and gives a closed-eye smile. “it’s okay, xiao. i’m sorry too, for not realizing how much you’ve been suffering by yourself. you don’t have to carry the burden alone anymore,” you say, looking into his tear-filled eyes, “i will always be here with you, no matter what path you choose to take.” 

“even if that path may eventually hurt you?” he whispers in a cracked voice, fingers curling around your sleeves. you nod. 

“it’s worth the pain as long as i can hold you in my arms, like this.” he chokes out a bitter chuckle and wipes away the glistening tears. 

“i love you too, [name].” 

CHILDE.

the harbinger blinks his cerulean eyes once, then twice, and... you find yourself pulled into his arms, as his lips uplift into a jovial smile. “really? you love me? [name], i had no idea you held such deep admiration for me.” you playfully roll your eyes and chuckle as you wrap your own arms around his body, fondly reciprocating his affection.

he’s the fastest to accept your confession than the other two men. you’d bet he would scamper to where he’s staying at to tell every grain of detail to his adoring relatives. 

he writes letters to his siblings about your daily dates and the progress you two are making in your relationship. they tease him for the most part, but they’re happy that he’s found the love of his life and requests that he bring you along with him on his next visit. childe smiles in relief, content that they accept you already despite never meeting you and he asks you if you’d like to come with him to his home country where you can introduce yourself to his family. without hesitation, you agree instantly, eager to meet the siblings he gushes about. 

snezhnaya is colder than you thought, as you hug yourself to preserve your warmth, even with the layers of clothing wrapped around you. “we’re almost there, [name].” childe notices your trembling and rubs his gloved hands against your back. “sorry, it’s a bit chilly here, but please bear with me.” 

you nod and continue on. when a building enters your field of sight, childe stops and grins shyly at you. “this is the place.” breath materializes in front of you as he gestures for you to head on in. almost immediately are you greeted with a little embrace as a young boy wraps his fingers around your waist and grins up at you. 

“so you’re the one who big brother said he’s in love with? have you kissed before? when is your wedding?” the child bombards you with questions excitedly and a girl has to pull him away from you, tonia, you guess. 

“teucer,” childe scolds gently, a light blush colouring his cheeks, which does not go unnoticed in his siblings’ eyes, unfortunately for him. 

a wedding, huh? seeing the sparkle in your eyes, the laughter in your voice, and the warmth of your touch as you idly chat with his siblings makes him hope, that maybe in the distant future, he’ll brave himself to take the next step to further deepen your relationship, for he wants to be with you always. 

as he tucks away the last sleeping child, childe wanders in to your shared bedroom, surprised you’re still awake. “you really love them a lot, huh childe?” he nods seriously, as you pull him to lie down comfortably into bed. 

“but do you know something else?” his breath tickles your ear as he intertwines his fingers with yours, offering a meek smile. you shake your head and nuzzle closer to him. 

“i love you too, [name].” 

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader

[sokkascroptop]

traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 26

part 1 | part 25

a/n: no matter how long you have been here, just know i'm extremely grateful for anyone who's read this fic. now here's the latest chapter.

Sometimes it felt like the days dragged on. Each and every hour was laid out just like the day before–the week before. It made time seem endless, even though Y/N knew it definitely was not. Sozin’s Comet was getting closer and closer each day. Y/N didn’t know if it was the anticipation for that long fated day or if it was some buried fire bender gene in her body, warning her of something to come. She could feel it deep within her bones. She woke up earlier and earlier each day, no matter how late her night ended up. And each day the sun greeted her with warm yellow light that made the air a little easier to breathe.

As they moved further south and into Fire Nation territory, Zuko made mention of Ember Island as a place to hide out. The island–or chain of islands, really–were close enough to Caldera City that it would be a good place for them to lay low and wait, as well as uninhabited by enough people that they could lay low.

Y/N thought it was a little risky to be living in the Fire Lord’s Ember Island house, but Zuko was probably right, this was going to be the last place anyone would look for them. Maybe Y/N was just unsettled about being back, so close to Caldera City, or maybe it was being back on Ember Island for the first time since she was 9.

Somewhere between the temple and the beach house, Y/N tired of training. It just added to the monotony, and so she just…stopped. Instead, she spent her days on the beach, sometimes alone–often with the others though–playing in the tide pools and skim-boarding on the sand. And sometimes, if she felt like she didn’t have enough time on her own to recharge, she’d leave in the night, either through her window or the front door to take a walk on the beach in the moonlight. Only to come back and wake up a few hours later, ready for sunrise.

Today was no different, though the sun was already peeking over the horizon and into her room when her eyes peeled open.

The wooden floors creaked under Y/N’s feet as she crept out of her room silently.

Each board was smooth under her bare toes, not well-worn by many little feet running across them year after year but made that way before they were even built into the house, for no doubt a hefty fee. The beach house was… cold, to say the least. It just felt like each pore of the house seeped something uninviting, reminding them that they shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t just Y/N who felt it, they all spent as little time as possible in the house.

She padded into the kitchen and struck their flint to start a fire under the stove–mostly unneeded since Zuko had joined their group–but wholly necessary when he wasn’t around to be their fire-starter. Y/N didn’t mind doing it this way, it felt nice being able to do something with her own hands for once instead of relying on the others to make clean water or heat up the food. She boiled just enough water for one cup of tea before heading out to the courtyard where she knew at least two of her friends would be awake.

Y/N didn’t like feeling optimistic. It was a terrifying feeling. There was so much riding on their success; she didn’t want to spend so much energy on hoping only to have it all dashed away if things didn’t go their way. It would be too heartbreaking. But watching Aang, she could. They weren’t even sparring and she could see the power behind every blast of fire. And she had hope for their future. She had to; she wasn’t going to lose her friends.

“You’re doing that one wrong,” Y/N said from the shadows on the porch. She held her warm cup to her chest, the breeze blowing in from the ocean was keeping the courtyard chilly until the sun could rise high enough to heat the island.

Aang didn’t seem too surprised to hear her voice. “Doing what wrong?” He asked, confused.

Zuko frowned up at Y/N from his seat on the steps but nodded to Aang. “She’s right, you have to dip further down so when you come up the fire creates more of an arc.”

Aang pushed through a few more poses before Zuko stood up and joined him. Y/N stole his seat and pulled her legs up to cross them. She watched as they moved in tandem, working though the most basic of firebending forms all the way up to a few advanced ones. Memories flooded Y/N’s head so fast it made her dizzy. She remembered sitting just like she was now, watching her two brothers work through their forms when she was younger. On chilly mornings, much like today, she would wrap herself in a blanket nest and sip on tea that was much too sweet as they worked well into mid morning. In a sudden rush of affection she realized she was doing much of the same thing, just years and years later.

Aang had learned fast. That was good. She set down her empty cup as the two boys headed back to her, both sweaty from their training. “Good job, Aang! You’re doing great!”

Aang beamed with pride. “Thanks, Y/N!

“Don’t be so encouraging, he’s still got a lot to learn,” Zuko grumbled, taking a seat on the ground next to her.

Y/N pouted. “He needs encouragement. That’s how he learns.” Y/N learned that from watching the differences between Katara teaching styles and Toph’s teaching styles.

“Speaking of firebending,” Aang kicked his feet against the edge of the steps and looked around like he was avoiding something. “How did you know about the firebending forms?”

Zuko leaned back on his hands. “I’d like to know that too.”

Y/N smiled softly. “I watched my brothers for years, religiously learning all the forms and practicing them on my own. I wanted to be just like them. I guess I still remember them.”

Aang frowned. “It’s not like you couldn’t bend on purpose.”

Y/N was surprised to see Aang look so sad. “I know.” She shrugged and looked away feeling her cheeks redden with both boys staring at her. “I just wanted to be normal so people would stop paying attention to me for the wrong reasons.” She mumbled.

“It made you a better sword fighter,” Zuko said suddenly.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“The discipline and movements. You do the same when you’re fighting.”

“I’ve never noticed, but you’re right, Zuko!” Aang exclaimed.

The thought made Y/N smile. “That was nice of you.”

Zuko rolled his eyes but let the smallest hint of a smile grace his lips.

She looked back to Aang, who still looked a bit hesitant. “Don’t worry about me. How about we go swimming? Before the others wake up!”

Aang perked up immediately. “That sounds great! Let’s go, Zuko!”

Y/N and Aang stood, both looking down at Zuko, who just stared at the ground between his feet. She could already hear him saying no, telling them that he needed to train more or meditate and didn’t have time to run off and play games.

Y/N opened her mouth to tell Aang that the two of them could still go but Zuko spoke up before her. “Yeah, okay.”

Sometimes even on those long, dragging days, it was the little things that made everything better; like playing in the surf with two of your friends.

---

That evening though, Y/N was back where she had started the day, and had decided that everyone in her group of friends, save for maybe Zuko, talked way too much. She craved those moments alone where she just had her thoughts to occupy her. Especially when she had a lot on her mind.

Y/N didn’t want to admit she felt stuck inside with Aang and Katara while everyone else was outside enjoying the evening, but she also felt guilty in turning down their request to help make dinner to just wander around on the beach until sunset. She didn’t help out much with making meals, and she felt obligated to help when she could.

So she was there, sitting on the dinner table, lotus style with a knife and a cutting board and a basket of carrots in need of chopping at her side.

“What else can I do, Katara?” Aang dumped some of the vegetables he was cutting into the stew Katara was currently stirring over the stove.

“Hmm, can you go out and get some more water to make the rice?” Aang grinned and nodded, before running out of the house towards the side of the house where there was a small barrel of collected water.

Y/N smiled to herself at the interaction and continued cutting carrots for Katara, trying not to let her mind wander, but it was hard with the monotonous work and the bad spot she was sitting in.

Just in front of her was the window where she had watched Zuko and Aang train while she made tea that morning, now it showed Zuko and Sokka doing their own training.

Y/N was struggling with more than just feeling like she didn’t belong on the Island. She didn’t know what she was going to say to Sokka, or if she was even going to say anything about her feelings at all. Without the constant traveling and the safety of a hideout, she was able to just stop and let those feelings and thoughts she had been holding back with a dam of fear wash over her.

It was all really confusing for Y/N. And hard to admit.

She didn’t want to face the awkward conversation of asking whether he could always be there for her. She didn’t want to beg him to never leave because she was so insecure. She was so afraid of losing everything and everyone that she was going to do just that because she was afraid of opening up.

What would happen if she never told Sokka she loved him back? Did she even love him back? What did love feel like?

Love with Azula felt like fire, sometimes it burned painfully, but in the good times it filled her with a warmth like never before. Zuko’s friendship felt the same, but it was less like sitting too close to the fire and more like sitting just in the right place where it didn’t dry out your eyes but didn’t make goosebumps grow on your arms. Sokka always felt like a cool breeze, one where you lift your face up to the sky and smile because it always feels like relief. But that’s not what Y/N is used to. How does she know if it’s love if it doesn’t hurt a little bit? How does she know that it's real if she doesn’t have to give all of herself until she is worn to nothing to make it work?

It wasn’t that she was afraid to care for him, she had made it clear that she did. It was just easier on her heart to keep him at a distance for now until she figured they were inevitably part ways. That’s how Y/N saw this all ending. Separated across oceans, back to where they came from, whatever the outcome of the war. Y/N wanted to dream of the possibilities and opportunities where they could be together in the long run, but those were just that, dreams for another lifetime. People from the Water Tribe didn’t marry people from the Fire Nation.

Everything that she learned over the last few months was that nothing was ever set in stone, so why should she and Sokka be.

Y/N stared out the window, pondering when it would all fall apart and sliced downwards on a carrot, but met nothing but the cutting board. She looked down where the knife was closer to her finger than to the carrots. She let out a little inward gasp.

“What?” Katara turned around and asked.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Nothing.” She motioned to the cutting board. “Do you want these smaller?”

Katara eyed Y/N and then looked to the cutting board. “They’re fine. But pay more attention, I don’t know how to reattach fingers yet.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Y/N’s eyes didn’t leave the wooden cutting board and her fingers until the others came bustling into the kitchen, all talking at once.

Y/N for the most part ignored everyone, until Sokka reached over and snatched one of the slices of carrots.

Y/N nudged his arm. “Can you wait?! I thought you didn’t like vegetables!”

“Aang got me to like carrots!” Sokka retorted, before quickly reaching around Y/N to grab another and popping it into his mouth.

“Why would you be sitting on the table that we have to eat off of?” Suki wrinkled her nose.

“Uh! Katara said I could!” Y/N stuck her tongue out.

Katara whipped around, hands on her hips. “I never said you could, I just didn’t say you couldn’t.” Katara turned back to stirring the stew before muttering under her breath, “Not like telling you no would have made a difference anyways.”

“Hey!” Y/N picked up a carrot and launched it at the back of Katara’s head.

Aang walked back inside carrying a bucket of water, to a kitchen full of chaos. Vegetables were being thrown across the room at one another, as laughter rang out. Sokka, Zuko and Y/N were sprawled on one side of the kitchen behind and under the table; with Suki, Katara and Toph only edging from behind the safety of the kitchen doorway to throw something.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N could hear the exasperation of a 112 year old monk in Aang’s usually cheerful voice.“Uh, guys, what are we supposed to eat for dinner now?”

---

Y/N was dozing against the headboard of her bed that night, when she heard the knock at her door. At first she thought she imagined it, that is until she heard a voice on the other side of the doorway. “Y/N, are you awake?”

Y/N slid out of bed and cracked open the door. She smiled and leaned against the doorjamb, a familiar feeling in her chest.

“Are you afraid that there are ghosts here too?”

Sokka grinned and nodded. “In this house? Absolutely. But I’m not here for that.”

“Oh?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Come outside with me.”

Y/N chuckled. “Why?”

“Please, just come on. No questions.”

Y/N sighed and reached for an old silk robe she found in one of the closets, but her smile never left her face.

To be fair to Sokka, there wasn’t much to surprise Y/N with on an island she grew up on. But that night, the sky momentarily took her breath away.

Sometimes the simplest things were the most beautiful.

“I thought we could come out here; look at the stars a bit. I used to like doing that at home. Though it’s different. The constellations aren’t the same where I’m from.”

“I guess I’ll just have to teach you some.”

Together they laid side by side on the roof, and Y/N pointed out her favorites. The dragon, the jack-rabbit...

After Y/N had told Sokka the story of the Red Queen, some ancient fable of a powerful Fire Lady that was always one of Y/N’s favorites, they both grew quiet, Y/N asked the question that had been brewing on her mind. She worried that whatever she said would mess up the peaceful night they had been having. It felt like she was intruding on a secret that she wasn’t supposed to know.

“Hey, Sokka,” Y/N asked.

“Hmmm,” She looked over and Sokka looked about half asleep already. Maybe this would be good timing.

“Who’s Yue?”

Sokka’s eyes shot open and he sat up quickly. “What?”

Y/N could feel her face flush. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to know.

“Yue.” The word sounded flat and foreign on her tongue. Maybe that wasn’t how you actually pronounced it? Some of the Water Tribe names and words were hard for Y/N’s mouth to form. If she could, she flushed deeper. “I heard you talking about them when I was hurt. I was in and out of it, so I don’t remember much, but I remember the name.”

Sokka suddenly looked very sad. Which was… odd because Y/N just thought that Yue was a Water Tribe spirit much like the Fire Nation had Agni.

“She’s the moon spirit,” Sokka whispered, his eyes cast down on his wringing hands.

Y/N eyes were wide. Why was he acting like this? “Oh. I figured she was a spirit or something. It sounded like you were praying to her, or something.”

“Yeah,” Sokka choked out. “Something like that.”

That’s when Y/N noticed there were drips of water on Sokka’s hands. Tears.

“Sokka?” Y/N said softly. She reached forward and–yup those were tears, dripping on their hands.

“She was a girl I met at the Northern Water Tribe when we first started traveling.”

“I thought she was…”

“She is.” For the first time, Sokka looked up. The pain in his eyes was unimaginable. “But she was still a girl when I met her.”

Sokka launched into a story that sounded more fantasy than real, but the look on his face, the sadness in his features, Y/N knew he was telling the truth.

“She was blessed by the moon spirit when she was born, it was the only reason she was alive. But when we were in the Northern Water Tribe—Zhao, a Fire Nation commander killed the moon spirit and all the water benders lost their bending, forever.” Sokka shivered. “It was scary, the moon was gone in the sky and we were helpless to fight the Fire Nation. It would have changed the tide of the war.

But she was selfless. She knew that she was the only hope for her tribe—for the world—and she sacrificed herself to save all of us. So now she’s the moon spirit…I guess. I don’t know, she’ll always be Yue to me.” Sokka’s voice trailed off with a sniffle. Y/N didn’t know how to respond.

Sokka sent a longing glance upward. The moon was just past full, waning in the far distance but still bright and round in the sky. “I think–I think she heard me that night. And she knew how much you meant to me, even then. And she saved you because…” Now it was Sokka’s turn to flush. “I don’t think I could live without you.”

Those words made Y/N’s chest burn. Her arms and legs tingled in relief as if all the tension in her body began to melt away. Y/N reached out, wiping a stray tear off of Sokka’s cheek. “Me either,” she replied instantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“’m not. Sad, really. I miss her, but it’s easier to always know where she is. She didn’t have a lot of choice in her life, but this was something she had control over. If she hadn’t become the moon spirit, the war would have ended right there. So her sacrifice meant that, you know, Zuko is our friend now and Aang has a chance at beating the Firelord and you have a place in all our lives. She made all of this possible.”

“Sounds like we have a lot more to be thankful to her for than just saving little old me then, huh?”

“You would have liked her.”

Y/N nodded and peered at the moon above them. “I do like her.”

No one else needed to know that after the two of them went inside and off to bed, that Y/N hung halfway out her window to get one last look at the moon. Y/N swore as her eyes closed and sleep overtook her that the moon shone a little brighter. Maybe that’s how the moon said thank you. Y/N’d never tell anyone that she whispered a small thank you too, to the girl who lived among the stars.

a/n: don't be shy, come talk to me in my askbox and tell me if you liked it

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[ynscrazylife]

Could you do a request where the superfriends are misjudging the reader because Lena is just super detailed with them and everyone think they are a gold digger so they treat them badly, mostly ignoring them so they put some distance between them and Lena since they knows Lena needs more her friends than them but Lena proves them wrong. Thank you!

Gold Digger

Summary: The Superfriends suspect that Lena’s new girlfriend is a gold digger. When Lena finds out why they’ve distanced themselves from her and Y/N, she’s furious.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting!

Request to be on a Taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

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PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/lkromanoff

“Do you see how many gifts Luthor gives her?”

“I doubt she’s actually attracted to Luthor, I mean, who would want her? It’s the money, I bet.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if Y/L/N magically got a promotion too!”

In the beginning of their relationship, Y/N had gotten awfully upset when she heard those comments. Lena found her crying once and when she found out the reason, she scolded her employees and the news reporters that said such things and that stopped them . . . For a bit.

Around the holidays when Lena had spoiled Y/N and gotten her the most beautiful of clothes, the rumors started up again, growing bigger and bigger. Y/N learned to brush it off and was used to it by now; since Lena had always told her to pay them no attention, they were just desperate people spewing silliness and lies. 

Her brunette girlfriend also introduced her to her friends, the “Superfriends” as they were nicknamed: Alex and Kara Danvers, Winn Schott, and James Olsen. Y/N was charmed by all of them and, perhaps it was because of how much she was used to the public’s behavior, she didn’t notice the reason why they were acting a little cold, standoff-ish, with her. 

In fact, when Lena and Y/N were running late for game night, the group took it upon themselves to gossip. “Did you see the necklace Y/N was wearing the other night? So fancy . . . Lena said she got it for her,” Alex commented. 

“I know,” Kara murmured, going through her file of memories. “Lena bought her that dress, too!” 

“Doesn’t Y/N work at L-Corp, too?” Winn asked, oblivious to what the sisters were getting at. 

“She’s probably dating Lena for a promotion or money,” Alex said in a sing-song voice before taking a gulp of her wine. Her words made the rest recoil. 

“You think so?” Kara asked, scrunching up her face. 

Alex shrugged and then thought. “If she comes in wearing a new thing that Lena bought her, will you consider it then?” She proposed. 

The group thought on it and to humor her, they said yes. 

Alex claimed victory, though, when the fashionably late couple waltzed in, Y/N wearing some shiny new earrings. From then on, they began to conspire a bit; talking, judging, until one night they reached a decision. 

It was a couple weeks later and Alex and Kara had pulled Lena aside to talk to her. 

“Is everything alright?” Lena asked, crossing her arms and glancing between her friends. 

“We’re a bit concerned, Lena,” Kara began softly and slowly. 

Lena laughed off her nerves. “What about?” She said, unable to think of anything that would worry them. 

“It’s . . . Y/N. We’ve seen everything you’re buying for and we’re just a little concerned that she may be using you . . . for your money,” Alex admitted. 

Lena’s jaw dropped in horror and her eyes practically glowed red, body seething with the newfound and big wave of anger washing over her like a wave. Except it didn’t settle down like a normal wave would into the tide, as more waves came, each bigger than the last.

She opened her mouth, hoping to form her raging and rushing swarm of thoughts and feelings into a coherent sentence, but a loud, shrilled gasp cut her off. 

The there turned around to see Y/N rooted in place at the doorway. Her eyes were wide, tears glossing them, utter hurt and confusion in her orbs. “I was just coming to get Lena because her phone was ringing . . . You left the door open,” she said, defeated, before turning around and rushing out. 

Lena took a big breath and turned back to her “friends”. “How dare you?!” She exclaimed, shocking them. “You know little of our relationship to be making these kinds of accusations! Y/N is not using me for money. Yes, I buy her gifts, because I love it when she’s smiling, and you know what she says every time I get her a gift? That she doesn’t deserve it . . . God, you are cruel,” she said, leaving no time for them to react or to form a response, as she rushed out, in pursuit of her girlfriend. 

Lena almost ran past her where she stood at the elevator, her sobs echoing off the walls. The anger in her dissipated and she let her caring nature kick in, wrapping her arms around Y/N and pulling her into a hug. “Don’t listen to them, okay?” She whispered, playing with Y/N’s hair. The woman sniffed and nodded into her girlfriend’s shoulder. 

Lena then leaned back and took Y/N’s face in her hands. “They know nothing,” she said, maintaining eye contact, and then kissing her before putting her arm around her waist. The couple went back to their apartment and shared a lovely night, just the two of them.

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgrath @celestialbarnes

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[landothemuppet]

Far Longer Than Forever (p.p)

Word count: 4737

Pairing : peter parker

Request: YES! ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. The Swan Princess is one of my childhood movie and this was so fun to write. I can’t stop listenning the soundtrack now ! I’m so sorry for the time i took to write this, i had so much work to do with school. But it’s over now and i hope you will like this ! 

N/A:  First, gif not mine but i don’t know who i’m gonna credit on this, i have no clue...This is my first Peter Parker x reader and i hope you all will like it! As always, I remind you that English is not my native language. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Like, reblogs to support. You can Love you all! xx

Taglist: @angeliquekalampoka @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cedricdiggorysimpp​ - if you want to be notified of all my future writings you can add yourself in my taglist : here

______

As far as you can remember, you've always hated summer. Well, it was partly a lie. You loved the sweltering heat of Queens, the cherry popsicles from Delmar's, not having to worry about what time you had to get up. You liked it but hated the idea of ​​the last two weeks of August.

 This year was no exception. You looked at your half-finished suitcase, a grimace on your face. August still meant the same thing, the same routine: having to spend the last three weeks of his vacation with Peter Parker.

summer 2009

Peter Parker had lost his parents very early on, two years ago. He had lived since then with his aunt May and his uncle Ben. It was your mother's idea to introduce you to each other. Aunt May and your mom were friends from college and luckily, they lived in the same neighborhood. Your first meeting with the one who, many years later, would become Spider-Man, took place on his eighth birthday. You were invited to the party when you weren't even at the same school. Aunt May had simply shared his fears about Peter's difficulty making friends after the trauma he had experienced. Your mother, as the perfect friend that she was, had suggested that Peter and you spend time together.

 There were 3 kids in total at that birthday party, you, Peter - obviously - and a boy from his school whose mother had forced him to be there, too. It was a fact; you were the only girl and you didn't know Peter at all. Your mother walked up to you, got up to your eye level and whispered

 "Can you be nice? May told me she invited Peter's whole class and only this boy came"

 You wanted to please your mother so you nodded before approaching the two boys. Peter and his friend were in the corner of the room, their backs turned to the adults. When you tapping the young boy on the shoulder to make you notice by him, he turned to you with a guilty expression. He had buttercream all over the corner of his mouth and he was holding a cupcake in his hand that looked delicious.

 “My Aunt May tried to bake a cake, but Uncle Ben bought some cupcakes in anticipation. Do you want one?” Peter asked you in a friendly voice

“Why? Is May's cake not good?

“Uncle Ben says that she is not very good at cooking.”

 You let out a little laugh and nodded your head before grabbing the cupcake with a smile. You thanked him and began to taste the little pastry with envy. It was so good! The buttercream was lemony, the cupcake was slightly lemony too but there was a taste you couldn't recognize. You were almost sure you had tasted it before, but you couldn't tell what it was. Peter and the other boy suggested that you go to Peter's room. He wanted to show you the LEGO set his uncle Ben had given him ahead of time and you followed them even though you weren't more excited about the idea.

 And you were right. For several minutes, you were pushed aside while the two young boys spoke spiritedly. You complained several times that you wanted to do something else but Peter didn't seem to listen to you, too excited to finally be able to chat with someone who appreciated Star Wars as much as he did.

 So you were annoyed and slightly angry with Peter but what broke the camel's back is that you started to not feel so good. Your throat was itching and you felt like your tongue was taking up a lot more space in your mouth, getting drier. Peter gave you a distracted look before his eyes widened. He let go of everything he had in his hands before running to his aunt.

 "Aunt May, Aunt May! Y/N's tongue looks like a big, desiccated steak!"

"Peter, don't be rude!" she exclaimed, shocked by her nephew’s words

"No, no come see, she has a huge tongue! I think something is wrong"

 Meanwhile, you ran into the bathroom at Peter's reaction. You weren't sure why he had looked at you like that, but you felt that a few things were wrong. In addition, you were more and more thirsty, your eyes also hurt. And that's when you saw your reflection. You were puffy, your tongue had tripled in size, hence this feeling of dryness and discomfort. It was the same with your throat. You started to cry and when May called you through the bathroom door, you fervently opened it.

 May and your mother's expression of horror was instantaneous and your mother knew exactly what was causing your condition.

 "What did she eat?"

"Nothing..." he tried to escape from being grounded

"Peter, this is very important. What did you eat?"

"We just ate the cupcakes Uncle Ben brought back"

 Ben looked at May with guilty eyes. May had put so much effort into Peter's birthday cake and she felt hurt that they had bought some pastries in anticipation. Your mother was impatiently stamping her foot. It was important to know exactly what you had eaten and above all, you shouldn't waste any more time. Peter felt completely helpless. He had only given a cupcake to his guest, that’s all. What was wrong with giving someone a cupcake?

 "What were those cupcakes flavor?" your mother said impatiently ...

"With lemon and almonds." he said in a very small voice.

 You were panicked. And the eight-year-old that you were was not coping well with stress. Plus, your feeling of being sidelined by Peter and his friend made you feel even worse. So you frowned. You couldn't see a thing but you could feel the torrent of tears escaping your cheeks. You pointed at Peter with rage

 "You tried to kill me !!!" you said somehow with your tongue as big as a little tangerine.

"It's not true!"

"Yes! You are a murderer"

 And you cried even more before your mother takes you to the emergency room as quickly as possible, apologizing for the scene.

 The week later, May forced Peter to apologize for giving you a cupcake, while justifying that he didn't know about your allergy. Your mother forced you to apologize for insulting Peter "a murderer" and accept his apologies.

 But you spent the rest of the vacation arguing with the little guy. After all, you didn't want to be friends with a murderer.

 Summer 2013

Aunt May and your mom didn't let go, however, and every summer you spent three damn weeks with Peter. The summer of your twelve years, you did not thus escape this eternal masquerade but this year, the tide had turned in your favor.

 From the start, you never liked Star Wars. It really wasn't your world. You had always preferred Harry Potter and although Peter had read the books and enjoyed them - which he would never admit to you as that would amount to listing the commonalities you had - he was much more invested in the galactic universe. But on that day, Peter had particularly bothered you. He had first replaced the sugar in your hot chocolate with salt. He kept chanting silly nursery rhymes about you and the downstairs neighbor, insinuating that you were in love: which was not the case. Yes, Peter had been extremely annoying. This time Peter was getting on your nerds by bouncing a small ball against the ceiling as you tried to read your book. Uncle Ben was in the living room watching the sport - you weren't sure exactly which one since it didn't matter to you - so you couldn't go anywhere else to be quiet.

 "Peter, stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked by bouncing the ball once more off his ceiling. You could even make out the smirk on his lips.

"That. Stop it! I can't read."

"This is nothing new."

 You threw him the first thing you found on his desk, c.e, a banana, which he easily dodged. You groaned in frustration. May and your mother didn't understand when you talked about Peter's attitude towards you. He was a calm child, far too shy at school and interested in everything, especially science. He was looking forward to entering Midletown High School in two years. You hated that nerd side about him. Secretly, you were a little jealous of him for being the smartest in the room.

 “I'm gonna hit you so hard you won't know your name anymore”

“ try me, dumbass.”

  A few minutes later, he had finally stopped throwing that damn ball, but obviously Peter's boredom was driving him to find everything the most boring thing than the previous one to drive you crazy. This time, he had simply taken his favorite lightsaber - because he had several - and he was poking your shoulder to get your attention.

 "Parker, stop!"

"Don't you want to drop this book and watch a movie?"

"What do you want to watch? Star Wars? No thanks ..."

"Oh come on, Y / N! I'm sure you'll like it!"

 He patted you on the shoulder once more with his lightsaber.

 "Do you want to play this, Parker?" you said before grabbing one of his other lightsabers

"What are you going to do? I'm sure you don't know how to fight with" he mocked.

 You have lit the glowing plastic stick and you are placed in the guard position.

 "Do you want to bet, knothead?"

 He smiled at you and attacked you first. Strangely, this is what most resembled a moment of bond between Peter and you and deep down, you appreciate it. But you also appreciate that possibility of kicking his ass after he's been so irritating. You responded to his lightsaber attacks with ease and joy. It was playful, childish, but it was one of the few times you had fun with Peter. And you really appreciate it. Your two laughs mingled, echoing in the room.

 But suddenly, as you were trying to dodge an attack from the brunet, your elbow made contact with his face. Peter's muffled cry of pain echoed and you froze. He was holding his nose with a grimace and when he took his hand away you both noticed in horror that he was bleeding.

 "Fuck…"

"Pete..." you started talking

"You blew my nose!" Peter shouted

"I did not do it on purpose!" you defended yourself.

"Of course, you do! You fucking blew my nose!"

"Peter, I swear ..."

 But Peter interrupted you by rushing out of his bedroom looking for his aunt who was in the office as she tried to file the important papers, that Ben and her had received this week. You were livid. First, because you didn't mean to hurt Peter on purpose. Second, you couldn't stand the sight of blood and it was literally everywhere. Peter was leaving trails of droplets on the floor of the apartment.

 "Aunt May?!? Y/N blew my nose! Damn, I'm bleeding!"

 After a brief stint in the ER, the rest of the stay was peaceful as you and Peter avoided each other until the end of the summer.

 Summer 2017

Peter was not the Peter you had always known.

 Since the death of his uncle Ben, the young man had closed in on himself and was even further away. Always so intelligent and discreet but much more distant. He had stopped teasing you or doing things that got on your nerves. He was minding his own business. And even though you had tried to be there for him, not denying him any of the offers he made to you during your stay ... you found him really ... overwhelmed. Which was still understandable.

 But this year was worse than the last. May told your mother that last year Peter got an internship at Stark Industry and attended a seminar in Germany but came back with a black eye. He had been acting most weirdly ever more since then. And you could have witnessed it. In the afternoon, when you were busy, and when it was too hot, when you tried to rest, Peter would disappear for hours. When you caught him sneaking back several times, he made you promise not to tell Aunt May.

 And you were starting to have theories about his nighttime getaways. After all, you were 16 and you too had started dating a few boys. But it never really worked. who knows why?! And when you wondered if Peter had a girlfriend, and who she was - he had to have one in view of all his sneaking out - your stomach twisted in a strange feeling. You didn't understand why the thought of Peter having a girlfriend bothered you so much. Over time, you had learned to be friends. It still happened sometimes that you quarreled but the events of the life made you grow up. Your parents had divorced, Peter had lost his uncle. You could tell yourself that you both had grown.

 And it was one night when Peter was sneaking back in again that you discovered two secrets.

 The first one: He was Spider-Man.

 It was around midnight when you heard the sound of the window opening. Since your childhood and this Machiavellian plan of your mother and Aunt May, you had always slept in Peter's room during holiday and more recently in his bed. The noise alerted you and you got up in a sitting position. But the only thing you saw was a foot, placed on this said window, closing it gently. How the hell was that possible?

 You were ready to scream but your gut told you to look up at the ceiling. A figure hung on it and you were paralyzed. Were you having one of those weird experiences called sleep paralysis? Delicately, silently, you grabbed the first blunt object within reach. A chemistry book that Peter seemed particularly fond of. The figure stepped on the ceiling as you were paralyzed. The form turned to land on the ground and then stood up, still with its back to you. You got up gently from Peter's bed and walked over. The man in the suit whose color you couldn't see took off his mask and you hit the air in an attempt to shoot him down. Peter turned around so quickly and blocked your gesture easily, like a reflex.

 "What the ..."

"Bloody hell".

 You both said at the same time. Your big surprised eyes mirrored Peter's. The curly man let go of your hand with an apologetic expression as you walked away from your friend. You turned on the bedside lamp before you discovered his blue and red costume. A very recognizable costume since it was that of Spider-Man. You winced, a look of judgment and incomprehension on your face. Not bothering to look at his face covered with bruises and traces of blood.

 "What the ... are you sneaking out to go to a costume party?"

"What?! No…No Y/N I’m…”

“Spider-Man? Great costume by the way” you joked.

 For a moment, you completely forgot that you just saw your friend glued upside down to the ceiling. Peter looked at you a little jaded, by the tone of your voice your guess was far from a sincere question but more of a mockery. And right now, the young man needed to be honest with you. He needed you.

 "But, I am."

"Yeah that's it. And I slept with the Winter Soldier. You can't imagine what he can do with his metal arm."

 Peter cut you off by pulling a web with his web shooter, tying your hands. The feel of the canvas was unpleasant, sticky but above all resistant. You let out a little cry of surprise, not powerful enough to pass the walls of Peter's room. Your eyes looked like two big golf balls, realizing that your friend was telling the truth.

 "Omg, You're Spider-Man" you almost spoke too loud.

"Yes and don't make me web your mouth. May doesn't have to know"

"damn, peter. What happened to your face!"

“yeah about that…I need you Y/N, please…”

  And without warning, Peter squeezed the spider in the middle of his costume, at chest level. He winced at the action revealing his bruised chest. He staggered a bit from the action, unsure of his legs and the pain in his sides fierce. You might see several bruises and cuts on your friend's body. You were having difficulty swallowing before you told him you were going to the bathroom to get what you needed. Before leaving the room, he made you promise to be discreet and not tell May anything if she ran into you. When you walk back into Peter's room, he's sitting half-lying on his bed, grimacing. You sit next to him, your heart pounding. You never noticed that he was so built. After all, as a superhero, he had to keep fit. But you couldn't deny that it intimidated you. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment and a desire you never knew before. He had his eyes closed, as if trying to make the pain go away. And there, looking at him, you found him pretty. he was so cute that you couldn't help but run your hand through his curls to signal your presence and soothe him a bit. But Peter already knew you were there. He had heard your footsteps, he had smelled your scent, a sweet scent he had grown used to in his later years. He sighed softly, more relaxed. You started to clean the few shallow wounds.

 "Does it hurt?" you asked quietly

"Mhmm no, not really."

"Did you win?"

"Ouch..No. Not tonight."

"Sorry." you said more for your gesture rather than the fact that he didn't win the fight against the bad guys.

"No, it's perfect ... it's just a little sensitive"

 You smiled but something was wrong. A feeling you've never felt before. You've finished cleaning up Peter's wounds, but your gaze has darkened. As you were about to get up, the brunette gently grabbed your wrist to hold you back. He could hear your calm breathing and yet your heart was racing. He could feel the heat on your cheeks. He too felt that the tension was at its height. Your mind was muddled, he didn't know why, he wasn't a telepath, but he could see it, feel it. Your body betrayed your mind.

 "Y/N, what is it?"

"I..I don't know." you lied.

"You can tell me everything."

"I ... Well…Seeing you like this ... makes me ... makes me realize that I ... I'm afraid of losing you."

"You won't lose me ... I promise"

 You are ashamed of your vulnerable state. How did you go from hating this boy to having an overwhelming fear of losing him? You looked at those chocolate eyes in confusion and distress. You were now fully aware that the little neighborhood spider was none other than your childhood friend. The one you once loved to hate, tease, fight with over trivia. He was also on the youtube videos, who stopped cars with his bare hands.

 “Y/N… you won’t lose me, I promise.”

 Peter dared to walk slowly towards you and in a surge of courage, one of his hands circled your burning cheek, his lips rested on yours. The brunette had always had a crush on you without actually admitting it. After all, you had known each other since you were children but... your relationship had been rather confrontational. But for two years now, everything had changed for him. He appreciated more and more your little arguments, your teasing. His thoughts would sometimes turn darker when you lick your lips or when your fingers scratched that point behind your ear, when you were a little stressed.

 Your lips moved between them in a harmonious dance and you were now clinging desperately to Peter's slightly sweaty brown curls. Your heart was pounding at a speed close to the point of no return, reluctant to stop suddenly in the face of this overstimulation. But all good things came to an end and you slowly walked away. You bit your lip to get the taste of Peter's back. Your mind wandered, lost in the haze of rushing feelings.

 "You..you should rest ..."

 You ended up pulling away, swallowing hard. That night you didn't sleep. You have studied every facial feature of Peter, thinking of every event since your friendship. The next day, you fooled that nothing had happened. Too scared of what that kiss meant to you.

 Summer 2025

It all happened so quickly. After that summer, the summer of your kiss, you promised yourself that you understood your feelings towards Peter. You weren't going to the same high school and even though you were both on social media, you never dared to contact him. You needed time.

 But you haven't had this time. Peter became full-time Spider-Man and then the aliens came to earth, again. The threat of Thanos hovered and within moments, days, hours ... you were gone under his snap.

 When you returned to your childhood apartment, you were alone. Well, alone in front of the family who lived in this place now. The man in his forties simply believed you were a drug-hunting teenager squatter. Five damn years had passed. 5 years where your mother had a new life when you had been eclipsed. You were distraught, alone and it was by happy coincidence that you found May at the F.E.A.S.T project. It was a relief for you to find a familiar face again. She had suggested that you come and live in her new temporary apartment, allowing you to finish high school without having to move to the other end of the United States, with your mother. You declined your offer. You wanted to fend for yourself. And surprisingly, you did pretty well.

 To be exact, Mr. Delmar was looking for a student to work in his store and was kind enough to greet you in the bedroom of one of his daughters who had gone to college. By the greatest of luck, you've never seen Peter. Or rather, you managed to avoid it for an entire year. You had caught a glimpse of him one day, trying to speak Italian to get a travel adapter and a dual headphone adapter. Did you feel foolish thinking that after so long - could we consider those 5 years to be 5 concrete years? - would it still focus on the kiss you shared? After all, you got away from him after that. And then, everything went in a state of madness.

 Every time you turned on the television, you learned that elemental monsters had attacked a different country. They had first started with Mexico and then moved to Europe. Italy, Prague and then London. A certain Mysterio seemed to be taking care of this matter, but you couldn't help but think of Peter. May told you he was supposed to go to Italy. In fact, every time she went to Delmar's for a sandwich, she gave you an update on her nephew's trip. But it wasn't the craziest.

 Upon his return ... Spider-man's identity was revealed. You had watched in horror the video of Mysterio, which appeared on the Daily Buggle newspaper, accusing Peter of wanting to be the new Iron-Man. You were listening to J. Jonah Jameson falsely accusing Peter of being a murderer. You knew Peter, and there was no way he had done such an act. The video was bogus, you were sure. When you tried to reconnect that summer, you noticed Peter's girlfriend. Michelle Jones and ... and that's what kept you from approaching him. He was already supported. He had his best friend, Ned. His girlfriend, MJ. And he had May. It was enough, wasn't it?

  It was the following year, after a new incredible adventure that you met again.

You worked at the store in the evening. Mr Delmar had asked you to help him out urgently because his youngest daughter had a health problem. You accepted with pleasure. You had offered to babysit his daughter but the loving father he was wanted to be with her. And it was precisely this evening that a thug decided to steal the fund from you.

 You were at gunpoint with your hands up in the air when you saw a red and black mass fall behind the thug.

 "Hey buddy, I think the bank is across the street"

 Spider-Man tapped the thief on the shoulder and dodged a punch.

 "But I think I'll arrest you anyway if you went to the bank. You don't seem like a nice guy." Peter joked.

 You were paralyzed as your friend, your best friend if you were honest, chained or avoided them with agility. You swallowed hard, unable to move or run away. A gunshot rang out and you smelled a scared little vintage. Peter squeezed the barrel of the gun in his hand, deviating from his course. It made sense now to say that he had simply defended himself against the assault. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Peter stared the offender against a fridge door, immobilizing him. He then turned to you, oblivious to your identity at the time.

 "Are you okay there?"

"Peter!"

 You didn't give him the chance to realize and you rushed into his arms, hugging him so tight to feel the comfort of his body against yours.

 "Uh, yeah, you're welcome. Cuddles are nice but ..."

 He paused for a moment and his automated eyes widened. He knew his perfume. The flowery, sweet scents that he had missed so much. Is this possible?

 "Y/N?"

 You let go of him and immediately put his mask back on. Adrenaline was controlling your actions and god damn it, you needed that touch. You kissed him, bluntly. Your lips crushed against his in impatience, in ardor, but too bad. You needed to feel it against you, to regain the feeling that you had felt, years ago. After a few seconds, you felt Peter's hands encircle your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your heart was exploding, the ardor was present in your kiss. You were even frustrated that you couldn't grab her brown curls with full hands, settling for only the base of her hair. You let out a moan before pulling away abruptly. He had a girlfriend.

 "I… I'm sorry. I… Sorry, I didn't mean… MJ… and… please don't blame me."

 Peter silenced you with another kiss, shorter this time but so good.

 “There is no MJ .... Just you and me ... Far Longer Than Forever”

 You looked at him hopefully and then burst out laughing after his words.

 "I didn't know you were so romantic, Parker"

"Shut your mouth."

"Make me"

"You are impossible."

"But obviously, you like"

 He was going to say something to nag you, he was looking for it but you caught him off guard, placing your lips on his again. You could feel his smile in the kiss and you couldn't help but do the same. Anyone living in the neighborhood present in the street would have a view of Spider-Man kissing the student cashier from Delmar. But you couldn't care less. You had waited too long and the joy you were feeling now was so intense, you didn't want to stop feeling this. It is reluctantly that Peter moved away from you apologizing for the fact that he had to go on patrol again.

 "Go save the Spider-Man neighborhood"

"Only if you promise me you'll be there when I get back."

"I was thinking of going to say goodnight to May instead ... But if you want, I have a sleeping bag in the storeroom."

"You are incorrigible .... See you later ..."

"See you later."

 You smiled, in a misty state of bliss as Peter disappeared from view. This time, you weren't planning to escape, you wanted to fall into the webs of Peter Parker. You closed the store after the police visit and headed to May's flat. It was late but with her kindness she welcomed you with open arms.

 This summer ... was the best in years but the others to come were going to be even more wonderful.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #tom holland #tom holland fic

[ellsbclls]

you write hurt/comfort so beautifully, it makes me want to have tom comfort me like that ): do u think you could write something where he's taking care of you after a long day at work?? and if it's a little nsfw i wouldn't mind but u dont have to do anything ur not comfortable with. again L O V E ur work!!

thank you so much 🥺 i guess i just try to portray a type of love i think everyone deserves! but also thank you for giving me this idea because my mind went rampant. i also don’t know why the reader is a musician, but just roll with it i guess idk what happened there??? 

i hope this tickles your fancy! nsfw, so extended warnings will be under the cut! please do not interact if you're a minor!!

extended warnings: cue fingering, and some messy, needy sex in the bathtub 🛁✨

The steam rising from the bathtub makes light work of your weary muscles, menthol vapors kissing up your spine, soothing the knots scattered across the length of your back. You were in dire need of this, after the plight of a day you’d endured. A couple of hours in the studio had quickly spiraled into a six hour-session, with nothing to show for it but a lousy sixteen measures of brass ensembles — and by the good grace of your talent and patience, the artist has requested you drop in for their session again.

The thought makes you want to drown.

Instead, you opt to curl into yourself, softly pressing your cheek into your knee, watching the spindles of warmth waft up from your well earned bubble bath. In retrospect, the weight of your day didn’t fall solely on this new client — if you’re being honest, they actually had a lot of potential. You wouldn’t mind having your name tethered to a couple of their hits — but Tom had just returned home from a three month long shoot, and you’ve only been graced the luxury of his presence for less than 24 hours. Any time that isn’t being spent with him feels blasphemous, but since he has yet to return from his unknown whereabouts, you seized the opportunity to flush out as much irritability as possible before he returned.

You didn’t know just how tired you were until you were woken up.

A half an hour passes before you’re tousled from your dreamless slumber by a docile touch, familiar digits scaling the curve of your spine before they take a detour at the nape of your neck, carefully parting stray strands of hair to either side of your frame.

“Tom?” You hum, dulcet tones wafting through the steam akin to a dream as it ebbs from the rim of your subconscious.

“Yes, darling?” He muses, entranced by the frothy remnants of your bath soak as he dips his fingertips into the water.

“I missed you today.” You melt into his touch, allowing your head to fall to the side and survey his attire. His hair is all tousled, chestnut locks sprouting from the bottom of his backwards strewn baseball cap, and those honey-dipped hues you adore so much are creased with concern. You want nothing more than to soothe them away with the pad of your thumb, and so you indulge yourself, reaching over the edge of the tub as you continue to ramble. “I started the day already praying for it to be over with, and somehow, every single inconvenience fathomable decided to fall onto my lap. I mean — who the fuck needs seven different french horn tracks in an overture? A real band barely needs one.” Tom’s nodding along to your ramblings, but you both know that he doesn’t fully under the lengths of your frustration — just as you’ll never truly understand the inner workings of his own career. “The only thing keeping me together was the thought of coming home to you.”

“I’m so sorry, my love,” He coos, and continues to caress your back, working out all of the knots that the steam couldn’t relieve. “If it’s any consolation, I was only running late because I had to stop and buy some pancetta on the way home.”

“Don’t apologize. I assumed you would be back since all your stuff is still here.” You tease, mirroring his bemused smile, letting his world seep into your slowly booting brain. “Pancetta…” Not many people knew this, not even Tom before his first attempt, but the boy could whip up a mean bowl of pasta. You remember floundering across the bed the night before, identical to a little kid throwing a tantrum, moaning over just how badly you were craving carbonara. Silly of you to think that he’d take your melodramatic request in stride. “Are you-“

His enamored gaze is answer enough, but he pairs it with a chaste kiss to your forehead that has you nuzzling into his touch. “Only the best for my lil’ lady.”

You show a mere fraction of your appreciation with a swift, flurry of kisses over his cheekbones, pulling him closer by the downy bundles of his hoodie. Lovedrunk giggles and contented sighs bounce off the tiles before you’re both submerged in a comfortable silence, one that leaves the both of you free to shamelessly examine the other, one clad in their comfy, weatherworn disguise while the other dawns nothing but an enchanted smile. Even with the disparity between your attire, you both end up with flushed cheeks and dopey grins.

Hours, days, years seem to press on until you break the silence with a silly question, one that you ask in hopes of hearing his gentle, candied voice once more — or even better, his laugh. “What would you do if I was as big as a thumbtack? Would you still love me?” You query, a childlike sense of wonderment tinting your sugar-coated sigh.

He takes a second to ponder your questions, taking it into far more consideration than you had in bringing it to fruition. You can’t stifle the tiny puff of air that leaves your lips, the semblance of a chuckle, and Tom, with his wild brow and theatrical ways, whips his head in your direction, sending you a cautionary glare. “I suppose I would…” He starts, only to tap his finger against his bottom lip, drawing the suspense to its boiling point by the time you shove his forearm. “But then again, it doesn’t matter what size you are, there’s no limit to how much I love you.”

“Hmm,” you manage to vocalize. Your heart is now a star, an incandescent ball of fire caged beneath your ribs, and if he hasn’t gathered it by now, then he can bask in the warmth of your smile and know that for him, for him it is the sun.

You have to admit that you got ahead of yourself. One moment, you were binding your lips in a bruising, indulgent union, urging him to bask in the lovelorn rays of light he summoned, but only managing to pull him into the bathtub, fully clothed and unsuspecting. What was once your lukewarm oasis is suddenly a swirling cauldron of spearmint, teatree, and now unmistakable notes of him, sloshing against the edge of the tub as his frame struggles against the latent tide. There’s bound to be one hell of a mess waiting on the bathroom floor, but now that he’s settled in your grasp, you see no reason to fret just yet.

“Y/N.” His voice is deadpan, which can mean one of two things — he’s either overwhelmed with joy, or exhibiting a great deal of restraint in not drowning you right then and there. You choose to cancel out the latter, and offer the best attempt at innocence your babydoll eyes could muster, peering at him through your lashes with a teeth-rotting gleam.

“What?” You ask simply. His eye starts to twitch, and you only double down on your facade. “I just wanted to be closer to you.” Wading through the newly shallow body of water, half of its contents now dispersed across the tile floor, you make light work of his soggy hoodie, sloughing it over his head as he grumbles beneath it, giggling when it catches against that razor-sharp jawline of his.

“Well, you are very close now.” You notice how his voice drops down an octave, and you’re embarrassed to admit just how quickly the coil in your stomach tightens at the sound of it, how it already aches to be pulled taut. 

Tom seems unsuspecting enough when he captures your lips once again, his brims as delicate as baby’s breath against your own, tentative as they glide in a sultry dance. He doesn’t need to coax a confession out of you, the truth is already there, nestled in your urgent, needy pressure, in the whimpers threatening to spill into his lips. He’ll indulge in this little game for a moment longer — where you pretend that you aren’t desperate for his touch, and he pretends that he isn’t just as desperate to provide it — but once you fumble into his lap, clumsily grasping for more, and more, and even more of him, his resolve begins to crumble.

“I need you.” you whisper into the hollow of his mouth, golden-tongued and virtually earnest, coaxing a trembling sigh from the back of his throat.

He hums back, contented, basking in the intoxicating warmth of your silhouette, tracing the curve of your breasts with his knuckles. “Long day, my love?”

“Mhmm,” You demonstrate your point with a wistful sigh,  enveloping his great hands with your smaller ones, coating them in languid kisses until there was no skin left untouched.

You’re just too fucking cute, he muses. He can never say no to you, not even in jest.

Two of his slender digits roam the valley of your stomach, knuckles ghosting over your navel in their listless descent before they venture between your thighs, surveying just how badly you really need him. He dips his middle finger between your folds, tender and slick with your arousal, and emits a husky groan as he traces a steady line between your entrance and the spot just below your clit, ghosting your little bundle of nerves with each taunting caress. “You’re already soaked, my love. This all for me?” He coos, nudging your jaw with the tip of his nose, pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss against the column of your neck.

“All for you,” You sigh, digging your nails into the broad planes of his shoulder. “Please, Tom, please touch me.”

He finally spares you, thumb sloppily circling your clit as he plunges two digits into your opening, welcoming the lithe intrusion with a warm, velvety embrace. You slump into his embrace, nipples straining hard against the soaked fabric of his t-shirt, and raggedly whimper as he starts to work you open. The reminder of your nude form plastered against his clothes, albeit soaking wet, summons another pool of wetness to your core. You’re flooded with thoughts of delectable anguish — of denim kissing your hips, dragging against your bundle of nerves, as he ravages your bare little cunt, proving that you’re so desperate for his cock that you can barely wait for him to undress.

“Is this all you needed, baby? My fingers? You wanted me to stretch this pretty little cunt out?” He can’t stop the filthy words tumbling from his lips, especially not when your tiny mewls of pleasure are flooding his ears — you’re just so soft and pliant under his touch, so eager to be filled to the brim, it’s intoxicating to know that you’ll take anything he has to offer you. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m gonna give you everything you need. Gonna have you spilling all over my fingers and then — fuck! — then i’m gonna fill you up with my cock. How does that sound?

“Y-yeah,” You’re rutting against his palm at this point, grinding down to meet each thrust, to feel impossibly closer, fuller, ambling toward an orgasm that is already barreling toward you. As he finds a new angle, the pads of his fingers nudge against your g-spot, and the heel of his hand careens over your clit with such a delicious pressure that your thighs begin to quake. “‘M so close.” You whine, prompting him to punctuate each thrust with a curl of his fingers, dragging your orgasm from the pit of your stomach.

“Then let go, baby. Let go for me.” You need no further persuasion, your eyes squeezing shut as you teeter off the edge, with nothing but a raspy, desperate string of obscenities, clawing at the slope of his shoulders, and bathing his hand in sultry waves of nectar as it spills from your weepy little hole. His fingers are trapped between your fluttering walls, working you through your climax with nimble, tentative thrusts, stretching each wave of pleasure out until you’re trembling over little ripples.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” You feel so small beneath his gaze, teeming with endless pools of adoration, like you’re a freshwater clearing and he’s parched. It nearly distracts you from his fingers as they slip from your opening, but each receding wave of bliss is tethered to him, so you groan at the loss of contact. Your walls flutter hopelessly around nothing, chasing the delicious stretch of his digits in their absence, but you’re instantly qualmed by the sound of his zipper being pulled down, no doubt freeing himself from the waterlogged confines of his jeans.

“Can I?” You sink your hands into what little water still remains in the tub, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, but he swats your shaky hands away, adamantly shaking his head as a small frown of confusion forms between your brows. “You don’t wanna take ‘em off?”

“This is about you, my love.” He whispers, his free hand smoothing over the small of your back, stroking the patch of dew-ridden skin with his thumb. “And right now, all I wanna do is keep my promise.”

“You’re so good to me,” You whisper just above his lips, leaning back into his touch, peering between your bodies to survey his ministrations. You’re still a bit dazed from your first, earth-shattering orgasm, but the prospect of another has you buzzing with excitement, and Tom knows that look well enough to speed up his course of action.

Pearly veneers sink into the swell of your bottom lip at the mere sight — his cock is beyond compare. Even as its impatiently pulled through the opening of his jeans, it’s put on a mouth-watering display as he leisurely pumps himself, smearing tiny pearls of precum across his flushed, leaky tip with each upstroke. He’s far too enticing, far too pretty with his rosy cheeked, droopy-eyed charm, to resist, and you’re quick to replace his hand with your own, curling your fingers around the base and mimicking a couple teasing pumps before guiding him to your entrance.

Tom spreads his legs a little wider to accommodate you, the sensation of wet denim rubbing against your thighs, knocking your legs farther apart, causes a soft whimper to fall from your lips. It doesn’t take long for you to align the head of his cock with your entrance, teasing him with a couple of lascivious drags through your folds before you sink onto his length, reigniting the remnants of your last orgasm as inch after delicious inch prods your tender walls apart. By the time he bottoms out, you’re nothing but a trembling pile of limbs, and his lips seek out your own just to muffle your staggered breaths with a burning kiss.

You allow yourself a couple of seconds to adjust — no matter how or which way you take him, he still pushes up every crevice of your insides, demanding every square inch of your velvety heat. A wild flurry of crimson blossoms across the high planes of your cheeks as Tom nuzzles his forehead against your own, brushing his nose against yours, coaxing a melodious string of giggles from your chest while you scrunch up your nose. He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips and smiles against the spot. “You look so pretty like this, my love. With that gorgeous smile of yours, and that pretty little pussy squeezing my cock.” You feel like you’ve got whiplash, trying to come to terms with how obscene he can be under such tender movements. “Just wanna turn you over and bury myself inside. See how tight you feel when you’re folded in half.” His hands reach down to rub gentle, circular motions into the small of your back, and you can’t help but pulse around him at the juxtaposition.

Once the uncomfortable stretch of his girth melts into pleasure, you finally start to work yourself over his length, and you swear you can feel every gorgeous ridge and vein of his cock as you rise up to the tip, only to plunge back down with a impish yelp, setting a clumsy, needy pace that certainly gets the job done. You don’t really find your rhythm until Tom helps you out, sinking his fingers into the supple curve of your ass, orchestrating a hard, punishing pace as he drives up into your sopping cunt, meeting you in the middle with each thrust.

All at once, the bathroom is washed in a crude symphony, the combination of your heavy panting and slapping skin intermingles with the shallow splash of water as it laps against the edge of the tub, punctuating the sinful drag of his length, and how the tip pounds against your furthest wall as you impale yourself onto him. You can feel another orgasm start to build, and since Tom has made it his solemn vow to not only study, but master, every little, scrumptious detail of your body, he senses it as well. 

“You got another one for me?” He asks between labored pants. His own orgasm is starting to peak over the horizon, following in the blazing trail you’ve set, you can tell by the way a thin sheen of sweat starts to build against his hairline, and his brows almost meet in the middle, as if the feeling of your pussy pulsing around his cock is unfathomable. He uses the grip he has on your waist to take control, using one hand to scale up the breadth of your back, and as his palms leave a blistering trail up, up, up your sides, he pulls you flush against his chest, attempting to plant his feet against the floor of the bathtub, 

He needs the leverage to piston his hips up into your own, to pound into your greedy hole at an unyielding pace — to keep his promise — and as you start to feel the tell tale edge of your climax cresting over your weary frame, you spoil his shoulder with sweeping, butterfly kisses and flood his mind with sweet, sweet nothings, luring him to the brink with the same dulcet tones you know drive him wild.

His hips stutter into your own, and before the words can even exit your lips, you’re dragged to the edge of bliss with a couple of rough, uncompromising thrusts that have you wildly spasming around his length. He joins you almost immediately, throbbing against your sensitive walls as he fills you to the brim, driving the mixture of your arousal further into you as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Once he pulls out, he’s quick to wrap you up in a soothing embrace, planting kisses over every acre of skin he can get his lips on, but you’re too focused on the trail of cum leaking down your thighs to really indulge him, curiosity getting the better of you as you gently weave your arm between your bodies and collect the wetness on your thighs. You swear you can feel the rumble of his chest once you pop your fingers into your mouth, humming around the sodden digits, making a spectacle out of the addicting elixir pooling on your tongue, but his glimmer of reinvigorated stamina is put to rest by the sight of your drowsy, half-lidded stare.

“Why don’t we get you dried off? Then I can start dinner.” He hums against your cheek, punctuating his suggestion with yet another chaste kiss. It’s genuinely like he can’t get enough, and neither can you as you sleepily nod.

“Will you wake me up when it’s ready?” You sigh, teetering on the edge of slumber once more.

“Of course, my love.”

#tom holland #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader blurb #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #something about this man fucking the bad day out of you 🥰 #what a gentleman #ANOTHER 3K DOOZY?????? #WHA T TH E FUCK??? #mine*

[oshbluepacific]

Love. Me.

Type: Fluff/Slight Smut

Character: Park Jinyoung x Reader

Words Counted: 4K8+

questions and request are available / masterlist

NOTE: i was inspired to write this while listening to Ed Sheeran - Kiss me. so while you guys are at it, listen to this. you know when to play the song when you read it. happy reading!

“Mr. Park, your father wishes to see you in his study.” The man in full black and white suit told me.

           I nodded my head before I could take my glasses of and remove myself from my chair. I grabbed my robe, putting it on. I walked along the long hallways towards my father’s study, a woman came emerging from the door.

           “Mother.” I greeted her. As always, she looked marvelous. With her green dress underneath the coat. Her flowery perfume that smells wonderful and my father loves so much.

           “Jinyoung… you’re just wearing your robe and pants.” She commented, eyeingher own son from head to toe.

           “I opened the window to get some fresh air as I was working mom. It was perfectly chilly in the morning, but it got all sunny.” I smiled at her, and she shakes her eyes as she smiled back. She adjusted my robe so that my chest isn’t overly exposed.

           “Okay, now, let’s get to your dad’s study... he has something important to tell you.” She said as she looped her arm on mine.

           We both got to father’s study as the doors closed behind us. He was on the phone, sitting on his armchair behind his neat, tidy desk. He hung up the phone moments later, placing it on the desk. My mother approached him as he reached out for her hand and she took it.

           “Jinyoung, have a seat boy.” He said, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.

           I took a seat, getting myself comfortable on the chair.

           “My son… you’re not wearing any clothes.” He started, I only rolled my eyes, before I explained what I was doing to him and he nodded his head.

           “Well, I think your mother had told you that I have something important that I want you to know.” I respond with a nod.

           “I’ve told you before that I’ve met your mother through your grandfather. At first, she was a stranger to me, and even after we get married, she was still a stranger to me. But time after time, we get to know each other, and I knew that your grandfather has introduced me to the love of my life.” He held on to my mother’s hand before bringing it up to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss to the back of her hand.

           “Your father and I had agreed that this is the perfect arrangements for you.” My mother chimed in.

           I sat there, nodding my head, trying to understand everything. I felt my heart racing against my chest.

           “She’s coming for dinner tonight, and I’m sure, you’ll be happy to see her.” My father added.

           “What is her name?” I asked him, my eyes darting to both people who had raised me.

           My mother chuckled before she could walk towards me.

           “You’ll love her! You can introduce yourself to her tonight.” She then leaned, to kiss my forehead before she excuses herself out of my father’s study.            

           My father talked about the marriage arrangement, and how the wedding date is set and everything is planned. The more he talked about it in detail the more nervous I get. After the conversation, my father dismissed me and I went back to my room, but I couldn’t seem to get my focus back.

When I first met her, it was almost like love at first sight—and who the hell am I to believe in all that? She was so beautiful, intelligent, btu also like every person who just met a stranger, shy. While dinner, she didn’t say much, but she was very polite—not just to my parents—to hers, and to the staff members at home. When our parents were talking about stuff that we don’t actually know about, I took this chance to excuse myself and her to have a moment. I took her out to the back garden where I took this opportunity to get to know her. It was as if I’ve known her for all my life, she opens up about everything I asked her. She has this beautiful personality. When she smiles, I felt those types of certain jolt of happiness.

           When it was time to get back inside, she took my hand all nervously, when really it had me worried.

“What is it? Something wrong?” I asked her, turning my heels  before I looked around the place.

           “No, no, nothing’s wrong…” She managed a small smile before dropping her face to the ground. She then looked up to me.

           “Jinyoung… I don’t know you’ll love me or not, I don’t know what the future holds, but I will try my best to be what you need me to be. I’ll try my best not to be a burden for you.” She told me and I just nodded my head.

           “You’re not going to be a burden for me—”

           “I’m not done.” She shot a look into my eyes, and there was a certain sadness in her eyes.

           “Promise me one thing.”

           “And that is?” I asked, gently taking her by the hand.

           “Promise me, that if you don’t, love me, then don’t force yourself to.” She said.

           I smiled at her, knowing that I already fell in love with her since day one.

Skipped time frame, I married the woman I just met 7 months ago. And to be honest, I couldn’t be more in love with her.  When we moved, I let her take a pick of the house, I’ll be out of the house most of the time while she stays in. I let her decorate however she likes, and I offered her to have the masterbedroom.

           “What you’re not sleeping here?” She asked.

           “Would you be comfortable?” I asked her and she stayed quiet before she nodded her head.

           “You doubted.” I chuckled.

           “No, I didn’t, I—”

           “It’s okay, you can have the master bedroom for a while.” I told her with a smile.

For 4 months I’ve been crashing in the guest bedroom and sometimes fell asleep on the couch in my study. What finally made me sleep with her in the master bedroom was when she suddenly came, knocking on the door of my study in the middle of the night while I was working.

“Why are you still up?” I asked her, as she stepped inside the room. Her eyes darted on the couch before she could take a seat on the chair in front of my desk.

           “I don’t know, I just couldn’t sleep… bed just feels too big today.” She said, rubbing her eyes with her hand.

           “Do you want me to come down and accompany you?” I asked, my eyes looking up to her from my paper.

           A smile appeared at on her sleepy, adorable face before she nodded her head.

           “Okay, I’ll clear this up for a bit and I’ll join you in a bit.” I told her as she got up from the chair.

           “Okay!” She then left the room while I tide up my desk and couch.

           I knocked on the bedroom door before I heard her mumble. I opened the door to see her laying under the fluffed blanket and realized, the bed is too big for just her.

           I lay there next to her, trying to get the comfortable position. I let her lay her head on my arm as I wrap my other arm around her.

           “Jinyoung…” She whispered.

           “Yeah?” I looked down.

           “Sleep here more often, this is nice.” She smiled.

After that, we’ve gotten closer with each other. We would talk all night right after I got home from work. Even though she spent most of her days at home, she would always have something to tell. And I would always listen to her, happy that she is too.

“Jinyoung?” I heard a voice as my head moved up from the water.

           It was a sunny day, on my day off, and it’s just the perfect time to dip myself in the pool.

           She was standing on the side of the pool with a glass of what looked like a passion tea. I swam towards her, resting my arms on the side as she crouched down as she hand the glass to me. I took a sip of the sour, refreshing, fruity drink before handing it back to her.

           “Your mother just called.” She said before taking a sip of her passion tea.

           “Oh? What did she say?” I asked her

           “She’s inviting us for dinner tonight.” She said, placing the glass of refreshing drink aside.

           “Tonight? That’s very unusual of her to invite dinner on the last minute… What time?” Iasked her again.

           “Seven.” She answered.

           I looked over her shoulder to the patio where a huge clock was hanging. It was already 3 PM.

           “I’m going to take my shower, and then get dressed, we could leave just before 6.30.” She pointed.

           “You just finished working out?” I asked raising an eyebrow.

           She was wearing a black, tight, sports leggings with her sports top over the grey cardigan she was wearing.

           “You’re going to shower?” I asked her again and she nodded her head. “Well in that case help me up.” I said, extending my hand to her.

           Maybe because of her exhaustion, she didn’t think of anything and took my hand. Instead of pulling me out of the pull, I pulled a smirk on the corner of my mouth before pulling her into the cold pool water. She shrieked before she could hit the water.

           I laughed as she emerged from under water before giving me a death glare.

           “Park Jinyoung you have 10 seconds before I can drown you in this very water!” She screamed as she put her hands on the top of my head before pushing it down with herself.

           We stayed in the pool for a bout 30 minutes or so before getting ourself out to race towards the bathroom.

I let her shower in our bathroom while I shower in the guest bedroom bathroom to spare some time. As I finished, I put on my black shirt and grey pants before I could roll the sleeves of my shirt. I put on a pair of shiny black shoes before I stood in front of the full-length mirror to fix my hair before walking out form the room and knocked on the door.

           “(Y/N), are you dressed?” I raised my voice so she could hear me.

           “Yeah, just come in!” I heard her voice behind the door.

           I opened the door to see her in a beautiful white dress, exposing her back to me. As she turned around, I just felt my heart skipped a beat. It was a long sleeved dress, showing her strong shoulders and collarbone. The dress wasn’t tight, but it shows her curves just perfectly. From her knee, the dress becomes sheer so you could definitely see her calf and the white high heels she was wearing.

           “Do I look overdressed?” She asked, holding up her hair.

           I snapped out of my thoughts and shook my head. I walked closer to her, my eyes still focused on hers before it went from the top of her head to the tip of her toes then back up to her eyes again. I placed my hands on her hips. The smell of her amber, musk perfume.

           “You look… absolutely beautiful.” I told her and she just gave me a shy smile.

           “I might just stare at you all night, afraid that somebody might comes in and swoops you out from me.” And she giggled.

           “Stop, you’re making me want change dress.” She said, and I quickly shook my head.

           “No, don’t! we’re already late, now come one, we have a dinner party to attend. I told her.

           I held her hand as we both walked down the stairs. We both got into the car and I quickly start the engine.

Never in a million years that I thought my house could fit thIs much of a people. The front hall that I thought was too big was just packed with man in suits and women in dresses. A glass of champagne or wine were at hands. As we both stepped into the building, I felt people were staring at us—or to be more specific—at (Y/N). I could feel the grip of her hand on my arm tightens.

           “People are staring…” She whispered low.

           “People are mesmerized by your beauty of course.” I convince her with a smile.

           We walked around the building and I couldn’t seem to find the host of this dinner party, to be exact—my own parents.

            “Jinyoung! (Y/N)!” Finally a familiar voice called out. We both turned our heads to the source of the voice, and I could see my mother waving her hand. She was in a blue dress, a cocktail in her hand. She walked closer to us and I could feel (Y/N)’S grip loosen before she lets go of me to give my mother a hug.

           “(Y/N), you looked absolutely beautiful! Your dress is very much stunning!” She complimented (Y/N).

           “Oh, no… you looked amazing yourself mum!” She smiled, and then my mother turned to me to give me a hug.

           “I’m sorry for the late notice to you both… You father had been keeping me busy all day, so I didn’t have time to call you all morning.” She explained.

           “It’s okay, we’re sorry that we’re a little late.” (Y/N) apologized.

           “No need to apologized dear—Ah, which reminds me, I have something I want to give you (Y/N), do you mind coming with me?” My mother offered her hand and (Y/N) politely took it.

           “It’s upstairs—Jinyoung, I’m sure your father is looking for you somewhere, you should go.” My mother suddenly left me alone in a room packed with people. I was about to say something but shook my head as I watched my mother and my own wife, walked through the sea of people staring at them before they turned the corner. I walked around the house before a waiter with a tray of glasses of champagne passes by, I took one before taking a sip still walking to an unknown direction. I found my father in the living hall, sitting on the couch with his friends. When his eyes spotted me, He waved his hand and I scurried to him.

           “My boy! How are you? it’s been a while since I last saw you!” He said happily, putting his arm around me. “Where is (Y/N)? Is she at home?” He immediately asked about her whereabouts.

           “No, she’s here, mother took her to talk about something, and left me here.” I explained.

           “Ah, come here, and sit down with us! We’re discussing, you should hear about it.” He said, as I took a seat besides my father.

           The conversations went on for hours. My father then excused himself before patting my shoulder.

           “Come my boy, I need to speak to you about something.” He said.

           I nodded my head before I couls stood my grounds and bowed to the remaining people and chased my father.

           “How long have you been living with (Y/N)?” He suddenly asked.

           “7 months.” I answered right away.

           “If you add another 2 months, I could be seeing my grandchild.” He said in a sarcastic note.

           I was too surprised by his comment, so I kept my words and stayed silent.

           “Have you talked about having a child with her?” He asked again. I shook my head.

           “No… not yet… I don’t want to do anything that makes her uncomfortable.

           “She’s your wife.” He pointed out.

           “Yeah, but I don’t want to force her to do anything she doesn’t want to!” I pointed back, feeling a bit anger.

           My father stopped his steps and so did I. I looked at him with wide eyes, assuming he felt my anger he managed a smile before turning himself to me.

           He placed his hand on my shoulder with a smile on his lips.

           “Do you love her?” He asked me.

           I raised my eyebrow as if asking are you seriously asking me that question?“Yes, of course I love her.” I answered him anyway.

           “Have you told her you love her?” He asked again, and this time I stayed quiet. I do love (Y/N), but I never really said it out loud to her, because I don’t know what she thinks of me. I just met her 7 months ago, and I don’t know if she loves me yet or not even the slightest bit.

           “When I married your mother, it took me a year to said it out loud to her.” He said, continuing his steps and I followed him as I listened to him.

           “It took months to get to know your mother, it took months to know what’s her favorite color, to know what she likes to do at home, what’s her favorite food and drink—to know everything about her. It took her months to open her heart to me! And the first time I told your mother I love her was when you were finally born. And do you know what your mother said to me?” He then stopped by the glass window, overviewing the crowed on the backyard. There were people dancing, drinking, some were even in the pool enjoying a nice, freezing. Swim.

           When I didn’t answer to him, he turned to me for a brief seconds before looking out the window.

           “She cried and then she said… ‘I thought I was about to have a child with his father who doesn’t loves his mother.’ And at that moment, I never missed a day where I don’t express and told her just how much I love her.” He said.

           “Jinyoung, your mother and I both know, that you will do anything in your power to keep (Y/N) happy and safe, because that is how we taught you. But I also want you to make her feel loved… don’t make her doubt that she’s not worthy of love. I know you love her, and I know full well that she loves you.”

           “How do you that she loves me?” I asked. And just on queue, my father’s face lit up, looking something past me.

           I turned to see my mother and (Y/N), walking side by side. I felt my father patted my back, leaning his face close to my ear. “Trust me son, I lived much longer than you… I know love when I see one. “ He whispered before he could walk closer to my mother.

           “Honey, I was talking with (Y/N) when suddenly I heard out favorite song, I just had to take the dance with you!” My mother said excitedly, offering her hand to my father before he gladly took it and kissed the back of her hand.

           I didn’t realize the people started pairing up as they danced gracefully in the room.

           “And, my goodness, (Y/N), might I say that you look magnificent tonight.” My father commented before she smiled, slightly bowing to my father.

           “You looked dashing yourself father.” She complimented back.

           My father smiled at her. “Please both of you, enjoy the night! Now if you’ll excuse us, I must dance with my lovely wife!” My father happily said before he walked toward the middle of the room to dance with my mother. (Y/N) moved herself to stand beside me to watch my parents danced their heart out, with smiles on both of their faces.

           “Your parents looked so in love with each other.” She suddenly said beside me.

           “Yeah…” I responed before I could turn to look at her. She had her eyes focus on the dance floor with that bright smile on her face.

“And at that moment, I never missed a day where I don’t express and told her just how much I love her.”

“I know love when I see one.”

I heard my father’s words echoed in my head as I looked to her.

           I think she might have noticed that I was staring at her so she turned up to look at me, raising her eyebrow.

           “Something wrong?” She asked.

           “Ah, sorry, didn’t mean to stare—have you eaten?” I quickly asked, changing the subject.

           “Yeah, you mother actually took me to her study I believe… and we eat there.” She informed.

           “Have you?” She asked.

           “Yeah.” I lied, I haven’t eaten a damn thing. “I was invited to dinner and then I came here with m partner, but then I was ditched as soon as we arrived so I had to cope with something.” I explained sarcastically and she giggled by my side.

           “I’m sorry that I ditched you tonight.” She apologized, hooking her arm around mine.

           “I mean you know… I can’t actually say that I was ditched, because… this is my home anyway.” I added only to make her laugh.

           “Should we get back home?” I asked her.

           “What, you don’t want to take a dance first?” She asked.

           I gave her a shrug, “Let’s just dance at home, where the chances of me stepping on people’s foot is lesser.” I told her and she laughed again.

           I took her hand before we both could leave the building. As we got into the car, I shook my head before turning he car engine on.

           “What?” She asked.

           “Nothing, it’s just… old people, they should be asleep by now, but they came so late at night.” I told her, she giggled and hit my shoulder lightly.

           “What’s up with you and your sarcastic comments lately?” She asked again.

           “This is what happens when you left me with my father with a glass of champagne in my hand.” I turned to her, before I pulled the car out of the parking spot and drove back home.

Once we arrived, we stepped in our quiet home, the only sound I could hear was the sound of the pool water outside, and the sound of our shoes against. She walked towards the living area where she lights up the fire place before taking a seat on the couch.

           “What are you doing?” I asked her.

           “Taking my heels off?” She answered, but it came out more like a question.

           “I’m about to ask you to dance and you’re going to take your heels off?” I asked her, and she looked to me surprise.

           “Oh, you were serious about taking the dance here?” She asked again, with a hint of amusement in her tone. I nodded my head as she stood up and walked closer to me.

           “But there’s no music….” She pointed out.

           I rolled my eyes as I fished my phone out form my pocket and randomly play a slow song I had before blasting its volume and slipping it back into my pocket. I took her hand as I slipped my other hand on her waist. She placed her hand on my shoulder with a small smile before we both could start taking a step.

           “This is nice…” She said, as the music plays in the background, moving our body side to side.

           “Yeah…” I let out a sigh, before she could rest her head on my chest.

           “(Y/N)…”            “Hm? She looked up to me and our eyes met.

           “While you were with my mother, my father actually pull me aside to talk.” I started.

           She moved her hand from my grip before wrapping her arms around my neck while my hands are down at her waist.

           “What did you guys talk about?” She asked, still with that small smile on her face and that radiant glow in her eyes.

           “He told me about when my mother was pregnant with me, she never felt any love from him. And when I came to the world, he finally said that he loves my mother when my mother, but really it was hard to gain my mother’s heart again.” I explained.

           Her smile faded, and I could feel our steps became smaller and slower.

           “And I don’t want that to happen to you… I want you to be happy, I want you to feel safe here, I want you to be comfortable whenever you’re with me… but not just that, I want you to feel loved too.” I told her.

           “Your mother actually told me the same story actually…” She said, with a light chuckle.

           “What did she tell you?”

           “Same story, but different perspectives.” She managed a smile. “She told me that yes, your father made her very happy, but… she never felt she was loved. And by the time you were born, she didn’t believe that your father loved her. So your father never missed a day to tell her that, and that he would always try his best to show that… he really did love her.” She explained.             There was a few seconds of silent as we moved around, with just the music playing in the background.

           “Jinyoung…” Her voice, finally broke the intense silence between us. “Do you love me?” She asked as I looked down to her.

           “Of course I do…”

           “Don’t lie…” She said, her eyes looking glassy as if she blinks this second, she’ll tear up.

           “I do, (Y/N), I do love you, I love since the first time we’ve met!” I confessed and she stayed silent as we stopped our pace.

           “Before we got married, we promised to not force our feelings right? Well, to tell you the truth, before we even made that promise, I was already falling in love with you. Everytime you smile it feels like the whole room just lights up. I love how you always laugh at my jokes and sarcasm. I fell in love with your own personality, you’re so polite with everyone, you’re kind, you always show your happy side and believe me… each and every waking day, I fell in love with you even more.” I told her.

           A small smile appeared, but there was also a hint of doubt on her face.

           “Maybe you don’t believe me now, and maybe because part of it is my fault, I should’ve told you sooner.”

           Her face drops, but then she shakes her head.

           “I love you… Jinyoung, and maybe you don’t believe me too because we were just told about our parents mistakes… and part of it is my fault too because I made the promise and I should’ve told you that I love you too.” She explained. Her eyes stare deeply into mine, but they were soft and gentle.

           “What can I do, to make you believe me?” I asked her.

           Her eyes searched for something on my face before I could feel her warm hands touching my face as she leans herself closer to me.

           “Maybe…” Her eyes fell to my lips. “This…”

           Nothing was said after that. I felt her plump lips moving against mine. I moved my hand against her bareback as I could feel her arms around my neck tightens. I slipped my tongue into her mouth and she gladly welcomed me, letting me explore her. A gasp of moan escaped her mouth before I then swooped her off the ground, carrying her in my arms. She squirmed, pulling lips away from mine, but our eyes didn’t leave each other. I then lay her on the couch, letting myself hover on top of her before she could pull my face back to connect our lips again. I held on to the side of the couch to make sure I won’t crash on her.

           “(Y/N)…” I breathed.

           “What? Are we taking it too fast?” She asked, suddenly nervous, causing me to chuckle.

           “No, no, I want to keep this pace, but… I won’t do anything that you don’t want to do.” I told her.

           “Do you even know what I want?” She shot.

           “Do you want to?” I asked, raising my eyebrows sounding to eager.

           A smirk appeared on her lips before she could support her body with her arms, leaning closer to the side of my face. I felt her hot breath against my neck before I could feel her lips pressed against it as I closed my eyes. I felt my arms jiggled for a bit, as her lips then moved to my ear, and right there I just lost it.

           “don’t make me change my mind.” She whispered seductively into my ear.

           I pulled my face to look at her before I got off from the couch, bitting my bottom lip.

           “Then what the hell are we doing here?” I asked.

           She squirmed when I lift her up from the couch followed by her giggle as she rest her head on my shoulder. I walked up the stairs towards our bedroom. She helped me to open the door with her free hand before I could throw her on the bed. He giggles stopped when I pressed my lips back onto hers.

           “Baby, you look amazing in this dress tonight, but, I can’t contain myself anymore, I want to see you for what you are.”

#got7 #got7 imagine #got7 scneario #got7 au #got7 one shot #got7 oneshot #got7 mafia au #got7 fluff #got7 smut #got7 angst #got7 fanfiction #got7 fan fiction #got7 fiction #got7 jinyoung #jinyoung imagine #jinyoung scneario #jinyoung au #jinyoung one shot #jinyoung oneshot #jinyoung mafia au #jinyoung fluff #jinyoung angst #jinyoung smut #jinyoung fanfcition #jinyoung fan fiction #jinyoung fanfiction #junyoung mafia au #jinyoung mafia #park jinyoung #park jinyoung imagine

[triptuckers]

New In Town (part two) - Kaz Brekker

Request: nope Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: you're exploring ketterdam and happen to overhear an interesting conversation Warnings:  none Word count: 2.6K A/N: ketterdam my beloved <3 <3 <3 PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART TAG LIST (all grishaverse fics): @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15@dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha@story-scribbler@romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey @sanktaesperanza@whymyparentscheckmyphone@aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1 @marlenaisnthappy @tomridlessecretvampiredemigod TAG LIST (Kaz Brekker): @mufnasa @janesofia7 @stairscortana add yourself to my tag lists here (bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason!)

You spend the first weeks wandering around the city, getting to know the streets, canals, and its secrets. Every morning you wake up early to leave the pub when the regulars aren't there yet.

You like Ketterdam in the morning. It seemed like everyone collectively decided to sleep in every day. When walking the empty streets, you feel like the city belongs to you, even though you only arrived a couple of weeks ago.

During your short stay, you couldn't help but to develop some habits and routines. Normally, you made sure no one could figure out your habits and favorite spots, but somehow you felt like nobody in Ketterdam cared enough to pay attention to an outsider like you.

Especially when said outsider definitely didn't look rich.

Your clothes had worn out, because you hadn't taken your bag with you and had spent all of your money on rent for your room. But the owner of the building had agreed to give you a job at the pub.

You made a little money on the nights you worked as a bartender. You saved part of it, and spend part of it on clothes. First was a shirt, that was slightly too big but at least it didn't have stains on it or holes in it.

Next up was a new pair of pants. You picked them out carefully, buying one with wide legs so you could easily hide your weapons. It also has a lot of pockets, which was useful as well.

You then bought a new coat. It was a long, black coat. Perfect for wrapping it tightly around you and disappearing into the shadows during the nights you were on the streets.

Your boots weren't worn out just yet, so you hadn't spend money on a new pair. You kept your old clothes at the room, in case you needed a change of clothes. Old ones were better than no clothes at all.

With every piece of clothing you bought, you felt more like you had been in Ketterdam for a long time. Part of you felt like you needed to blend in, and buying Kerch clothes was a perfect way to do so.

You wake up on a particular sunny day. At first, you're excited to spend the day walking around the city, exploring the outer edges of the city.

But your good mood soon disappears when you remember you have an extra long shift to work at the pub today.

It's not like you particularly enjoy working at the pub. Most of the guests seem to think they can do anything to you when they're drunk.

The regulars know not to mess with you, but the new customers weren't around to witness you break three fingers of a guy who put his hand on your waist.

Even though less people messed with you now, there are still some who believe they can convince you to have a drink with them. You always have to smile and politely refuse, telling them you're working.

You'd much rather work your usual jobs, but you had yet to find out how to get someone to notice you. You didn't trust the gangs - yet. Simply because you didn't know enough about them.

Sure, you had the guts to march into whatever their main building was, but if you didn't have any dirt on them, it wouldn't be very useful. Besides, you'd much rather watch them try to anxiously get you to forget the information you had gathered.

You loved to have your clients beg for their pride when they double crossed you, or hadn't paid you enough. But you didn't dare to walk into a house full of trained gang members simply because your job at the pub was dull.

It was boring, and your skills were useless, but at least you got paid. It was just enough to cover the rent of the room, but a little money is still better than none at all.

If you could just find out some more information on the different gangs, you'd be able to join one of them, using the secrets you discover as leverage.

It's not like you had always wanted to join a gang. But the streets of Ketterdam are more dangerous than the ones in Ravka or Fjerda. Being part of a gang provided protection. You knew no one would touch you if you were part of a gang. Except maybe members of rival gangs, but you could handle those.

But for now, you're stuck serving rich tourists and drunk regulars.

Though it was a boring job and nothing exciting really happened, you did learn a lot by listening to their conversations. Gang members didn't often come to the pub, but guards, merchant's servants and advisors, people of the Stadwatch and other interesting people did.

You'd already learned a great deal about them by listening to their conversations. As someone who worked at the pub, you could come closer without any of them getting suspicious.

If only some gang members came in for a drink, you'd be able to listen in on their conversations as well. But you figured they'd have their own clubs, or other pubs they like to go to.

After a quick breakfast and a morning walk in the sun, you're already back at the pub, getting ready to start your shift.

Luckily, there aren't many people in the pub this early. You spend your time washing glasses, occasionally serving people, tiding up the place.

Around noon, it starts to get busier. But that's also when more people start their shifts, so you don't have to do all of it on you own. Even though it's busier the later the hour gets, it's still boring to you.

The same people are there and they order the same drinks, making the same lame jokes, hoping to make you laugh. The best you can do is a forced smile which disappears as soon as you turn your back on them.

When your shift is almost over, you're standing behind the bar. You're cleaning the glasses people used today, trying not to zone out as you stare at the open doors on the other side of the pub.

People are laughing and talking loudly, but it all seems oddly far away from you.

Suddenly, your coworker nudges your shoulder and gestures with her head to the entrance.

'They're not regulars, are they?' she says.

You look at the people she pointed out. Two boys around your age walked in the pub. One of them is tall, curls falling down on his forehead, and there's a grin on his face.

The other one is shorter, leaning on a cane and dressed head to toe in black, as if he's going to attend a funeral. Unlike the other boy, he doesn't have a smile on his face. Instead, he walks to the nearest table and sits down, signalling to the bar.

Your coworker wants to approach them, but you're faster.

'I've got this one.' you say with a smile.

You didn't see many people like this in your pub, and your curiosity got the better of you. Besides, you hadn't seen them in the city, making you believe they are from the parts of the city you rarely go to.

And since it's not weird for a bartender to make small talk, you approach them with a smile.

'Good evening!' you say cheerfully. 'How can I help you today?'

'Hello love!' says the taller boy as he returns your smile. 'I'll have a beer.'

'Great choice.' you say.

You turn to the other one, quickly scanning him up and down and noticing he's wearing gloves. Which seems odd, since it's such a nice sunny day. But then again, there are a lot of odd people in Ketterdam.

'And what can I get you, sir?' you say.

Just as he looks at you and wants to answer you, the taller boy speaks up again.

'You don't have to call us sir, you know, we're basically the same age.' he says.

'And how would you know that?' you say.

'I'm a good gambler.' he says, leaning back in his chair.

You see how the other boy raises his eyebrows at him.

'He's not a good gambler.' he says. 'I'm good.'

'You sure you don't want anything to drink?' you say, deciding to see if you can find out more about them. 'You're in a pub after all, and we've got some good stuff.'

'I'm good.' he says again, more firmly, indicating you don't have to ask again.

'Alright then.' you say. You turn to the taller boy again. 'I'll come back shortly, with your beer.'

'Thanks.' he says with a wink.

You smile at him and walk back to the bar. You notice your coworker was a little too late to subtly look away.

'What were you talking about?' she asks.

'What they want to drink.' you simply say, reaching out to take a beer and open it.

'And?' she presses on.

'And that's it. The other one didn't want anything to drink.' you say.

'Why's he dressed like that?' she says.

You shrug. 'Tell me the answer when you ask him.' you say.

You walk back to the two and notice how they quickly cut off their conversation. With a smile, you set the beer down in front of the tall boy.

'There you go.' you say. 'Enjoy.'

He thanks you, and you turn to the dark-haired boy again.

'Are you sure I can't get you something?' you say.

He briefly shakes his head. You turn back to the taller boy again. Apparently, he's the talkative one.

'So, you're a gambler?' you say to him.

'I can't say no to a game of cards every now and then.' he says.

Before you can ask him another question, the other boy speaks up again.

'Jesper, cut the small talk.' he says.

So the taller one was called Jesper, that's at least a start.

The tall one, Jesper, looks offended. 'I can have a conversation, Kaz, relax.' he says. He turns back to you. 'You a gambler?' he says.

You shake your head. 'I never really understood it. And I haven't gotten a chance to go to one of the gambling halls yet.' you say.

'You should tag along some time, I can teach you the basics.' says Jesper.

'That would be amazing.' you say, surprised at how easy it is to get Jesper to engage in a conversation. You wonder what else you can learn about him.

Unfortunately, a large group of tourists enter the pub, loudly telling you to come and take their orders. You don't bother to hide the disgust and annoyance on your face.

'Looks like I'll have to pass. I'm working, after all.' you say. 'Let me know if I can get you guys anything else.'

'You got it.' says Jesper as you walk over to the large group of tourists.

Of all the people that stopped by for a drink, you loathed tourists the most. They always seemed to think that if they were in a different country, basic rules about human decency didn't apply.

They're loudly shouting their orders at you and as you walk back to the bar to get their drinks, you can feel their eyes on you. No doubt they were talking about you.

You bring them their drinks with a forced smile, ignoring their horrible flirting. The second you turn your back on them, you let your smile disappear. You then catch Jesper's eye, who had been looking at your encounter with the tourists.

'Tourists are all the same.' you say as you walk up to him to retrieve his empty beer glass.

'They look nice.' he tries.

'They're assholes.' you say. 'Every tourist that comes in here thinks because I'm a bartender they can shamelessly flirt with me and pull me closer. But they give excellent tips, so I can't really complain.'

'If you don't like serving them, why not get a different job?' asks Jesper.

'Because I need the money.' you say. 'Don't really have a lot of choice. Can I get you anything else?'

'Another beer, please.' he says.

'Jesper.' says the other boy.

You turn to look at him, you almost forgot he was there. Jesper had taken off his coat, but Kaz was still wearing his long black coat and gloves.

'No more drinks, I need you sober for this.' says Kaz.

'Okay, dad.' says Jesper. 'He never lets me do anything fun.' he then whispers to you, loud enough for Kaz to hear.

'I'll leave you two to it, then.' you say.

You walk away from their table to clean a table of a couple who just left the bar. Normally, you'd do a quick sweep and head back to serving customers.

But something about Jesper and Kaz has gotten your attention. Jesper seems like a cheerful, fun person to be around. Kaz, on the other hand, looks like he hasn't smiled in his entire life. You wondered why they would go to a pub together.

You take out a piece of cloth and start to slowly clean the table, but focusing on Jesper and Kaz behind you. They're talking in such hushed voices, you're having a hard time understanding them.

But you do manage to hear a few sentences of their conversation.

'We enter as guards, Nina, Matthias and Inej go in disguised as party guests.' says Kaz in a low voice.

'Why can't I be a party guest as well?' says Jesper.

'Because we can't afford you to drink and flirt, we need to to confirm that diamond necklace is the real thing.' says Kaz. 'So we move quickly and don't attract too much attention.'

'Fine.' says Jesper. 'But next time we're crashing a merchant's party, I get to be one of the party guests as well. I want to have a good time.'

You quickly straighten your back and walk past them, back to the bar. You didn't want to give them the idea you'd been listening to their conversation.

So they were planning on robbing some rich woman who owned a diamond necklace. And Jesper would be the one to confirm the diamonds are real. Only Grisha could do that. And there were more on their crew, at least three more. If you could figure out what party they had been talking about, you could try and get in as well.

As you're standing behind the bar, talking to one of your coworkers, you see Jesper and Kaz get up. While standing in the doorway, Jesper waves happily at you. Kaz is already out of the pub.

You smile and wave back at him.

If only he knew that in just a few minutes, you had discovered they'd steal a priceless necklace, and that they were gang members. Because who else would dare to steal a necklace someone would be wearing at a crowded party?

Only gangs would be bold enough to do something like that. You didn't know what gang they were part of, but that wasn't the kind of information you need to acquire. Right now, all you had to do was find out where and when the party was being held.

You could be quicker than them, and snatch the diamonds away from them. You could buy yourself a nice new set of knives, or rent a bigger room.

Either way, you were going to get a lot of money.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

#me whenever I am writing a grishaverse fic: I must include jesper or nina in this #I literally cannot write something without at least one of them in there #also I am sorry but it is true. kaz dresses like he's going to a funeral I'm sorry <3 its okay tho he's hot #kaz brekker #shadow and bone #grishaverse #Kaz Brekker x reader #Kaz Brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfic #Kaz Brekker fanfiction #Kaz Brekker fanfics #Kaz Brekker fic #shadow and bone fics #shadow and bone fanfics #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fic #new in town

[blueseasfanfics]

Play Fight

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x any!Reader

Description: After Steve urges you two together at a party, you see him smile for the first time. You spend the whole night trying and succeeding to get him to smile, even if you risk rusting his arm in the process. (Just so much fluff).

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I just found out the Loki show is moving from June 11 to June 9 and y'all...I'm going to be writing so many Loki fics. If you have any specific requests, send them in! I'll write them for the lead-up to the show!

Would you like a way longer, personalized fic for any pair you can dream of? Check out my ko-fi!: https://ko-fi.com/starryeyedalien

-------------

You think Steve brought him down, but he refuses to leave the chair that’s furthest away from everyone else.

Everyone in the Tower was celebrating another mission done well, drinking and talking amongst themselves. People avoided you and Bucky, though Steve sometimes came around to talk to one of you.

It seems both of you were content with drinking and observing the room.

Steve was not content with this.

“Could I have a dance?” There was a slow song playing over the speakers, even though no one was dancing. You roll your eyes and smile up at Steve, taking his outstretched hand and letting him lead you to the dance floor. As he started to lead you both stayed silent, but you could tell he had something he wanted to say.

“Those dancing lessons worked out well for you.” You murmur after a moment, and he shrugs.

“The music gets to me.”

“What did you bring me up here to talk about?”

He stays silent for a minute, before motioning his head towards Bucky brooding in the corner.

“I think you should talk to him.”

“Does he want me to talk to him?”

“I think it would be good for both of you.”

“Why, Steve? Other than we’re both the most hated in the Tower at the moment.”

“That’s exactly why. Sure, you both have me, and will always have me. But I can’t understand you two as well as you can understand each other. And you both deserve that.”

“Deserve what?”

“Understanding.” He’s looking down at you, his eyes almost pleading. Looking over at Bucky, he’s looking at the both of you. When you connect eyes, he quickly looks away to Thor and Tony having yet another drinking contest. A ghost of a smile goes across his lips when he sees Tony is going cup for cup with the god.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight.

“Alright.” You smile nervously up at Steve who gives you a grin in return, and he quickly leads you over to Bucky, who still feigns as if he’s not paying attention.

“Bucky, this is-”

“I know.”

Steve chuckles nervously and you squeeze his hand before letting him go and sitting down across from Bucky. Steve quickly leaves you both alone, but you’re sure he’ll be watching you both all night.

You both look over at the contest, which has become slightly worrying. They’re both throwing empty pints behind them, leaving a pile of glass the Roomba has issues keeping up with.

“They’re probably going to end up fighting again at some point.” You say to break the silence.

“Do they often do that?” “Something about Asgardian tradition. I think it’s just so they both can show off their muscles or new tech or whatever.”

“Does this happen every time?”

“Every time. Pretty entertaining though.”

“We can agree on that.”

You look back towards him and he shifts in his seat before looking back at his drink.

“You don’t have to talk to me.” He says after a moment, and you shrug.

“It’ll get Steve off both our backs.”

“Pretty good reason to stay here then.”

“Not the only reason I’m talking to you.”

That gets him to glance up at you, an eyebrow slightly raised.

“Oh?”

“You seem interesting.”

“I’m not that interesting.”

“If you weren’t, Steve wouldn’t have brought me over here.”

“He just thinks I look sad when I’m alone.”

“Are you sad when you’re alone?”

“I guess I used to be more extroverted.” He drinks after he says it, looking back at the contest. You keep looking up at him though, and after a moment he looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“Is something on my face?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” He looks taken aback at your question, and you can’t help but laugh.

“You look terrified. No, not like that. It’s just in a few minutes Thor is going to throw a table at Tony and everything’s going to go into chaos.” Almost as if you spoke it into reality, Thor lets out a huge roar.

“Yeah, we should probably go.” He agrees and you both stand, quickly leaving as chairs start flying and going out to the main room.

Large floor to ceiling windows were on every wall, with a door to the left that led out to a balcony that faced the ocean. Silently, you go out onto it and lean on the railing.

The waves are crashing below, and Bucky follows and leans on the railing next to you.

“I love the ocean.” You murmur after a little while, and he nods.

“So much better than never ending snow.”

You look over at him, and he’s staring thoughtfully out into the ocean. He seems much more relaxed out here, like he’s almost in his element again.

“Do you know how to swim, Bucky?” He looks over at you and nods slowly, looking confused.

You hold out your hand and when he gingerly takes it, you lead him quickly down the stairs right off the balcony that leads down to the beach.

You let him go so you can rip off your shoes, throwing them to the side as you start running down the beach. Looking back behind you, he’s standing, conflicted, at the edge of the sand.

“Bucky, come on! It’ll be fun!” You keep running to the water's edge, quickly ripping off your outer clothes and leaving them behind you.

Jumping into the water, the chill of the icy water wakes you up and you can’t help but feel invigorated and alive. You break the water's surface and let out a sigh, then jump when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“You good?” He’s half laughing and half concerned, and when you look at him he’s smiling again. His face is lit by the moon, highlighting every chiseled detail, and you lose your words for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Just thought you were a sea monster.”

“Do sea monsters often come up this close to beaches?”

“You never know.” He laughs at your comment, then looks out further into the ocean. He looks so thoughtful again, lost in his own head.

Before you can stop yourself, you splash him. You chuckle as he looks at you, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh sorry, did I splash you?” You put on faux innocence, then splash him again.

“Hey now, you’re picking a fight you can’t win.”

“Oh I’m sorry, it’s just an accident!” You splash him again, and slowly his surprised face turns into a grin you’ve never seen before.

“Just an accident, huh?” He’s coming closer, much closer, and your heart drops down to your stomach.

“Yeah. Just an accident. Hey, you’re getting awful close there-”

“Oh sorry, it must be the tide.” He splashes you a little with one hand and you laugh, shielding yourself.

Quickly he picks you up by the waist, gently throwing you further into the water as you scream. As you push yourself above the water again, laughing, you see him belly laughing too.

God. He looks great when he’s smiling.

“Hey! That was just mean.” You swim back towards him and he shrugs.

“You were splashing the arm. It could rust, you know.”

“Oh crap, can it? I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah, look it’s already sort of going.” He reaches towards you and you come closer to take a deeper look at it, but instead he grabs you and throws you into the ocean again.

“That’s it, metal boy! You’re going down.” You launch yourself at him, splashing him, and you both are overcome with laughter.

Neither of you think about anyone else anymore as you spend the night play fighting under the moon.

-----

“What the hell are they doing?”

“I have no idea. He’s never like that.”

Steve sighs as Tony rolls his eyes. You and Bucky were being so loud they could hear it up in the Tower, but watching you both it was obvious neither of you cared.

“They’re cute, though.” Tony quips, and Steve smiles.

“That they are.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x you #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns x y/n #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #marvel #my ao3 #ao3 #archive of our own #mcu #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

[mckennamayfairgoode]

The Songbirds Keep Singing Like They Know the Score

Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: Wilhemina vs. the voices that haunt her.

Warnings: Angsty angst as requested and fluffy fluff because I am a marshmallow.

A/N: @lucyintheskywithxanax Hi, this is for you x.

Song: Songbird by Fleetwood Mac

When Wilhemina was a child, when she was small and broken and scared, when she could no longer see the world in front of her past the tears in her eyes, when the voices would overwhelm her and threaten to swallow her whole, she’d picture a place in her mind: a field of wildflowers, of daffodils and daisies and sunflowers, and a large weeping willow tree. She’d sit against the trunk, feel the bark against her back and the wind brushing her face, and she would close her eyes and breathe in the smell of sunshine and just be. In her mind, she was safe. In a place of beauty and freedom that was hers and hers alone, no one could touch her.

She thinks about that place now - or tries to - as she watches you smile at someone that isn’t her. You laugh at something the other woman says, real, sincere, the way you laugh with Wilhemina in the evenings when you trade anecdotes in bed and she draws that beautiful sound out of you like coaxing butterflies from your belly.

You giggle and squirm, brushing her teasing fingers away from your bare stomach. “Mina,” you admonish playfully, capturing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Her expression is amused, dark eyes transfixed on her own fingertip as it traces the curve of your lips. “Yes, my darling?”

You melt under her ministrations, pressing another kiss to the tip of her finger. “Nothing, baby,” you murmur, eyelashes fluttering as the pad of her thumb brushes your cheekbone. She loves it when you're like this: soft and sleepy and so full of love that it shines from your eyes. You reach around her waist and pull her flush against you, bare skin and flesh melding until it feels like you are one person and have never been anything else.

She knew they were coming before she could feel them, your fingertips on her shoulder. They always start there, a warning, a sign, a whispered hello in the moonlight. Don’t be frightened, it’s just me, you seem to say. Can you feel my love? your heart will whisper. You’ll trace patterns on her skin, follow the curve until you reach the back of her neck. You’ll play with the strands of red hair you find there before slowly brushing your fingers down her spine. You’ll be slow and gentle - like you are enchanting a lioness who has shown you her belly and not a woman who is afraid of tenderness.

She doesn’t want to be scared of you. She wants to crawl into your heart and whisper poetry so that you might feel her love for you. She closes her eyes, imagines she can hear songbirds outside your window and melts against you, nuzzling the crook of your neck with her nose. She breathes you in just as your fingertips tease the back of her neck. You smell of sunshine.

Her body aches.

She watches, transfixed, as the woman reaches out and brushes your shoulder with the tips of her fingers. She can feel the cold creeping over her, passing over her skin and down her spine like morning dew clinging to blades of grass in the front lawn that you share.

She tries to conjure the wind, the flowers, the weeping willow tree but all she can see is you. She can’t look away - from you, from her, from the way you gaze almost adoringly at a woman that is beautiful and tall and normal. She does not have a crooked spine or a sharp tongue or hands that hurt more than they heal. She is not broken.

She raps her cane against the ground, one loud motion that claps around the room. It might as well be thunder. You and the woman both jump, heads swiveling in her direction. Wilhemina thinks she knows her but her mind lashes angrily, ocean waves slamming against the bow of a ship, and she can’t bother to remember her name. Her eyes brush past her - to you.

She wants to find the guilt in your eyes, to watch your pupils bloom wide like flower petals when you meet her gaze but all she can see is love and warmth. It sickens her, churns her gut, twists her insides until all she can feel is pain. She sneers. “Don’t you two have work to do?”

The woman offers a charming smile like she doesn’t know Venable at all. “Yes, of course, Ms. Venable. See you later, Y/N.” She winks at you and struts off down the hallway. Venable feels her blood boil but doesn’t give her the satisfaction of watching her leave. She is not worth her time, but you... you are worth all of it. But she is too angry to listen to the heart that loves you, too blinded by rage to realize that the look in your eyes is adoration and not contempt. The blood in her veins turns to ice. She looks at you and doesn’t recognize you at all.

Without a word, she turns and walks away.

-

The ride home is silent. She can feel you looking though, turning your head every so often to gaze at her when you think she’s not paying attention. She doesn’t know how to decipher your expression. She can’t tell the difference between the seasons, between the feelings pressed beneath her chest, between your heart and hers, much less the shadows painted on your beautiful face.

Your favorite song comes on the radio. You don’t even sing. You are probably thinking about her, she decides. That woman who must have snuck in when Wilhemina was happy and content and unaware, and stole you from her arms, from your bed, from the home that you built together brick by brick until it was a towering fortress in which she felt safe. She should have noticed, should have seen that the stars in your eyes were not for her at all. Not anymore. She should have realized that at some point, you had reached up and plucked them from the sky and replaced them with something entirely new.

Maybe you had finally seen them, all the things she had warned you about. Maybe one day you had woken up and seen the Wilhemina peeking out from within and been disgusted by her weakness, her vulnerability. Any moment now, you will turn to her with that pitying look in your eyes and explain, gently and with that tone of voice you reserve for those with less patience than you, that you are in love with someone else. You must be and that’s what the shadows must mean. They are your guilt put on display, an exhibit of black curtains and a moonless night sky and she is waiting for the day she arrives at your museum only to find it gone like you had never been there at all.

The thought makes her heart drop into her stomach. It annoys her, taunts her, reminds her that the ache in her chest is something she could have prevented if she had not let you in, if she had not allowed you to crawl inside her and make a home in her heart. Her gloves creak when she tightens her grip on the steering wheel. It echoes in the car, in the silence that you have made.

You will not break her. She is already broken.

-

You try to speak to her when you get home. She hasn’t looked at you since that moment in the atrium and she thinks maybe you have finally caught on. Or maybe you finally know what to say. She wonders if you have rehearsed this moment in your head, if the tides have finally turned and they are just now rushing in her direction to smash against her shore.

She stands at the counter, takes her gloves off one by one, and watches from the corner of her eye as you look at her and struggle to speak. A part of her takes joy in watching you flounder. A part of her wants you to squirm, to feel, to hurt. Just like her. The other part of her, the Wilhemina inside that bangs at the door and screams to be let out, only wants you to hold her. She hates it. Seethingly. With a ferocity she didn’t know she was capable of anymore after falling in love with you. She is broken, but she is not weak. She tells it to shut up and slams the door in its face.

“Mina?” Your voice comes from behind her. Not hesitant, but cautious. So at least you are aware of her ire. Good. You should be cautious. The Wilhemina inside reminds her that she could never hurt you, that it is useless to pretend otherwise. She locks the door and puts her hands over her ears so that the voice is muffled.

She raises an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “Is there something you need? Or have you finally worked up the courage to say what you so desperately need to say?”

You frown, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

She tilts her head, annoyance clear in the downturned pull of her lips. “You’ve been sitting there like a daft moron for an hour. I was wondering if you’d finally grasped enough vocabulary in order to get on with it.” The Wilhemina inside flinches. You’re going to regret this, it says. She doesn’t hear it. She doesn’t want to.

“Get on with what?” You take a step closer, looking up into her face and studying her expression like you can figure out what's going on in her mind if she will only meet your eyes. She hates it. She hates that you can make her feel seen. She hates that she used to love it. That it used to make her feel safe. That once upon a time, she thought she could be someone. That she could be yours.

Her nostrils flare in annoyance. You are playing with her. She is just a pawn in your chess game, one you mean for her to lose. You want to make her say the words so you don’t have to. Coward, she thinks.

No, she’s not, the Wilhemina inside her says. The only coward here is you.

The thought chills her to the bone. The ice intensifies, freezing her heart solid like a stone in her chest. She can’t breathe, she can’t think. All she can feel is the weight of it sinking like an anchor. She turns her head to face you and looks into your eyes. God, how she loves you. A part of her melts. The tips of her fingers drip on the floor at your feet.

She can see it all now up close: the confusion, the despair, the worry gathering like storm clouds in your gaze. They can’t be real. You must have created them to fool her, to pull the wool over her eyes and lead her to believe that you are innocent. You have called upon the storm to wash away your sins, but Venable can see them still, washed up on the shore like seashells. The Wilhemina inside her can’t see them; she only sees your footprints in the sand as you walk away and she wants to chase after you, to melt in your arms and beg for forgiveness, but Venable rises up like the dragon buried underneath the mountain rubble, looks down her nose at you, and snarls. “I saw you today,” she says. She will not be fooled by the lie in your eyes.

You blink. “Saw me when?”

“Don’t play stupid,” she snaps. The Wilhemina inside her shrinks back. Don’t, please, it pleads. Venable turns her back on herself, on the weakness inside her. She pretends not to see when it cries.

You take a step towards her, hand reaching out like it alone can bridge the gap between you. She ignores how her stone cold heart clenches at the sight of it, at the memories those hands have created for her, the comfort that they have brought. She turns her nose up at it and moves away. “I hope she had something important to say. It looked like her head was full of hot air, but clearly looks can be deceiving.”

“What? Who are you talking about?” You stop trying to reach her finally and stand still and small in the middle of the room. You look so sad. Wilhemina swallows the lump in her throat and turns away.

“That woman you were speaking with,” she hisses, venom and poison laced within the words. “You two are certainly very familiar with each other.” Her mind conjures images in her head, things she would rather not see but that play on repeat until there is nothing else but them, them, them. Fingertips brushing your shoulder, a wink directed your way, a hand on the small of your back, your thigh, fingers sweeping hair away from your neck, lips against your skin, down, down-

“Valarie?”

She jerks like she’s been hit by a bolt of lightning. It is your storm. It has to be. “Is that her name?” she asks, her voice deathly quiet in the frozen tundra of your house. When did the cold spread so far? Was it touching you? Could you feel it?

“Baby-”

“Don’t,” she snaps.

You ignore her and look at her from beneath your eyelashes. “We’re just friends, Mina.”

She sniffs disdainfully. “I’m sure.” Her lips purse. A picture hangs on the wall she stands in front of. She looks at it and remembers the overcast Sunday morning she told you about the place she felt safest. You had pulled the comforter over your heads and she had whispered the details in your ear - the meadow, the flowers, the weeping willow tree - and you had listened and stroked your fingers down her bare back and it felt like she was telling you a secret and trusted you to keep it. One day not long after, you had given her the painting and she had looked at it and seen her happiness and sunshine depicted in brush strokes and splashes of color. You told her that she’d never have to go inside her mind to feel safe ever again, that she was never going to be safer than she was right here, in the home that you built together, with you. She had cried.

Tears well in her eyes, and she curses under her breath, wrangles the Wilhemina inside her back under control and turns her head to face you. She tries to conjure up the weeping willow tree, to picture it in her mind instead of the gentle way you had kissed her goodbye that morning, but the image only comes to her for a second before fizzling into dust and in its place is you.

That sweet smile you greet her with each day, sleepy and soft and just for her. How you rest your hands on her hips when you pass behind her to reach for your toothbrush, your gazes locking in the mirror and your eyes twinkling with mischief. Fingers brushing when you exchange cups of tea, fingers brushing when you reach out to turn the page of a book, fingers brushing as you walk down the driveway to your car, brushing, brushing, brushing.

She blinks, finds the love still staring back at her, patient and calm and she does not know anything anymore. She saw you with that woman. She heard your laugh, recognized the adoration on your face. She can’t be wrong. The ice builds and builds until it is a wall surrounding her heart. “Did you fuck her?”

You reel back as if she had slapped you, pain flashing across your face and Wilhemina trembles at the realization that she put it there. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She draws up to her full height and curls her lip and she pretends that you are just an employee at Kineros and that you are not the woman she loves and she does not hurt at all. “I saw you throwing yourself at her today - like a whore.” You’re wrong, the Wilhemina in her heart whispers, shrinking back, shaking and curled up in the dark corner of her mind she hasn’t seen since she was a child. You’re wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You can’t be serious,” you say, blinking up at her in disbelief. She ignores the tears welling in your eyes, the crack that shatters the ice around her heart at the sight of them, and arches an eyebrow, giving you the look she reserves for lowly employees too stupid to recognize her ire. You recognize it. Realization flashes across your face. You shake your head. “I’m not doing this, Mina,” you finally say. You blink and look away from her, trying to prevent the pain from showing on your face, but she can see it. She put it there.

“I can see that you’re hurting and that you’re in your head, but whatever you think I did, I didn’t. And you know that.” Your beautiful face pleads with her, your eyes large and wet and loving, but she refuses to give in, knowing that if she does, the ice around her heart will melt and she’ll feel everything all at once. She does not want to ache. Not like she did before you, not like she will after.

“You are a fool,” she hisses. You are the fool, it says.

You shake your head, wipe tears from your eyelids. You look like you might walk away, body turned toward the stairs, but you step towards her instead, so close that she can feel your warmth. It makes her body shudder. You search her gaze, looking so deep into her eyes that she thinks you are looking directly into the Wilhemina she tries to keep buried inside. “I love you,” you tell her. She hates that she believes you. “You own my heart and my soul and I know you know that I would never do that to you. Whatever’s going on up here -” you touch your fingers to her temple, warm and cold all at once, a direct link to the voices freezing her soul, “- whatever that voice is saying, it’s wrong,” you whisper. You reach down to place your hand over her chest. “Your heart knows me,” you pause, desperation in your eyes as they flicker back and forth between hers. “Don’t you?” Yes, the Whilemina inside whispers. I know you.

The warmth that had threaded through her being disappears the moment you drop your hands. She watches you walk away, wants to call out for you, to beg for mercy, to tell you that she is the fool and that she is sorry and that she loves you, loves you, loves you, but she doesn’t.

She tears her gaze away and looks down at her hands. They’re shaking.

-

That night, she climbs the stairs to your shared room and finds you already in bed, your back to the door. You don’t say a word and neither does she. She moves around the room with purpose, changing her clothes and brushing her hair free from its ponytail. She can’t help but watch you out of the corner of her eye. You are motionless, a still life in her bed. Your bed. Yours, together.

She crawls under the sheets next to you, turns off the bedroom light, rolls on her side and looks at you facing away from her. The distance between you is miniscule; she could reach out and touch you if she wanted, bridge the gap and pull your back against her chest. She raises her hand, reaches for you but does not touch. It lingers in the air between you, shaking and desperate. After a moment, it drops to the mattress. She closes her eyes and feels herself weep. She doesn't know how to fix herself.

When she opens her eyes again, she finds herself standing alone on a beach. The sky is overcast and grey, angry clouds forming on the horizon and wind coursing through her hair. Where are you? Her heart thunders in her chest. She tries to quell the panic but it rises and rises until it becomes a chokehold around her neck. It threatens to consume her.

“Y/N?” She looks down and notices a trail of footprints in the sand. They dance away from her, following the shoreline and circling back and around again. She knows they are yours, that they could belong to no one else. She has to find you.

She has to tell you that she loves you.

She puts her foot in a rivet in the sand, stands where you stood and imagines that you are with her, that you are laughing and your pinkies are interlocked in that way she knows makes you smile. And then she remembers that expression on your face when she asked about that woman, the tears in your eyes when she hurled a slur at you to make up for the pain that she alone inflicted on herself. She has to find you.

She has to tell you that she’s sorry.

“Y/N?” She calls your name again and again, listens to it bounce off the water as the waves lap at her bare feet. The footprints end where the sand bleeds into grass. She looks down at her feet, studies the area like she knows it well even though she doesn’t know it at all. Her heart whispers, pings, right there, and she looks up like she had known where you would be all along to find your silhouette standing at the top of a bluff overlooking the ocean. She knows that it's you, that it could be no one else.

You stand at the edge, looking out over the jagged rocks and thrashing waves below. “Y/N!” Your head swivels in her direction and you wave cheerfully down at her, shuffling too close to the brink for her liking. Her heart jumps into her throat. “You stay right there! Don’t you move, I mean it!” She doesn’t think you can hear her. She wonders if the words are leaving her mouth or if it’s just her soul sighing your name. She has to get to you.

She has to, she has to, she has to.

The trail up to the cliff looks different when she gets closer. Darker, full of tall, imposing trees and a treacherous climb she knows will hurt her back. She doesn’t care, doesn’t hesitate, just pushes past the first branch and marches on. Nothing will keep her from you. She thinks she can feel eyes watching her from the darkness between the trees, black beady eyes that disappear when she turns to look. They make her skin crawl, but she silences the warnings in her head and ignores them. They don’t matter. She clutches her cane and moves forward and prays that you are staying put.

Then the whispers start.

“You’re no good for her,” a voice murmurs into her ear and she startles and jerks back, glancing behind her to see a shadowy figure that closely resembles your father.

Wilhemina swallows the lump in her throat and looks away. “I know,” she says and continues on.

“We’ve talked about this, darling, stand up straight,” a familiar voice purrs from over her shoulder. She doesn’t look, doesn’t need to see to know who will be waiting there. “No one will love an invalid.”

“She loves me,” Wilhemina snaps, head straight forward, dark eyes fixed on the patch of light she can see up ahead. The sky. Safety. You.

A figure steps out of the tree line into Wilhemina’s path causing her to jerk to a halt. “Look what you did, twisting your fears and projecting them onto the one who loves you most,” the woman sing-songs, her tone playful and barbed like a rosebush. Valarie. Tall and beautiful Valarie. “She’d be happier with me, you know.”

Wilhemina looks into Valarie’s soulless black eyes and glares defiantly. “She is happy with me.”

Valarie chuckles, dancing and spinning around Wilhemina’s form as the other figures get closer. Surrounding her, crowding her, boxing her in like predators to weak prey. “She didn’t look happy last night, did she?” Valarie leans her chin on Wilhemina’s shoulder and whispers in her ear. “You made her cry.”

“You called her a whore,” your father says from behind her.

Her mother clicks her tongue disapprovingly, appearing in front of her and adjusting the collar of her shirt. “You accused her of infidelity, my dear.”

“I made a mistake,” she snaps.

“You seem to be making a lot of mistakes, Mina,” Valarie taunts.

Wilhemina’s blood runs cold. No one calls her that. No one but you. She shoves her mother out of the way and darts up the trail, her back screaming in protest. She can feel them following her, the wolves nipping at her heels, but she doesn’t stop.

“-could do better-”

“If only you were normal-”

“Maybe she’ll finally leave you and come to m-”

Their voices sound like they’re coming from the very trees themselves, winding through the branches and leaves and floating down like lightning bugs to settle in her ears.

“- a failure -”

“- never should have let you lea-”

“-fall in love with a cripple.”

“When you wake in the morning, she’ll be gone.”

“SHUT UP!” Her voice echoes into the forest and birds burst from the tree line in a cacophony of sound. When she opens her eyes, the figures are gone and the voices are silent.

She finds herself standing at the edge of the forest and feels her eyes well with tears as she looks upon her meadow. Sunlit and beautiful, full of flowers in bloom and honeybees and songbirds. The wind nuzzles her cheek as if greeting an old friend. The horrors of the forest melt from her weary bones and she feels at peace. A part of her wants to stay here where it is safe, where she is safe, but her heart urges her onwards. What is a life of safety if you aren’t in it?

Her willow tree stands tall and proud in the center of the clearing and behind it, overlooking the ocean, is you.

“Y/N!” She breathes a sigh of relief to see you standing where she left you.

You turn to face her and smile, soft and sweet and just for her. “Hi, baby,” you say. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you home, sweetheart,” she murmurs, looking imploringly into your eyes.

You frown. “I don’t have a home, Mina. You don’t want me anymore, remember?” You take a step back from her, toward the cliff’s edge and she follows you, hands reaching out as if she could grab you from where she stands.

“Wait,” she pleads. “You do have a home. It’s with me.”

You cock your head. “It used to be,” you state. Like it is a fact. Like you have always known it to be so. Her heart aches.

“Please, Y/N. Step away from the edge.” Her voice is hard, lined with barbs but not directed at you. Only to herself. She wants them to hurt, to sting, to make her hiss in pain. She wants to feel anything other than this ache.

You giggle softly, familiar and lovely, the sound that never fails to make her head spin, but she doesn’t hear the joy in it now. It sounds haunted. "I know your heart,” you say, taking another step back as she steps forward. You meet her eyes. “Do you know mine?”

She can only watch in horror as your foot lands on empty air. You tip backwards - and then you fall.

Wilhemina screams.

She gasps and shoots up in bed causing her back to protest but she can barely feel it over the throbbing in her chest. She moans like a wounded animal, leaning over and curling into herself like it will muffle the pain, like she can smother it so she won’t have to feel anything. She clutches her hair and pulls at the strands as if physically capable of plucking the image of you falling out of her head.

My fault, my fault, I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry, I know your heart, I promise, I know it.

She doesn’t realize she’s murmuring out loud until she hears your voice in her ear, breaking through the mantra like a siren song. “Shh, baby. I’m right here, Mina. It’s okay.”

Her eyes snap open and she turns to seek out your eyes. She finds them instantly, warm and loving and tender. They’re shining, real and alive, and her own flood with fresh tears at the sight of them. Her voice comes out in a broken whisper that scratches her throat, “Y/N?”

“I’m right here, baby. Everything’s okay.” You reach out a hand as if to touch her but hover right before it makes contact with her skin. “Can I touch you?”

Wilhemina manages to nod, her eyes not leaving you for a second as you reach forward and brush her tears away with your thumb. They fall faster than you can wipe them away, but you try. You always try for her. She feels your other hand cup the back of her head before you lean forward and press your foreheads together in the way you always do when you comfort her. Your noses brush. “It was just a nightmare, baby,” you murmur, gazing into her eyes, deep pools with shadows that reflect the terrors she had seen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She can only stare at you in disbelief, tear tracks trailing paths down her cheeks. Once she had felt nothing at all, now she feels too much. The ice around her heart has shattered into a million tiny pieces and the only evidence that it still lies within is the persistent ache beneath her ribcage. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know where to start. She called you names. She doubted your love for her. She hurt you. A tinge runs down her spine. A muffled sob presses against her closed mouth and she nudges into you, brushing her trembling tear-stained lips against your own.

She feels your hand on her spine, the warmth of it soothing the trembling ache of her body. Your lips press against her forehead, long and hard like you want to seep all of your love into her skin. “I know, baby. Whatever you can’t say, I already know.” Your hand brushes a strand of hair back from her eyes. You cup her cheek in your palm, press a kiss to it followed by the other. Then one to each of her eyelids. You peck the tip of her nose before capturing her lips with your own. She gasps into your mouth, passes her tongue between your lips and tastes the saltiness of her own tears. When you pull away, your eyes are shining. You are brighter than the sun. “I love you and I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever,” you say and she believes you. God, she believes you.

You settle back into the pillows and gently pull her with you, tucking her into your arms where she is safe, safe, safe. The shadows in her mind disappear. She doesn’t even remember what they said. Only that they were wrong.

She places her ear over your heart and listens to it beat. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. It soothes her own into submission and she melts into you, boneless and spent. Your fingers appear at her shoulder just as they always do and the familiarity of it coaxes a new wave of tears from her closed eyelids. Can you feel my love? your heart asks. “Yes, I can,” she whispers. Your fingertips trace the curve of her shoulder to the back of her neck. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she manages to say around the lump in her throat.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” you soothe, brushing your fingers into her hair, down her neck and back again. “I know you love me.”

Wilhemina bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t want to cry anymore, but she doesn’t know what else to do. She doesn’t deserve your love, your patience, your kindness, your beautiful heart. She is broken and you deserve better than her. You deserve more from life than just picking up her shattered pieces.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say, interrupting her thoughts. She blinks. Had she been speaking out loud or did you just live inside her head? “Picking up your pieces is not a chore. It is a privilege.” Your finger traces a line from her neck to the top of her spine. She tilts her head to look up at you. She can barely see your face in the darkness of your bedroom, but your eyes are on fire. “You are not broken, baby. You are a songbird and I’m going to prove to you that you can fly.” She presses her face into the crook of your neck and cries.

As your hand trails down her back, gentle and revering like you are enchanting a lioness that has shown you her belly and not a woman who is afraid of tenderness, you start to sing. Your voice soothes her soul, wraps around her like a comforting blanket, and warms her shivering body until it no longer feels like ice. She recognizes the song. It’s your favorite, the one she’s heard you sing a thousand times. The words piece together from her memories, from morning showers before work, from those nights you spend swaying to the sound of it in the kitchen, from bits of it sung under your breath as you walk side by side, your hands brushing, your pinkies intertwining. Wilhemina buries her face in your chest and realizes that you had been singing about her all along. God, how she loves you.

She does not conjure up her meadow or the wild flowers or the weeping willow tree. She does not think of the wind on her face or the bark against her back. She breathes in the smell of sunshine, feels your fingers stroke her spine, and does not think of anything at all. She is exactly where she wants to be.

“And the songbirds are singing,

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before.”

Tag List: @supremeinlilac @lovelypeasantjellyfish @angelxsarahp

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