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notjustjavierpena · 9 months

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Gum

A/N: Absolutely nervous to post my very first Frankie Morales piece! This is dedicated to his main bitch @gracieispunk 💖❤️ Hope you all enjoy.

Summary: You have time to work from home, but there’s just one problem and it’s Frankie’s mind numbing gum-chewing.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), hurried and desperate sex, dirty talk, piv sex, a little manhandling, tickling, creampie, established relationship, fluff

Word count: 2.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49105711

Gum

The sun has warmed up the living room the past few hours where it’s been at its hottest. You’ve made yourself a glass of iced tea, sitting only in your underwear with one leg tucked underneath you on one of the dining chairs in yours and Frankie’s apartment.

You aren’t alone on this Sunday full of work; Frankie is watching TV with a beer in his hand not far from you, relaxed as ever since his daughter is with her mother. He has lowered the volume of his program significantly since he knows that you are not simply doom-scrolling on your computer. You have a big week ahead of you at work, and he knows not to disturb your workflow.

Everything is perfect. The warmth, the afternoon breeze coming in through the window of the kitchen-dining area, and the iced tea that’s placed at a safe distance from your laptop. Everything is great… except that stupid piece of chewing gum that Frankie is mindlessly chewing.

You know it’s silly, know that he is allowed to have just one vice that you absolutely cannot stand, but does he have to do it right now? Right when you have to concentrate? It drives you up the fucking wall.

“Frankie, baby,” you groan, the tapping on your keyboard coming to a halt.

“What’s up?” He asks absentmindedly, after all, there’s a nature documentary on.

“Please, please,” you turn on your chair, looking at him over the backrest, “Please spit it out.”

“What?” He sounds genuinely confused, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen.

“Your gum.”

“Oh, this?” He chews several times, loudly and obnoxiously whilst sporting a shit-eating grin, “Nah, don’t think so. Not when you’re being all fuckin’ boring with your computer. I’m not competing against technology.”

That stupid tease doesn’t hear himself, you think to yourself. He leaves you no choice. You haul yourself up from the chair and cross the living room with determination. Consciously blocking the view of the television, you stop in front of him. He eyes you from beneath his brown curls and hat, his gaze going from your head to your toe and back again, but he doesn’t seem bothered since you’re practically half-naked in front of him.

“Spit it out, it’s disgusting,” you say as firmly as you can muster. You hold a hand out in front of his mouth, palm upwards, “Francisco.”

Frankie places the beer bottle on the coffee table. He leans back into the sofa, smirking up at you.

“Oh, you’re using my real name. Scary,” he smacks his lips as he chews again, “I don’t think so, no, baby.”

“Ugh,” you groan once again with a bit more frustration, “You leave me no choice.”

You straddle him to distract him (he is a man), a knee on either side of his lap. He lets out an oh hello and doesn’t seem to mind one bit. In fact, he rests his rough hands on your thighs and presses his fingertips into your skin. It’s time for you to strike.

“What’re you—!” Frankie’s sentence is cut short and turned into a gargle of words instead. You have shoved two fingers into his mouth, searching out the gum and making him gag a little. He tries biting down on your fingers, but you’re quick to retrieve what you want from him and pull your fingers back out. You hold the little piece of peace-disturbing gum between your fingers before reaching back to put it into the half-empty bottle on the coffee table.

“Hey!” Frankie pants, taken aback by what has just happened. He even looks a little unsure, still processing. Eventually, he furrows his brow, “Fuck you, man.”

“Sorry,” you giggle innocently. You turn his cap around so the brim is at the back, placing a sweet kiss on his still-open mouth. Your giggles turn into a squeak of surprise as Frankie tickles you, fingertips digging into your sides where you are the most sensitive. He holds you in place as you do it, fighting you as you try to squirm away.

“Stop! Oh my God, Frankie!” You laugh loudly, body shaking and even accidentally snorting, “Shit!”

“Oh no, you did not just snort like a piglet,” Frankie laughs too now, but his torture goes on. You find yourself trying to move back on his thighs to be able to stand again.

“Don’t— hahaha! Don’t think I’m having fun! Tickling— aaaa! It’s literally the body’s reaction to expecting pain!” You push on his chest.

“Stop being clever, piglet,” he drags you closer to him again, pulling you by the globes of your ass and it causes the slightest friction between your legs as you are dragged over his rough jeans. Accidentally, of course, you moan softly instead of laughing.

Everything stops, even time for the tiniest bit of a second. The two of you look at each other like you’re trying to read the other’s mind, and then he kisses you and you melt into him. It’s rough, primal, and hurried.

His hands skim up your sides, fingers dragging over the place where he has just tickled you, before coming up to unclasp your bra. He breaks the kiss to pull it off your shoulders, considers throwing it across the room but then tightens the fabric between two fingers and shoots it off into the living room like an elastic band.

“Are you actually joking with me?” You try to make it seem like you’re frustrated with him once more, but the goofy smile on his face makes it hard to not mirror his expression.

“Take off your pretty little panties,” he says, which isn’t exactly a response. It is hot though.

“Just pull ‘em to the side. I have work to do,” you mumble, looking down between you to unzip his jeans. They come undone quickly, and he helps you get his cock out as he lifts his hips off the couch so you can tug his pants down around his thighs along with his underwear.

“Ever the romantic, baby, exactly why I fell for you,” he scoffs softly yet still follows orders. He yanks the small piece of fabric along your cunt to the side, swearing loudly as you get onto your knees to hold his dick in place before sliding down onto it.

You gasp in unison, but you don’t wait for him to say anything before you do the first roll of your hips and set up a quick rhythm. He stretches you open in the best familiar way, the intoxicating sting making goosebumps rise on your skin as you start to ride him in earnest.

His thighs twitch underneath you, his body clearly taken aback by how fast you are already going, but you haven’t promised him slow at any point. Your fingers dig into his shirt, your pelvis pushing firmer against him.

“That busy?” He groans into the room, leaning back on the couch and letting you have your way with him, “I’m not— fuck, you’re filthy, baby. Not gonna last like this.”

The hurried pace builds your climax quickly, stirring behind your throbbing clit and tugging all the way toward the base of your spine. The heat is delicious, coating your inside with a want that has sprouted from nothing but being close to Frankie.

“You feel fucking amazing, baby,” you moan loudly.

“Don’t want it to be over,” he gasps, tugging you closer until he can bury his face in your chest. He kisses between your breasts over and over, open-mouthed and hot. Even whimpers as he nears his edge, “Slow down, baby. Please.”

“Then fuck me,” you groan, hands going up to tug at his hair. His hat tumbles off his head and onto the floor when you yank his head back and swallow down his gasp by kissing him.

“Make me,” you add.

It’s a whirlwind of movement in the next moment, but you whine as you feel him slip out of you. Your cunt clenches involuntarily at the loss of pressure, your climax fading rapidly from your grasp.

Soon, Frankie slams you down into the couch and the leather slaps against your skin. The rippling sound almost drowns out the volume of TV and a part of you feels dirty for interrupting David Attenborough with your filthy mouth. Frankie doesn’t even have time to settle between your legs before you are crying demands at him.

“Fuck, fuck, put it back, I was so fucking close, baby,” you writhe about, lifting one leg over the back of the couch to spread your legs as much as possible. It oughta make you irresistible.

“Shhh,” Frankie soothes, strong hands finding your hips and yanking you towards himself after getting onto his knees. He guides his cock all the way back into you until it bumps against your cervix, giving you no warning whatsoever. It makes you gasp in relief when you feel full again.

“Fuck me,” you plead shakily, no clue where this surge of pathetic nonsense is coming from. If he doesn’t soon, there’ll be actual tears in your eyes.

“Extra fuckin’ needy, were you— shit— were you that bored over there by your dumb Word doc?” Frankie taunts, leaning down over you and putting a hand beside your leg on the back of the couch. He slams his hips into you, almost sending you backward, but you manage to wrap your other leg around his waist before you slip from his grasp.

Frankie’s belt jingles around his thighs with each of his thrusts, jeans surely giving him rug burn but he powers through to fuck you until you feel too stupid to continue working. The undone zipper gnaws into your skin, his cock slides over your g-spot and his gaze feels like fire where it rests on your bouncing tits.

“Fuuuck,” you drag the word out, it wavering from the force behind each rocking motion of Frankie’s hips. You are whimpering to the point of tears, climax building steadily once more, “Baby. Please.”

Frankie guides your other leg around his waist, moving the hand on the backrest to lie flat beside your head. He leans further down over you, rocking into you with more force, “You gonna be a good girl and come on my cock?”

You nod again and again, teeth sunk into your bottom lip, “Yes, fuck, yes—“

Immediately, you sneak a hand down between your legs. Firstly further down than where you actually need it to explore where Frankie is stretching you wide open. Your fingers then follow along your labia until you can rub your clit in tight and fast circles. All the while, you grab your breast with your free hand to squeeze and massage it as you feel yourself slipping off the edge.

You come so hard that your vision blurs for a moment. It knocks the wind out of you, mouth falling open in a silent cry of Frankie’s name as you enjoy the clenching of your heat.

It takes Frankie one, two, three more thrusts before he comes inside of you with a loud hitch of his breath. He stills his hips after that, empties himself inside of you with a groan at each spurt of come. He breathes heavily with you, slips out of you, volume going down slowly as the post-coital bliss sets in.

When you don’t say anything, he buries his head in your neck, kisses you there, and laughs softly due to the dopamine high that takes over. You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulders, hugging him tightly.

“I think I might be done for the day. I’ll clock out online,” you giggle, head turning and dipping down to blow a raspberry on his cheek. He grimaces but smiles.

“We just had sex during company hours?”

“Don’t tell my boss.”

“Tell your boss?” Frankie scrambles for the cap which has fallen to the floor. He puts it on your head despite it being a little awkward when you are lying down, “Baby, I’m proud of you.”

You stick your tongue out at him, “Shut up… and let me go clean up.”

Frankie crawls off of you with a teasing grin, lets you leave the couch whilst he pulls up his boxers and jeans again.

You waddle to the bathroom.

When you come back, you find him as before; on the now-clean couch, watching TV legend David Attenborough talk about coral reefs and… chewing on another stick of gum.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say as you pick up your bra from where it had landed on the floor earlier.

When you plop down beside him, you hold out your hand with your palm upward. Frankie gives you a look, but you sigh dramatically, “Not that again. I mean it as in gimme some.”

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #catfish morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #francisco catfish morales #my writing

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ginnsbaker · 1 year

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In Flames I Sleep Soundly (1/2)

Summary: What do you do when you find out that person you trust the most is a liar? Or the Unfaithful AU that I've been wanting to read for a while.

Word Count: 9k+

Warnings: Angst, Smut (18+), Cheating/Adultery, Implied Het Sexual Content

Author’s Note: I was thinking about making a separate tumblr for fics (since I primarily post fanarts), but I’m too scatterbrained two maintain more than one account. I recently saw Unfaithful (2002) again and thought about doing an AU based on that movie. The title of this fic are lyrics from "Wedding Song" by Yeah Yeah Yeahs. No betas. And I won't apologize for how imperfect this monster is. I haven't written in more than a decade, so let's all suck it up.

AO3 / Part Two / Masterlist

Part One

Summer arrives in Westview, New Jersey in a fairly conspicuous manner. Its parks have been repainted with various shades of green, and the oversized trench coats on the streets that its residents are so fond of during the cold months are nowhere to be found.

Despite these observations, Westview remains a sleepy town. At least it is to you, but that's probably because you’ve spent half of your life in Manhattan. You and Wanda moved to New Jersey a few months ago after you were promoted to branch manager. The salary that came with it was enough to pay off your student loans including Wanda's, so it was easy to accept the offer despite the trade-off of having to move to a relatively unknown and rural town.

"It's only temporary," you told Wanda when you broke the news. "My supervisor said that if I can prove myself there, I can come back as a regional manager."

Wanda had assured you that you had her full support. At the time, she was working part-time at a small gallery for up-and-coming artists in the state, and while she needed to start somewhere to realize her dream of becoming an art dealer, she figured it wouldn't derail her career so much if she could learn art trading online.

Everything happened in a blur after that. In two weeks, you were driving to Westview with nothing but two suitcases and your dog, Sparky, on Wanda's lap. You held her hand while she slept throughout the entire trip and you faced the unknown roads that led to your new life.

The house they picked for you and your family exceeded your expectations. Granted, you had to subsidize a percentage of the move-in fee, it was a small price to pay to have so much space. The bathroom alone is larger than the guestroom of your previous two-bedroom apartment in Yorkville. On the first day, Wanda had explored the house with a childlike wonder, while Sparky tried to cover every inch of its ostensibly boundless backyard. That night, with only a blanket laid out on the floor, you made love to Wanda and then some more on the kitchen counter and the bathtub upstairs, inside the master's bedroom.

You've been married to her for five years, but a fresh start gave you two the sexual appetite of newly weds. It didn’t take 48 hours to christen every room in the house.

By now, a routine has been established: you wake up at five in the morning to go out for a run, back at home by six, and then showered and dressed for work before seven. Wanda, on the other hand, would try to get up before you're done with your ceremonies to prepare breakfast. She's not always successful–sometimes waking up long after you've gone to work.

"You want some coffee?" Wanda wakes you out of your stupor. She's still in her nightgown, holding two cups of freshly brewed coffee. Her auburn hair is up in a messy bun and she is, after all these years, a sight to behold.

You look at her and then at your left wrist to check the time on the Rolex she gave you as a wedding gift. You still have a few minutes, but there's an urgent staff meeting that you're a little anxious about.

"And maybe some omelet?" Wanda suggests when you don't answer, already cracking some eggs in a bowl.

"Sorry, babe, got to run." You shake your head apologetically before walking over to her and kissing the back of her head. Wanda merely continues whisking the eggs for a while before commenting, "Until when are you going to have these early meetings?"

"I don't know. Maybe the end of the month?"

"You're the boss. Can't you just call them off? Maybe schedule them during actual office hours?"

You shrug and say nothing, unwilling to engage in an argument so early in the day. Wanda exhales heavily at your lack of reaction, which compels you to reach for her hand and stroke it. Seeing how she’s not pulling away from your touch, you move to hug her from behind.

"I'll try to be home early tonight, okay? I miss you too." You say softly and kiss her cheek.

"I didn't say I miss you." Wanda deadpans, but she's already turning around in your arms for a proper embrace. You kiss her forehead and let her hold you for a few beats. She buries her nose in your neck and inhales deeply. “I told you to stop wearing this perfume. It makes you unbearably enticing.” Wanda admonishes you with a hungry look.

It’s embarrassing how easily your wife can turn you into a bashful teenager with a little flirting.

“Well, maybe you should do something about it.” You playfully taunt her.

“Maybe I will.” Wanda says in a low voice, and she’s close enough for you to notice the total lack of green in her eyes.

As much as you want to rip her silky lingerie and take her right then and there, the fact is you are already going to miss the first few minutes of the meeting–and then maybe a quarter of it if you don’t leave soon.

"I really have to go. But first things first," You grab one of the two cups of joe and Wanda starts giggling when you drink from it in one go. "Best coffee in the world. Maybe you should start a cafe business."

"Idiot." Wanda taps your nose affectionately, before shoving you towards the door.

Later, you arrive home just a few minutes shy of midnight. The house is deathly silent, even your dog could not be bothered greeting you at the door. You go straight to the bedroom, making as little sound as possible, to find Wanda asleep on her side, facing away from you. You get rid of your clothes and climb into bed. You carefully inch towards her and press your front against her back, spooning her. You hear her breath hitch, but before you can start thinking of an apology, you fall fast into a dreamless sleep.

***

It’s two months later and on a lazy Sunday afternoon, when Wanda breaks the news that she’s been offered a temporary position at Westview Institute of Arts and Sciences. You’ve watched your wife gradually grow restless each week, having a difficult time adjusting to life in the suburbs. Wanda interviewing for a job wasn’t as forthcoming as her asking you to move back to the city. Taking the job would mean integrating with the community in a semi-permanent way. So it’s a surprise that Wanda would even consider it.

"Assistant professor?" you ask distractedly, not looking up from the Jonathan Tropper novel on your lap. Wanda’s perched on one of the barstools of the breakfast counter, waiting for her banana bread to be done in the oven. Sparky lays at her feet, also waiting for the banana bread.

"What do you think?" Wanda muses and drums her fingers on the table.

You regard your restless wife for a moment, before closing the book and tapping the spot next to you on the couch. “C’mere.”

Wanda does as she’s told and Sparky follows after her.

"I think it’s a great opportunity and experience to have. But I thought you're getting a lot of projects from Upwork."

You try not to sound too partial to the idea of her working in the university. However, if you’re being totally honest, it would essentially solve the problem of your wife’s mild existential crisis– and your guilt of probably causing it.

"It’s just a side-hustle,” Wanda argues. “Besides, they’re going to need me only three times a week and they offered me a full-time pay.”

“Sounds too perfect to be true.”

Wanda shakes her head. “I don’t think so. It’s not unheard of that there’s a huge demand for educators in small-town institutions.”

“So you’ll take it?”

Wanda nods with a smile and then says, “Only if you’ll drive me in the morning.”

“Of course, baby.” You say almost instantly and give her a quick peck on the lips. It doesn’t even matter that Wanda has her own car since she hates driving with a passion.

"Professor Maximoff." Her potential designation rolls off your tongue coolly. You’ve never really pictured Wanda in academe before, and now you can’t get rid of the image of her in a perfectly tailored suit.

The corners of Wanda’s mouth quirk up in a dreamy smile. "Kinda has a ring to it, huh?"

"A very sexy ring to it, professor."

Wanda giggles as you go ahead and think of ways to sneak into one of her classes some time in the near future.

"I'd tell you I've gotten a job at Baskin' Robbins and you'd say I look hot in their uniform." she points out.

"I bet you're hotter with all your clothes off."

Suddenly, the oven dings and Sparky starts barking at Wanda.

“And you’ve got a one-track mind,” she mutters with an undercurrent of mirth, before getting up to return to her baking. “Ten points from Hufflepuff!”

You burst into a fit of laughter. “Can’t blame me for having a hot wife. Also, I’m a Gryffindor you vexing Slytherin!”

Wanda can be the biggest dork at times, and it only makes you fall for her a little harder in these moments.

She sticks her tongue out at you. “Dream on, Badger Queen.”

***

It’s some kind of Hollywood domestic bliss.

You still wake up at five to go out for a run, but now Wanda’s your running buddy and you’re always trying to catch up with her pace.

“I can’t believe this gives you more energy than coffee.” she said the first time she laced up and she finished her run a minute faster than you. You thought it’s ludicrous that Wanda was a natural athlete on top of her good looks, but you figured it was an organic truth given that her brother played professional soccer for a couple of years before he got into the business side of sports.

Most days, you’d let Wanda clean up first while you cook breakfast. On one occasion that you joined her in the shower, Wanda turned up so late in class some of the students were already preparing to leave.

“That can’t happen again.” Wanda told you.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

You’d been married to her long enough to know that Wanda often broke her own rules. Historically, you’d watch her do so with satisfaction just because it’s usually an unspoken challenge between married people. And maybe because it reminded you that she’s human. Imperfect as much as you were.

“Just be careful, Y/N,” your best friend, Natasha, told you a month into dating Wanda Maximoff. “Mistakes and disappointments are inevitable. Hell, even I will let you down at some point in the future.”

“You have. Many times.” you said jokingly.

“Is that right? Look, all I’m saying is it’s also not fair to Wanda if you put her on such a high pedestal.”

Natasha was right. However, it wasn’t like you could change who you were and how you loved. The night you met Wanda at freshman orientation, you knew she was the one. You loved her through college as her closest friend as much as you did when she began to see you in a new light thereafter.

And even now, as you stare at her sneaking a nap on the drive to her workplace, nothing has changed. It’s a cherished moment, no matter how mundane.

Your hopeless crush on Wanda never really went away.

You feel very lucky that she feels the same way.

***

You’re about ten feet from the door of your house when you hear scratches from behind it, followed by Sparky’s incessant barking. Quickly, you fish out your keys from your backpack and open the door.

Sparky jumps at you as soon as the door swings open, and then starts licking at your pants.

“What’s up?” you say, scratching behind his ears until he calms down.

You look around the empty living room and notice for the first time that Wanda’s not home.

You send a text to her asking where she is. Sparky is making whiny noises, while pushing his empty bowl towards you with his tiny paw.

“Sorry, bud. Let’s get you your dinner.” You say, picking up the bowl and bringing it to where you store his food. You open the cupboard to find a mostly empty bag of Merrick. Sparky patiently waits for you, wagging his tail. Wanda was supposed to get some groceries this afternoon.

You check your phone and find no new messages.

“Looks like you’re coming with me for a quick run to the grocery store.” You tell Sparky with a sigh.

Sparky tilts his head at you in confusion. You send another text to Wanda telling her you went out and ask if she’s already eaten, before heading out to your car once again.

You don’t hear back from Wanda long after you’ve had dinner by yourself and it’s almost midnight. Your anxiety levels are at an all-time high, and you’re about to call the cops when you hear her car approaching the garage.

You’re waiting by the door, so at the very second she slips inside the house, you hoist her into a desperate embrace like a mad woman.

“Where were you?” You exclaim as you pull away and clasp her shoulder blades hard. “I’ve been worried sick and you went dark on me.”

Wanda winces at you, gently prying your fingers from her. “My phone died and I forgot to bring my charger. I was writing the final exam that I have to turn in by tomorrow, and got carried away. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t do that again. You couldn’t have borrowed someone’s cell or call from the school?”

“Like I said, I was working,” Wanda rolls her eyes, just a tad snidely. “It’s Westview. What’s the worst that could happen to me? Please let it go, I’m so fucking exhausted.”

It’s not that you’ve never heard your wife curse before, but you can’t help but flinch given the context at which she’s said it.

“Fine,” You clench your jaw, stepping out of her way. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Sure.” Wanda says stoically.

You don't talk about it in the morning. Or at all.

***

The forecast is you’re not going to hit this quarter’s targets. You’ll be two to three percent short, and everyone is telling you there’s not enough time to pull off a new campaign and drum up enough business to meet the numbers.

Your stubborn nature beseeches you to try anyway. It is, of course, at the cost of being stuck in front of your laptop in the dead of night.

Wanda approaches you to see if you need anything before she goes to bed without you. You smile at the sweet gesture but shake your head no.

“I’m good,” you say.

“Are you sure? I’ve got us fresh tea bags.”

“Positive.”

“Okay, good night.” she offers you a faint smile and starts to leave the room.

“Wands?” you utter abruptly.

She pauses and leans against the door frame. “Yeah?”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course, I love you,” Wanda drags her feet back to you. “What a silly question.”

“I guess I’m just feeling silly. We’ve been working hard, and when we’re together,” You let out a mirthless laugh. “We’re still working.”

Wanda nods solemnly but doesn’t speak. You can’t see her eyes with just a lamp lit on your desk and you're oddly grateful for that.

“I just miss you.”

“Me too.”

“Okay, uhm,” you fidget, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

***

You wake up to wet kisses all over your face, only to be sorely disappointed to find out it's just Sparky, while Wanda looks at you softly as she waits for you to shake off the residues of sleep.

“Baby, I need a favor.” Wanda says.

"Good morning to you too." You reply good-naturedly.

Wanda ducks her head sheepishly. "Sorry, I've been waiting for you to wake up. I've said ‘good morning’ in my head, like, a hundred times." she tells you.

You silently brush a lock of hair from her face, before scooting closer to her and pressing a small kiss on her forehead.

"How can I be of service, m'lady?" you ask.

Wanda gets to it immediately. “There’s this painting I need from where I used to work. I need to bring it tomorrow, but I can’t take the day off. There’s no substitute because, well, I’m supposedly the substitute.”

“Sure, I’ll drop by there after work.”

Wanda makes a bashful noise of disapproval. “They’re only open until three-thirty.”

It’s a bad time to be missing work these days, but Wanda rarely asks for your help with anything. She’d sooner ask a stranger than her partner. There's one ex-boyfriend of hers you actually got to talk to in the past long before you and Wanda happened. The conversation was short, with mostly him talking–or rather ranting about how Wanda never made him feel needed. He went as far as claiming that she emasculated him in many ways. You never agreed with his insinuations of it being Wanda's flaw, and that it contributed to the downfall of their relationship. You like that Wanda is not a damsel in distress and that she carries herself with an air of confidence that only a truly independent woman can exude.

Although it does feel good to be needed sometimes.

“I’ll take care of it.” You assure her.

“Thank you,” Wanda says, and then proceeds to give you a tight but fleeting hug. "Alright, I'm gonna go get ready."

You plop back on the bed with a huff. You haven't gone out on a proper date with Wanda for months, and you don't know how much longer you can survive this routine of late nights and rush hours. Maybe a vacation isn't too improbable by the end of August. Wanda's always wanted to visit Maui and, but you've kept deferring it until next year. A year has turned into two, three, and you don't realize it until just now that she's stopped mentioning it to you.

You make a mental note to search for discount flights later. Or maybe you can start with something more feasible like, say, lunch?

"Wands?"

The noise of the running shower drowns out your call, so you lumber from the bed and towards the bathroom.

Your mouth goes dry at the view of Wanda's soaked body, nostrils flaring at her stupid rule of no sex before work.

Wanda turns around and your eyes drop lower.

"Jesus, Y/N!" she gasps, then lets out a breathy laugh.

"Sorry," you lie, smirking at her nakedness. "Should we go out for lunch later?"

"I'd love to," Wanda says. "But I've got a lunch meeting with the dean."

"I see." you say and linger by the door. The crestfallen look on your face doesn't go unnoticed by your wife.

"We can have dinner," Wanda proposes tentatively. "Maybe drive to the city for some steaks and a dive bar after?"

Your eyes light up at her suggestion, heart brimming with repose.

"I'll pick you up at seven," you say. "It's a date."

Wanda throws a wink in your direction before turning back around to lather herself with your favorite soap.

Finding a parking space in Soho is almost next to impossible. You've only been living out of Manhattan for a couple of months, but it already feels like the population has doubled since. You're thinking about just leaving the car somewhere near the island and using the subway, when a woman enters your view and you step on the break as fast as you could. There's a loud screeching sound to be heard before the woman is rushing to your door with every intent to pulverize you on the spot.

As soon as you roll your window half-way through, a string of profanities welcome your ears like a gunshot. What you don't count on is hearing them from a spectacularly familiar voice.

"You almost got me killed you fucking asshole –"

You tilt your head towards your assailant. There's no mistaking that pair of green eyes.

“Yelena?"

Natasha's younger sister stares at you wide-eyed before her face breaks into the brightest smile.

"Y/N?"

"I almost didn't recognize you. I'm glad you still remember my name." you say. The last time you saw each other was right before Yelena went to an English university that you’ve forgotten the name of(it rhymes with ‘weed’) and you were a freshman in college. Yelena was a brunette then; she used to wear thick-rimmed glasses and her hair was always up in a low ponytail. The Yelena in front of you has blonde hair, a nose-piercing, and a cherry blossom tattoo on her chest that trails down and disappears into the collar of her blouse.

"How could I forget the only friend of my sister who was ever nice to me?" she quips with a toothy grin.

You blush at the fond memory of tutoring Yelena and treating her often to street shawarma.

"That's not true. Bruce was friendly with you as well."

"That's because he was dating my sister and wanted to get on my good side. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Looking for somewhere to park. Do you happen to know any in the area?"

"I've got one if you want. It's just down the street, second corner to your right."

"You're renting a parking space in Manhattan? I'm absolutely impressed."

“Oh, no!” she exclaims. Then adds, "It's my roommate, Kate's. She's loaded."

"Are you sure it's okay?"

Yelena nods and you thank her as she lets herself in your car.

The parking turns out to be too narrow, and so Yelena has to get out before you slot your car in the spot securely. Afterwards, she asks you where you’re off to, and you tell her that you’re picking up a painting for your wife. You ask her to come with you when she expresses an interest in the gallery.

You reacquaint yourselves with each other on the long walk to Wanda’s previous workplace. The conversation is, for lack of a better term, enjoyable. Yelena has always been an easy person to talk to–a remarkable contrast to Wanda who is often a challenge.

“When did you come home?” you ask suddenly after a while of talking about your work and recent settlement at Westview.

“Two years ago.”

You’re taken aback by her answer, feeling a bit hurt as you process the new information. Yelena’s been here all this time. Why didn’t she try to contact you?

“My cell didn’t ring either, you know.” Yelena tells you as if she can read your mind.

“Nat didn’t mention anything. I assumed you were still in London.”

“Leeds. The British are right about us not knowing any other city in the UK.” Yelena chuckles. “I told Nat to keep her mouth shut about my affairs.”

Before you could reply, Wanda’s ex-colleague, Agatha, comes out with the painting in hand. Yelena saunters off to observe the artworks on display.

“Thank you, Ms. Harkness.” you say, accepting the piece that was about the size of Mona Lisa.

“Welcome, dear. Whoever bought this must be made with money.”

The painting is wrapped in manila paper and it makes you curious who it is for. It must be someone who held a high position at Wanda’s university.

You excuse yourself with a polite nod, unaware of the look of suspicion she directs at Yelena, as your companion trails behind you on the way outside.

“Someone’s got a crush on you.” Yelena bumps your shoulder with hers.

“Wanda seems to think so too. Though I bet she’s just a nice old lady.”

Yelena laughs and slaps your arm this time. “Dude, she’s not old, old !”

“Someone’s got a crush,” you tease her back. Then, as if on cue, a reckless motorist speeds through a puddle, causing a wave of wastewater to splash all over your shirt.

“Shit,” you hiss, frowning at the ruined fabric of your white button-down. Yelena takes out her handkerchief and proceeds to wipe the specks of grease from your neck and face.

“Come on, we have a washer in the apartment.”

"Sorry I couldn't come to your wedding."

The hot coffee you just sipped refuses to come down your throat.

Yelena snickers at the dumb look on your face and says, "I'm just messing with you."

Your veins pulse in your temple as you force yourself to swallow. Yelena’s having a field day with you, poking fun at you on every opportunity.

"I'm so sorry for not extending an invite. It happened pretty quick. It was just your sister and Clint, and then Wanda's brother, Pietro. Our reception was at a pub in Brooklyn, and just getting absolutely shitfaced." you rush out, toying with the sleeves of Yelena’s sweater you borrowed. It’s cozy despite the hot weather. And undeniably smells like her.

"I know, Nat told me. Hey, I'm not offended. Besides, getting a wedding invitation from you would've been weird because,” Yelena pauses, and then sadly says, “We haven't connected in a long time."

"Yeah," you agree with a rueful smile. You haven't spoken to or thought about Yelena since you met Wanda.

“What’s she like?”

“Wanda? She’s…” It dawns on you that it’s not easy to translate your regular daydreams of her into a description you’d share with someone else.

“Exquisite,” you say, after going over various adjectives in your head. “And driven and smart. A glass half-empty to my glass half-full.”

“I’m happy for you,” Yelena mutters over her glass of Merlot.

“And Kate? How did you meet her?”

“We’re just friends.”

“Who are living together,” you point out.

“Best friends then.” Yelena says, unperturbed.

You smirk. “If you say so.”

“I’ve dated around, but I never really found someone who could replace–” Yelena bites her lower lip to stop herself.

Except, she didn’t have to because you know.

You’re both quiet for a while, before you break the silence with, “Anyway, thanks for the parking and saving my shirt.”

"You did take my virginity. That's something I can never repay you for."

You’re too shocked to react–she is too, at her brazenness–that for a while you just stare at her with your mouth agape.

Placing the coffee mug on the table, you get up on shaky feet.

“Sorry, that was a bad joke. I–”

“You know what, I should go."

"Oh," Yelena gets on her feet as well. "But your shirt?” she asks weakly.

"I'll just continue drying it at home. And then," you look down at the sweater you borrowed from her. "I'll mail this to you."

"Don't worry about that, I haven't worn that in ages."

"I promise to return it."

"Okay."

"Alright, so," Not quite knowing how to say good-bye, you jerk your thumb towards the door. "I'm gonna head out now."

Yelena closes the distance to give you a hug, which she keeps short when you go rigid at the proximity of her body and yours.

"Bye, Y/N."

***

Wanda cancels dinner at the last minute. You’re surprisingly amenable and just text her when she’ll be home. You decide to cook for Wanda and try to convince yourself it’s not because you just need to keep busy and not think about what happened earlier with Yelena.

***

It’s Wanda’s day-off and she’s overslept. You watch your wife sleep soundly on her stomach, without a care in the world. Like this, the years fall away from her face and she looks like the girl you strongly want to protect for the rest of your days. Your eyes scan the room, until they fall onto the chair beside the bed. Hanging over it is a newly-bought lingerie with its tags still attached to it.

“Can you stop being a morning person just for today?”

You avert your gaze from the piece of clothing upon hearing Wanda’s voice still thick with sleep.

“Hi,” you greet your wife, twisting your wedding ring on your finger.

“Hi.” Wanda greets back, peeking at you from the comforter.

“I made breakfast, who’d you like to join me?”

“Sure, just give me a minute.”

You think about telling her you’ll wait until she’s ready and you can go together, but there’s an air of unfamiliarity and awkwardness hanging over your head–even worse is you don’t know where these feelings are coming from.

You don’t mean to count but it takes Wanda roughly twenty minutes to meet you at the breakfast table. It’s easy to force down your irritation when she looks immaculate and very put together.

Together, you eat in silence. You try to make conversation but in the end, Wanda’s responses are clipped and unfocused, so you just concentrate on finishing your oatmeal.

"You and I had a pretty crazy schedule recently, so I thought I'd take the day off and do something together." you say after waiting for Wanda to finish her meal.

"That's great, baby," Wanda smiles at you, before getting up to take the dishes to the sink.

Sneaking up behind her, you gently place your hands on the curve of her waist, and your lips just beside her left ear. For a while, you massage the flesh beneath your palms, feeling firm muscles instead of softness you're used to. Wanda's body has transformed right under your nose, and while you appreciate her more toned figure, you hope she's not being too restrictive with her diet.

"Leave them, baby. I'll do the dishes later..." You press an open-mouthed kiss to the skin just beneath her lobe. "...after I do you."

She squirms in your embrace, and you interpret it as a sign that she's getting turned on from your advances.

"Y/N–" Wanda doesn't get to finish her sentence as you twist her around and gently capture her lips. While she kisses you back with her hand coming up to wrap around your neck, she doesn't make a move to deepen it, seemingly satisfied with lazy pecks that end sooner than you'd like.

"Can I take you back to bed?" You inhale her scent soundly as you nose the length of her stupidly perfect jawline.

"I actually have to uhm–the laundry won't take care of itself." Wanda reasons, but doesn't really pull away from your hold. You take this opportunity to slide your hands up her back, beneath her shirt, and you can feel her goosebumps from your eager ministrations. Only now, being this close to her, have you realized how much you missed your wife.

Ignoring her excuses to thwart your affections, your fingers find the hook of her bra with ease. You snap it free and hastily move to grab both of her breasts, squeezing them tightly. "God, the things they do to me." You groan. She gasps at that, and by now, she should be pushing her chest towards you for more, but she remains slack as ever, like an obedient ragdoll under your whims.

Something's not right, you thought to yourself. You pull back just enough to check, and what you find has you swiftly stepping back to give her some space.

The expression alone on your wife's face could send you to jail.

"Shit, are you alright?" You rasp, overwhelmed with self-disgust at the thought of causing Wanda the slightest discomfort. Were you just about to take advantage of your wife without her consent?

Wanda looks at you with regret that you couldn't quite understand.

"D-Did I hurt you?" You dread the possible answer, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Wanda quickly closes the distance between the two of you and envelops you into a hug.

"Oh, baby, no you didn't. I'm so sorry I made you think that." She coos, rubbing your back in soothing circles. You sigh against her shoulder, carefully keeping your hold on her hips loose.

"I just missed you so bad these past few weeks, and I thought you wanted to… it's okay if you don’t. I'm sorry."

It breaks Wanda's heart that you're taking the blame for this. She feels annoyed and guilty at the same time, at how apologetic and sensitive you are to her feelings, as if they matter more than yours do.

"It's not your fault. There's just so much to do and I can't get in the mood until I tick off everything on my to-do list."

"I know. I’m sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Wanda chastises and it comes out harsher than she intended. "You're perfect. I'm sorry. I miss you too. So bad."

"I love you." You tell her, burying your face into her hair to seek more of the lavender scent of her shampoo. It used to frighten you how much the little details about Wanda affects you in big ways. But that fear has turned into comfort, and you've grown to trust her enough to be happily vulnerable around her.

It doesn't worry you at all when she says she loves you back after a long, mysterious pause.

***

Wanda starts driving herself to work and attributes it to her inconsistent hours at the university for the rest of the term. Sparky’s in the dog daycare now more frequently than he is at home.

***

Wanda has gone up to take a shower before bedtime.

You just finished scrubbing the kitchen clean after having dinner together, and you're buzzing with the prospect of getting laid tonight. Your tactic to get your wife to sleep with you is to offer her a massage after witnessing firsthand how hard she's been working lately. In a way, you also want to show your appreciation for everything she still continues to do in the household. And although she accidentally burned the lasagna, she outdone herself with the roasted chicken.

It still amazes you to this day that you’re married to Wanda Maximoff.

Making as little sound as possible, you climb the stairs and towards the bathroom. You can hear the sound of water hitting the floor, and you can't help but imagine Wanda's naked body, lathered in soap, her brunette hair sticking to her clavicle. Your mouth waters at the prospect of taking her, pressing her against the wall and reminding her what you've both been missing for weeks. And just like that, your earlier tactic is out the window.

With practiced ease, you wrap your hand around the doorknob and twist it as gently as you can.

But something unexpected happens.

Wanda's locked the door. "That's odd." You mumble to yourself.

You decide to knock instead. "Baby?" You call out.

No reply comes for several seconds, and as you were going to leave, thinking she didn't hear you, Wanda's breathless response echoes through, "I'll just be a minute! Did you need something?"

"Hey! Uh, no. I was just going to–" You suddenly feel like an idiot wanting to sneak in for some surprise sex. "Never mind. You locked the door?"

"Oh, did I?"

"Yeah! It's fine, I'll just use the toilet downstairs."

She doesn't say anything else to that and you awkwardly turn on your heel to actually use the toilet downstairs.

***

You google ‘ how busy are part-time assistant professors’ on the second straight-week Wanda’s been going home later than The Late Night Show with Jimmy Fallon.

***

Your best friend finally comes around and visits you in Westview. Although you wish it weren't on pitiful circumstances that warranted her special skills of exposing people and their secrets. Even to this second, you're still unsure if you really want her help. You can't even be sure of your own sanity. The only thing you know is that you feel more like yourself now that Natasha's here with you. You've made new friends in your new neighborhood and at work, been invited to weekend barbeques and the local cycling community. But the sense of being alone has never been this strong as when you were living in the city, barely keeping any sort of acquaintanceship and let alone a meaningful friendship.

“You know I don’t do this anymore.” Natasha claims with a huff. "And typically, consultation alone will cost you a grand."

“And I never thought I’d ever ask you to do this.” You shake your head apologetically as you help her deposit her luggage in the trunk of your old Mercedes Coupe.

“I still think you’re just overreacting.” Natasha says as she settles in the passenger seat. It's what you want to hear, but instead of pacifying you, they urge you more to dig for the truth of it all.

"Weren't you always telling me in college that Wanda's too boy-crazy to really be with me?"

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Yup. But then she married you, and I lost ten bucks to a wager with Clint."

"You wagered on the most important event of my life?" It's the first time you're hearing that two of your closest friends gambled on your critical life choices. You're not exactly surprised per se, but it makes you curious about what made them choose which side of the coin.

"Well, no," she answers nonchalantly. "We wagered on almost everything. Like who would you lose your virginity to: Carol or Maria. Two beautiful women who had been throwing themselves at you for a whole semester."

"Who won that bet then?"

"Nobody. Remember when we bought you drinks after you finally slept with Wanda? That's where all the stakes went. We both lost."

"So after my marriage, what else did you put your money on?"

Natasha smiles. "None. That was the last of it. It's not right to give odds beyond a happy ever-after."

If she notices your deathly grip on the steering wheel, she doesn't comment on it.

***

Wanda's serving you the cold-shoulder for not giving her a heads-up about Natasha. You try to ask her why it's such a big deal, and she begins ranting about dinner portions and the “chaos” in the living room: some skewed pillows and a bundle of her students' reaction papers on the center table. Natasha is outside, waiting, so you try to help Wanda straighten the room but she merely dismisses you and asks you to drive for take-out.

"If it's too much trouble for you, we'll just get dinner somewhere." you say.

Wanda narrows her eyes at you murderously, as if you've just made things much worse.

"Fine," Wanda says with finality as she walks up the stairs. "Give my regards to Nat."

And then she's gone, but not before slamming the door of the guest bedroom shut.

You're absolutely fuming when you go back to the car and Natasha peers at you questioningly from the passenger’s seat.

"You in the mood for pizza?" you ask instead of explaining why you can’t still invite her in.

Natasha scrunches her nose in disgust. "Pizza in New Jersey? No, thanks. How about Chinese?"

"Sure." you nod in agreement, having already lost your appetite anyway. You toss the car keys at her. "You drive."

You're laying on your back, staring at the ceiling. Wanda hasn't uttered a single word to you ever since you got home from dinner with Natasha.

"She used to spend the night every week at our apartment." you whisper in the darkness.

"What?" Wanda mumbles and shifts onto her back as well with an arm draped over her eyes.

"Natasha," You clarify. "So it didn't cross my mind to inform you that she's visiting. It's just how it's always been."

Beside you, Wanda is mute as a statue. She does this sometimes–tune you out. Wanda claims it's her way of circumventing her anger and saying something she might regret.

For all you know, she could be telling the truth. But to you, it just feels like you're being punished.

"Wands?" you try. She rolls to her side with her back to you.

You're in hell every time you fight with Wanda. Returning to normal is not an option unless you fix it. You wonder if it's the same for her, or if it's something as trivial as running out of toilet paper or an expired carton of milk left in the fridge.

"Baby?" you try again. It seems like it's all you ever do these days. "Please?"

You hear Wanda release a ragged sigh.

"We're fine, Y/N. Let's just go to sleep."

You nod to yourself and finally let go of the tears you've been holding back. Subsequently, Wanda's cold hand reaches for yours and locks your fingers together. It makes you cry harder, but you can't let her know.

***

Natasha is still radio silent a week after you’ve asked her to spy on your wife.

It's not like her to be slow with the results. You take the lack of news as good news.

***

You wake up in the middle of the night to find Wanda's side of the bed empty.

"Wanda?"

"Hey, baby."

You rub the sleepiness off your eyes at the sight of Wanda’s puffy eyes.

“Are you crying?"

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head. "Sorry, I was watching this movie. You know how I get."

You grin at that. "My big crybaby." You sit beside her on the couch and she snuggles to you.

For a while you stay that way, your fingers playing with her hair, and Wanda, palming your cheek affectionately. It brings you back to years before, when she was merely a close friend who would lay her head on your shoulder while she cried about some guy who didn’t deserve her. Like this, Wanda seems so small and vulnerable. You’ve come to realize a long time ago that whatever she’s done, or is to do, you will always feel the need to protect her at all cost. That was the last strip of armor you had given up when you decided to love her until the end.

Then all of a sudden, you see a flash of brown and you end up on your back as Wanda straddles your hips, her eyes darker than you've ever seen them.

"Take off your shorts." She commands in a rush, her own hips already starting a rhythm. You do as she says, but you only manage to move down your shorts and underwear past your ass, when you feel a finger swipe at your wet slit.

"Fuck. Patience, baby." you moan, feeling yourself get slicker.

"Don't have any," Wanda rasps and she sucks the very same finger into her mouth before taking over your undergarments and sliding them all the way down to your ankles. You've barely kicked them off before she spreads your legs and doesn't waste any time tracing your intimacy with her tongue. Her patience comes back eventually, but you're about to lose yours when she doesn't do anything else other than softly brush the tip of her tongue from your tight hole to the underside of your clit. She does this over and over and over, until your legs begin to tremble from being spread out like an eagle for what seems like an eternity.

You clench your core and try to come just from what she's doing, but it's not enough.

"Please, I need more." You manage a whisper although you're unsure if Wanda heard you.

"I've missed you so much, Y/N." You feel her say against your pussy. "I've missed making you feel good. Missed feeling this way with you..."

What way? You want to ask, but your brain is too muddled with lust to care.

You could only grunt in reply, before Wanda is pulling away in order to arrange your position on the sofa. You've almost forgotten how physically strong she is, and it turns you on so much, you nearly peak. Wanda grabs both of your ankles and pushes them back, until they're on either side of your head, near your ears. Heat spreads across your face and down to your neck for being exposed like this. Wanda takes a moment to appreciate the mess she's made between your legs, her teeth digging at her lower lip. You can't bring yourself to watch her watch you, and you stare at the same spot before you feel her lift your chin to kiss you in the most delicate way.

"I love you." She murmurs against your lips. Every fiber of your being is ablaze as you take in the smallest details of this moment: your taste that you two shared in a kiss, the mingling scent of your arousal and hers, the endearing sweat on Wanda's brow that's making her more desirable than any lingerie could ever. You'd never admit it to Wanda, but sex was something you only learned to want and need when you fell in love with her.

You smile up at her. "I love you. More than you could ever know."

Her face crumples in an aching manner, but before you can register what that means, Wanda has crawled back to the source of your pleasure and takes your clit in between her lips. She starts sucking at it gently, while her hands work their way to your buttocks and then spread your ass cheeks. In this way, both of your holes are exposed to the air, sending a chill down your spine and threatening to make you come any time soon.

A finger experimentally prods at your other entrance, making you whimper as your slick continues to brim in your cunt hole.

"Wands, gonna cum," you moan as you hold onto the edge of the sofa for dear life. Wanda ignores your warning and continues rubbing at your crimp hole, while her tongue quickens its laps against your clit. It doesn't take a few more seconds before you're bursting, and Wanda plunges her tongue into your pussy at precisely the second you start to come so you don't clench around nothing.

Soon enough, the tremors subside and Wanda wipes her mouth before she gives you a searing kiss.

You're still catching your breath when Wanda lays her head on your chest so innocently, as if she hasn't just given you the best orgasm of your life. You wait a few more seconds for your heart rate to go back to normal, and once they do, it’s only then that you notice that Wanda's still in her pajamas, fully clothed.

That needs to be rectified. Immediately.

Without a word, you get up with Wanda still on top of you. You make her wrap her arms tighter around your shoulders as you bring yourself into a standing position while she clings to you like a koala. Wanda laughs at your attempt to hold her up steadily, simultaneously impressed that you actually can.

"I've been going to the gym whenever my lovely wife's stuck at professoring ." You snicker at your own terrible wordplay, as you plant your feet firmly on the floor.

You miss the shadow of guilt that passes over her fleetingly. "I can see that," she says, biting her lip as she feels your straining biceps. You grin up at her, before carrying her upstairs as steadily as you can while she distracts you with kittenish nibs at your earlobe.

Once in the bedroom, you lay Wanda gently on the bed, your movements slow and delicate as if one wrong move could ruin everything. You start to undo the buttons of her silky top, holding her gaze with a look of adoration typically reserved to deities. It's only fitting because Wanda Maximoff is your religion.

"Wait, can you–" she glances at the night table to your right, and you understand right away what she wants. You quickly retrieve the flesh-colored strap-on at the bottom most drawer. And as you start putting on the harness, Wanda leans forward to capture a dusky nipple, effectively sidetracking you from the task at hand.

"Baby, just a sec..." You chuckle at her apparent neediness. Between the two of you, it's Wanda that's been more in-touch and expressive with her carnal needs. More exciting. More daring. More adventurous. She's always been more in everything, and you sometimes wonder if she's weary of leading the wallflower to the dancefloor all these years.

"Hurry." Wanda whines, her teeth nipping hard enough to play the line between pain and pleasure.

As soon as the harness is secured around your hips, you push Wanda back onto the mattress. You hook one of her creamy thighs over your shoulder, holding it firmly while your other hand aligns the tip of the toy to her slit. Pressing a languid kiss to her knee, you start moving your hips to brush your cock along the length of her drenched sex. Wanda moans lowly and unabashedly, and you feel yourself getting wet again.

"Fuck, baby, inside..." Wanda mewls, her hands traveling downwards to massage her own clit. You grunt in protest and seize her hand, interlacing your fingers together to prevent her from touching herself. Increasing the rhythm of your hips but still not entering her, you give her a warning, “ I make you cum.” It’s not like you to engage in any sort of powerplay in the bedroom, and yet you couldn’t help but let out some of the resentment that has built over the last few weeks through the sex you’re having with her now.

Besides, Wanda seems to love it. You look down just in time to see her wetness trickle down to the sheets. You groan loudly from the visual and roughly position her to lie sideways. You keep the thigh over your shoulder secured, while you straddle the other one. Moisture begins to form at the back of your neck, muscles straining to hold this position. Wanda’s face reddens as you stare at her weeping cunt, before her eyes roll to the back of her head as you unceremoniously enter her in one, powerful thrust.

“Fuck!” Wanda cries through gritted teeth, her French-manicured nails digging painfully between your knuckles. Unlacing your bruised fingers from her, you then wrap them around her throat. You’ve never done anything like this in bed before, and you watch in twisted satisfaction as Wanda’s lust-filled eyes widen in shock and slight panic. The way you're grinding into her is viciously savage, callously chasing your own high. Wanda tips her head back as far as she could, her chin pointing to the heavens as she experiences an other-worldly kind of pleasure. Your thighs grow slicker from your shared arousal, the stench from it filling your nostrils. Her hips try to match your tempo and an animalistic sound rips from your throat as your movements become more and more frantic.

"Shit, baby, I think I'm gonna–"

"No." You lightly squeeze around her neck.

"Please," Wanda sobs in frustration, staving off her impending release. You pay no heed to her request as you slow down your motion to keep her on the edge.

"Say it again." You demand.

"W-what?"

"Say you love me."

"L-love you..." The length of your spine curves as you bend forwards, pushing Wanda's thigh back in the process and opening her up even further.

Wanda whimpers at the new angle you're fucking her with wild abandon. "Jesus, Y/N. I can't-"

"One more time. Say it." You plead against her mouth, increasing the speed of your thrusts again, but this time you’re determined to finish her off.

With a sharp cry, Wanda clenches around your cock and comes, screaming those three fated words that are simultaneously your salvation and your undoing. You try to prolong her orgasm, alternately pausing and then jogging your hips, studiously watching her facial reactions and loving the subtle twitch of muscle in her jaw. A couple of tears run down her cheeks, and you lick them gently from her face. Letting go of her delicate neck, you run a free hand across her back, gathering beads of sweat along the way. Without pulling out of her, you drop her thigh on your shoulder with great care, before pressing your lower body down so that your pelvis is snug against hers. Wanda grabs your face with both hands and pulls you down for a searing kiss.

You release her lower lip with a wet pop and then like an eager puppy, starts peppering her face with featherlight kisses, making Wanda laugh and squirm in your arms. "You're cute," You tell her. "And so damn hot. How is that possible?"

Wanda blushes, overwhelmed by the ferocity in your words and in your eyes. She starts jogging her hips as your kisses become more insistent, but then an idea hits you. Embarrassingly, you've never done this with Wanda before, but this time feels as good as any to finally try it. Wanda shivers as you unsheathe your cock from her pussy, leaving a thread of wetness across her inner thighs. Afterwards, you remove the harness and place the drenched toy somewhere on the floor. Wanda pulls you back on top of her, a sleepy and satisfied grin on her face. She's prepared to call it a night when she feels your hand wandering back to the still feverish spot between her legs.

"What are you doing?" She asks coyly.

Instead of replying, you merely continue to trail south until your fingers find her slippery nub. Wanda gasps, back arching and eager for more. "Lie on your stomach and stick your ass up in the air for me." You whisper in her ear, and she obeys without a second thought. Abandoning her clit for a second, you crawl towards the foot of the bed, until your nose is a trifling inch from your wife's firm buttocks.

"Are you ready?" You husk, planting your chin at the base of her spine.

Wanda is almost convulsing in anticipation, and barely manages a nod. Heart beating wildly in your chest, you spread Wanda's cheeks with your thumb to reveal her puckered entrance. When Wanda finally understands what you’re about to do, her head whips over to look at you, but she doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Y/N?” Her voice is muffled by the pillow, small and unsure. You massage the back of her thighs to calm her down.

“I want to if you do.” You tell her sincerely. Wanda appreciates your touches staying in safe zones, making her feel safe and secured.

“It’s just… it’s been hours ago since I showered, it's dirty and I don't want to gross you out-”

“That’ll never happen,” You promise. “Whenever you were snotty from crying over your exes, all I could think about then was kissing you. I'd never not want you, Wanda.”

“Okay.” Wanda murmurs softly, shifting back closer to you. “I’m ready.”

“Good girl.”

You place a pillow beneath her stomach so she can comfortably prop herself up. Wanda’s breathing picks up when you part her cheeks again. This time, there’s no hesitation or wasted second as you lick a stripe from the entrance of her cunt to the rim of her backdoor.

“Да, да, детка!” Wanda yelps in her native language, impossibly turning you on even more. You could count on one hand the few occasions you’d been able to reduce her to a Sokovian mess, making her feel so good she forgets her English. Wanda's flavor there is different, more pungent and oh-so delectable.

"детка, I need-"

Wanda doesn't get to finish her sentence. Knowing exactly what she needs, you plunge your middle and ring fingers inside her wet heat. You feel her anus contract against your tongue, and you take it as a cue to enter her with it. Wanda thrashes violently on the bed and tries to move away from the intense pleasure that's bordering on pain. Eventually, you find the perfect cadence of plunging your tongue into her tight crevice every time you withdraw your finger from her pussy and vice-versa. Wanda, on the other hand, finds herself wantonly humping the pillow, practically grazing her tumescent nub.

All of it lasts a few more seconds before you feel Wanda's imminent little death. You stop moving your fingers to allow her to take over her own release, until finally, Wanda collapses on her stomach. You lick your fingers clean before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You pull the blankets up to cover both of your aching bodies, before settling beside your wife. Wanda automatically lays her head on your breast and throws an arm over your stomach. You kiss her sweaty forehead, and right before you are about to close your eyes, something wet hits your flushed skin.

"Wanda, hey," You search her face, your eyebrows creasing in worry. "Are you alright?"

She smiles through her tears, nodding. “I am now.”

Your own eyes glisten, a wave of relief passing over you. Right now, with the way Wanda's looking at you, it's like you're finally waking up from a long, terrible dream.

***

When Natasha finally calls, you’ve practically forgotten about hiring her to investigate Wanda.

You’ve had a perfect week with your wife. Things weren’t just back to normal, they were even better not only in the sexual aspect of things (though insatiable doesn’t even begin to describe Wanda nowadays), but you’ve been talking and doing things together more than ever.

“Hey, Y/N,” Natasha’s rough voice comes through.

“New phone, who’s this?” You try to joke.

“Hilarious, Y/N,” you hear her try to lighten up her tone, but for someone who used to work for the secret service, she’s terrible at hiding her emotions from you. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to call you since early this week. I just didn’t have the time…”

You’ve known Natasha longer than anyone in your life who’s not your parents. Wanda’s the love of your life, but Natasha’s your person. You understand each other beyond words and actions.

“Nat, what’s going on?” you ask.

“I saw them, Y/N. T-Two days after you asked me to… they went for a movie at a worn-down theater 3 miles from the university. I waited for them to leave and when they did–” Natasha hesitates to tell you how she’s seen them together. “I can’t tell if there’s–if she’s… I can just show you the photos.”

You don’t say anything for almost a minute, and Natasha waits for you quietly.

And then, “Is that all?”

Natasha draws in a long breath. “No.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming. And then, like a man on trial waiting for their verdict, you nod to yourself and square your shoulders.

“Alright. Tell me everything.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #category: angst #category: smut #natasha romanoff #yelena belova #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maxmoff x y/n #my writing #marvel

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tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang · 10 months

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been having a full on obsession with THE KAZUTORA HANEMIYA lately, he's just something ya hear me!!

Can you perhaps post your absolute best headcanons of him, could be nfsw, sfw or even both!

Oh I agree he's definitely something! Ok in no particular order here are the random Kazutora thoughts I had, quite a mixed bag here.

Has a tiger keyring on his keys which was a birthday present from Baji.

Because he was so nervous about his first kiss he accidentally missed his partners lips altogether and kissed the side of their mouth instead (this actually becomes a cute place that he kisses on purpose for a bunch of kisses after)

Whenever chifutu talks about how badly he wants a romantic partner Kazutora teases him mercilessly about it (despite secretly wanting the same thing).

Despite wanting a love interest it also scares him a bit since he's worried it'll turn out like his parents and he'll be like his dad. (Though with reassurance he'll overcome these fears)

Is a big fan of picnics, loves sitting outside in the sunshine with his friends, sharing a meal and joking around.

Love love loves weddings! He just gets so excited about them, seeing his friends, having a party and just the all around good vibes (but oh boy is his nervous at his own wedding).

Likes his hair being played with but is too nervous to ask anyone to do it (luckily baji noticed this a while ago and occasionally when they're just hanging out and lying around Baji will play with it)

Similarly he's unsure about playing with other peoples hair, he wants to try but is nervous he'll be too rough.

Got a little jealous when he first met Peh and realised he was wearing matching clothes with Pah (that's Kazutora and Pah's thing!) but quickly gets over it when all three of them start to match together.

Is incredibly proud of his bike, start a conversation with him about it and he'll happily talk and tell stories about it for hours.

Give him any kind of compliment and he'll be smiling for days.

Despises any kind of violence against women, it actually reminds him of the situation with his mother. So because of this he always steps in to beat the guys up stop the situation. (In the good timeline this actually causes problems between him and Senju since he frequently steps into her fights).

Secretly talks to the animals at the pet shop, telling them about his day.

Actually really likes flowers esp how they smell, sometimes he buys bouquets just for himself.

Has frequent nightmares both about his childhood and the mistakes he's made.

Adding on to that he gets really nervous about actually sleeping next to his partner for the first time because he doesn't want them to know about the nightmares.

Actually really enjoys watching Mitsuya sew, will sit and watch for hours. But isn't any good when he tries to copy him.

While in valhalla tries to get hanma to dress like him the same way he used to do with pah.

Actually looked up to hanma a lot, considered him a friend as well as someone he wanted to impress (poor guy was likely lonely after juvie and suddenly this friendly acting guy comes along promising to help him with everything and giving him attention that he would've missed from his old friends)

Finds fire very pretty, likes candles

Actually pretty well behaved in school and is known to be a good student by teachers (or at least was).

Is a big fan of casual touch whether its putting an arm around his friends or holding his partners hand he just loves to touch.

Cried of laughter the first time he saw Baji's school disguise in the good timeline.

Loves sharing blankets with his partner, owns a bunch of blankets just for this reason so expect to be bundled up with him on the sofa a bunch.

Exchanged letters with Draken the second time he was locked up.

Actually admires the Haitani brother's. He first heard of them after hearing they were partly the reason the 9th gen Black dragons disbanded, making Kazutora instantly thankful for these brother's despite never meeting them.

Although Baji has the reputation of being the groups impulsive one, Kazutora actually picks more fights (this one might actually be canon)

Bonds with Hakkai because of similar family issues.

Will pretend to complain but doesn't actually mind if someone wants to try painting his nails, he secretly likes the closeness and attention.

Would love to get matching couples tattoos

And finally despite having all those posters of your typical pin up girl on his teenage walls he actually isn't picky when it comes to a partner, he loves you for you, who you are.

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev #hanemiya kazutora #kazutora hanemiya #tokyo revengers spoilers

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xerith-42 · 4 months

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18 or so Shadow Knight Headcanons

If you saw the earlier version of this post where I fucked up the tags no you didn't

Ever since falling back down the Minecraft Diaries rabbit hole like two seconds after I showed up on this site, I have come up with a lot of headcanons about this series, especially pertaining to Shadow Knights and Shadow Knight characters. And a lot of mine and others best ideas have been written in comments, reblogs, or in discord servers, or I just never wrote them down anywhere. So I want to make this post compiling all of them. Most of these headcanons are mine, but a few I would call collaborative processes and I will credit these people when they come up. I love this community. It feels really nice to say that.

General SK Headcanons

All Shadow Knights fluctuate between having cold or warm blood depending on if/how they've answered the calling. If they've yet to answer the calling, their blood is cold until the calling pulls on them and makes their blood warm in an attempt to draw them back to the Nether. If a Shadow Knight answers the call, they gain full regulation over their blood temperature because they're immortal. That doesn't really matter anymore. (original idea came from a convo with @laurencezvahlslefteyebrow )

Shadow Knights have less of a need for sleeping or eating, and if they're fully immortal they often forgo the concepts entirely. This leads to incomplete ones often forgetting to sleep for days on end, or neglecting their need to eat if they aren't reminded to.

Time moves slower in the Nether than it does in the Overworld, so a lot of Shadow Knights often struggle with their perception of time. Especially Laurance because he was already struggling with the time dilation AND THEN got flung fifteen years into the future. Man does not know what day it is or what year it is, and sometimes Vylad will tell you the date and it's like weeks off.

Garroth just has an innate ability to fuck with the heads of Shadow Knights. It's just what he does. At first it's largely through Laurance by showing him a patience and understanding, all while being able to assure his own safety. And when he starts caring for Vylad, it completely upends how they're used to looking at something they thought they had come to terms with.

The Doll Headcanons!! (original image from @adepressedgaydragon)

Vylad is used to dealing with any symptoms of being a Shadow Knight on his own. He's been on the run/in hiding for like 17 years or something, and was clearly neglected and used to being on his own from a young age. So they've become very used to handling the moments where his body just stops working. Where all they can do is lay limp against the wall, occasionally jerking and having random muscle spasms. Vylad learned to control them a little, make it so he can just get it all over with in a few hours instead of randomly.

He forgets to hide as well once he's around others. Vylad enters one of these episodes and when he gains control of his body again, Garroth is sitting at his side. When he hastily tries to apologize, Garroth says very carefully "It's okay. I know it isn't your fault."

One time, one single time before his betrayal, Garroth notices Zenix in a state of standing completely still, but his shoulders are limp, and he isn't moving at all, lifeless like a puppet with its strings cut. When Garroth questions him on it, Zenix insists nothing's wrong and tells him to mind his own business. It's only after Garroth sees Laurance like this for the first time and Laurance explains that it's a Shadow Knight thing that Garroth realizes. He realizes he could have noticed what was wrong with Zenix before he had a chance to hurt anyone.

Gene and Zenix get in a fight and when Zenix slams Gene's head against the wall, instead of the sound of bone and blood, there's the sound of porcelain breaking. Both men sort of freeze. Zenix lets go and Gene stumbles back, and when he does, there's another cracking sound. There's a permanent scar of a crack going down his face originating from the left side of his forehead. It bleeds, but not in the way it should. The whole thing is so unnerving neither one talk about it and their fight is essentially over...

Sasha is a lot more like a wooden doll. Normally she's pretty reserved, but still has a lot of personality in her expression and the way she carries herself. But sometimes her movements are just a bit too stiff. There's a creak as she bends one of her joints, and her face gets stuck in an expression. This is especially annoying when it happens to her fingers while she's holding something and she just has to pray she doesn't drop her favorite mug directly into a pit of lava she happens to be walking past in the Nether.

I've already gone into my stuff with Laurance in my Garrance musings, but I have so fucking many more. Sometimes it isn't his full body that stops working. Sometimes Laurance's limbs or just his neck goes limp. He'll be in the middle of trying to rizz up someone and his arm just goes completely lifeless on their shoulder. He'll randomly stumble because he just loses feelings in his legs. One time someone thought he was asleep during a very important meeting because his head suddenly fell forward, and he just gave them a thumbs up like "No this happens, just pretend it's normal." Vylad SK Headcanons

Vylad hates to admit it, so he never does, but he almost gave into the calling the first time he was in the Overworld. He showed up very close to home, and had intimate knowledge of the security measures present at his families estate. They actually mapped out how easy it would be, and had a high success rate. It was only hearing that his brother had died that made Vylad break free from the calling.

Vylad knew Zenix was a Shadow Knight and deliberately helped to hide it from Garroth. He wanted to see if Garroth could handle Zenix because he still feared being around his brother. He feared that Garroth wouldn't be strong enough to stand against him if he somehow lost control.

After the fifteen years spent on his own completely aimless, Vylad sometimes forgets that he's a Shadow Knight. Like, it's just so... Normal. Someone with the ability to sense that shit gives him and odd look and they are just very confused because they can't use magicks?? Why are they-- Oh right, you're undead.

Vylad tends to keep his blood cold. Just easier to deal with. The first time he actively feels it get warm outside of the calling is after he's already defeated his temptation and can exist around his mother. When she reaches forward and places a hand on Vylad's cheek, his entire body becomes warm. Life returns to him all in a rush and it's a feeling he's sorely missed. Zenix SK Headcanons

If he hadn't gained a new lord shortly before becoming a Shadow Knight, Zenix's calling would have latched onto Garroth, the man he considered to be his mentor and the closest friend he has. Zenix scoffs at this idea now.

Zenix starts killing Shadow Knights instead of hunting his lord because the Shadow King realized that Zenix killing his lord meant Zenix killing Irene, and he wants to do that himself. So he deliberately persuaded Zenix to gain power by fighting other Shadow Knights instead. It backfired.

Zenix knows every single weakness a Shadow Knight can have both before and after answering the calling. He knows the most common symptoms, what happens to the weakest of them, how to manage the ups and downs. He could be a great life coach or therapist with this information, but the voices and bloodlust are a bit too loud to ignore so he just starts killing.

It's on sight between Zenix and Gene. Like he sees a guy who sort of looks like Gene and just instantly goes for the kill. Sasha once joked that his calling latched onto Gene and Zenix couldn't really disagree with her. It's certainly a similar feeling. Gene SK Headcanons

This is basically canon, but oh my Irene Gene has some awful takes on relationships, and this further ruined him as a Shadow Knight. Most Shadow Knights throw away their humanity when they answer the calling and never regain it. Gene is almost frighteningly human, always poking and prodding at people and being very reactive. He's always trying to push what is and isn't okay literally all the time and it usually isn't okay but he's literally immortal so what are they going to do? (god complex what?)

In spite of this, Gene does feel bad for what he did to Dante. He can never look his brother in the eyes, but if he could, he would have done things differently. Making everyone forget about him did more damage to Dante than he ever anticipated.

It was actually talks with Sasha that made Gene realize this. A lot of his time after gaining his immortality was spend serving the Shadow King largely because it always made things interesting. He was always pushing the world and those around him in new unknown directions that were fascinating to watch. Gene is endlessly enamored by humans but in the way a mad scientist is enamored with it's subjects.

It's why in spite of everything, he'll always have a soft spot for Sasha. Long talks with her are some of his fondest memories. He can't really decide if he's in love with her since his sense of love was skewed before the voice of the lord of darkness started making it actively worse, but he feels good things when he thinks about her. Sasha SK Headcanons

Sasha answered the calling, and doesn't often hold onto the idea of her humanity. She's not quite dead, not quite alive, and she knows she'll be this way forever. Unlike most Shadow Knights, especially the ones susceptible to the Shadow King's control, she's simply accepted her fate. He isn't able to promise her with something greater, and despite what some may think, she's actually the wild card the Shadow King is most afraid of because even he can't get a read on her.

Oddly enough, she starts to feel more human when she's captured in season 2. She gets a lot of chances to talk to different members of the group who are guarding her, and even if most of them don't trust her, she still feels something whenever they show her any sign of an emotion that isn't disgust. It makes her remember what's so fun about being human.

Similar to Vylad, Sasha feels a rush of warmth anytime she's in proximity to Kenmur, close to being alive without the influence of shadow magic. It's a feeling she doesn't want to get used to.

Sasha can never quite decide what she feels about Laurance. It's something akin to morbid curiosity. She can get into his head so easy, and she likes using him as a test of what can make a Shadow Knight tick. Though, sometimes it's a Laurance exclusive feature. Laurance SK Headcanons

A small part of Laurance really likes the extra power his Shadow Knight form gives in a twisted way. He doesn't like the emotions, but the physical effect is honestly great. It's an even stronger form than he would be capable of as a regular human that he can use to protect his demigod not girlfriend who keeps getting targeted by more insane magical bull shit.

During one of his times where he ran away because of the calling Laurance was alone in a cave and started cursing out his lord. Every vile word he could use to describe her came from his mouth, and while he regrets some of it, he will never admit the truth that he meant some of it too.

A lot of Laurance's resentment really just comes from the fact that he is severely not okay thanks to the calling and his experiences in the Nether. He never really had time to fully recover from that mentally, and everything keeps moving so damn fast, and he shamefully misses those slower days in the Nether when Sasha would sit outside his bars and talk to him, or when he and Vylad had conversations through prison walls. Laurance just desperately needs people to check up on him.

(Garrance Specific Headcanon) Once during a particularly sleep deprived conversation with Vylad while Vylad was calming him down from a calling induced panic attack, Laurance confessed to Vylad he was in love with Garroth and scared of getting him out of the Irene Dimension because he didn't want to risk the calling latching onto him. Even after Vylad very awkwardly assured him that's not how the calling works, Laurance is still paranoid.

The Calling is a contradiction. It's designed to be one because contradictions drive men to madness. Laurance's entire life from start to finish has been a series of contradictions, karmic imbalance and re-balance, and the fates seemingly toying with him for their own sick amusement. When he gets control of his body after running away and finds himself in the Nether, he has straight up had enough. The contradiction of wanting to be by his lords side and also needing to be as far away from her as possible basically broke Laurance back into being human?? Because he was never a proper Shadow Knight in the first place.

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howdoesagrapewrites · 10 months

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𝘼𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥

Cw: sleep deprivation, hallucinations, suicide, self harm, poly!reader x lovesick!Pavitr Prabhakar x lovesick!Gayatri Singh, force feeding but not in a fetish way, vomit (only mentioned), drugging, selective/situational mutism, the hallucinations catholicism related (sorry I'm hispanic), kinda comfort at the end?

Notes: Tumblr wouldn't let me upload this?? I tried several times so I decided to just post it alone. Anyways, this happens after a variation of the events in Even as the void consumes them but the reader didn't succumb to stockholm syndrome

"Open. Up" Gayatri's voice was nothing but an echo, a disturbance in the sound waves. You can feel she has her hand on your jaw, trying to force it open. You had vomited everything that had entered your system the las three days, it's not even intentional at this point, it's like your body rejects whatever its presented. It makes sense, in a way. Your body is rejecting them, just like you do.

You stubbornly clench your jaw in a silent protest. Not that there's other way to oppose her, the second your lips are slightly spread, she'll force the food down your throat.

You recognize their patience. They have been trying to feed you for, an hour? You are tempted to leave it uncertain, as time is not something your tired brain can afford to care about.

Every escape plan has failed so far, the one time you could leave the building, you were returned by the police. And after your second attempt, you moved, they got a house instead of an apartment, you could see through windows, it was a completely unknown place, you assumed it was Mumbattan since Pavitr had "work" here, but aside from that, is hopeless.

Gayatri's hand lets go of your jaw, she's getting increasingly frustrated at your resistance. You see her holding back tears. You could go on a whole ramble about how she must feel seeing you starve, and sleep deprive yourself, a person she loves dearly, in theory. However, you don't allow yourself to be moved by their sob stories anymore, you're too tired, you're too damaged.

"Have it your way. This little stunt won't be successful, you won't die." She says as she gets up from the chair and exits the living room, have you been rested and functioning properly, you would've listened to her whispering something more. "I can't let you die"

As of late, you only sleep when you're passed out, only get nourished when they leave you no choice. You really wished there was a less painful way to go, but they made sure you couldn't hurt yourself, no knives, no razors, no pills (not even ibuprofen), they baby-proofed the entire house so you wouldn't hurt yourself with the corners of the furniture, Pavitr wanted to remove the door from your room so he could watch you 24/7, but Gayatri talked him out of it. You don't know if it's genuine respect for the little privacy you had left, or just because being exposed also meant that they were exposed as well, and you've seen how she storms out because she doesn't have the strength to keep her tears from falling, you hear their endless rantings at night, it always ends the same way: they wail about the lost time, about the things you said or did, or about the teeny tiny impression that they might have screwed up, it's all the same, they'll end up curled up in each other's embrace, conjuring excuses and hope-filled speeches about "things going back to how they were".

You see the plate laying beneath you. Full of maggots, you gag and feel the now familiar burn in your dry throat. You fight the urge to slam the plate away, this happened before, everytime they leave, food turns to maggots, they can't see it, but you know what they're really feeding you. It's better, you definitely have no appetite now.

You head to your room, now filled with the floral wallpaper you hate. When you saw it for the first time, you made your nails bleed from scratching the walls, you hated it, you yelled at them, berated them in every way you knew how. It was the only thing you'd ask for in this hellhole. If you can't have freedom, please let the yellow flowers stay with you. Eventually they got some, but not enough to cover the whole room, no longer 5,128 flowers. You said you wouldn't speak a word to them until they got you the rest, but you know that's not the real reason why you don't talk anymore.

"Don't talk, go make bread" an old man whispers

"Your eyes taste like how the color purple tastes like"

You hear a knock on the door, followed by more voices.

"You're ungrateful."

"Break the door"

"Don't answer the door"

"I really want to sleep"

"Pigeons are nice because they know things"

Voices always calm down when Michael shows up. The glow hurts your eyes, the divine light hurts the sinner.

"Father shall not leave thee, you face the calvary for those who are innocent"

Those who are innocent.

Pavitr is not innocent, you recall it now.

He gave you a spoonful of something, then he pecked your closed lips. You don't know you weren't moving, it feels like you were watching a movie about yourself.

Pavitr is not innocent, so you aren't doing this for him.

What are you doing?

Y/N collapsed on the floor, the loud thump alerted the other two people.

"They'll be better now, you can rest" Pavitr reassured to the woman next to him

"They keep trying to hurt themselves, they won't let us nurse them back to health" there was an audible tear in Gayatri Singh's voice, cracking, a little hoarse, tired.

"We can't blame them for being ill. Remember, love, in sickness and in health" Pavitr picked the body, it was malnourished, skin thin like a sheet of paper, multiple little injuries that never healed properly. He put them in the bed, freshly made, no one has slept there in a while.

"In sickness and in health" Gayatri repeated, with hope, as she tucked her lover into the bed, she made sure it was comfortable, even for someone who won't know the difference.

They kiss their slumbering lover's hands, then sit down, in well needed silence.

"We need to call the physician to see if they can put them in IV therapy or something" Gayatri said, her worries still exacerbating

"One day at a time, jaanu, one day at a time."

#atsv x reader #atsv pavitr #pavitr x reader #pavitr prabhakar #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr x gayatri #gayatri singh #gayatri x reader #spiderverse pavitr #yandere pavitr #yandere spiderverse #yandere spiderman #yandere gayatri singh #gayatri x pavitr #gayatri singh x reader

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couldawouldashoulda50 · 6 months

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The Distance and the Time Between Us

A/N: So this is my attempt at writing my very first series involving William Nylander.

Overall, it is more or less a “right place, right person, wrong time” type of storyline. The fem reader grew up outside of Toronto and is gifted in all things music. She’s had world-wide success as part of a band as well as a stellar solo career. She’s been bestowed with absolute (perfect) pitch and has been categorized as one of the best singers/musician/songwriters of recent time.

Where it was suitable, I have tried to be accurate with various facts but I will at certain points be changing reality around to aid in the story. I guess that’s the beauty of fiction; you can snap your fingers and make it so, no matter what it is.

Not to sound like I’m accepting an Ocscar, but I wanted to thank @leafs-lover and @spine-buster for interacting so kindly with me as a newcomer to this space, and for reading through the first iterations of my thoughts blurted out onto the page.

Not to beat this to death, but I’m still figuring out Tumblr so hopefully I won’t make a giant mess of things as I post each new segment.

Warnings - allusions to sex, swearing, end of a relationship, I think that’s it

Word Count - 3.8k

----------------------

September, 2021

The end of the evening hits differently than you thought it would.

A few hours ago, up on the bandshell stage with your bandmates, Brandon (the guitarist, alongside you, and vocals), announced to the audience that you and the band were taking a step back from performing, recording and touring. For the past decade (give or take), the band that you co-founded with Brandon had achieved remarkable success along with fame and fortune. You all had far exceeded the low expectations that many had when you began your music careers together.

And it was time….in fact, it was very much overdue.

Personal lives are albeit neglected in order to reach this pinnacle of stardom and for once, you all mutually agreed that it was time to give up the rigours of a touring band and enjoy life. After all, for all that’s been sacrificed, you all deserved it.

The other members, Maebh (bass, vocals) and Colin (drum, vocals), together had their blossoming family to look forward to. Brandon and his partner wanted to pursue other musical interests. There was a sense of excitement, and relief, leaving behind the pressure-cooker lifestyle that your lives had become.

And then there was you.

In one sense, you had been dreaming of this moment for years. Almost complete freedom from all the commitments from both your explosive solo career, and the band from which you emerged. Until now, it had always been one more appearance, one more record, one more song, one more tour, one more interview, one more movie - year after year after year. On the surface, you were one of the most successful and sought-after musical artists of the past 10 years. Coupled with your band’s success, your individual success had been nothing short of magical. The drive and determination you possessed, alongside a bit of luck and (mostly) sensibility propelled you up to and through the insanity of stardom. You always made sure you kept grounded and were full of gratitude, always keeping your humility intact. You had become, in the eyes of the entertainment world, the epitome of grace and etiquette under such scrutiny and pressure.

On the flipside, you have been grappling with an overwhelming sense of despair and an ache deep within that you can almost taste since the moment the band made its decision.

Now that this last performance was in the books (and it was an incredibly successful one at that), you sit in the backseat with your sullen thoughts as your driver navigates the SUV towards your Toronto home. You glance over to your manager, Evelyn, and choke back a sob - your throat constricts and you bite your lip to try and will back the tears that threaten to fall.

Evelyn's typical stoic demeanour softens for a moment, and she grabs your hand; she's well aware of what has gotten you in this state.

You return to staring out the window; your mind replaying what you’ve sacrificed for your career and the fear of the unknown with your future.

The reality is that it's not what you've sacrificed, but whom.

It was when you saw William in the crowd tonight, surrounded by peers, teammates and countless beautiful women, the pit in your stomach formed. You weren't prepared to see him and God, he looked better than anyone should ever be allowed to.

The pit grew as you saw him singing along to the songs sung by your voice.

It grew even more as you saw his eyes fixed on you perform alongside some NHL players and other hockey notables in attendance who came up on stage to sing their favourite songs with you - clearly fueled by the liquid courage that was in abundance at the event.

The pit became virtually unbearable as you saw him laughing and dancing with a beautiful girl that was not looking like anything plutonic. At least not in the way she was clinging onto him.

It was no small feat to get through the rest of the night, performing and interacting with the crowd as effortlessly as you did. Trying not to focus on the thought of him being close enough to breathe the same air as you. If you glanced his way, you forced yourself to dismiss the idea that he was often stealing glances back at you, or the notion that perhaps he might still want you as much as you clearly still wanted him. You became a master at suppressing your feelings in the past and tonight was no exception.

It had been almost two years since you last saw or heard from William.

At the start of September of 2019, you and William found yourselves yet again in a familiar place in life; William beginning another hockey season, single, after he and his girlfriend had parted ways during the summer and you returning to your home town of Toronto to visit loved-ones after a summer of festival performances and travelling.

Your calendar was full with invitations to many high profile events in the city and your attendance always drew quite a crowd. As usual, you were attending all of the events alone which seemed to be mercilessly pointed out by every entertainment news correspondent that lined the red carpet. William would catch a glimpse of you on TV as they showed you arriving at a film festival party or an exclusive restaurant, and soon thereafter, you'd receive a notification from him on your phone.

That is how it always started; a few sweet and flirty text messages, then a couple of phone calls and not long after, you and William would be tangled in the sheets of either your luxurious Toronto home or at his hi-rise condo that boasted an incredible view of the city. It was such a natural and easy existence when you were together. As overly sugary as it might sound to most, your insides felt like there were beams of sunshine that would radiate through your body from the sheer sight of him. Somehow, you always felt calm and at peace in his presence.

Simply put, it always felt incredible spending time with him and it always brought out the best of you. You felt happy and it was very apparent William felt that way too.

However, true to the pattern of the past few years, you would need to leave again, having to depart mid-way through October for an unknown period of time. You had several performances booked throughout Europe, Asia, and Australia followed by more exclusive appearances for royalty and dignitaries around the world. Leaving William throughout the years under these same circumstances only became increasingly difficult, leaving you both heart-sick for a time afterward. Eventually you both would bounce back and resume life without too many broken-hearted thoughts about each other swirling around in your heads.

You and he had often discussed trying a long-distance relationship, only for you to hold firm on your initial refusal. You had always maintained it was not fair to him to have no say or input on when you could see one another. You felt it was too much to ask someone as young as him to have to stand by and watch everyone around him celebrate with their significant others, or be consoled by them, while he has to go it alone. He deserved to be in a relationship where both people were utterly devoted to one another; you desperately wanted to be that person but your contract obligations just kept stacking up against you and those circumstances were out of your control.

Once you had returned to London, sitting alone in the new opulent townhome you had just bought in Knightsbridge, you had made the decision on a dreary November evening in 2019, that it was time you fought for what you wanted; the man you had fallen in love with.

Calculating the time difference, it was nearing dinner time in Toronto on William’s day off. Barely able to contain your excitement, you sent William a text asking him to call you. It wasn't long before your phone rang and the familiar picture of his jersey appeared on the screen. Your excitement quickly dissipated once you answered; it was clear from his low, soft tone that this call was not going to be a happy one.

Before even getting to your reason for wanting to talk, you had asked if he was ok. He paused for a torturously long period of time and said he was not. He explained that it had become too much for him after these past few years to be on this rollercoaster of being lovers (mostly secret lovers at that), for such short moments in time, only to have to watch you leave again and again and never being certain when you’d return. He wanted to be able to give all of himself to another and up until that point, he had quietly kept a part of his heart solely for you. To pour salt into an open wound, he finally added that the level of celebrity you had reached was not something he felt he could handle as the pressure of being inevitably thrust into an even bigger spotlight is not what he wanted in a relationship.

An extreme ache travelled through your body. You felt blindsided. Perhaps it wasn't for the reasons that William rhymed off for wanting to essentially sever ties with you, but more that you had finally succumbed to your deep feelings of love for him and now it was too late. Your heart completely shattered from his words as the visions of your future with him disintegrated into nothingness.

William quietly apologized, his voice barely above a whisper. He said he had to go and hung up, never giving your brain a chance to catch up or for your voice to speak.

Once the call ended, the friendship you had with him ended. In your mind, he became an apparition - nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

The many memories that you had of the two of you together became too much to bear and with that, you clicked into total self-preservation mode. You no longer followed him or his siblings on any social platform. Aside from a select few, you limited your interactions with the Maple Leafs, many of whom you had become friends with over the years along with their significant others. You wouldn’t watch game highlights or check scores - you untethered yourself from anything to do with William.

It was not long after that painful conversation that you heard William and a previous on-again/off-again girlfriend were back together. It was exactly what you expected, which was of little comfort. The heartache you felt was profound and rather than giving yourself time to grieve or heal or whatever you needed to do, you allowed the loss of his existence in your life to harden you. Save from your close friendships and your family, you no longer cared about the love aspect of a normal human life.

Between rehearsals for your tour, you threw yourself into writing music; sitting for hours on end in your state of the art recording studio on the lower level of your home. Up until that point, you had a massive catalogue of songs that, at the very least, uplifted people. The message of your songs had now transitioned to loss. The record execs salivated with each song you presented - dollar bills in their eyes given the huge music market for words rife with longing and regret. Even the accompanying music you created held the same vibe; music that would make the hardest person want to weep. As time went on, your songs were released under the guise of other popular singers. The releases were wildly successful which further catapulted your reputation into the stratosphere, being deemed as one of the most talented songwriters in current time. With all the notoriety, you found it difficult to embrace the new heights in popularity and monetary gain, given that it was all based on the inner turmoil of someone that felt as broken as you did.

There was a domino effect with shutting down the pleasure side of life; your once effervescent personality was replaced with forced smiles and you were noticeably disengaged in conversation. The change in your demeanour didn’t go unnoticed with your circle of friends. Forever begging you to come out before you departed on the first leg of your tour, your friends tried to rally around you, nearly breaking down the double doors to your home to let them in.

Even the rare times you relented and allowed them to drag you to all the exclusive clubs that dotted London’s Soho and other districts close by, you ended up drinking little and leaving early.

Despite how you felt, you always looked exquisite, dressing in elegant attire that perfectly accentuated your shapely figure, and hair and makeup that were magazine worthy. Other than writing and recording music, dressing up was one of the few things that surprisingly made you feel better, even if it was for a fleeting moment.

The good feelings were often chased away as a result of the jeers and catcalling which inevitably started from the snobby and ill-mannered men that occupied space at each club. What these men had in money, from their aristocratic lineage or otherwise, they lacked in every trait you valued. If it didn’t make you feel ill first, it made you seethe with rage with their greasy, vulgar, drunken comments about what they would do to you if they got you alone. After berating them for their tastelessness, and saying apologetic goodbyes to your friends, you would leave to go home. The rage that coursed through your body would then dial down to frustration which would then lead to a pit of sadness.

Washing the night off in your oversized bathtub, you started to sob. Tears streamed down your face forming tributaries along your cheeks to your jawline before dissolving in the hot bath water. You missed William totally and completely. His friendship. His laugh. His face. His touch. The way he felt under you or on top of you. The way he looked so disheveled when he’d first wake up. The taste of his tongue against yours. When he teased you of how badly you suck at every video game you tried. The list of things you missed about William felt endless. You were certain, more than ever now, if you were to ever try to love again, you would have to settle for someone that was a distant second to him. That thought broke you even more.

As the days leading to the end of 2019 grew shorter, and weather more miserable, your mood and thoughts about William changed, seemingly adopting the climate that surrounded you. You started to convince yourself that perhaps the feelings you and he shared weren’t really real; perhaps he had been wheeling you since you met. Your thoughts continued to darken when you realized you were likely nothing more to him than just a convenience when he was in between relationships; he used you like a disposable girlfriend…once you would leave for your next project, he was totally free to move on to someone else. For all you knew, maybe you were amongst a string of girls he was wheeling. It would not be unheard of.

More and more you pieced the puzzle of your own design together. He couldn’t have loved you - even though he admitted that he did when you were in his arms last. Once you had whispered the same to him, it was like floodgates opening with the words “I love you” that flowed effortlessly between you. You told each other every chance you had during that last blip of time together.

You resumed the previous thought. He couldn’t have loved you to only turn around and cut you off the way he did, a mere month later.

Once the tour began, the moment came when you all but discarded the loving feelings you once had for William and forced out the amazing memories. You continued to captivate audiences around the world with your powerful songs and incredible voice. Images and videos of you being celebrated for your beauty and elegance were in continuous rotation on every social media platform. Leading up to award season, your name was on repeat for several music award nominations. You graced a number of red carpet events and attended after parties, always looking ravishing as you engaged in chats with interviewers and stopped to take pictures with other celebrities and onlookers.

Your mind snapped back to reality as the SUV pulled up to and through the security gate of your sprawling Toronto home. You thanked the driver and Evelyn politely asked him to wait for her, and you and Evelyn disappeared into the house.

You stood in the front foyer for a moment, soaking in the fact that this is where you’ll be hanging your hat, both literally and figuratively, until you decide where you truly want to be. As beautiful of a house as you had here in this city, you knew it would take a lot more than an exquisite interior to make it feel like a home. All you wanted was for your home to be filled with love and laughter and family and friends.

“Why don’t you just head straight to bed…you look like you’re ready to collapse” Evelyn said, picking up your small suitcase and walking toward your master bedroom on the main floor.

You ran your hands gently over your face, trying to stimulate enough alertness to respond.

“Very good idea…God, I’m just beyond. I think I may end up sleeping for 2 days straight” you said.

The adrenaline that surges through your body during your performances is a feeling like no other, but you knew the downside to that was utter exhaustion after the fact.

The welcome sight of your large California King bed took hold, and you immediately stripped down to your bra and panties, and slipped between the crisp cotton sheets, pulling the overstuffed duvet up over your shoulders. Evelyn continued bringing in a few more of your belongings into the bedroom, all the while, you could already feel yourself sinking into the mattress and the urge to sleep was taking hold.

“Thank you Evelyn…for everything. I don’t know what it’s going to be like not to see you almost every day”. Your eyes welled up with tears, your throat tight with emotion.

“I’m going to LA, not Mars…all you need to do is call. You just remember - we made an incredible team, and that was just as much you as it was me. Evelyn paused. “You have been such a gift to my life.” and she leaned over to kiss the top of your head.

“Call me soon and let me know how it’s going with your new act” you yawned, and started to drift off.

“Do you want me to turn your phone off?” Knowing the answer already, she didn’t wait for a response….you had fallen asleep already anyway.

Evelyn grabs your phone from the charger and sees text notifications on the lock screen.

Knowing your passcode, she bypasses the biometric prompt and the home screen appears.

Evelyn realized your phone had been on do not disturb for quite some time. She taps the message icon and sees a familiar name as the sender.

The first text is short, sent earlier that night.

Hey - it’s William Hoping to get a chance to talk when you have a min

Then there’s a second text sent a little while after the first:

Are you still here?

Then lastly:

K - well. I hope you’re staying in TO for a bit. Would like to see you.

Evelyn looks over at you, sound asleep, and considers the options.

Ignore the messages, turn off your phone and leave it for you to decide on how to handle it once you’ve got some rest.

Text William back on your behalf to at least let him know you’re home and to try back in a day or two

Wake you up to show you the messages.

Given your current peaceful resting state, and knowing you like virtually no other, Evelyn is aware that waking you up now would only unleash a rabid and maniacal beast - and she wanted no part in that.

Just as she considers shutting the phone off, the words “Incoming Call” appear with “Ny88” underneath.

Evelyn stares at the caller for a moment and then picks up.

“Hello, Y/N’s phone”

“Um - Hi…this is William, a friend of Y/N. I was trying to get a hold of her for a couple of hours…I was just, uh…worried”. William’s voice trails off

“Hi William, it’s Evelyn…not sure if you remember me; we met a few years ago. Y/N’s back home now - sorry, she had her phone on do not disturb. Not sure why.” Evelyn confesses. “But she was knackered and is asleep now….I think you know the drill with her after she comes off after a concert” Evelyn laughs.

“Oh, right - yes…hey Evelyn. Yeah - I remember…she’s down for the count afterwards” William chuckles. “Well, I was hoping to bump into her tonight after the show but it seems like she was surrounded the entire time.”

Evelyn paused, unsure of exactly how much she should convey to William.

“I know it’s been awhile; she would have liked to have seen you, I’m sure.”

There was further silence, and remembering she had a flight to catch, Evelyn tried to speed up the conversation. “Do you want me to leave her a message for her to call you when she wakes up?

“Fuck…that'll be days” William muttered under his breath, suddenly realizing Evelyn may have heard. “Sorry…shit…scratch that, '' he said nervously. "I…I just really was hoping to see her or talk with her tonight, but I guess that's not possible" he said, defeated.

Evelyn looks down at you sleeping. She recalls the car ride home, you flushed and wrought with emotion as the memories you suppressed of William came flooding back. She watched you during the intermissions of tonight's performance hiding away in the dressing area, trying to keep your shit together after seeing William in the crowd. She had seen you at your highest highs over the years when you and William were able to spend time together and at your lowest low after he ended it.

You finally have the time now, she thought - so it's go time…now or fucking never.

"I've got to catch a flight, so I'm leaving straight away. If I give you the security codes to get in, I can trust you that she'll be in good hands, right William?" Evelyn paused before finishing with "Because so help me God William, if I hear of anything to the contrary, you do not want to see my other side."

“I’m leaving now” William says with a rushed tone and hangs up before Evelyn has a chance to respond.

#william nylander #toronto maple leafs #nhl imagine #hockey fic #rock star #musician #right person wrong time #angst #fanfic #nhl fanfiction

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zprites · 1 year

Text

February TMNT All 4-1

Another month, another All 4-1 😁🐢

The Gracious Hosts: @turtle-babe83, @thelaundrybitch, @leosgirl82, @tmnt-tychou, @nittleboo, and @post-apocalyptic-daydream

I ended up doing two of the prompts, the dialogue prompt I did reword a bit but the general idea is still there. This was a lot of fun to write so please enjoy the ride full of angst and fluff!

Bayverse! Donnie x F! Reader - SFW

As always, all turtles and reader are over 20 years!

I listened to Avocado Toast by Clinton Kane on repeat while writing this... Sorry, not sorry

Avocado Toast

There are days when it feels like the world comes crashin' And I've been numbin' the pain just to keep distracted Of all the things I would fade You're the one that's lasted Avo Toast - Clinton Kane

This was a huge mistake…

It wasn’t the idea of being set up on a blind date that was the problem. In fact, you grew more excited for the evening as the past week progressed thanks to your good friend and loving coworker, April. Over the last month she gushed about how compatible you and one of Casey’s friends would be, hinting that she wanted to set the two of you up. Finally you agreed on the blind date. All you knew about him was that he was ‘handsome with long hair and abs’, (April’s words), and that he shared similar hobbies and interests with you. Despite her optimism, you were still reluctant to go but you convinced yourself to give dating another try.

To say that dating for you was hard was putting it mildly. The longest relationship you had ever been in lasted almost two years, taking a piece of you that you still struggled to get back. Since then you tried dating but nothing ever worked out. Either they were only looking for sex or were a walking red flag. Whatever the case was, nothing ever went past the first date. You often found yourself staring up at the ceiling late at night wondering if there was something wrong with you, the phrase ‘you are what you attract’ made a home in your mind and bared its fangs at any positive notion you had surrounding dating.

The only time you felt whole again was when you spent time with your best friend. The two of you became almost inseparable soon after meeting due to April’s insistence that you meet the brothers. That night in the lair you found your way into his lab to find him elbow deep in an engine. You asked what he was working on, following along as he spoke. The conversation soon strayed to computers, which was something you were knowledgeable in. The two of you just clicked, understanding each other’s jokes and references the other made. Honestly, you enjoyed every moment with him. You texted him throughout your day, while your evenings were often spent together either at your place or at the lair. You spent countless hours with him in his lab, working side by side and conversing well into the morning. This caused you to be almost late to work more times than not, but you didn’t mind.

You didn’t mind it when he accidentally woke you up with a phone call about a recent breakthrough. You didn’t mind taking care of him when he came down with a nasty flu he caught from one of his brothers. You didn’t mind catching said flu, bedridden while he crashed on your couch to make sure he was there to help. You didn’t mind his thigh resting against yours under the shared blanket during movie nights.

You didn’t mind because you were in love with him.

Since you met him seven years ago, your small crush evolved into something much more profound. A deep emotion that caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach and a smile to form on your face at the thought of him. He was there for you through thick and thin, taking you out on a nighttime picnic at a park when you got your promotion and being a shoulder to cry on when you broke up with your toxic ex. He even took you to the American Museum of Natural History one night, simply saying the police owed him a favor before the two of you went through each exhibit hand in hand. Even though you realized your feelings for him fairly quickly you didn't want to ruin the friendship the two of you shared. You were certain he only thought of you as a friend so you stayed silent, bottling up those feelings and convincing yourself it was enough. It truly was. As long as you got to be in his life, you were content.

However as your feelings grew for him, you found yourself going on less dates. Maybe subconsciously you knew that no one could hold a candle to him. Yet here you were, thanks to April’s insistence, on your first date in almost a year.

No, the problem wasn’t that you agreed to a blind date. The problem was that the person sitting across the candlelit table from you was an absolute jackass.

Before the two of you sat down you could feel the inflated ego that radiated off him, immediately rubbing you the wrong way with a single comment on your appearance. He talked about himself incessantly, not asking anything about you or allowing you to get a word in, leaving the conversation completely one-sided. The waiter delivered your drinks, interrupting your date and giving you enough time to excuse yourself to the restroom. Your irritation turned into genuine anger as you heard your date talk down to the waiter before he ordered for the two of you, insisting that all you needed was a side salad while you were still within earshot.

Once inside the bathroom you let out a loud sigh.

What the fuck were you thinking? Of course he’s just like the others… Man, this place has the best steak in the city too…

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, contemplating your next move. Despite the fact you spent the better part of your afternoon getting ready and were pretty hungry, you didn’t think you could sit through dinner without decking your date in the face. You could text April and ask her to bail you out but you knew she was at a concert with Casey, and to be honest you didn't want her to know how much of a disaster this was. At least not yet.

That left you with one option. You knew you could count on him to get you out quickly and that he wouldn't ask too many questions.

You sent him a quick message from your watch.

You: Hey, can you call me in a few minutes?

You thankfully didn't have to wait long for a response.

D: Hey, sure can! Everything okay?

You: Yeah. I’ll explain when I’m on the cab ride home.

D: No need. I see you’re at Maggioli’s. I’ll be in the alley next to the restaurant in five minutes. Talk to you in a moment :)

You took a few deep breaths to collect yourself before leaving the restroom. As you sat back down the man in front of you began talking about his stance on women in the gaming world. You felt your eye twitch in agitation as the words ‘women can game, sure, as long as their shirt is low cut, but they’re better off sticking to the kitchen’. Thankfully he was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. You gave him an apologetic smile as you made a show to check who was calling you.

“Sorry, I got to take this.”

“Really? You know it’s rude to answer your phone while on a date.”

You apologized once more and answered the call, seeing your date roll his eyes out of your periphery.

“Hey mom. What’s up?”

“Mom? Are you sure you’re okay? It’s Don- Oh… This is one of those fake calls where I play along. Um, well... let’s see. Your uh… your cat! Yes! Something happened to Tamago and uh…” It took everything in your power to not smile as he made up a fake emergency regarding your beloved pet.

You frowned instead. “Woah, slow down. Did something happen?”

“She um… I don’t know. Oh gosh, I’m not good at this…”

You had to bite your tongue to keep yourself from giggling. You stole a glance at your date who looked annoyed. Focus!

“Oh my god!” You blurted with a worried expression. “No no, stay put. I’ll be right there.”

“Phew, thank you. I’ll see you soon dear.”

Your heart skipped the beat at the gentle tone he used in combination with the nickname he gave you only a month ago.

It doesn’t mean anything. He couldn’t possibly like you back…

You disconnected the call and stood up from your seat.

“I’m so sorry. My father just had a heart attack and in the hospi-”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

Oh for fuck’s sake…

“I drove here.” You lied.

“What about the food? You need to pay for your portion!”

You rolled your eyes. “All I ordered was water. Should have thought about that before you ordered for me. It was nice meeting you but I have to go. Sorry again.”

You quickly left the restaurant, breathing out a sigh of relief as soon as the chill of the air hit your face.

An Oscar-worthy performance. Hopefully you’ll never see him again…

You walked to the side of the building and into the alley, scanning the rooftops as you went. Once your gaze caught sight of a familiar figure you couldn’t help but wave up at your friend. He waved back before jumping off the roof, landing softly in front of you despite his size and the thirty foot drop.

“Man, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.” You breathed out, a wide smile on your face.

“I think I have some idea.” Donnie chuckled, rolling his shoulders as he stood to his full height. The purple-masked terrapin towered over you but you were used to the difference in height.

He smiled down at me. “But I think I’d get a better picture if you explained what that was all about.”

You thought back to the events leading up to now and let out a groan. “Fine. How about you take me home first and I’ll order us food while I spill all the gory details. I’m starving.”

“Well then, let’s not dawdle. Your chariot awaits my dear.” He said in a teasing tone while holding his arms out.

You swallowed down the rush of certain emotions that threatened to break free at those words. “My turtle in shining armor. Or tech gear rather.” You joked as you allowed him to pick you up bridal style. He laughed at that, holding you close as he began to move.

“Hold on tight.”

Donnie ran across the rooftops with practiced motions, each leap jostling you slightly. Your arms were around his neck as he held you with only one arm, keeping you pressed against his plastron. Soon the two of you were on your balcony. He set you down and followed after you into your apartment.

Food was ordered and you changed out of your clothes, opting to wear something much more comfortable. Once in your pajamas you gave your cat who was lounging across the foot of your bed a quick pet. You left your bedroom and joined Donnie on the couch. He had taken his goggles and backpack off and set them near the door to your balcony which meant he was planning on staying. Not that you minded.

“Slow night?” You asked him while positioning your legs to the side so that your sock-clad feet rested against his thigh.

“Yep, which is surprising for a Friday night. They’ll call me if I’m needed.”

You nodded at that, knowing his brothers were perfectly capable of handling any situation thrown their way. “Well, thank you for the save back there.”

“For you, anything.”

Don’t say things like that…

“I am curious about what transpired that constituted me swooping in and saving you though. It looked like you were on a date based on the Michelin star restaurant and the way you were dressed.”

You let out a sigh as you thought back to the date. “Long story short, April set me up on a blind date with Casey’s friend because she thought we’d hit it off, but he happened to be a massive asshat.”

“Really?”

“The first thing out of his mouth was ‘Wow, I’m amazed you have the confidence to wear that with all the extra weight you’re carrying around’. He proceeded to tell me how better I’d look if I went to the gym and offered to bring me with him. He was egotistical, misogynistic, and rude, not just to me but to the server as well. He even ordered for me, telling the waiter that all I needed was a side salad since I didn’t need the extra calories.”

Donnie stayed silent as you ranted.

“The nerve of that guy! If I want to enjoy a steak, I have every damn right to! I shouldn’t be surprised really. No matter how many times I try, I end up disappointed because all I seem to attract are shitty men. Maybe there’s something wrong with me…”

“Hey, now. You know that’s not true.” He straightened up, giving you an intense look. “You're kind, beautiful, and you have an amazing mind."

You flushed a bit at his words.

"I know that anyone would be lucky to have you…" He trailed off before turning away with a frown.

The silence that followed was palpable. You got the sense that he stopped himself from saying more which caused your nerves to go haywire. Biting your lip you contemplated speaking up to say that you didn't want just anyone. You wanted him, but the fear that he wouldn't reciprocate your feelings held you back.

Donnie shook his head. “You know… Leo and I talked a few nights ago.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He let out a huff before continuing. “He made some interesting points about our friendship. About us…”

You frowned in confusion. A pit formed in your stomach as your anxiety levels rose. “Us?”

“Look…” He spoke your name as his eyes met yours. “You and I have been through so much together. You’re the closest friend I have and I cherish every moment we spend together.”

See, ‘friend’... Nothing more.

“You always brighten up my days with your jokes and your smile. You see me for me, for who I really am.”

Please, stop…

“I just need to know… How much longer are you going to keep pretending?”

Huh…?

“What are you talking about?” You spoke quietly, finding yourself puzzled by his question.

Donnie licked his lips and took a deep breath. “You can’t possibly have no idea how I feel about you dear.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I- I know I’m not good with words, but since the first night we met you somehow found a home in my heart, so much so that I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re the last thing on my mind before falling asleep and the first when I wake up. I just can’t seem to get you out of my head. I didn’t quite know what these feelings were until that night at the park a few years ago, when you got your promotion and we sat on the swings. You told me everything about your life as we freezed our butts off, but that night all I could think was ‘I love this person and I want them in my life forever’.”

What…? This has to be a dream…

“I just didn’t know how to tell you…” He paused as he began tapping his fingers against his knee, something he often did when he was nervous. “I was so worried you didn’t have similar feelings but Leo, he knocked some sense into me.”

Holy shit, he loves you…

“You deserve the world times two and I want to be the one to give it to you, if you’ll let me…”

HE LOVES YOU!

“Please say something…”

Your mouth opened and closed, unable to find the right words to say or any words for that matter. It was as if you lost the ability to form any coherent thought. So instead, you acted on those years of repressed feelings.

You pushed yourself onto your knees and took his head in your hands before promptly placing your lips on his. He tensed at your touch at first but quickly found himself melting into the kiss, one hand coming to rest at your hip while the other cupped your face. You poured every unspoken thought into the kiss. Donnie responded in kind, the fingers at your waist twitching as you let out a soft moan. The press of his lips against yours was almost too much. Your heart felt ready to burst, warmth spreading throughout your entire body.

The two of you parted, foreheads touching as your breaths intertwined. You kept your eyes closed as you felt his thumb brush over your cheek, catching the single tear that you didn’t realize escaped. You swallowed and hesitantly met his gaze, soft hazel eyes full of tenderness.

“I love you too…” You whispered.

He beamed, his smile contagious as you felt the corners of your lips twitch upward as well. He leaned forward to kiss you again.

Knock-knock knock.

The two of you jumped at the sudden rapping at your front door. You chuckled nervously as you regretfully pulled away from him and stood up from the couch. You answered the door, thanking the delivery person before setting the food on the coffee table and returning to your spot beside him.

Your stomach growled before you could say anything, the scent of the warm food filling your apartment. He chuckled and planted a quick kiss on your temple. “C’mon dear. Let’s eat then we can watch a movie.”

“Will you stay the night?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ll stay for breakfast?”

“Sure. I’ll make your favorite.”

“Avocado toast?”

“Yes, with bacon. Just how you like it.”

“...I love you…”

“I love you too dear…”

#TMNT All 4-1 Challenge #tmnt #bayverse tmnt #bayverse tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfiction #donnie x reader #donatello x reader #bayverse donatello x reader #bayverse donnie #TMNT VDAY

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bokettochild · 1 month

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Febuwhump Day 25: (alt) "I Love You"

What's this? Day 25 when I haven't even posted previous days? Yes. Warriors was giving me brainrot and this thing sort of just spit itself out last night after a pot of coffee and rotting on my couch for hours.

Heads up, this story is set in the TBBU universe, so yes, we have an original character here: Sablya. My apologies if you hate OCs, she's actually pretty prominent in this story and yes, in a relationship with a Link, so DLDR if that bothers you at all <3

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 4,626

Summary: Hit with a dark curse, the boys must seek out a user of shadow magic in order to help them. Luckily for them, Warriors knows someone. Unluckily for him, it's his ex-wife.

There's a particular brand of hurt that comes from words.

Simple words, words that once meant something precious, can turn into a knife that wrenches at the heart, and even when they’re meant with love, with care, with every amount of innocence, they still have the ability to plunge deep and strike a vein, severing sanity in their wake.

Warriors knows this, has known this. Since his mother’s first “I’m proud of the man you’ve become” had sounded, the very day when he most dreaded speaking to her to admit what he’d done; what he’d done for her and the girls; he’s known that words full of love can cause pain.

Words spoken in ire, somehow, cause less.

Given the choice between the two, the captain doesn’t know what he wants to receive when he enters the house. With his brothers behind him, in need, struggling under the burden of a dark curse that’s wound its way, tight, about them, he knows the need to hurry, to not linger. There’s only person in all Hyrule who can assist them at this moment, but that doesn’t make facing her any easier than all the other times he’s dared to try and do so.

The very concept of courage, when he stands at the doors of his own house, is a dart of pain to his pride, given how he, the hero, lacks it so just to walk through a door.

Does he want the screams, the pain and tears, the agonized look in warm amber eyes, or does he want something warm that will pierce and burn at a heart still in pieces from when last he faced her? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which would hurt more. He’s not sure which would be easier to survive.

“Are we almost there?” The desperation that colors words that should be annoyed, should be spoken with that signature put upon tone that’s nearly permanent from their vet, only further drives how his own hesitation is itself causing harm. The boys are all dragging, all pained, but to add the pain of their newly acquired curse to pain that already made function a struggle- he needs to get the help, and soon.

“Just a bit further, vet, I promise.” He tries to sound confident, assuring, warm, but he falls short.

Castletown really does bring out the worst in him, doesn’t it? He can’t even manage to be a comfort to the others while they’re here.

Eyes follow their weary forms curiously, although some skirt away, wary of the eaten down men and boys, armed to the teeth and clearly desperate, although for what, it’s doubtful the townsfolk know. It's a sharp contrast to their usual warmth towards him in the wake of the war, but then again, his scarf is absent.

The blue fabric hangs from Twilight’s shoulders, supporting the weight of their smithy who, for reasons none can name, has been affected the most, and thus is worst off of all of them. In the wake of the wizzrobes attack, what must have been a week ago now, the smithy has been listless, fevered, and in enough agony that walking seems entirely outside of his ability for the moment.

They need only last a bit longer though. They wander the streets at his tail, the boys leaning on each other heavily. Some had taken worse to the dark spell, others are still coping, and some, like the vet, are pushing their every limit to keep going. Goddesses, he can’t afford to hesitate, not with the like this.

Still, when the door looms ahead of him, his feet stutter and falter all the same, and though likely, he could excuse it as the curse, he knows the reason his mouth goes dry and stomach lurches has nothing to do with magic at all.

“Cap?” Sky’s looking back at him, past the blonde head resting on his shoulder, the sailor likewise struggling to keep pace having resulted in the skyloftian offering aid. Concern shines in crystal eyes, and it takes more effort than he’s got in him to try to smile back.

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t even care that they all clearly don’t believe him. None of them have it in them to call him out though, and honestly, he’s a little thankful for that as he forces his feet to move again.

“We’re here.”

His hand stalls at the door.

Hyrule knocks, dark eyes dim as they turn up to him, worry the only thing still shining in them.

Goddesses, he needs to get over himself. These boys need him, need him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and ask his wife for help. For them. For their sakes.

The door opens with a familiar creaking, and despite his every attempt to steal himself for it, the sight of her still makes his breath catch in his throat.

Sablya is not so afflicted, and for a terrible moment, he half thinks the door will fly shut in his face, only...

Only, Hyrule’s hand has caught onto him for support. Only, Four and Wind are hanging from their older brothers’ shoulders. Only, Legend is swaying on his feet, even with the support of a cane to keep him upright. Cold though she’s turned to him, Sablya’s always had a bleeding heart, and whatever hurts he’s caused won’t stop her from seeing kids in need of help.

“What do you want?”

“Help. Please.” It’s a struggle to meet her eyes, to hold her gaze knowing full well what he’ll find. For them though, he manages. “They’re cursed, it’s-”

“Dark magic,” the words roll, accented and thick, like a cold wave over him. The door creaks again, just like it did the last time he made it inside; has she not had it fixed? “Come. Enter.”

With what strength he can muster, he scoops the traveler up and into the house, passing her by even as she darts towards the rest, offering a weak smile and steady hands to guide the rest inside. He doesn’t watch, even though he wants to, wants to see her warmth, even if it’s not turned on him. He doesn’t though, he pushes down the narrow hall and into the main room, and there he stops.

It’s almost like he never left.

There are no toys scattered on the floor, but the box still remains, tucked in one corner. Pictures, books, all the same, have only moved as much as needed for cleaning. The furniture is still in its place and muscle memory urges him to wind around it to his own chair before the fire.

He doesn’t. He settles Hyrule down on the couch, soothing curly hair absently, thoughtlessly, before dragging his aching body back towards the door. He passes her on the way, Wild curled in her arms. They don’t exchange even a look, but his heart still stutters at the ease she carries the younger hero, the familiar worried crease between her brows.

Twilight and Sky are the least effected so far, and they follow behind his wife, bringing the smallest two after. Time though is struggling, and while the weight of him is different from only a year ago, it still feels natural somehow to loop an arm over his shoulders and whisper encouragement to the man as they follow Legend’s limping figure into the house.

“Armor off,” is the order once they’ve made it in, door shut and the group of them gathered in the family room. It’s cramped, for ten people, but at least with the furniture as it is, but it doesn’t matter. “Tell me what happened.”

She’s already looking over Wind, dark hands cradling his ashen face like she used to with their son when he’d fallen and give himself a bloody nose or some other such injury.

“A curse,” Legend explains. “It was a wizzrobe. Don’t know what kind.” His breath is short, even as he’s crumpled down to sit at Hyrule’s feet, head leant against the couch arm. “None of our magic is any good and it’s- it’s affecting us physically as well.”

Amber eyes fall to stare at the lad, brows kitting together again. “How so?”

“Shortness of breath-” as though it wasn’t apparent “-pain-”

“Where?”

A shudder. “Everywhere.”

Her skirts rustle as she sinks down to be level with the scholar, hand lifted. “Where is it worst?”

Pink hair flies. “It’s not like that.”

“Explain then.” Her tone is soft, but firm.

Legend explains. He explains with words Warriors has seen in books on magic, but which he doesn’t know for himself. Sablya understands though, despite her hylian apparently still not being strong, and with prompting and feedback from the vet, she seems to get an idea of what it is that’s plaguing them. In the meantime, he leans at the couch’s back, hands mindlessly sinking to stroke curly heads and assure, as best he can, his little brothers.

“I think I understand,” the words have relief flooding over them, some of the boys even shedding a tear or two at the sound, “may I try something?”

“Go nuts.” Legend answers through a weary, pained smile.

It startles them, he supposes, to see the way darkness coalesces at her command, but when her hand rests against the vet’s chest, her voice low with the command to match his breath to her own, he sees tension bleed from the lad’s shoulders, resulting in something like a soft sob.

“Got it.” She moves to Wind next, although she orders, again, for the rest to remove their armor. “I cannot help you if there is a barrier. Take off the armor, I will help the children.”

It’s a struggle, in their weakened state, to get it off. Getting it on had been the same, but the risk of going without was too high considering the condition they’ve been in. It takes them all helping, or at least, those who wear it help each other, the vet’s hands joining after he sees to catch a breath.

Wind sags in relief when dark hands lift from him, and the vet moves to his side, gathering the younger up and waiting until Sablya has finished with Hyrule as well before pullng the traveler close as well. Both lads sink into him, nestling together, no longer in pain but fully drained from it’s effects.

Four is next, and then, because it is Twilight beside him, she quickly attends the rancher, although it’s only a second before she’s done. For reasons they can’t be certain of, but which the scholar had speculated might be in relation to magic exposure, the ranch hand had been least affected. While there’s still a sag to his shoulders as the hands of the captain’s wife lift from him, it’s not so much as to stop him pulling Four close with a soft hum, supporting the weight of the slumbering hero while their savior moves on to Wild next.

He tries not to watch, he does. He can’t help it though. He's missed her, even if thoughts of returning here have left him ill at ease and fumbling for ages. He can almost pretend, as he watches her drift between his brothers, that nothing happened. He’s home, she’s there, and save the lacking presence of a small child running about at their feet or tucked onto a hip or against a chest, it��s almost like nothing ever happened.

When all eight of the other heroes have been tended, she pauses. He sees her eyes drift to him, has to drop his gaze when it does, but she doesn’t step his way with that brisk step, with the determination that was turned on the rest. No, she lingers a moment.

“There are rooms upstairs. You are welcome to rest there.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight’s the only one with it left in him to speak, but the wide eyed stares of the rest convey their doubt and wariness.

Red hair swings free with her nod, drifting from where she’d hurriedly tucked it back while tending them. “You are guests, and you need rest. The children need to sleep, you all do, if you want to recover.”

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing.” Her smile is tight. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

Eyes turn to him, but he nods. He motions them along and, while the weight of magic still hangs from his shoulders, wrapping tight and making everything a pain, he just motions towards the doorway. “Stairs are at the end of the hall. Take any room that isn’t the first one on the right.”

The rancher’s brows raise, and the stares of the rest turn confused, but neither he nor his wife give answer. No, instead, she scoops Wind into her arms and, with a warning look nobody would dare disobey, not even Mask, she orders the rest of the younger boys to stay put.

“No straining yourself. I will get you.”

Such orders are not turned to Twilight and Sky, and the two men follow her out of the room, Four and Hyrule in their arms to be settled down. Usually, he’d demand they eat something before turning in for the night, but between the nausea and the exhaustion, he sees no reason to even try and suggest it. They need their sleep. They can eat when they don’t feel near ready to drop.

His wife is back a minute or so later, sweeping past him to gather Legend, only to be redirected to their champion. “I can last,” the teen vet assures, “get him first.”

She tuts at that, but listens. She doesn’t fight it, likely because she’s learned through experience with him that it’s pointless. It's only a short while later though that she’s back for the vet, and by then Time has mustered the strength to stand and follow.

Briefly, on his way out, their leader’s good eye falls on him, silent question hanging heavy, but he just grips the shoulder of the other in assurance. “I’ll be fine, just go rest.”

“Who is-”

“Someone we can trust,” and they are words that, from him at least, the others have all learned are never spoken lightly, can themselves be trusted. “Just go, sap. She and I need to talk anyway.”

There’s lingering curiosity there, but Time obeys. The man is too worn down, too tired from the last week, to likely even last through the long mess that would be answering all his questions. Time heads from the room, and while the house is a sturdy one, steps are heard overhead soon enough, signifying the motions of the boys to the rooms kept ready, at least while this house was still his home, for the presence of sisters, friends, and visiting family.

It leaves him alone.

Alone in a familiar room that’s his, but which feels wrong to linger in. The urge to wander, to stare, to take in the husk of the past, battles with the intense guilt of intrusion that he feels, even in his own home. Does he stay, waiting about for her to return? Does he wander freely, go where he will? He’s not been back since his first day returned from the war, and even then, he never made it past the hall. Is he okay to go to the kitchen and brew some tea for what will, no doubt, end up being a very tense night? Is he even allowed upstairs into their bedroom? Is he sleeping down here? With one of the boys?

He drags a hand through his hair and, for lack of anything better to do with himself, sits on the couch. Here, he’s least likely to cross the boundaries he can’t see, and here is where she’s most likely to look for him once she’s satisfied that young heroes are safely abed and no longer suffering.

Briefly, he hears steps pass. Briefly, he hears the familiar clatter in the kitchen. For a moment, the steps creak, skirts swishing up them with the brisque pace she always sets when worried or tense. It’s a moment later when the same sounds return again, getting louder as she returns to the main floor. She’s stalling, he thinks. Tending her guests by providing medicine for pain, blankets for warmth, and no doubt water for drinking and washing both. He’s glad the boys will have it, but every time her feet pass by the door, he finds himself tensing, panicking for a moment that now is the time he has to face her, and now he won’t have them here to act as a distraction for either of them. She just heads back up though, and he’s breathing in relief only to sigh it all out again in frustration with himself.

He needs to man up. She’s his wife for the love of Hylia! Yet even so, facing her is as daunting as walking up to face Cia, although his reasons are different. Against Cia, he was afraid for himself, afraid of her. Against Sablya, he’s afraid to shatter further what’s already so broken, afraid that somehow, he will cross the line of no return. It's not about failing with her, it’s the fact that he already has, and the question of how much worse he’ll make it.

“Your breath is bad enough, do not make it worse with a panic.”

Despite her words, his breath catches in his throat at the sound of her voice.

Her feet tap on the floor as she walks, but there’s a certain hesitance to each step. There's not the usual confidence in her pace, even if she crosses the room at the same speed as she would any other time, as she did just moments before when tending their guests. He risks a glance when the steps stop, and she’s standing in the middle of the room, facing him. He can’t manage to meet her eyes though.

“Armor off, I said. How do I fix the curse if you have it on?” She clucks her tongue, hands settling on her hips and, no doubt, golden eyes are staring down at him. He can feel their weight, but he can’t meet them. “Tch, come now, will you make this hard?”

The urge to remind her that the phrase in Hylian is “being difficult” rises in his mind, but he doesn’t say it. If anything, her attempts at the language are still endearing, even if her tongue is sharp as she says them.

He shifts, moving to shed the offensive attire. He’d forgotten, in the midst of aiding Time with removing his plate, that the mail he wears like a second skin these days was still on him. It’s heavy, yes, but it’s also familiar and grounding after so long wearing it for every waking moment. It’s almost a part of him these days, and shedding it is strange.

It’s strange to be without.

It’s strange having her eyes on him while he does so, even despite the fact that they’re married, that she’s seen him with much, much less. It’s different now though. They’re different. They haven’t been the young, happy couple- the one that stares back from pictures around the room; that smiles, arms around each other- in a very long time. Not since the war started.

He fumbles. Between the uncertainty and the curse that still lingers over him, his hands struggle with the buckles, the straps, never mind getting at the chain mail beneath it all. His hands tremble worse than normal, and even when he stops to master his breath, to try and calm himself, it only makes it worse.

Sablya clucks her tongue at him, and he can hear her hair swish over her shoulders with the shaking of her head, even as her feet tap across the distance between them. She’s moving closer, but that doesn’t change the fact that when she reaches out, hands brushing his arm, he still surges back.

She’s not Cia, she’s not, she’s nothing like. Still, he didn’t expect the contact, the hands, and all over again he must fight to re-steady his breath.

“You will not do this. You are weak; struggling.” He needs help, he hears, and his heart bleeds for it. Despite all, this woman will still stand there and offer aid, after everything he’s put her through, made her lose, all the hurt he’s brought to her life. “Let me.” She sighs.

So, he does. He drops his hands and only moves as she tells him, lifting his arm to let her get at the buckles beneath. In the back of his mind, a memory of her strapping those buckles herself, helping him gird himself for departure, for the war, plays in his head. Then, as now, her eyes had held a certain determination, one mixing with a sadness she refused to speak aloud.

“How you do these things to yourself, I do not know.” She murmurs. It’s not addressed to him specifically as far as he can tell, but he can’t help wincing at it anyway.

Does he answer? Apologize? Does he laugh it off as he might once have done to try and earn one of those wry smiles she would turn on him when they were young? Gods, he speaks like a man long aged, but the years spent courting, teasing, laughing and cheerful, they seem a lifetime ago.

Her hands are steady as they work the buckles, pulling belts free and finally lifting his pauldron away. He doesn’t need the help with his vambraces as badly, but she still moves on to them; his arm rested on her knees as she settles beside him, knee brushing his own and skirts folding over to drape over his legs as well as her own. She doesn’t move, he’s not sure if she notices, but he does. He can’t help but notice.

“Thank you.” He still can’t meet her eyes, and he doubts they will lift from where they work at leather straps. His own linger on her hands, moving deftly through their work. “For helping them.”

“It is the right thing.” She states simply, pulling free the vambrace and reaching for his other hand. She catches him by the wrist, grip fleeting, gone the moment he is where she wants him. “They do not deserve to suffer.”

He, who still sits with the curse heavy on him, perhaps does.

“They are heroes?”

He nods. She would know. He’s not sure how, but this woman isn’t the sort he could hide anything from, not ever. “Across time, yes.”

A nod, sharp. Her eyes remain lowered, but long hair falls over them. The urge to push it back, tuck it behind her ear, wells up within, but he stomps it down again. Chances are, she would welcome his touch as freely as he had hers just moments before, and the risk of it, of her potential rejection... he’s too much a coward to face it.

Silence hangs heavy between them as she removes the vambrace, setting it aside before moving, without stuttering, for his belt. It makes him pause, but he allows it. Lets her work the buckle of the baldric, his great belt, pulling them free and lying them aside. She’s methodic as she moves to aid him with his over tunic, and he lets her pull it free, shifting as he must to accommodate.

The mail is so much harder. He has to stand for that, and she follows after, both working to lift it free in an awkward tangle that would, at one time, have made them laugh together, at each other, at themselves. He would, maybe, have joked something, he can’t remember what, but he can’t. Words catch in his throat with her standing oh so close, determined stare fixed on him, on getting him free from the heavy shirt, and despite all else changing, the way she makes him breathless has not. At last though, it is free, and he’s standing there, defenseless, unarmed, unguarded, before piercing eyes that linger for a moment, hands that, by habit, smooth the shoulders of his shirt before starting away.

He wants to say something. Wants a word to come to him, to pierce the silence that hangs heavy between them. Nothing comes to mind though, only the urge to apologize, again, and again after, for everything. For himself, for his failures, for...until she tells him to stop.

“Sit.” She huffs, pushing back against him with the hand not holding his shed armor. “I will put it away.”

He obeys, sinking back onto the couch, now without the weight the mail brings to weigh him down. Somehow, he feels heavier without it.

She doesn’t take long with the armor. Really, it’s a matter of moving across the room to set it down beside everyone else’s; a mess for the morning once they’ve got the energy and strength to tackle it, or, more likely, do it again to depart and return to their work. He can’t imagine them being welcome past what’s necessary for them to recover, and his house or no, it’s hers as well. He doesn’t want her stuck with them just because they need somewhere to rest, not when the castle isn’t far at all, and he has rooms there already.

Her steps are slow this time as she returns, motions more hesitant as she reclaims the seat at his side. She’s more conscious, he thinks, of how she settles herself, and there is no brushing against each other save as is necessary; only her hand settling over his chest. Her breath is slow, controlled, but it trembles slightly. “Match me.”

It’s hard. It’s so hard. She’s leaning so close, all dark eyes and long lashes and fine features he could look at for an eternity. The slope of her nose, her cheeks, the way red hair curls so softly at the ends to caress dappled skin, the spots of pale flesh interspersed over the dark, it’s got his full focus, and his breath catches repeatedly for it.

“Focus.” She hisses, wincing the words, hand lifting for a moment from where it presses, warm, against his chest.

He tries.

Her chest swells, shoulders tensing, and he draws breath in. Her hair flutters, drawn lines loosening, and he exhales. In and out, matching to her and feeling the familiar weight of her magic ease around him, slipping beneath the curse’s bonds and lifting free, like a small blade cutting away awry stitching, working slowly, pulling, lifting and prying until the weight of it is gone and he’s left sagging back into the cushions, breath heavy despite no effort being required on his part.

Her hands slips away, dragging slightly over fabric.

He should say something.

“You are fixed. Rest now.” She doesn’t say his name. She won’t, he thinks, and golden eyes dart away as she stands, brushing hands down her skirt and moving for the stairs.

He should say something.

“Goodnight.” She says to the darkness in the hall, tone clipped, yet hesitant before she slips away.

His gaze is trapped on the walls, unable to turn to follow her. He needs to answer.

Her feet tap away.

“I love you.”

A stumble, a hitching of breath and then- the creak of the steps, the swish of a skirt, hands that fall heavy on the banister and then a shutting door.

Blonde hair hits the old couch, worn hands dragging through. The weight of the curse was almost better than that of the silence that answers his treacherous words. Words hurt, those that love, but silence pierces ever sharper in answer to them, and devested of his armor, he is but a man before it’s blow.

#sablya #lu warriors #linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump #don't come for me #writing this was a fever dream #they are in control #i cannot control the warriors #or apparently sablya #link x oc

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andreafmn · 3 months

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Running in Circles | Chapter 9

Word Count: 3.6K

Summary: (Y/N) Rossi is following in her father’s footsteps by joining the BAU team as a profiler. The girl genius knew almost everything but she could have never predicted falling for Aaron Hotchner, her boss, and her father’s friend. in their world mutual feelings are not enough to push them together. Will all the adversities and obstacles they face pull them together or push them apart forever?

A/N: can't believe it's been over a year since I updated this story. It was one of the first I ever posted but quickly got disheartened by it as I tried to follow the show's timeline (which is non-existent, honestly). I'm trying to get through season 6 as fast as I can because I've already written chapters for afterward, but I need to tie it into the show. Honestly considered putting the story on hold but I got the chapter done 😊😊 Also need to go back and edit this story, especially regarding the POV

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As if by divine intervention, (Y/N)’s phone started ringing. The vibrations matched the fluttering of her heart as she prayed that Hotch could have been thinking about her at that moment as well. Maybe then she could trick herself into believing that fate was playing its cards right.

“Hey, baby girl.”

“Derek,” she sighed quietly, trying her best not to voice her disappointment. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“You mind some company for tonight? I got a bottle of whiskey with our names on it.”

“Know what? After the day we just had, sure.” She looked down at the pan of lasagna and decided if she couldn’t enjoy it with Hotch, she’d enjoy it with a friend. “I’ve got some lasagna going in the oven we can eat.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”

After the phone clicked, she decided the most prudent thing would be to send Hotchner a text message thanking him for the food and saying she’d update him on everything tomorrow. After everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, she needed a moment of calm and clarity. A moment with certainty rather than mixed signals and stolen glances. She just needed a moment to breathe.

As any evidence of the day shed from her skin in the shower, a loud knock rang through the house. She quickly stepped out of her bathroom and slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before she ran down the stairs to be met with Derek already inside the kitchen, digging a fork into the piping hot lasagna, with Spencer staring at our friend as he ate like a maniac.

“You know, if you let it cool down a bit, you can savor the taste,” Reid chuckled.

“I know,” he spoke with a full mouth. “But I wanna get drunk tonight, and I won’t do it on an empty stomach.”

“There’s some garlic bread in the toaster oven if you need something that will soak up the alcohol,” (Y/N) laughed as her two friends came into view in her kitchen. “And it’s good to see you’re putting those emergency keys to good use.”

“Sorry, (Y/N),” Spencer responded quickly. “Derek said you wouldn’t mind. We waited five minutes outside.”

“It’s fine, Reid. But you could’ve checked who was at the door.”

“Well, I didn’t want to overstep,” he shrugged. “It’s not my house after all.”

“Good to know you have boundaries, Reid,” she chuckled. “Not that they stopped either of you from letting yourselves in.”

Derek only grumbled in response, too focused on serving the plates and stuffing his mouth. (Y/N) headed to the front door, unsure of who else could have decided to drop by. And though a part of her wanted it to be Hotchner, she knew better than to live in that delusion. He was back in his home with his son, while she had a house full of friends and him on her mind.

“‘Em,” the woman smiled as she opened the door. “Derek invite you too?”

“As a matter of fact, he did. But I’m guessing he didn’t tell you I was coming over.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t use your emergency key as freely as those two boys.”

“Well, you did say we should feel at home,” Morgan grinned. “I’m just doing what you told me to.”

“First time you follow the rules, Morgan,” Emily teased. “Although I’d rather you guys break into (Y/N)’s house than mine.”

“Geez, thanks, Em,” she chuckled. “You’re lucky there’s enough food and booze to go around. But don’t go too crazy. We still have work tomorrow.”

“As if you’d ever let us go hungry,” Emily laughed. “Your Italian blood would never let you.”

“All I need to know is if there’s anyone else that will show up out of the blue.”

“Not that I know of,” Derek shrugged. “Now open up that bottle, I’m thirsty.”

By the time midnight rolled around, Emily and Derek had gone back home. They had eaten enough and drank enough the exhaustion was making their eyelids flutter. And all of them knew that the longer they stayed, the harder it would be to make it back to their homes. Only Spencer was left, curled up on the sofa, still nursing the same glass of whiskey from the start of the night. His eyes were squeezed shut, a hand over them blocking the overhead light.

“You okay, Spence?” (Y/N) asked as she sat by his head, resting it gently onto her lap. She ran her fingers through his curls, massaging his scalp softly. “You got a migraine?”

“Something like that,” he sighed. “They’ve been going on for a bit, but lately, they’ve been worse. The pain is unbelievable, and it makes me sensitive to everything around me.”

“Have you gone to a doctor? This could be something serious, Spence,” she worried. “I have a friend that might be able to squeeze you in. She’s a neurologist and…”

“I’ve got it handled, (Y/N),” he chuckled softly. “I made an appointment for later in the week. I just have to power through the remaining days with sunglasses and pills.”

As soon as he mentioned the pain, a question popped into (Y/N)’s head that she did not want to ask. It was composed of words that could only bring back horrors from his past and the mistakes he was still paying for to that day. The last thing she wanted was to resurface that horrible period, but she had to know. For his sake, she just had to.

“I haven’t taken Dilaudid,” he said before she could speak. “It hasn’t even crossed my mind.”

“How did you…?”

“You were thinking too loud,” he responded as he grinned slightly, his eyes still closed. “And you’re the only one that still asks.”

“I’m sorry, Spence. I don’t mean to be so pushy, she sighed as she stared at the way her fingers ran through the brown of his hair. “If you don’t want time to ask, just…”

“No. I’m grateful that you do.” His free hand searched for hers, squeezing it softly as he enjoyed the warmth of her skin. “I sometimes feel that the team goes out of their way to pretend that part of my life didn’t happen or that it could never happen again. But it did, and it could. Still, I know I can always count on you to look after me, (Y/N). Even if I’m a couple of years older than you, you always find a way to take care of me.”

“And I always will, Reid. You’re a part of my family, and I take care of my family,” she responded softly. “Do you wanna stay here tonight? If it’s too bad, I don’t want you driving out there in the dark.”

“Honestly? Yeah,” Spencer breathed. “I don’t think I could make it home right now.”

“Alright, then. Why don’t you head on up and take a shower while I prepare you some tea and get you a cold compress for your head?” (Y/N) instructed. “You can take any of the sweats from the guest room, and I’ll fetch you some migraine pills so you can hopefully get some shut-eye tonight.”

“Thanks, Rossi,” the man smiled, finally allowing his eyes to open, finding that she had dimmed all the lights. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out,” she smiled. “Now, go on upstairs, and I’ll get started on the tea.”

“Fine,” he jokingly whined. “And can you not tell anyone else? I don’t want them worrying about me.”

“I won’t. Just, please keep me updated.”

“Copy that.”

As he disappeared to the second floor, (Y/N) couldn’t help but worry about her friend. Spencer had gone through things that were unimaginable. And though he came out of them with his life, they had slowly started to eat away at him. She knew firsthand just how debilitating anxiety could be to someone’s body, and it concerned her that he was downplaying his symptoms.

She set her kettle to boil as she searched for her own mixture of sleepy-time tea—chamomile, lemongrass, peppermint, and lavender. From her cupboard, she pulled out the purple and blue mug Spencer had always used since he had claimed it was able to keep his tea warm enough to sip slowly. Because apparently it had always been a big concern of his. After placing the tea infuser into the mug, she drizzled a few circles of honey to the bottom and a sprinkle of cinnamon. And once the kettle beeped, she drowned the leaves and the honey in boiling water.

(Y/N) could hear the shower running upstairs as she let the tea seep into the water, and all she could do was worry. Granted, it was something she did every single day of her life. She worried about her father spending all his time in books and his work and not enough on his personal life. She worried about little Jack having to grow up without his mother and a dad who didn’t quite believe he could do a good job as a father. She worried about Hotch, about what he did or didn’t feel. She worried about the team every time they went out on a case. And most importantly, she worried about herself and how she would ever live up to the people around her. Now, she added Spencer’s migraines to the list. If she ever made it to old age without a heart attack, she would have been very surprised.

Walking up the stairs with the mug and the pills, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She balanced the mug on the flat handrail and pulled out the device to see Hotchner’s name lighting up the screen. Her heart hammered against her chest, making her hands tremble with nerves. It was just a phone call., she told herself. He was probably only calling to thank her again.

“Hotch,” she breathed, her voice croaking more than she intended. “Hey.”

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No!” she answered quickly. “I was just heading up the stairs. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, you don’t need to worry,” he assured. “It’s just that Jack wanted to say goodnight and thank you.”

“Isn’t it a bit late for him to be up?” (Y/N) smiled. “I mean, it is still a school night.”

“I caved,” Hotch chuckled. She could hear the exhaustion still present in his voice, and all she wanted to do was help him. It was all she could do. To him, she’d always be just a friend, a coworker, his colleague’s daughter. “Please don’t hold it against me.”

“I could never,” the woman laughed. “I would have probably caved too.”

“Well, then, I’ll put you on.”

(Y/N) heard scuffling from the receiver before Jack’s voice came through. “Hi, (Y/N),” he said. “I wanted to say goodnight since we couldn’t say goodbye to you. I had a lot of fun this weekend.”

“Aw, buddy, I’m glad,” she cooed. “I loved having you over. You know you’re welcome any time.”

“Thank you, (Y/N)!” he beamed. “But I gotta go to bed now. I have school tomorrow. So, goodnight!”

“Good night, Jack,” she responded. “Now, why don’t you pass the phone back to your dad.”

“Alright. Bye bye!”

“Bye, Jack,” she chuckled. “I think that kid should be heading off to bed now, Hotch.”

“He is,” Hotchner answered. “I knew he’d want to after saying good night to you. I think my son likes you more than he likes me.”

“Oh, that’s nonsense, Hotch. He only likes that I’m all fun. But he loves you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he chuckled softly. “I’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

“Even when you don’t have to,” the woman sighed contentedly. “Now, go on. You have to sleep too. It’s not just Jack that is up past his bedtime.”

“Very funny, (Y/N). Good night.”

“Night, Hotch.”

(Y/N)’s chest wrenched as her heart accelerated, already wishing the days before could repeat themselves so she could wake and know that he was there. But there was no point in deluding herself. The man could not and would not ever see her as anything more than what she already was. Even their job would allow it. Nothing seemed to ever align for something between them to work.

She turned to the left once she reached the top of the stairs and headed to the guest room to leave the steaming mug for Spencer to find after his shower but found him already sitting on the bed drying his hair. “Was that Hotch on the phone?” She nodded in response. “You didn’t tell him about what’s going on with me, right?”

“Of course not, Spence,” she said in a low tone as she set the mug on the nightstand. “It’s not my information to divulge. Unless it becomes life-threatening, I won’t say a thing without your permission.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she smiled, handing him the pills. “Anything.”

“What do you think these migraines could be?” The pain behind his eyes was more than visible, it was almost palpable. “I just… what if it’s something serious, (Y/N)?”

“Serious like what, Spence?”

“What if I’m starting to lose my mind?” His voice was frail, trembling at the terrifying thought. “You know, my mom…”

“Don’t go there, Spencer. You can’t go there,” the woman insisted. “We won’t speculate until you have an answer from the doctor. So, I’m begging you, don’t go there.”

“I can’t help it, (Y/N). Either there’s something seriously physically wrong with me, or it’s all psychosomatic. Neither is a good option.”

“I know, Spence. I know. But let’s just not jump to conclusions yet. Not until you’ve gone to the doctor, and we get some type of answer. Until then, I don’t want you to think of the worst-case scenario. It’s not gonna do you any good.”

“Fine,” he sighed as his shoulders slumped forward. “Can I ask you something else? Something that is so off-topic you’ll get whiplash.”

“Go ahead, Reid,” she chuckled softly.

“Do you still have feelings for Hotch?”

The question as innocent, no ill-will behind it. But it still made (Y/N)’s breath hitch in her throat. It had been a long time since any of the people they knew mentioned her less-than-secret infatuation with the unit chief, and it made her heart race like the first time he had confronted her about it. “Yeah,” she muttered. “It’s not something that’s going away any time soon.”

“Have you ever thought of dating someone else? It might help you get over him.”

“I might not be ready for that just yet,” she sighed. “I just can’t seem to stop holding onto hope.”

“I understand. Love… it’s hard, huh?”

“It’s one thing we can’t learn from all the books we read,” she smiled sadly. “But that’s enough talk. The pills should start to work soon, and you need to sleep.”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he smiled as he got under the covers. “Thank you for caring.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that, Spence. Again, you’re family,” she grinned. “I’ll see you in the morning, alright?”

“Yeah. Good night.”

“Good night, Reid.”

The rest of the night, Spencer’s words floated in her head. She could open her dating pool and allow herself a little venture. Hotch wasn’t waiting for her, nor had he shown a smidge of real interest in her. Holding onto him only hurt her in the long run, making it harder for anyone else who wanted to take the place he did not want. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not just yet.

After a couple of days and a two-night case all the way in Miami, Spencer asked (Y/N) to accompany him to the doctor for the reading of his test results. He was jumpier than usual, his legs bouncing at a rapid speed as they waited for his name to be called. He figured with his fingers, picking at the skin on the corners until she placed her hand on top.

“You won’t have any skin left for our next case,” she chuckled. “Don’t start jumping to conclusions, Mr. Genius.”

“I can’t help it,” he worried. “It’s all I can do. I can’t just shut off my brain.”

“Then, tell me something. Something I might not know.”

“Easier said than done,” he snorted. “You know almost as much as I do.”

“Ah, you said almost as much. So, you believe there are things that you know that I don’t.”

“Okay,” he chuckled. “Did you know that rubber bands last longer if they’re kept in the fridge? The unusual, lightly cross-linked polymer structure of the rubber used to create them react to the cold differently to what people might expect…”

“Right, the chains heat up when stretched, technically shortening them causing the rubber to contract and eventually snapping at the exothermic change,” she mused. “Cooling them would allow for a bigger stretch and life longevity because the release of energy is slower. Nice fact.”

“See, it’s not as fun with you,” he said with a soft chuckle. “The team would have been asking why I would care about rubber bands. You? You go into a simple explanation of thermodynamics.”

“Well, I ask you for a fun fact. I never said I wouldn’t analyze it.”

As Spencer was about to retort, a nurse came out to call his name, telling him the doctor would see him. He got up onto his feet, smoothing down his pants and taking a steadying breath. But he didn’t seem to do more.

“Do you want me to go with you?” (Y/N) quickly offered.

She was met with a soft smile and a gentle nod before they both headed into the office where Spencer’s worst-case scenario unfolded. The doctor told him there was nothing he could see that was physically wrong with him, the scans and the lab work all came back negative. If there was something happening, it was most likely in his head.

Those were the news Spencer did not want. They terrified him, and he let the doctor know. In his own way. “It’s not—I’m not crazy.”

“Crazy? Dr. Reid, I’m not saying…”

“I have headaches. I have intense sensitivity to light. Because there’s something wrong with me,” he asserted, his words spilling out faster than he could hold them. “Physically, not mentally. It’s not that.”

“That?”

“Listen, doctor, my mother’s a paranoid schizophrenic who’s been institutionalized. So I know very well what mental illness looks like,” Spencer continued. “Maybe even better than you, and it’s not that. It’s not.”

“Reid,” (Y/N) called as the man got up from the exam table and left the doctor with a shocked expression on his face. “I am so sorry, doctor. This topic is just… it’s a little hard for him.”

“There’s not much you can do to help someone who doesn’t want to accept their reality,” the doctor sighed softly. “Can you just see that he finds a way to manage his stress and his emotions? I truly believe this might be one of the biggest reasons for these headaches.”

“I’ll try my best, doctor,” (Y/N) smiled. “Thank you for seeing him.”

“No problem.”

She found Spencer waiting for her in the hall, his sunglasses on his eyes and his arms crossed in front of his chest. They remained in silence until they reached her car, the doctor’s pout evident on his face. She knew he was annoyed she had apologized for his behavior, but she couldn’t leave without at least giving a reason for his outburst.

“It’s not psychosomatic,” he stated. “It just can’t be.”

“Spence, we have one of the most stressful jobs on the planet. Day in and day out we see cases that astound even the most seasoned officers. And we get into the minds of the people that commit these atrocities,” she offered. “Don’t you think there is a possibility that these migraines are your body’s way of telling you that you need to balance yourself out?”

“If it was really the job like you say, all of us would be getting these headaches,” he said angrily. “But I don’t see Morgan or Prentiss doubling over because their brain feels like it wants to escape their skull.”

“Everyone is different, Spence. And I know you don’t need me to tell you this. Stress presents itself differently in everyone. Just because we don’t know how they handle their burdens doesn’t mean they don’t have them,” (Y/N) continued, maintaining the same calm tone as she cooled him down. “All I am saying, Reid, is that it might be psychosomatic, and you need to find new ways to handle your stress because I am certain this is not you going crazy. Or it might be something else, and you’ll need to get a second opinion. But regardless of what the outcome is, you can’t just get angry at your doctor because you don’t like your results, and I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll find you a way through this, okay?”

His stance finally softened at her words. His arms fell to his sides, and a soft smile tugged at his lips. “I was kind of an ass back there,” he chuckled. “It’s just frustrating and terrifying all the same time, and I don’t know how to process it all.”

“We take it one day at a time, Reid,” she smiled, taking a hand of his in hers. “You’re not alone in this.”

“It’s sometimes hard to remember that you’re you get than me,” he snickered. “I’m pretty sure you’ve babied everyone on the team at some point.”

“What can I say?” she laughed. “I just wanna make sure every single one of you is okay.”

And that was one thing she knew she would do for as long as they would let her. For now, her main concern was Spencer’s well-being. And she was grateful that it was enough to keep Hotchner out of her head.

Next ->

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

Text

The Boy in the Window 15 ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (Series)

Chapter Summary: The vendetta is over, but what does that mean for (Y/N) and Tommy?

Notes: First of all, this is a bit longer because I couldn't cut it in half. Second of all - I'm sorry. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Here, you can find my [Masterlist] and the [Series Masterlist]

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Expect spoilers for Peaky Blinders Season 1-4.

Wordcount: 6050

Part 15

[Previously]

The first thing she had felt, even before she had opened her eyes, was the pain in her hip from where the bone had dug through the blankets.

The second thing she felt was his warmth.

It wasn't a sensation, nor a surprise, even if maybe it should have been.

A part of her had expected him to be cold- he was so pale in his colouring, how could he not be?

But the warmth that radiated from him was enough to rival a small fire of its own.

During the time he had slept in her bed, she had not needed to heat a brick to keep the chill of the night at bay. She had just needed him.

And all her fears of possibly getting cold seemed foolish now, as she woke without even the slightest itch in the back of her throat.

(Y/N) must have fallen asleep with her head on his chest, or at least that was the position she woke up in.

His black coat was still covering her from neck to toe, but between it and her skin she could feel his hand on her shoulder, having slipped in beneath the fabric.

Under her cheek she felt his chest rise and fall with every breath.

With all the hours she had spent listening to his breathing as a sign of the state of his dreams, it didn't even take a second for her to recognise that he was no longer sleeping.

But why hadn't he gotten up then?

What reason did he have to keep on holding her?

She should get up, she knew she ought to.

But she didn't.

Something stopped her, some foolish, sentimental part of her that wanted to linger a little while longer.

Don't be ridiculous, she reprimanded herself.

Just get up.

A tingling sense of dread filled her- the same she had felt when her mother had approached with a spoon full of cod liver oil, or when she had to rip off a bandage that had gotten caught in an open wound.

And this was an open wound.

She'd have to wash it clean if she hoped it would ever heal, but even now, (Y/N) knew it would leave a scar.

Biting her lip, she counted to three and pushed herself up.

The movement shot a stab of pain through her spine, making her wince.

Her hand brushed against the part of her hip which had carried most of her weight and as soon as she touched it, she felt the bruise already forming.

Through the thin windows, small fragments of the morning light fell in, letting the specks of dust glitter like diamonds as they leisurely danced throughout the room under deck.

The children were still asleep, tangled in their blankets.

Emma had a tight grip on Duffie's ears, while Charlie's lips brushed against Mrs. Tatters.

"Morning."

She turned to see him sitting up against the wall of the boat. His dark hair looked fluffier, now that it hadn't been brushed yet, reminding her of the days before he had cut his hair short at the sides.

Recent sleep had smoothed his skin and brightened his eyes- those bright blue eyes.

All the Shelby's had them, but his pale skin and dark hair made them appear more piercing, more prying than the others.

Not too long ago, she, like any other person from Small Heath, had tried to avoid their gaze at all costs.

Since then she had seen them filled with tears, light up with joy, narrow in suspicion, widen in fear and darken with lust.

And these eyes had seen her.

They had seen her laugh and seen her cry. They had watched her come undone by his touch alone, just like they had watched her drift off to sleep.

There was nothing, it seemed, those eyes had not seen.

And yet, she averted her own, unable to meet gaze.

"Morning.", She whispered.

(Y/N) ran her hand down her side, wincing when she brought it over her hip.

Tommy shifted, making the old wood creek slightly on his way over to her. His brows furrowed slightly as pushed her skirt down without hesitation.

A shudder ran through her, but he could have put that down to the cold.

There he could see a bruise in the making.

"Not what you're used to?", He asked, his finger brushing over the spot.

There was a spark of amusement in his voice, but it fizzled out without igniting the same in her.

"I'm not used to much.", She admitted, "but a little more than this."

It should feel even more foreign to him now. Him, who lived in a palace, who could afford merino wool socks and silk ties, who undoubtedly had a bed with pillows as soft as clouds and a matrasse one could sink into in the best way.

Given all that, he ought to feel the ache just as much as she did.

With a sigh, Charlie shifted on the bench, before rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.

Only then did he slowly open them.

For a few blissful seconds he was caught in that magical realm that lay between the land of dreams and real life, as he slowly woke.

Sleep had messed his soft blonde hair up the same way it had done with the dark hair of his father.

With a small smile he sat up, before detangling himself from the sheets.

Despite only being up for a few moments, he rushed the few steps that lay between the bench and where the adults were sitting.

"Good morning.", She told him as he climbed into her lap, his head tilted upward to receive the kiss he had come to expect to his forehead.

"Morning.", He said, leaning into her chest.

"Morning Dad."

Tommy stroked over the back of his head.

"Good morning, my boy. Ready to go home?"

She took a shuddering breath the same time Charlie nodded eagerly.

"Let's see what I can do, eh?"

With that he pushed himself to stand and reached for his coat, leaving both waistcoat and jacket behind.

"Shall we wake Emma?", She asked, shifting Charlie in her lap.

"Alright."

Emma was still fast asleep as her hand found the side of her cheek.

The gentle strokes woke her slowly.

She scrunched her nose and turned her head away.

"Darling, time to get up."

Instead of responding, Emma rolled all the way over until her back was turned to (Y/N) and Charlie, burying her face in her arms.

"Uh-uh.", She complained.

Charlie giggled, shaking his head at Emma's grumpiness.

"We'll just have to get started with you then."

She wouldn't force the children to wash with icy cold water, not when they were out on a boat in the middle of nowhere and hopefully home sooner than not.

But since she had brought spare sets of clothes with them, they at least had fresh clothes to wear.

She had just pulled Charlie's new undershirt over his head, when they heard a groan.

A split second later, the boat began to shift, as the sound of water grew ever louder.

They had all looked up, but Emma sat as straight as a soldier, her large eyes suddenly wide awake.

First she found (Y/N), then Charlie, but then she searched around the room.

With a frantic "Oh no!", She jumped off of the bench and ran for the small door that led to the deck.

"Emma!", (Y/N) cried put, tripping over the black leather bag as she raced to hurry after her daughter.

An icy terror gripped as she ran as fast as she could, cursing whomever decided that such small children could be so damn fast.

"Emma stop!"

But her daughter didn't listen to her, instead opting to rush out onto the deck of the moving barge.

Even though her feet slipped, she kept going, already seeing herself jumping into the icy water after her daughter.

What was she doing?

She knew to stay away from water. (Y/N) had told her half a hundred times. Her little girl couldn't even swim!

"Emma!", She snapped when she saw her daughter standing there, barefoot, of course, having kicked the socks off during the night, and her nightgown fluttering in the cold morning air.

"Emma, what were you thinking?", She demanded to know, as she ran across the old wood to reach her, falling to her knees without feeling the pain of the collision with the deck.

By now the boat was in the middle of the canal, having left the spot they had anchored long behind.

She clasped her by the shoulders, before cupping her face.

"Emma-"

Her voice trembled with relief and exasperation in equal measure.

"Sorry, Mummy.", She said, shifting from foot to foot, chewing on her lip the way (Y/N) had told her not to half a thousand times.

"I- I thought we were floating away and that…that I was scared we'd go without Tommy."

As she spoke, she looked up at him, who's hand, (Y/N) realised, had been on her back.

Guiding, probably, but ready to grab in case her daughter got any ideas.

His other hand was on the rudder almost casually, stirring them through the dangers that lay hidden under the surface.

For a moment, she felt dumbstruck by her words, but Emma mistook her silence as disapproval.

"I'm sorry.", She said once more.

(Y/N) sighed as she rubbed her arms.

"It's alright.", She assured her, only now realising just how out of breath she was. "You just gave Mummy a right good scare."

When Emma still didn't seem sure, her mother pulled her in for a hug.

Her heart was still thundering in her chest when Emma finally pulled away.

"Now let's get you back inside, Madam. Or you'll catch a cold."

Emma took her hand and led the way.

(Y/N) went first so that if Emma slipped, she'd break her fall.

Over the top of her daughter's head, she could see Tommy watching them, a cigarette between his lips, and the trace of a smile on his lips.

It made her heart ache in her chest.

It was midday by the time they reached the city once more, approaching Charlie Strong's yard from a different end this time.

The man greeted them with a huff, after having been alarmed that a boat was approaching.

"If we had known you'd be back so soon, we'd have waited for the cleanup.", He snarled as he caught the rope Tommy tossed him.

A shudder went through (Y/N) as she remembered his words late last night. They were but whispers but they confirmed what she had already known the moment he had returned.

You prayed for it, she reminded herself.

By praying for one man to return, she wished death upon the other. There had been no middle ground and (Y/N) had chosen her side. And so a part of the guilt weighed on her shoulders.

She had taken her time to pack, staying under deck for as long as she could.

In fact, she had packed for longer than necessary, because the darkness had been a kinder companion than the possibility of his presence, of questions and the answers they demanded.

So the swaying boat only added to the unease she felt.

Emma let Charlie go first, who took his namesake's hand and made the jump all by himself, but when Mr. Strong stretched out his marked and marred hand to Emma, she hesitated, her eyes staring at the gap between the boat and the canal wall.

"Mummy?", She asked, turning around and searching for her.

Tommy reached her before she had a chance to.

"Up you go.", He said, lifting her as if she weighed less than a feather and into his uncle's arm.

(Y/N)'s plan to carry the leather bag in her right hand, the side of hers he stood on was foiled by how quickly he managed to take it from her grasp.

In a split second he had given it to Curly leaving her empty-handed and without excuses.

So she had to take his hand, even if she tried very hard to ignore the fact.

But in doing so she noticed how her fingers curled into his, and how alert he was to tighten his grip at any given moment if she were to slip.

Once on the other side, she took the children, one in each hand to avoid any repition.

It was only a small drive from the yard back to the houses, but Tommy stopped the car in front of the shop in Watery Lane.

He wouldn't have gotten through anyway, with a host of other cars blocking the road, all shiny and expensive.

All carrying, or preparing to carry Shelbys, who couldn't wait to get out of the city now that it was over.

It was almost like a mass exodus, with suitcases already loaded up, and Peaky Boys lining the street.

All the windows on the opposite side were closed, but she could spy people glancing out behind curtains.

Nothing the Shelbys did here went unnoticed, especially not if it was on a grand scale.

Emma was closest to the door and so she was out first, and by the time she had helped Charlie out of the car, she had already run around it.

With a glance over his shoulder, Tommy confirmed they were coming, but he stopped when Arthur approached him.

He looked better than he had had the last time she had seen him, less unsettled, and every bit alive.

(Y/N) let out a breath she had been holding.

She had been convinced before, that the tales of his death and his funeral wagon had all been a farce, but seeing it with her own eyes brought her certainty she hadn't known she needed.

When she stepped closer, she could hear their words.

“Ada and Polly have arrived safely in London.”, he told his younger brother.

Arthur glanced down and saw both Emma and Charlie and shifted.

“Isaiah called an hour ago. Mrs Changretta and the other Italians got onto the boat and left. They took, you know, with them. Clean up’s finished.”

Tommy nodded, inhaling sharply.

“Not yet.”, he said, patting his brother on the shoulder. “I still have to talk to Moss and something’s to be done about Solomons. Tell Isaiah to make sure the streets get back to normal. Finn’s to go with him. Make him sort it out.”

Barely a few hours ago, he had convinced her that it was over, but now he was already dealing out new orders for further plans and ploys.

“Arthur!”, she heard Linda call sharply from the of the shiny Bentleys.

Her husband ignored her.

“I’m coming with you, brother.”, he told Tommy. “Solomons’ mine.”

Tommy shook his head, staring off into the distance.

“No.”, he said softly, “no, you go home. You go home, Arthur. I’ll deal with it on me own.”

Linda’s heels crunched on the gravel as she made her way over to them.

“Hello Thomas.”, she greeted with a biting smile as she took Arthur by the arm.

“We were just leaving.”

Tommy huffed, not dignifying the poison in her eyes with a verbal response.

Linda didn’t lose her smile as she looked up to Arthur.

“We both can’t wait to be rid of this place, to finally get back to civilisation and proper company. I’m sure so do you.”

With that, she took her husband and left.

(Y/N) watched her go, the silver buttons on her thick emerald coloured coat catching the light of the street lamp.

“In you go.”, Tommy told the children.

Charlie went first, but Emma slipped on the lowest of the three steps that lead to the entrance to the betting shop.

“Careful!”, he told her, before taking her hand and helping her inside.

(Y/N) went last and he closed the door after her.

“I’ve got to make some phone calls.”, he told her, stopping in front of the green two winged doors.

“It’s alright.”, she quickly said. “I’ll sort everything out.”

He gave a slight nod and reached out to squeeze her hand.

“Come on, children.”, (Y/N) said, leaving him to his work as she walked over to the back entrance to her own home.

She made them food before sending them to play, making sure to put them in the living room with Emma's toys.

Charlie had arrived a lifetime ago with hardly anything in a sack his father had unceremoniously dumped.

Later, more things had been delivered, but all in all it wasn't that much and most of it she had packed into the large leather bag before they left, so (Y/N) chose to simply take her and Emma's things out.

Having gathered what remained of Charlie's things, she placed them neatly above those already inside the bag, hut once she was finished she realised that she didn't want it too look like she had taken the money, even if it was only a momentary suspicion.

She didn't have much to offer, but she considered herself an honest woman and didn't want anyone to even consider it.

So she repacked, making sure that the money was easily seen.

Their things had been scattered all around the house, from socks in the laundry basket just waiting to be folded, to toys in the hall.

The same was with Tommy's items- soap and razor, which he had placed next to her toiletries, a jacket he had left over the arm of her armchair, a lighter she had found on the cupboard in the hall.

She took it all and packed it as nearly as possible.

And then she was done.

The black leather bag and another smaller one. And that was it.

With an exhale, she placed her hands on her knees and stared at the two bags.

They seemed so small to her, and yet she knew she had cleared every room.

Somehow she had expected that what remained of the last weeks and months would be more, would be monumental even.

It felt like it should be, but it wasn't.

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself another sigh.

Lamentation was not something she was taught to dwell in.

The one certainty in life, the only certainty it seemed, was that it went on no matter what.

So she pulled herself to stand and made her way back to where the children were playing.

"I still have leftover cake. Do you want some?", She asked.

It wasn't really the time for cake, but (Y/N) didn't feel like rules today, especially since she knew Charlie would enjoy it.

So she put out the cake and the sweets and even made some hot chocolate.

To hell with the rules and the rest of it.

She needed something to carry her through it and if that something consisted of cake, chocolate and the children's excited giggles, so be it.

In the end the three of them had five slices in total and two refills of chocolate.

"There's still cake left.", Emma giggled, taking a piece between her chocolate stained fingers and holding it out to her lips.

(Y/N) shook her head.

"I'll explode.", She warned her daughter with a soft smile.

"We'll pack it in for the journey, why don't we?", She suggested.

Charlie nodded eagerly.

"And we can give a slice to Frances, yes? She likes cake!"

Smart boy that he was he had picked up on the fact that he'd be going home today and had been going on and on about how excited he was to see the ponies and other horses again, to feed the goldfish with the stable boys and to see if there were any flowers yet.

"Of course we can.", She assured him as she stroked over the top of his head.

In a way she was disappointed that all this was coming so easy to him, but she was relieved too- that he would go back to a place where people cared for him, first and foremost that woman she knew only as Frances, who seemed to be his primary caretaker.

She let him pick out the napkin in which they wrapped the slices up.

"Here, tie it nice and fast.", She told the children, handing them one end of the string each, having already prepared the knot.

The hinges on the kitchen door squeaked slightly to announce the newcomers.

But to her surprise it wasn't Tommy that spoke up.

"What'cha doing there?", Finn Shelby asked.

It was still strange for her to look at him close up, a mixture of the little boy she had seen playing in the courtyard outside and the young man John had been.

Tommy and Arthur must be seeing it too as the similarities were too uncanny to miss.

"Packing cake for Frances.", Emma said.

From all of Charlie's stories and tales, the woman seemed almost real to her too now.

"Uh-hu.", He muttered, coming closer to peek over the children's shoulders.

(Y/N) wiped her hands down in the back of her skirt and approached his older brother.

Postponing would do nothing to make it easier so she'd rather get it done sooner rather than later.

"Everything's ready.", She told him. "The bags are in the hall."

He gave a nod and Finn immediately went to fetch them and the children followed suit, leaving her alone with Tommy.

While she began to clear the table, he reached into the inside of his coat pocket and pulled out his cigarette case and soon the familiar scent of smoke filled her kitchen.

“So, ah…your hip any better?”, he asked, clearing his throat.

“Yes.”

She answered a little too quickly with her voice a little too breathless, and when she poured the water into the basin with a little too much ferocity it splashed and overspilled slightly.

(Y/N) forced her eyes shut and took a calming breath, which did a whole lot of nothing, before dumping the plates and cutlery inside for some soaking rather unceremoniously.

She could feel his eyes digging into her back, seeing, analysing and knowing once more.

"I'm inviting everyone to a party at my house on friday. Just family.", He finally said.

His house. The one Charlie talked about. From his descriptions she could almost see it.

It was red and it had stables, and maids and was probably the size of a palace.

According to Charlie it had lots of rooms and many bathrooms and floors ideal for indoor ice skating, and big trees lining the street, and a swing in the back.

Undoubtedly it was a beautiful, vast place that had both and a past and a future.

"I’ll send a car for you and Emma."

(Y/N)’s hands, that had stilled earlier, now coiled into the fabric at the back of her dress.

"No thank you.", She said, trying to sound as normal as possible. Just as unbothered as she did not feel.

“What?”, Tommy asked immediately.

“No thank you.”, she said calmly.

Feeling the bite of his eyes, she turned to face him.

“We’re not coming.”

Tommy tilted his head and raised his eyebrow, repeating the earlier question.

“You don’t want us there,”, she told him, “not really.”

He dropped his half smoked cigarette in the ashtray and closed the distance between them.

“Of course I do.”, he insisted.

Avoiding his gaze, she instead focused on the seam on the shoulder of his coat.

“Tommy,”, she sighed, “you want to be kind, which is…commendable, but there is no need.”

She took another breath to steady herself.

“Don’t tell me what I want.”, he said, his voice almost stern. “I know what I want and I want you to come.”

Her hand found her temple which had begun to throb and she closed her eyes.

“What good would me being at that party possibly do?”, she asked.

“The vendetta is over. It’s done. You can go home, to go back, to continue the way it was before.”

"Like I'd want that."; he mumbled, before shaking his head.

“Fuck the party then. Fuck it. Just…come.”

His voice softened as his hands found her shoulders, burning through the light brown fabric of her blouse.

“We’ll figure something out, eh?”

She shrugged his hands off which startled him.

“There is nothing to figure out, Thomas.”, she insisted. “You no longer have a need for me, you or Charlie.”

A soft gasp escaped his parted lips as he stared at her with wide eyes.

“Don’t say that!”

(Y/N) felt rage bubble up inside her, that kind of rage which was born of poisoned pain.

Why did he have to make this difficult?

Why couldn’t he just take his bags, take his boy and just go…

The only need she could have - might have filled - even that was beyond her.

May Carleton had mistaken her for Charlie’s nanny, but even in that she had assessed her beyond her means.

Nannies were middle class girls from good families, who had been educated in special schools to know all about how to take care of the next generation of politicians, scientists, lawyers and leaders. They knew their way around society, were well-read and knowledgeable, even well travelled at times.

She had never gone further from Birmingham than Shropshire, had never even crossed the Welsh boarder and most of the books she had ever read were from the churches library, but she only read them. She didn’t have the skills to analyse the deep layers, nor the knowledge to find the hidden meanings…nothing.

When Mrs. Carleton had called her that, she had felt insulted, but by now she knew it was praise she was unworthy of.

“I have nothing to offer Charlie. I can’t teach him the ways of your world, the things he would need to know or be able to do to function in your world the way a nanny could.”

“Not a nanny, not a nanny, no!”, Tommy insisted, reaching out to touch her again.

This time she managed to avoid his hands before they reached her.

But she saw the shine in his eyes, as if they had turned to glass.

“(Y/N)...what is this?”, he asked, sounding as if he had just taken a punch to the ribs.

“Where is this coming from? Has someone said something, because if they have-”

She cut him off with a scoff.

“Despite my limitations, I am actually capable of having a grasp on reality, Thomas.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she forced herself to continue.

“This arrangement was convenient, but it would only become a massive inconvenience in the future.”

"You think this was a convenience?", Tommy demanded to know, taking a step back and shaking his head.

She swallowed hard as she saw anger flashing in his bright pale eyes.

(Y/N) knew, or at least she foolishly believed that he would never even think of hurting her, but his anger was still a frightening thing.

"You think it's fucking convenient for me to lie awake at night staring a the ceiling and thinking what could have happened if the Changrettas found out about you?"

His voice was low again, the way it had been on that very first night- low and threatening. But it didn't stay low for long.

"If they came for you the way I came for them three years ago?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but he didn't let her, pointing his finger at her.

"As fucking mad as they are, they leave children out of it, but ever since I broke the agreement, they'd have come for you!"

She swallowed hard and glanced down.

"It was fucking inconvenient for me to be worried sick about you and the children every fucking minute I wasn’t here, not knowing what I’d come back to, while every time I was here, I knew I was putting a target on your back."

He had begun pacing up and down like stray dog trapped in an alley, hungry, with flashing eyes and rapid breathing.

"And it's the opposite of convenient for me to be scared that I'll say or do something that will disgust you, that’ll - “

He broke off and shook his head, as a chill went down her spine, but he was far from finished and continued even in spite of the crack in his voice.

"It's fucking inconvenient that I need you just as much as Charlie does because the last few weeks I was this close-"

His fingers were barely enough apart to be able to force a coin through.

"This close to losing me fucking mind and it was you that held me- that held all this- together."

He waved around his head like a madman, but then he stopped, he stilled completely and pale blue eyes that had been ripped wide open found hers.

They were desperate, almost manic, but she had made her choice, and she knew it was the right one and so she couldn't allow his words to matter.

“I need you.”, he whispered.

“No you don’t.”, she insisted. “Even if you think so now, you don’t need me. You would have grown tired of me anyways.”

His jaw muscles twitched, but this time it was her that still had things to say.

“You will go back to your life and in a few weeks Charlie will have forgotten all about me and before long you will find some great lady or some film actress or heiress or brilliant woman who is smart and strong and beautiful and you will be grateful that you are without any trace of obligation towards me.”

Not that it would have mattered.

It was inevitable really, even now in the middle of the vendetta he was surrounded by women that surpassed her in everything.

Jessie Eden was brave and bold, with the power to inspire hundreds to rally them to her cause and the potential to change the world.

May Carleton was a daughter of the aristocracy, educated, valued, with an estate and talents, who shared his admiration of horses - she even had a title. The Honourable May Carleton.

And Lizzie Stark - she shared Tommy’s past, but he had brought her with him to his future. She was loyal and stunningly beautiful, who had been beside him while he had built his empire and nothing less than what he was used to.

All the women around him were gorgeous, Polly with her dark beauty, equally intimidating as it was intriguing, Esme with the wild spark in her eyes, the gold accessories shining brighter against her dark curls.

Ada looked like she belonged in the pictures, a far cry from the girl she had once been who wore her brothers’ discarded shirts as blouses and now wore silk gowns from Paris and leather handbags from Milan, like her aunt decorated with jewels fit for a queen.

Even Linda had a making of a great woman, a natural in fur laced coats and expensive pearl necklaces.

She had seen it on the night Arthur had almost died - they had all looked brilliant, as if they had been born in silks and satin, with diamonds to adorn them.

That was all he was used to. All that was what she could never be.

And it wasn’t just her. If it had, she might be able to delude herself enough to come with him, but it wasn’t.

Emma was what mattered.

It would be beyond cruel to introduce her to a life of luxury and a lifestyle with the infinite possibility the Shelby name provided only to have it - inevitably - taken away again due to the inadequacy of her mother.

“You are sure”

His voice was so breathy she could not tell if it was a question or a statement, but it didn’t matter.

“I am a small person,”, she told him, her own eyes burning now, as her throat tightened.

“A small, ordinary person.”

She cleared her throat to be able to continue.

“Tell me truthfully, Tommy. Would you have even looked at me twice if circumstances hadn’t forced you to? Would you have even noticed my existence?”

She knew the answer to that, the answer that made her heart writhe in her chest, threatening to rip itself away from her just to ease it’s agony.

Given the way she felt now, it was almost preferable.

And judging by his silence, he knew the answer to.

There, she thought, meeting his eyes across the kitchen.

Nothing more had to be said and thankfully nothing more needed to be as Emma’s voice from the hall broke the silence they were both drowning in.

“Mummy, we can’t reach Charlie’s hat!”, she complained.

(Y/N) turned to leave, taking the few seconds it took to get from the kitchen to the hall to wipe her eyes and gather herself.

Both Charlie and Emma were already in their coats and shoes, with Emma holding her own hat in her hand.

Somehow she had managed to climb onto the dresser to fish it off of the hook, but Charlie’s hat hung one spot further, thereby out of her reach even now.

“Not you Emma!”, she told her, taking the hat from her hands and hanging it back up again, before setting her down.

“What?”, Emma asked with a frown, but instead of responding, she turned to Charlie.

(Y/N) crouched down to his eye level and smoothed his thick, soft blond hair once more than would have been necessary.

“There.”, she said, with a smile that made more than her face hurt as she placed his cap on his head, before fastening the buttons on his coat.

“Now, you be good for me, yes?”, she asked. “And take good care when you’re riding that horse of yours, promise me that?”

A frown appeared between Charlie’s brows as he saw her eyes watering, but he nodded all the same.

The fact that he noticed, because Charlie always noticed, made her lips quiver.

To make it stop, she bit down on the inside of it until she tasted metal, forcing herself to smile.

“Why am I not wearing a hat today?”, Emma wanted to know.

(Y/N) turned to her daughter and gave her hands a squeeze.

“Because we’re not going with Charlie.”

“Why?”, Charlie asked, the word stretched with suspicion.

With a sigh, she took her other free hand, the one that wasn’t holding her daughter’s, and took Charlie’s

“Because this is Emma’s home and you’re going back to your home, Charlie.”

His eyes widened as he looked from her to Emma and back again.

She could see the wheels turning in his head.

Quickly, she offered him another smile.

“Remember how you told me all about trees, they’ll soon bloom and it will look so beautiful and you can ride in your own park, just for you, Charlie! And you’ve got all the other horses in one place.”

He stared at her in the same way his father had done earlier, with wide eyes and parted lips.

“You’re not coming.”, he whispered.

It wasn’t a question and she winced as if she had been struck.

“Frances will be there to take good care of you.”, she assured him.

It did the opposite as he stepped forward.

“But you’re not coming!”

His voice was getting alarmed now, his little chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Dad- she’s saying she's not coming!”

(Y/N) hadn’t even realised that Tommy had joined them in the hall, but he had.

Just like his son he had already put on his coat and hat, filling the entirety of the modest space between the walls.

“Come on, Charlie.”, he said, stretching out his hand. “Time to go.”

“B-but she’s not coming!”

Alarm had turned to panic in his voice and so his father reached down and picked him up in his arms.

“We’ll talk later.”, he told him, turning his back on them.

Charlie’s head snapped from him to her and back again.

“No, Dad-”

He pushed his hands against his father’s shoulder with all the force he could muster as if he wanted to force him to let him go again, but Tommy had already begun to walk out back into the direction of the house of Watery Lane.

The back door of her kitchen slammed shut with a bang that made the cabinets rattle, and shook her to her core.

But the silence after was worse.

She did not know how long she stayed kneeling on the floor, staring into air that had never seemed so empty and listening to nothing but her heartbeat.

Then, Emma climbed into her arms, bringing her back to the here and now.

“Mummy,”, she asked, her eyes searching and her voice filled with uncertainty, “what just happened?”

End of Part 15

Part 16

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind!

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#Peaky Blinders #Tommy Shelby #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Thomas Shelby Imagine #The Boy in the Window #valentineswritings

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globalrebrand · 2 years

Text

Answering to Vil

You should have known better than to bring home bad press.

Warnings: fem afab!reader, domestic violence, rough sex, bad bdsm etiquette, electo stimulation, anal sex.

A/N: This is posted from my Ao3 Lakeffect. Please enjoy!

You had been so good lately, the perfect little wife for the past week. Coming home early from your night out, preparing healthy snacks for Vil while he completed the more clerical tasks his work required, giving him massages at the end of the day, waking him up with head first thing in the morning.

Even now, as you rested with your head on his lap, reading your book while he caught up on emails, nothing but admiration filled his heart as he gazed at your pretty profile. Reclining next to him on the couch in nothing but a thin tank top and cute panties, he felt a heat stir within him. Vil was battling an urge to put down his phone and push down your top, exposing your lovely breasts to his eyes. But you looked so at peace he didn't particularly want to disturb you.

After all, it was so seldom that you looked like you actually enjoyed the time you spent with him. He wouldn't tarnish this pure moment with his lust.

But it seems you would. Curious.

"Put your phone down," you murmured into his thigh, bringing a hand up to envelop his and drawing it away from his device and towards your lips to plant sweet kisses on his fingertips.

"Be here, in the moment, with me," you pleaded softly against his skin, causing his heart to try and flee his chest with its incessant beating.

"A book is as much of a distraction as a phone." Vil argued half-heartedly, he eyes trained on the affection you were bestowing on his hands.

"Well, I want to put it down." You replied, placing the novel in question face down on the coffee table in front of you. Its pages splayed to hold your place while you turned on your stomach and propped yourself up on your forearms to meet his violet gaze.

"This book is about the most wonderful romance." You cooed sappily as you swayed your head to put a moony emphasis behind your words.

"Oh, is it?" Vil questioned, not convinced of the book's quality by your dramatics. Emphasizing his skepticism by raising a playfully suspicious brow as he watched your pretty eyes as they focused on him. Your expression was full of warmth and mirth with a hint of teasing provocation Vil hadn't seen since before the two of you wed.

Oh, how he missed it. That expression of yours filled with unencumbered love and admiration.

"Mmhmm." You nodded in agreement to his question, never breaking eye contact as you occupied yourself with pressing increasingly tender and wet kisses on Vil's fingers. It was obviously your attempt to arouse him, and it was largely successful, but Vil could never let you know how easily you excited him, transformed him from a stoic paragon into a desperate lovesick beast.

Each brief gentle glide of your tongue against his fingers caused his mind to think about all the other places where he'd rather feel its press.

"Then why do you want to put it down?" He offered another question in a lazy attempt to distract you (and himself) from your increasingly forward advances.

"It's making me feel...inspired." you simpered sweetly, your voice full of implications as you dropped his hand after a teasing nibble and brought your palm to brush against Vil's inner thigh.

Vil felt his cock twitch to life. The traitorous thing.

Of course, he would be delighted to have you initiate lovemaking (he could count the times you'd done so priorly in your two-year marriage on one hand). However, he still had a hundred or so emails to work through. Even if he indulged you, tried to keep the encounter relatively short, made you shed that thin top that wasn't doing much anyway, and ride him here on the couch while he sucked at your pretty tits, it would likely be an hour later, and he'd still have to answer these emails before he went to bed, delaying his bedtime and upsetting his delicate routine.

"And since when is it my responsibility to indulge your "inspiration?"

"If not you, then who?" You replied without hesitation.

By the look on your face, he could tell your question was entirely innocent. He half expected you to say something bitter to counteract the sweetness of your words, but you didn't. And while it was likely a rhetorical question, Vil certainly had an answer immediately pop into his mind.

If not him, then not a single soul would ever be able to indulge you like he could, touch you like he does or fuck you half as well as he could. Only him.

It was about time you understood that. Vil had worked hard to keep you with him, sacrificed your affections even to tether you to him forever, and now he waited for the day when you would find your way back to him. Open up to him the way you once had and long for him desperately the way you once did.

"Absolutely no one." He remarked possessively, bending down to press a needy kiss to your lips. You kissed him back with as much passion, bringing up a hand to tangle in his silky tresses to deepen its intensity.

When Vil pulled away from the kiss, you whined in protest, a petulant pout forming on your lips.

"Give me ten minutes, little one. I need to clear out my inbox. Then we can go upstairs." He whispered against your plush lips.

"Kay," you replied, a smile on your face at his promise. And Vil just had to give you another kiss. You were simply too adorable for your own good.

If he could live in this moment with you forever, Vil would die a happy man, but, of course, reality had to set in sooner or later.

You returned to your previous position, reading your book, and he returned to his phone. Going through his emails with renewed focus as he tried to bat away intrusive thoughts of how you would look later in the night sprawled bare across his sheets.

But a few minutes later, at promptly 21:03, an email from his publicist titled with your name and followed by ' '!?!?!?!?!?! '' posed a threat to his evening's peace. His publicist, a most diligent woman, was proactive and quickly got on top of messes. However, she often sounded the alarm too frequently and over trivial matters. He was hoping that was all this was.

But he could never be so lucky when it came to you.

There was no opening greeting to the body of the email, just a large photo file that showed you at the nightclub that Vil reluctantly permitted you to attend on a night out with some of your peers from your agency. You'd been out of the public's eye for roughly a month, and he was well aware that your fans would be anxious to see you again, so he digressed.

He knew that paparazzi hounded your friend group consisting of mainly fellow well-known models expecting to get headlines about a raunchy night of partying. Still, you were never the focus of their photographic bombardment, just a shiny bystander in the background. To the public, you had the reputation of being the enigma of the group, demure and reserved. You seldom acted in a way to garner headlines, and Vil never really worried about you bringing home bad press. He trusted that you knew how to behave even if your friends did not.

After all, they did not have to answer to him, but you did, and that should have put enough fear in your heart to keep you on your best behavior.

But it seems this time it wasn't.

And now he knew the cruel truth.

Your behavior the past couple of weeks wasn't the result of the two of you turning a corner in your relationship. It was just you being a manipulative little whore.

You'd betrayed him, you knew you'd betrayed him, and you had just been biding your time, trying to create some cushion while you waited for the other heel to drop.

Vil eyed your reclined form again, but this time, everything felt so hollow. His heart could splinter to pieces just looking at you. You were just as you were, engrossed in your book and utterly ignorant of his suffering.

Well, Vil hopes you enjoyed your little fortnight of deceit. He certainly had, but he knew now what he needed to do.

He called your name softly, as he had done many times before, and you, without looking up from your novel, responded with a melodious little hum to let him know he'd successfully gotten your attention.

Good.

The delicate hand gingerly combing through your hair with unbidden affection abruptly arched into talons, scratching your scalp as Vil gripped your hair by the root and pulled . His beautiful face contorted into a sneer as you felt the tension of each strand stretched too taut, radiating into an acute generalized ache. With a gracefully violent flick of his wrist, he drew your face up to his phone so that you, too, could view what had offended him so gravely.

"Now tell me, my love. What. Is. This? "

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He spat the words venomously. It wasn't a question but a demand. You would tell Vil the truth, and you would do it now .

Your lungs felt like they would seize in your chest as you looked at the debauched photo. In all truth, you would have paid the paparazzi whatever money they asked to keep the image buried, but Vil maintained your finances, and you doubted he would supply you with such a large sum without explanation.

The photo in question showed you, dead center of the image with the elegant lilac silk dress Vil had selected for you, being drawn up your thigh by the overly familiar fingers of one of his costars from his most recent film project. The actor's other hand teased at the thin satin strap at your clavicle, threatening to expose your breast as his warm eyes gazed down at you lustfully. His body was tightly pressed against your back, and the photo recalled uncomfortable memories of his erect member pressing into the cleft of your ass through thin silk satin. For your part, you tried unsuccessfully to obscure your face, but that only resulted in the massive, extremely rare purple diamond on your custom engagement ring catching the glint of the paparazzi's camera flash, further identifying you.

It didn't help matters that your face didn't look repulsed but pondering, as if you were weighing the risk of getting more familiar with the man in the photo. And in truth, that traitorous thought did pass your mind.

Maybe Vil would be so disgusted with you if you cheated that he'd finally divorce you, but it was a vain hope. Vil has always been clear that he has no desire to leave you under any circumstances, only that he would become more dedicated with his "corrections." You supposed that loyalty could be a double-edged sword when inlaid with possessiveness.

Perhaps the evidence of this photo coming to light is punishment for you even thinking of acting against Vil.

Still, you couldn't have anticipated that Vil's coworker would accost you when he offered to drive you home from the club. Sure, you'd exchanged polite conversation with him at the cast wrap party a few months ago when the film finished shooting, but that was it.

Of course, conveniently, the paparazzi didn't publish photos of you pushing him off and storming away, probably preferring to sell a narrative where you were cheating on your A-lister husband.

While you obviously knew about the photo, you wouldn't dare tell Vil. He never made it easy to open up to him, to come clean about your mistakes. There was no preempting the punishment with honesty. Every mistake you made was open to equal persecution, whether you felt remorse or not. Waiting for him to find out on his own at least offered you a few days of relative peace. And even though you tried to soften the blow, it seems your plan backfired. Vil was the angriest you'd seen him in months .

Gulping nervously, it only took but a second for you to burst into incessant apologies as you turned to him with pleading eyes.

"V-vil, I'm so so sorry. I-"

Too riled and too angry, Vil didn't wait for you to finish. He flung your head away from him, brusquely silencing your apologies and causing you to crash into the couch's downy velvet before tumbling on the floor, your head just barely missing the pointed corner of an elegant marble coffee table. Rising from where he sat so peacefully moments ago, he loomed over you. It didn't matter that you were already down, defenseless, and diminished . He was always trying to secure the higher position, if only as a physical reminder of how much power he had over you.

Vil watched you intensely. You could see a modicum of care in his visage, he was worried he might have injured you, and his eyes roved over you to check the damage, but once he saw you were fine, any consideration he had for your well being abandoned him.

His eyes, now narrowed and cruel, observed your fearful expression keenly before stepping away with a scoff.

Vil was seething . A hand tucked under his arm with the other pressed against his lips as he paced the narrow track of carpet between your living room furniture. You could see he was trying to calm himself, brace himself for whatever you were about to tell him so that he didn't lash out in a way he would regret.

All you could do was watch him as you waited for him to soothe himself enough to address you.

His beauty never ceased to compel you despite the revulsion you often felt at his actions. Vil was currently growing out his hair for a role as a medieval King in an upcoming film. His hair hung in soft waves just shy of his clavicles, giving him an even more imposing and alluring look.

"Explain yourself!" He barked at you after several tense moments of pacing.

You bit back to urge to snap back that ''you were going to,'' as you lifted yourself from the floor once he stopped moving , but you had a lingerie shoot coming up this week, and if the bruises resulting from your imminent punishment were too severe, you would have to cancel.

Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to explain the events that led up to the photo. You described how you thought you were just being cordial when you ran into his costar and how the man offered you a ride home, around 1 am, and you took it since your friends weren't ready to leave and you thought that you could trust him since he'd never given you any impression otherwise.

For good measure, you added a plaintive, "I just wanted to be home with you sooner," w hich was true. While you loved a good night out with your friends, you could sense the evening was starting it drag, and even if you resented him, being cuddled in Vil's arms sounded much better.

"I pushed him off of me moments later and called a cab," you finished, but it was clear from his expression that Vil was displeased by your explanation and that he wanted to scold you for hailing a cab but must have decided against it, as there were other things more pertinent to berate you for.

"I tried to dress you tastefully enough that you wouldn't garner too much attention but still shine." Vil finally spoke, mainly to himself, as if he couldn't believe someone you dare put their hands on his possession despite his 'preventative measures.' Ignoring how that logic was utterly nonsensical, you tried a different approach. Still, Vil wasn't buying it, hardly letting you get a word out before interjecting with all sorts of accusations.

"Are you fucking him?" He questioned, completely serious.

"What? Of course not!" You rebutted indignantly. Highly offended, he would even suggest such a thing.

"How long has this been going on? I saw you talking to him at the cast party."

"I told you. Nothing has been going on!"

"Besides, everyone and their mother knows that you're mine."

"Yes, darling, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Why were you even talking to him in the first place? You know my rules for going out without me."

"I was trying to be genial." You continued, despite your husband's interruptions. He's your costar. I didn't want to offend him by ignoring him and make things awkward and-"

"As if they won't be awkward now? Why didn't you just tell him no from the beginning?" You swear to god that if he cut you off one more time, you would lose it .

"I- there was no reason for me to believe-"

"No reason to believe he wanted to fuck you? Why would he speak to you otherwise?" Besides the fact that you were a living human with emotions, ideas, and your own allure and charm, you let it go, instead, you tried to regain his attention since he'd given in to the illusions of his fears of you leaving him. Such an irrational fear, Like you'd ever be able to leave him if you tried. If you genuinely wanted to.

"Vil-" You attempted to stop his ranting.

"I can't believe you nearly let him expose your chest. What the fuck were you thinking?!" You weren't trying to let that happen but insisted it wouldn't do anything.

"Vil-" You tried again.

"You should have shoved him off, told him no the minute he touched you." You did.

"Vil-"

"You never have a problem telling me no." He huffed, resentful. His eyes full of disdain, as if he was reliving all of your past rejections of his affections.

"What happened to that backbone of yours?" He bit tauntingly, with an arched brow and judgemental scowl that would have paralyzed most people, but you were well used to it, so your tolerance for effects was higher than the average person.

This cattiness, this cycle of fight and fuck was a routine part of Vil's particular brand of obsession.

Never mind that he had stripped you of most of your freedoms. Vil dressed you how he liked, styled you perfectly to compliment him. Booked your jobs. When your agency wanted to book you, they didn't call your manager. No , you didn't have one of those anymore. They called Vil for approval. Not even you. The nights out he allowed you were planned well in advance on your calendar, strategic in their spontaneity to make sure you popped into the spotlight independently so fans wouldn't start rumors- discover the truth about Vil's domineering, controlling nature.

And he still thought that you had too much agency despite nearly every aspect of your daily life being managed by him.

You'd learned to suck it up. And you'd been managing it fine, sure colors seemed less vivid, and waking up next to Vil was always but as a chore in a way it didn't use to be before you got married, but you were fine .

After all, all week , you had been doing everything you could to please Vil. Indulging him physically, spending quality time, and to your surprise, it wasn't miserable. You realized that you enjoyed it when you could pretend your relationship was like it was initially, warm and affectionate , but Vil always ruined it with his desperate, practically manic desire for control over you. Most of the time, you tried to stomach it out of sick truth that somewhere deep, deep, deep down, you did love him, but he never acknowledged your efforts as anything other than you finally giving him was he thought he was due. Never realizing that your returning of his affection meant that you had to murder your dignity and pride for the sake of order.

But tonight, he had crossed a line you thought you'd buried long, long ago.

"Well, I don't have much room for a spine with you stringing me up like a fucking marionette!"

The sentence flew from your lips before you could even think to stop them. The second you said the words, you knew a slap would be placed across your cheek. And indeed, it came, hard and fast, albeit a fraction of his true strength. Still, it threatened to rupture your eardrum for the dozenth time regardless of his restraint.

While in some relationships, a hit like this might be the gravest border crossing, in yours, it was a warning. It was a signal to stand down or risk greater discipline.

Maybe it had been too long since your last punishment, and you'd forgotten the pain because again, thoughtlessly, you growled:

"Fuck you"

"That is it ."

Grabbing you by your forearm Vil dragged you up the stairs to your shared bedroom before tossing you over his shoulder like captured quarry when you'd put up too much resistance.

"I've had enough!"

"You don't think I've had enough!" You shouted back, propping your hands on his lower back to lift your head to try to retain an ounce of dignity as you let him have it.

While Vil was prone to the occasional delusions, you knew that he knew what he was doing to you was morally unacceptable, the control and isolation he didn't need to hear it from you, but you thought he should. Even if it changes nothing.

"You're absolutely insane. You're so painfully jealous and possessive. You blame me for things I have no control over. You need help!"

You shouted in retaliation, the words somewhat muffled in the gray silk of his pajama shirt. While you couldn't see his expression, you doubted Vil was moved by your cries and critiques. He never had been in the past.

So you tried a different tactic.

"He told me he wanted to eat my pussy in the back of his car." You told him, no longer shouting, just tossing it out casually to see his reaction.

That stopped Vil in his tracks.

"He said I always looked so stressed and probably because you didn't go down on me enough." It was a surprisingly astute observation. Vil was rather stingy with giving despite his skill.

"Now you're just being openly antagonistic." You couldn't see anything other than Vil's toned ass ascending the carpeted stairs of your manor, but you could easily tell he was rolling his eyes at your attempts to further rile him.

"I should've let him. You wouldn't want me as a toy if someone else played with me, right Vil?" You mocked childishly.

"Tell me, would you want me if I came on another man's tongue?"

"Don't be so vulgar." Vil scolded before tossing you on the bed, with far more force than necessary, you landed on an embroidered silk coverlet with a small oof.

While he tried to hide it, it is evident that Vil was visibly further enraged by your recounting of what his costar said in an attempt to seduce you. He quickly grabbed handcuffs from his nightstand drawer. Flipping you on your stomach and yanking your arms behind your back. He cuffed each wrist to the opposite elbow, ensuring you had absolutely no use of your arms. Then dragged you to the edge of the bed by your forearms and gave you another careless shove leaving you to clatter to the carpet like a spoon flicked off a table.

The impact of your shoulder against the floor was dampened by the thick pile of your bedroom rug, but the radiating soreness left you sluggish and dazed.

Vaguely you could hear Vil rummaging around in the velvet tufted storage ottoman at the end of the bed that housed all of your intimate toys. You couldn't see what he had grabbed, but you heard carpet softened footfalls nearing your collapsed form.

With another ruthless tug, you were again brought to your knees. However, this time, your husband sat at the edge of the bed. His aubergine silk pajama top was unbuttoned to expose his elegantly muscled chest, and the matching pants pushed around his hips, exposing his pale drooling cock.

Gripping you by your hair once more, Vil drew your face to his. His eyes burned dully as if he had tempered his rage for max efficiency.

To see those pretty lavender eyes you loved so much, so distorted by rage, caused hurt to stir in your heart. Even if it had partially been your goal. It broke your heart to realize just how far away Vil was from the man you love.

"Save me your pity," he growled as if he could read your thoughts. And he likely could to some degree. When not overcome with this, this ugliness, he was the person who knew you best in the world.

Vil drew your face nearer, tilting your jaw so he could whisper into your ear. His breath was hot, but his words left frost on your brow.

"The only way I'll leave you alone is when you're dead." No emotion, just a cold statement you didn't accept as anything less than factual.

"Even if you stray from me, I' will always welcome you back in the fold," he continued.

"I just hope that you'll be able to sleep at night with all the ruined lives left in the wake of your infidelity."

Then he kissed you, and it was instinctual for you to part your lips and let him. His plush lips always felt so soft and tasted so sweet and floral against your own. His tongue moved in heavy strokes, probing the inside of your mouth, roughly and desperately, as if this kiss was supposed to remind you of the love he held for you.

"Now get to work." He instructed, the command leaving his lips effortlessly as if he were a haughty prince.

Vil drew back, reclining slightly with his arms extended, supporting his palms. He looked like a fallen angel with lengthed strands of hair framing his undone face. He was enchanting even in his darkest moments.

"This is the time for repentance." He reminded you, placing a hand on your jaw and urging you to take his already erect length down your throat.

But you resisted him gently, trying to pull your face from his grip. You had a difficult time feeling a need to repent more than you already had.

"Vil, please, I already apologized." You felt tears welling in your eyes, frustrated that you had to endure more punishment. Your voice came out in a pathetic whine which you hated, and even more, you hated that you weren't looking at him, that you couldn't look at him. The weight of his vitriol became too much to bear. Instead, you opted to look at the floor to lessen the weight of his bitter gaze.

"I-I don't like you when you're like thi-" you began when you were interrupted by your husband's irritated scoff. And then second later, an intense sharp pain that seared into the supple flesh of your ass cheek exposed by cheeky panties.

"Aaaahh!" Your scream snuck up on your like a thief in the night, erupting from your throat before you even registered the severity of the pain from Vil's assault.

A normal riding crop didn't hurt this bad. This pain was far too strong, too intense to be the result of just being hit by stiff leather.

"Vil-" You started, utterly stunned. He held up the instrument in question and then pressed a button on the side of its handle. And sure enough, a faint electric hum could be heard.

He shocked you?

"We've never had a chance to try this one out, have we?" Vil showed off the toy with his usual grace, manipulating it cautiously so that he would not be on the receiving end of a hearty zap.

It looked like a standard crop, but a long electrified handle and metal studs binding the leather loop at the end allowed electric pulses to hit your flesh.

You could see that the switch on the handle was pushed to its maximum setting, and you only prayed your skin wouldn't show evidence of its use the next day. You were worried that Vil forgot about your jobs for this week in his anger.

"Normally, you're much better behaved," Vil remarked almost wistfully. The sentiment is exaggerated by the dim orange glow of the antique lamps subtly illuminating your bedroom.

"I usually don't have to take such drastic measures, be good so I won't have to take anymore, alright darling?" He had the nerve to smile at you, the quirk of his lips sardonic and condescending.

"Open those pretty lips for me." He spoke firmly, and you obeyed without hesitation. The reminder of the blistering sting of the crop was enough to regress you into a domesticated animal who thought of little else than how to behave to avoid another instance of knee wavering pain.

"Were these what drew him to you? This whorish mouth." Vil hummed as he traced cockhead around your lips, and instinctively you licked them, catching the trail of precum his oozing tip left in its wake.

Vil chucked, pushing his cock between your lips. "So you are still somewhat trained."

You couldn't fight the urge to roll your eyes, and as expected, you were rewarded with another blistering shock.

Your husband only smiled on as you yelped like a kicked puppy at the torturous sensation.

Vil let out a heady moan as he pushed his way further down your throat. His fingers tangled in your hair to guide your movements.

You closed your lips around him, hoping to take him the way he taught you. The way you knew made him cum unbelievably fast, but he stopped you with another slap to the ass, causing you to hiss sharply.

" Watch your fucking teeth. " He growled, delivering yet another hit, this time on your upper back which was far more unpleasant as the shock didn't radiate through muscle and fat but against bone.

You steeled your jaw, trying to avoid the pain, but with nowhere else to bare the brunt of the hurt, you dug your fingertips into the flesh of your upper arms, surely leaving an ugly mark.

"Let me take what I want. Just sit there with your tongue out like the slut you aspire to be."

You obeyed, ignoring the insult. And Vil continued to take. Roughly and rhythmically thrusting his long cock in the delicate confines of your throat.

You felt yourself growing light-headed. His pace was so fast you could barely manage to breathe out of your nose, but Vil had absolutely no concern for your comfort. You peered up at him through bleary eyes only to see his head thrown back in bliss as he maneuvered your head along with his cock in time with his strokes.

He comes down your throat, removing his cock and then quickly covering your mouth and pinching your nose, forcing you to swallow his seed.

The tears that had welled in your eyes now flowed unbidden down your cheeks.

Strangled sobs sputtering out of you as you tried to regain your breath after your husband's ruthless onslaught.

You didn't dare look up at him, but you could feel him boring holes into you. A disgusted look likely on his face as he watched your poor attempt at composing yourself.

"Don't tell me you're seriously crying. We're nowhere near finished."

You held up a hand in a silent plea for mercy, but Vil ignored it. Leniency wasn't in his vocabulary tonight.

"On the bed." He commanded, his voice unrelentingly resolute.

You tried your best to follow his demands, but it was hard to maneuver yourself on the bed with your arms cuffed behind your back and your legs feeling so, so numb. After several long moments of clumsy struggling, Vil grew impatient.

"Can you move any more gracelessly?" Vil chided, sparking your ass one more time to motivate you to move faster.

Standing on already unstable legs, the sensation caused you to nearly leap out of your skin, but at least you finally managed to get both knees on the bed.

Vil came up behind you, running his slender fingertips up your sides and bringing your thin tank top with him, exposing your breasts.

He cupped them harshly, pulling and teasing the nipples as you whined in response to his ministrations. You still struggled for breath, and his toying touch didn't make it any easier.

But you nearly lost all capacity to breathe when Vil's hand slid down your torso to harshly cup your cunt through your slightly spread legs.

"You've utterly soaked through these panties." He pulls the gusset aside with a single elegant swipe of his finger as he admires your smooth mound. "Such a pretty cunt," he sighed, what a shame it belongs to a foul-mouthed wife."

Vil ground his cock against your back as he encouraged you to lift yourself as he pulled your panties from your form. Manipulating the fabric around your legs. Once had the material removed from your body, he returned to taunting you.

"Tell me, darling, was your pussy this wet when that man had his paws all over you, humping you like a rutting dog, spilling filth into your ears."

"It was wetter."

"Insolent brat." Vil seethed with clenched teeth.

"To think I was going to fuck your pussy when you clearly haven't learned your lesson." Your husband pushed you farther up on the bed, bending you over and climbing on the mattress behind your bowed form.

"The only place bad girls get fucked is in the ass."

"Ngh-" Any protests you were going to voice were silenced by Vil shoving three fingers down your throat, gagging you.

"You better get them nice and wet because this is all the lube you're getting." He growled against the side of your head.

He lifted your hips so that your knees could rest under you as he roughly slathered the mix of your saliva and viscous wetness from your pussy on your puckered hole, a small mercy.

Spreading your plush ass cheeks with his sizeable palms, he lined the rounded tip of his member with your tight unstretched hole and thrust into you without hesitation.

You inhaled sharply at the blunt intrusion forcing its way into your ass.

Whatever he applied definitely wasn't enough, and even with a few stabbing strokes, a raw, burning ache didn't subside.

"Calm yourself, my love, take it. I know you can take anything I give you."

"That's one of the reasons I love you so much."

You ignored him, disgusted he would even say such a thing to you. The press of his torso against your back, his soft lips teasing your neck, felt so foreign and invasive. You wanted nothing more than to leave your body entirely and return when your husband finally came to his senses.

Slowly, the ache eased. As Vil continues thrusting, deep shameless. Letting each pounding thrust drag as he drew his hips back, only for them to collide with your cheeks again.

His hand on your lower back keeps your body flush against the duvet while the other rest on your neck, rendering you unable to turn to look at him while he takes his pleasure from your debasement.

"What a pity such a pretty wet cunt has to go unattended." He remarked pitifully.

"Beg me, and I'll fill it for you. I know you want it. You never could truly resist me. You always give in sooner or later."

Your life would be much better if you could, you thought mournfully. You just wished he would shut up. He was always so withholding with his words and affections. Why was it now of all times that he was so willing to share his inner thoughts?

"Beg me, and I'll come inside." He told you through breathy panting.

"Mmm- fuck, get you pregnant with my child, so your mind has no time for such frivolous diversions like a 'girl's night out' No time to even think of betraying me."

"I know you're ovulating." He added. And fuck , now that you thought about it, you were. Curse Vil and his meticulous notes on your physical well-being.

"It probably wouldn't take very much." He murmured against your skin, his voice firm as if initially he threatened knocking up to anger you, and now the prospect of impregnating you sounded too alluring to resist.

"Go on, darling wife, beg your husband to cum in your pretty pussy"

"I'm not going to b-beg you. I-I'm not ready f-for a b-baby." You muttered petulantly into the covers.

"You will beg." He asserted, staunchly rejecting another denial from you and doubling down with his affections.

"I know how your poor cunt aches with nothing to fill it." Now Vil was bent over your arched back. His hips canting fervently, forcing his length into your tight hole with deep thrusts, filling you with a dull ache of building arousal.

Vil's fingers flew to your clit, relishing the previous untouched nub with firm circular rubs he knew would make you keen with pleasure.

You moaned at the familiar gratifying sensation. His slick fingertips caressed your nub with frightening precision, sending you hurtling towards your unwanted orgasm.

"And besides," Vil's silky voice hardly showed any signs of exertion, just a sultry breathiness that never failed to arouse you further. His lips brushed lightly over your ear as he began addressing the other part of your protests.

"What does it matter if you're ready when it's what I want?"

His hand then dipped down to your cunt, two fingers quickly finding purchase against your g-spot. Seamlessly entering your tight, quivering hole and brushing against the pulsing nerve in long, tedious strokes. Blurring your mind to anything besides his pleasure.

"I know you love it." He groaned against your ear, his voice no longer disguising that undeniable fact his orgasm was fast approaching.

"Tell me you love it." He was pleading with you now.

"Tell me you love me. " Vil intertwined his left hand with yours as his other hand stayed fastened to your clit, toying with it relentlessly so you would meet your completion at the same time he did.

"I-I love it. I l-love you." You gasped breathlessly.

"Don't lie to me." He all but begged, his voice belying true vulnerability for the first time all night.

"I'm not- I-I love you, Vil." And it wasn't a lie. You knew it was for no good reason, but your traitorous heart couldn't deny that even beneath his abuses, you loved your husband.

" Yes , good girl." He moaned.

"Now, take it, take what I give you." Vil pulled out of your ass and immediately plunged into a fluttering cunt.

The resulting pleasure was instantaneous.

The minute his perfectly proportioned length filled you, your walls clamped down on his member, drawing him in and holding him captive as your pussy delighted in the pleasurable stretch.

Embarrassingly, the moment his cock bottomed out in you, you came, clenching around him desperately and drawing out your husband's orgasm as well. You could feel the ropes of his cum splashing against your womb as his cockhead kissed your greedy cervix, and you tried not to think of the future implications. You wouldn't think of them until Vil had succeeded in his new mission to get you pregnant. The two of you were in no place to bring a child into such dysfunction.

"You're going to be a good wife now, yes, good behavior like you have been," Vil whispered the words reverently against your temple.

Without pulling out of you, he collapsed on top of you, urging your hips to flatten against the bed as he lay draped across your back.

He always became so soft after a session, proportional to his anger.

It was as if fucking you so viciously and violently was the ultimate catharsis for him. Once he came, he was prepared to move on from your transgression. Certainly not forgive them, no, Vil would file away this incident in his memory for future guilt-tripping, but he could return to a level of normalcy with ease. You wished you could move on so easily as well, but the reminders of his violence against your body would be hard to forget.

But the tender kisses he pressed to the nape of your neck would help to soothe your wearied mind.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Around an hour later, you found yourself in the bath, tucked against Vil's chest as he kissed you deeply, fingering you again, albeit much more pleasurably and gently.

You came on his fingers without much fanfare. Just a little buck of your hips and a heady groan against his lips as your walls clamped down on Vil's two fingers.

He pulled them from you slowly and pressed a final kiss against your temple as he pulled you close to him. His touch numbed the sting of the fresh cuts and aching bruises now decorating your flesh.

Relaxing music from a nearby speaker filled the silence, but you felt there was more to say.

"Vil," you began softly, earnestly. "I am sorry about the photo, but please, you have to understand I didn't mean to." You met his neutral gaze with wide, imploring eyes, urging him to see the truth to your words.

"He came on to me-" you tried to insist, but Vil hushed you with a finger to your lips.

"Don't worry, my love. He'll receive his punishment in due time. I know you were not the sole transgressor." You knew Vil exacting retribution against his costar would be difficult, the film was set to release in a month, and any seriously negative press would tank the film's sales.

"Besides, anyone who attempts to take what's mine without my permission must pay a high cost." Vil reminded you with another sweet kiss on your forehead.

"Of course," you sighed, tired of fighting. You practically were his possession. Your marriage legally assured it.

"Just know that for the time being, I will also be attending these nights out. Be grateful I'm still letting you go at all."

You opened your lips to thank him, not because you felt genuinely grateful, but because it was your obligation. However, Vil wasn't finished speaking quite yet.

"But hopefully," he began again after a few seconds, "we won't have to worry about it much longer," Vil whispered sweetly as he curled a possessive hand on your abdomen.

You wilted into his chest at the implication, but your anger had long left you. There was nothing left to give.

You should have resigned yourself to a life with Vil much sooner. It would have saved you many scars.

Epilogue

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